So Nasa has named the next Artemis crew, and our dear UK Space Agency is giddy as a schoolboy, prattling on about ‘British lunar ambitions’. Let us not mince words. This is a classic case of imperial nostalgia dressed in a space suit.
The Victorians at least had the good sense to conquer actual territories, not sell tickets to a cosmic circus. The Artemis programme, much like the late Roman Empire, is a bloated spectacle designed to distract the masses from a decaying infrastructure. We are sending astronauts to the Moon again, ostensibly to ‘learn’ and ‘explore’, but really to justify budgets and keep aerospace contractors in business.
The British contribution? A partnership. A phrase that in modern parlance means ‘we will provide the tea and crumpets while the Americans do the heavy lifting’.
Our space agency is thrilled to be a junior partner in a venture that will likely cost taxpayers billions and yield little more than grainy photos and patriotic puff pieces. Meanwhile, our schools crumble, our hospitals groan, and our national identity has shrunk to a hashtag. But by all means, let us cheer as another white man (or woman, to be inclusive) plants a flag on a barren rock.
The Fall of Rome was accompanied by bread and circuses. We have Mars bars and lunar missions. Magnificent.
I am Arthur Penhaligon, and I am not impressed.
