When I was just a lad, maybe nine or ten years of age, I had a favourite book. That's not to say I haven't had a favourite book since, or before, because I have, and did. Currently the holder of my favourite book accolade is 'The Raw Shark Texts' by Steven Hall. Anyway, I digress. The favourite book of the pre-teen version of me was a work of non-fiction entitled 'The Universe', from which I learnt a great deal about the nature of our solar system and something of the nature of everything else beyond the borders of our little bit of space.
This book was my first knowing exposure to the notion of the Big Bang, how the rock on which we live, indeed our very being, might be explained by something other than Creation (the only explanation proffered to me up to that point). Perhaps it was the reading and re-reading of those pages which lay the foundations for my overtly logical mindset - in the few weeks immediately leading to this trip I know I have been quite calculating in my preparations. Certainly, it was that book that instilled in me an awe and wonder at the infinite vastness of the Universe: the possibility that other solar systems exist that are not unlike our own; ones where planets may have evolved that are capable of supporting life; ones where the path of planetary evolution is akin to Earth's; ones where you are sitting in front of your computer screen reading a blog written by me...
So, as I sit on the train rolling north on the first leg of many I will undertake, I can't help but hear something deep inside me whispering: the world is not enough. And then I think: Teri Hatcher.
Mmm, 1990's power-dressing Teri Hatcher.
Mark
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