The Truth is Up There (maybe...)

Recently footage emerged from the International Space Station (ISS) of what some people are saying is an alien spacecraft. I’ll put a link to it at the end of this blog because I don’t want you leaving this page till you’ve listened to me. NO! Do not scroll down to the link – just hear me out, then go take a look.

Good. So now you’re like, ‘What footage? I didn’t see it on the news,' which is a very good point. You didn’t see it on the news because it’s still not categorical proof that aliens exist, that they’re shadowing the ISS, or that they’re walking among us as we speak (or read).

So what did the footage show? Well, firstly let’s make one thing clear: instead of the video being from NASA pointing out the ‘anomaly’ directly, it was instead made public by a ufologist called Scott Waring, who posted the video on his You Tube channel (pic, right).

NASA provides live feeds from a camera on the ISS, and this one was operating because of some maintenance work that was being done on the station. Waring watched it and claims he noticed something special. The camera is fixed and shows bits of the station’s infrastructure with the earth passing by below. Great stuff, though there’s nothing happening.

Then, in the bottom of frame, a small object moves in, and keeps station (that is, travels at the same speed and direction as the ISS) perfectly. It moves slightly ahead of the station at one point but for the next 20 minutes or so it doesn’t do anything except maintain position. It looks like a metallic acorn or a pine cone. Whatever, it looks solid, it looks real.

Someone on the ISS is manually operating the onboard camera because they too seem to notice the object and reposition the camera a couple of times for a better view, including a slight zoom in. There’s no audio relating to the UFO, so presumably the operator either wasn’t being recorded, or NASA has already muted the ‘Holy Moley! What the Fuck? Guys! We’ve got company!’ comment.

But wait, there’s more! Twenty minutes in and suddenly the object, which has done nothing but keep station, suddenly takes off – upwards, and very fast. So, those of you who were already thinking, well obviously it’s a supply cargo capsule that’s undocked from the ISS and is about to return to earth can think again. Supply capsules wouldn’t carry enough spare fuel to manoeuvre up to a higher orbit, and anyway, why would they? All they have to do is undock and after a few more orbits fire their thrusters to return to earth on the planned angle of approach.

The International Space Station (image: NASA)

So, obviously an alien spacecraft. Or not. Don’t get me wrong – nobody wants aliens to exist more than me - I've had a lifelong fascination with extraterrestrials and the potential for aliens either to visit us in the future or already being here - at least one of my friends is probably one. But the older I get the more I question the logic behind events such as this.

That's not to say I doubt some folks’ personal UFO experiences, I absolutely don't, and I've seen things in the sky that I can't explain - not flying saucers or spacecraft, just genuinely unidentified flying objects. (Unfortunately the term 'UFO' has become synonymous with alien spacecraft instead of being what they are: unidentified aerial phenomena). But as someone famously once said (so famous that I can't remember who), until a spacecraft lands on the White House lawn, there's no proof.

So, here’s what my increasingly logical and sceptical brain has been thinking about this latest event:

• If this is genuine footage, unaltered or amended, why hasn't NASA said anything about it?
• Interesting that the first person to 'reveal' it is a ufologist, someone who looks for such things, rather than an authoritative source. That's not to say it didn't happen or isn't real, but what if – if, note – the guy is also adept at CGI?
• And if he is a CGI expert, why hasn’t NASA come forward and denied the footage?
• Even if this event is real, why isn't it headline news around the world in all major media? Instead it's in the tabloids, and semi-buried, even on space.com which is a prime organ for such things. So why isn't space.com following it up independently?
• Why aren't journalists asking The Donald about it in press conferences?
• Why also aren't journalists chasing NASA for comment, or going to astronauts who've been on the ISS for their opinions?
• Why isn’t the Vatican issuing a press release?

Earth at night (Image: NASA)

And the story didn’t make it to the BBC News. Instead, it remains an ‘out there’ story. Conspiracy theorists will answer all these questions with, 'Well, typically, it's being kept quiet, as has everything since Roswell 1947', and they may be right. I mean, just think: what would it do to the world’s religions if the government – any government – were to come out and say, ‘Hey folks, aliens exist, and they’re here now from outer space!’? Exactly. Pandemonium.

In the meantime we await the landing on the White House Lawn. But just to throw an extraterrestrial fly in the earthly ointment is this orbital event anything to do with the arrival of Coronavirus on earth? Cue Twilight Zone theme music. Conspiracy theorists form an orderly queue.

(Okay, now you can check out Mr Waring’s edited highlights here.)

Where art thou Romeo? And Juliet?

I am grieving. I have recently lost two friends, and I hadn’t even known them very long. We’d only just got on first name terms; to them I was Blurp, or sometimes Blarp. To me they were Romeo and Juliet, and they were moorhens.

For those of you who don’t have moorhens in your neck of the woods (note: they don't live in woods), see the pics. They’re a ground-dwelling bird but always live close to water. They’re closely related to the coot but seem less interested in swimming.

Anyway, about three months ago as I was working in the garden, a lone moorhen felt brave enough to join me, although at a safe distance. This was a real novelty, because in the two years we’d lived beside the river we hadn’t seen any moorhens, only coots, ducks, geese, swans and the odd grebe.

I cautiously backed inside, got a handful of birdseed and threw it towards him. (Yes I know, I’ve automatically called the bird a ‘him’ without any thought to gender orientation. But wait, you’ll see I was right). Predictably he fled in a panic having just had the equivalent of a hailstorm fall on him, but he did come back after a little while and began pecking at the seeds.

