I told him, by WhatsApp, “Dave [his name’s not really Dave - it’s John but we’ll say it’s Dave to protect his identity]”, “Dave, unless you’re planning to put a nuclear weapon on the moon I don’t really see the problem here.”
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He’s replied inviting me to go come look in his shed. Slightly worrying but at least you know where I’ll be, eh, Twitter?
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now I’m no rocket scientist but this looks like a fairly big rocket. that they’ve built it, mole-man style, underneath what must be a a park in Islington, is nothing short of astonishing.
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Mark (or John or Dave or whatever his name is) explains it must have been left here by previous tenants. it’s a moon rocket, he reckons. they’ve spent the last couple of weeks fuelling it and loading it with supplies. He’s furious that he can’t just go to the moon and claim it.
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we’re in the crew section now. the wife (Karen, although let’s call her Sarah) is there. “good, you were nearly late!” I still don’t understand why they need me. husband has seen my large collection of science fiction novels in the window and thinks I am a space law expert.
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“You’ll be able to tell those pen-pushers in Geneva what for!” says the husband. I don’t even know if this treaty was signed in Geneva. Why are we here anyway? The wife goes to look for the son.
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the son was just finishing in the engine room. “I’ve set it for Geneva!” he’s said. I’m starting to panic so I run for the hatch but the husband is already starting to seal it. There’s a great rumbling beneath us. Maybe i should have run away sooner rather than live-tweet this.
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fucking HELL, i dunno if you've ever been on a rocket taking off before, but it's EPIC.
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guess it's going to be a few hours before we land in Geneva. i'm going to try and finish my book.
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we're way up now. they're questioning the son about how he set the course. they're calling him an idiot, which i think it unfair because he seems to be about 10. i didn't know how to set the navigation system on an improvised space rocket when i was 10, either.
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after quite some animated discussion i think we've worked out we're heading for the ISS, and not, as i feared for a moment, the moon, where there wouldn't be very much to do, bar have a picnic.
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there is something up here and it has enveloped us and it is absorbing all light that falls upon it, and the neighbours are not happy. "this is not on! who is in charge here exactly? we need to speak to them!" they shout at the hatch.
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i texted my mate Dmitri who knows a chap who works on the ISS earlier, and he says they've lost sight of us entirely, but don't see any weird blobs that might have absorbed us, so there's obviously some sort of weird space/time folding thing going here.
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Dmitri also said "This might mean some of your tweets end up being posted with timestamps closer to each other than they were actually made." IDK, i don't really understand technology i'm just repeating what i've been told.
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the pressure on the hatch has equalised! we could open it now, if we wanted to? husband wants to, wife doesn't, son has vanished back into the engine room. looks like i get the casting vote. what do you reckon?
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i'm glad you all voted to open it because the husband has done just that. his wife is screaming at him not to, she's afraid of what the aliens might do to us all, but the husband has, not unreasonably, pointed out they have us in their power now anyway.
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i've pointed out that there's no guarantee we'll even meet aliens, who knows, we might just meet a metaphor for the inhumanity of our own species; or maybe just literally our fathers. or maybe both.
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some aliens came and led us from the dock? we were in into a holding cell with a bunch of other humans. i kind of recognise some of them.
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karen/sarah is shouting at the humans, trying to find out who is in charge. it's some posh bloke called richard. they call him "posh richard", because there's also a "welsh richard" here as well.
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there's an alien just came in, says there are enough of us for processing now. apparently they needed a group of 10. we've all been found guilty of space crimes. neither of the richards are admitting what their space crimes were. i guess that'll just have to be a mystery.
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the genius son has got a brilliant idea to rush the guards when they come in and then me and husband steal their weapons and dress up in their uniforms and then march the rest of the group (pretending to be prisoners) to a shuttle and then leave on it.
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