Paint your spaceship

Yee-ha! There's gold in them thar asteroids - along, it is believed, with platinum and a host of rare minerals.

We took a step nearer to the realm of classic science fiction this week with the launch of this year's second asteroid-mining venture. One might be seen as eccentricity; two within a month start to look like a gold rush.

Deep Space Industries plans to launch three laptop-sized craft on asteroid flyby missions while its rival, the even more grandiosely-titled Planetary Resources, intends to send a fleet of small craft into Earth orbit, a posse of tiny prospectors looking for that elusive glint of something valuable in passing rocks.

It certainly makes a change from seeing asteroids merely as incoming missiles and a threat to humanity, though those of an apocaholic disposition might enjoy contemplating the potential risks of trajectory perturbation caused by mining activities.

While the economist sensibly points out that, should vast reserves of platinum be a) discovered and b) brought back, the resulting depression of the markets would affect the long-term profits of the operation, DSI's David Gump ultimately has his eye on higher things.

Mining metals in space and constructing spacecraft components in orbit would eliminate the need for materials to be brought out of Earth's gravity well at great expense. Even more conveniently, ice from asteroids and comets could one day fuel the next generation of space exploration.

Add in inventions such as the inflatable living module that can be shot into space compressed into a 7-foot tube and suddenly the visions of Arthur C Clarke, James Blish et al. don't seem so far away any more, though with advances in robotics, I doubt we will ever see independent space prospectors like the husband-and-wife team in Bertram Chandler's charming short story, 'The Half Pair' (which, incidentally, contains one of my favourite sci-fi quotes: 'Spaghetti and free-fall don't mix').

And with advances in carbon nanotechnology keeping pace, future generations may yet see the much-debated space elevator constructed on the moon or Mars. Perhaps DSI's Firefly craft and their larger Dragonfly successors will herald the beginning of a new age in extra-terrestrial activity.

After all, at the start of the Californian gold rush, who would ever have believed that some of that gold would one day be an essential component of the lunar landing module?

Parish news

Things will be a little quiet on the blogging front for a few days as we are redecorating the Tavern; time, I think, for another of Pa Peachum's favourites...

The sledgehammer, the rapier or the firebomb?

Spinoza at Rational Islam? today raises the issue of free speech with reference to the fire-bombing of the offices of French satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo.

Some of the cartoons can be found here - courtesy of the Pub Philosopher; I have to admit that I don't find them particularly funny and the style is one I consider horribly vulgar but that is, of course, not the issue. Meanwhile Longrider has also entered the fray at Orphans of Liberty with a well-considered post on the subject.

Here in the less intellectual environment of the Tavern, our musings have taken a more melodic turn...

To make fun of the Prophet takes men who are bold
And quite unaccustomed to fear;
The latest example is Charlie Hebdo
And its issue concerning sharia.

Of political satire and scurrilous news
The magazine's made a career
But cartoons of Mohammed and critical views
Of Islamists have now cost it dear.

On Twitter and Facebook the faithful complain
Saying editor Charb went too far;
And of course France's free speech allows them a way
To explain just why 'Je ne veux pas...'

Though Monsieur Charbonnier's not one to hide
When it comes to a verbal fracas,
It was not with debate his opponents replied
But with petrol alight in a jar.

There is always a risk when you want to make fun
Of religions that people hold dear,
But who's to decide if a cartoon or pun
Is high satire or merely a sneer?

Whoever it is who is taking a stand
There is one thing that has to be clear;
The unwritten sign of a civilized land
Is the freedom to speak without fear.


For those who were not raised on the strains of Abdul Abulbul Amir (I must get round to a post of Pa Peachum's favourites one day), the tune can be found here:

Lost, stolen or strayed - the work ethic

It's something that seems to be sorely lacking in Britain today; any foray into the area of health, social services or local government is likely to furnish an abundance of examples of the sort of worker whose output approximates that of the office rubber plant.

It's nothing new; thirty years ago, as an office temp at the local council, I was taken aside and warned not to complete more than a (derisory) set amount of work in a day or the unions wouldn't like it. However, many among the increasing numbers of working mothers (by courtesy of Harriet Harman) have taken the ethos to their hearts, allowing them to concentrate on important matters like arranging their children's birthday parties in office time.

Having had reason to deal with several of these agencies recently, I have overheard far too many office discussions about 'Barbie theme or Disney?' or whether Hayley should have Ugg boots at eight; one woman filled in a vital form in front of me (wrongly) while booking her daughter's haircut on the phone. When I called to complain about the resulting problems (which took me several months and £5,000 to remedy), I was told she had been promoted.

That is not to deny that there are many hard-working and conscientious public sector workers out there. I wonder, though, whether the idle have more time to spare for office politics; those who make the others look sloppy might well find themselves first in the firing line. And as proponents of the procrastinatory art travel further up the food chain, it becomes the office norm, until our public sector makes the notorious 1970s print workers look like a colony of ants.

All this musing was prompted by a recent exchange at Subrosa's on a delightful parody by Tedious Tantrums , which reminded me of this favourite of Pa Peachum's:

The stouter I cobble, the less I earn
For the soles ne'er crack nor the uppers turn;
The better my work the less my pay
But work can only be done one way...