I kept my distance and carried on with sawing timber, my job of the moment. I wanted him to feel that I didn’t really care one way or another, and that he could dine in safety and security. Nonchalance was my middle name, though I kept a watchful eye.

Over the next few weeks the moorhen visited the garden fairly regularly, and then daily. He’d wait for me (well, for breakfast) each morning, would even emit a ‘blarp’ or a ‘blurp’ sound to remind me he was there, and of course I obliged with a menu of dried mealworms and an exotic ‘all seasons’ birdseed mix. I know, Michelin Star treatment right? He hardly flinched now when the birdseed landed over him, but also I started scattering it slightly nearer me each day, and each day he would venture closer towards me.

The closest we ever got was about five feet, but I felt we’d reached an understanding: he wouldn’t come any closer and I wouldn’t lunge at him and stick him in the oven. We were both happy with that arrangement.

Then one day he turned up with a ‘friend’, who my wife Liz and I presumed was a female. Spring was approaching (still is, sigh) so obviously a young man’s fancy turns towards such things. Now we had names for them, and while Romeo and Juliet won’t win any awards for creativity, it suited them. In return however they still called me Blarp.

Star-crossed lovers

But I was delighted that Romeo had led Juliet into our garden to show her where you could get a quick meal without even having to forage. Liz and I hoped that come nesting time the pair would return with their chicks and introduce us to the family. Adding to our anticipation – and also confirming that Romeo was indeed male – we witnessed the pair mating in the garden one day. I gave them some extra bird mix after that session; I figured they might be hungry.

And so it continued. Some days it would be just Romeo, and some both him and Juliet. We bought a bigger bag of seed mix.

And then one morning about a month ago, Romeo didn’t turn up first thing as he usually did; I didn’t see him till almost lunchtime, no apologies, no explanations. I asked him where he’d been but he remained quiet. He did eat his lunch though, and then disappeared.

The next day there was no sign of him, or Juliet. Or the day after that. And now, four weeks later, I can only assume that Romeo and Juliet have gone the same way as their namesakes. Oh woe, and not even a ‘suspitious’ friar as prime suspect, nor any trace of poison! In fact, not even any corpses. For a few days we classified them as missing, but have had to revise this status to be 'missing presumed dead'. We suspect a fox.

I still raise the bedroom blind each morning in the hope of seeing them, or hearing a ‘blarp’, but the garden is empty. So am I.

Renovating the Blog

If you're a TFU follower, you'll have noticed that I've not been a very active blogger lately. Well, for quite a long time really; 'lately' stretches the definition a bit when I haven't actaully posted anything since last April.

All I can do is apologise and explain, so here goes: I'm sorry I've not blogged more regularly and often. There - that's half of it out of the way.

And I can only blame myself, along with the council, tradespeople, architectural plans, rubbish skips, hammers, nails, drills, saws, and cans of paint. Oh, and ambition - that's a prime offender. It all boils down to the house renovation, and it seems we might have bitten off more than we can chew. Or, to invent a new and more appropriate cliché: sawn off a bit more than we meant to.

Here's a speed-dating summary: Bought a rundown house because we liked the location, had plans drawn up for a modest grand design, got council planning permission and set to, aiming to save as much as possible by doing a lot of the work ourselves. Two years later still haven't finished, and my social (and social media) life has gone down the toilet. Which reminds me: must phone plumber.

So ambition is as much to blame as anything, yet to be fair we have come a long way on the project, even though from the outside there's not much to see. It's a bit like when the Queen Mother had a double hip operation in 1995 - when she emerged from the hospital she looked just the same as she had before, except that she had two new hips. (Was I the only one who wanted to be in the crowd shouting, 'Three cheers for the Queen Mother: Hip Hip..?)

So externally there's not much to see, but inside the house has been rewired, replumbed, damp-proofed, insulated, and reconfigured. It also has two new bathrooms and a new kitchen, an office, an atrium (yes really, with spiral staircase) and a gorgeous master bedroom with mirrors on the ceiling and a trapeze for enhanced sexual shenanigans. Part of that may not be true.

Geography has also played a part. When I started the TFU we lived in a London borough, but 18 months ago moved into the new house ('project' is a better word) just outside Greater London, so my initial idea of writing a regular and very London-centric blog went out the window. (Which reminds me: must call glazier)

Therefore I have now, just this minute, taken a pneumatic drill to the blog and reconfigured it as a general, all-purpose, go anywhere, say anything organ, in the hope that I can now write about whatever I like and not be tied specifically to the capital city, much though I adore it. Thing is, it's a 43-minute train ride into town and I don't get much time to go in as often as I'd like. Also, the train service (I use the term loosely) is operated by South Western Railways - or South Western Rile, as I like to call them - so what is notionally a 43-min journey can take 4.3 hours. Or not at all if it's on one of the many strike days (which somehow seem to stick to the union's timetable much better than the actual trains).

So while I had grand plans of taking a folding chair into London on a regular basis, iPad in hand, sitting and observing and writing about the teeming life there, I just don't get out as much as I used to (see drills, hammers, paint, etc. above). That, however, hasn't stopped me thinking, getting annoyed, finding joy in things, questioning the sanity of our nation's leaders, and obliquely finding humour in everything that's going on.

Which means I'm back, and - with encouragement from my wife to 'put the paint brush down, step away from the paint brush' - I am determined to renovate the blog. After all, over the past few months it's become a bit run down, leaks a bit, and smells of damp. It's in need of some attention.

Which reminds me: must call builder.