Mon. Jul 26th, 2021
Boris in the war

According to the eminent astronomer and physicist Moore Patrick, astronomy just isn’t funny anymore. Over the last few decades, Patrick believes, Space and the Universe have become staid, banal, and devoid of mirth. 


‘It stopped amusing me after Halley’s Comet was such a disappointment to me in 1986. Up until then, I was always chuckling at the Big Bang, the Moon landings, and the mishaps of various Apollo missions. My merriment did not falter much through the 70s either, even when NASA sent Voyagers 1 and 2 into the Heavens.’

Moore Patrick, A Grumpy Gus


Patrick was so disillusioned by all things cosmic that he decided to do something about it. Last week he was at a particularly low ebb due to the Peserverance Mars Rover and its inability to send back clear and uplifting pictures of the surface of the Red Planet. 


‘The pictures sent back to Earth were so grainy and boring. And when the Mars helicopter Ingenuity took off I just felt such deep despair.’

Moore Patrick, Space Junkie


Patrick decided the only way to bring back some fun to proceedings was to write a poem, which is presented as follows. 

THE KUIPER BELT

By Moore Patrick

Break’eth the morn to no song at all

Birds with their voices unloud

It rain’eth on I as stood like a fool 

An idea it hung like a cloud 


My garden a wilt in keenest of dews

Roses with mist like a breath

It rain’eth on them and each of their hues 

Till an idea it rose from a Death 


Cloaken in black and dark of despair 

The grasses of water they felt 

It rain’eth the morn as brushing my hair 

I thought of a new KUIPER belt

When rains come on fast and thy heart is of cold 

Much sorrow may swill at thy heel

Do not timid be but put thee in bold 

Thy trouser hast much to conceal 


With a new KUIPER belt to fasten in true 

Now stand’eth the tallest in pride

May it rain’eth the more in skies melted blue

And banish the sins that I hide


My new KUIPER belt it shine’th through night

Be so kind as to see it so worn

When down is thy mind it must be a sight

To wake’th in pride the next morn


Patrick sits back in his chair and puffs on a large Havana as I conclude my interview with him. 


‘More tea?’ says he. 


‘When I’ve stopped laughing,’ says I. 

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