Beagle 2 explained

I believe we have the answer to the Beagle 2 mystery.  You may remember all the excitement when Beagle 2 was launched, how it was going to be a worthy successor to Darwin's ship, and the confusion as to what happened to said Mars explorer when it went off the radar in  December 2003.  Indeed, with much of the project taking place at the Open University, some of our more scientifically-literate Folk went along to see what was happening.  This was before Hnaef caused all that trouble with the nude bathing at the Comparative Religion workshop and we got banned.

We now believe we know what happened.  To Beagle 2, that is.  We've no idea what Hnaef was up to.

This afternoon we were preparing for our Barbecue in honour of Ss Joachim and Anne - favourite saints of the Beaker Folk on the grounds that all the details of their lives and even their names are completely made up.  The barbecue we've been using for the last six years unfortunately blew up in the Midsummer Hydrogen Balloon Festival, so Drayton was scrabbling around at the back of the garage looking for the old one.

If you remember, many press reports at the time described Beagle 2 as being about the size of a barbecue.

It now seems that the reason that Prof Pillinger did not receive any signals from space, is because our barbecue does not have any kind of radio transmitting devices attached.

Embarrassing, I suppose, but at least we have the excuse to go and buy a new barbecue.  Meanwhile, somewhere on Mars, a little green man is trying to work out how to get firelighters to work in an oxygen-poor atmosphere.

We'll be burying that pile of old electronics we found in the garage in the Orchard, before MI5 come round.  Let's be hearing no more about it.

Anniversary of Helen Sharman going into space

Since we couldn't think of anything else to celebrate today, but were feeling in deadly need of cheering up after the Eurovision Song Contest, we thought we'd celebrate the 18th anniversary of Helen Sharman being the first English person (we shun "British", as it has echoes of the hated Celts) into space.

The little gadget that Hnaef put together was supposed to be capable of launching people three or four feet into the air, so they could fall gently onto the big pile of hi-viz we laid down.  After three or four people had been launched for their short flight, I felt it was safe for my archdruidic flight. However. Whether through malice or accident, I could not say.  But the "extra strong" setting seems to have been applied when I sat in the Launch Arm Chair.  Ending up halfway down the Meadow, with the chair still attached to my rear end, was remarkably painful.

I am typing today's missive with a pencil that I am holding between my teeth.  Apparently no bones are broken, just a large degree of bruising.  Apparently the compost heap I landed in helped to break my fall.  I hope to be up and about some time tomorrow.