Mars: I hate it on planet Earth but outer space looks rubbish too, by Rab McNeil

But I like the reminder of how small we are in the universe. I like the stillness and quiet up there, far from Earth’s hurly-burly and racket. My name was one of 11 million taken to Mars on the Perseverance Rover. I watched the landing live and found it almost as exciting as the football.

I’ve just had emails from Nasa and SpaceX about their latest operations. They like to keep me informed. Last night, I watched Star Trek: The Next Generation, and realised why we all love it so much. It’s not just the folk of all shapes, sizes and nasal configurations rubbing along together.

We like when the Enterprise is hovering above a planet full of baddies and it’s a haven, a home for the folk beamed down. Back on the ship, their family (the best kind of family: a collection of friends) is waiting for them.

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The other intriguing, but strangely counter-intuitive, attraction is the starship’s clinical cleanliness. It’s all bright. There isn’t a speck of dust. Though, in the privacy of their own cabins, crew members might have plants, there’s nothing natural on the ship’s bridge. No soil or cat hairs. And yet you couldn’t imagine someone in a pinnie going round with a Hoover.

They have a holo-deck which can recreate gardens and jungles, but apparently it’s just not the same as the real thing. It’s funny how even ootdoor types like moi love that clinical bridge.

All that said, I don’t really consider myself a space person. I’m attracted to it as an escape from the ghastly planet Earth, which I detest. But I lack the scientific knowledge to understand it. I haven’t even watched all the later Star Trek series. Disgraceful.

Would I even go to ooter space, given the chance? I don’t travel anywhere on the planet Earth. I dislike cities, and getting to the right places in countryside abroad is too complicated for a man frightened of railway ticket offices and even more terrified at the thought of driving on the wrong side of the road (having tried it in France with disastrous consequences).

So I’m not sure how I’d get on driving on the wrong side of the planet. I enjoy flying and would relish that prospect. But I’m not convinced I’d like to land anywhere. Better to travel than arrive. To be candid, Mars and the Moon look rubbish.

This week, we learned that the first “space hotel”, complete with restaurants, cinema and spa, could open in 2027. It’ll just be in low Earth orbit, so not much of a hike really. And lordy knows what the cost will be. Nasa is also developing plans to let tourists stay on the International Space Station for nearly $50 million a pop. I’m not sure I have that much, to be honest.

Folk would probably still leave catty reviews on Tripadvisor: “Despite the interesting cosmic vista, I found the lack of Irn Bru in the mini-bar unacceptable.”

Perhaps aliens currently visiting Earth incognito leave reviews on their own Tripadvisor: “This planet isn’t for the faint-hearted. Locals unfriendly and preternaturally dense. Violence is commonplace, the primitive, beast-based cuisine risible. And, oh, the racket! Never a minute’s peace. Avoid!!!”

Mind you, apart from the multiple exclamation marks, I’d probably write something similar myself.

Horsehair heid

NAME the weirdest institution at the centre of Scottish life. Correct. The law. And one of the law’s weirdest aspect is that many practitioners must wear wigs.

This is to convey the dignity and authority of the institution. You titter, averring that it looks ridiculous, but peculiar headgear is a sine qua nowt of all ritual authority. I rest my case.

In exciting news this week, someone has developed a vegan barrister wig. Usually they’re made of horsehair, which sounds itchy, but these are hemp, which sounds ropey.

If you want to dress up as a barrister in the privacy of your own home, the vegan wig will cost you £650. I thought you’d have to prove you were a barrister and do a wee ritualistic dance in front of staff at a specialist shop, but I’ve just looked on Amazon, and any Thomas, Richard or Harriet can order barristers’ wigs online, from £7.97 for a “Rubber Johnnies” fancy dress one, through £75.85 for a blonde one, to £500 for a horsehair one.

Imagine walking down the street in one of those. Everyone would give you a wide berth. If you walked into a pub, it would go silent. That’s because folk were respecting your dignity and authority, even if your donkey jacket and Doc Marten boots gave pause for doubt.

A proud land of precipitation

GLASGOW may boast about being the wettest city in Scotia but, when it comes to yonder United Kingdom, it takes second place to … Cardiff.

An academic study by bathroom firm Showers To You found the Welsh capital experienced 12 days of rain a month bringing 96mm of rain. And, while Glasgow got 14 days of rain a month, these brought only 94mm of rain. Huddersfield was third, while hyphenated deserts like Walton-on-the-Naze and Southend-on-Sea, both in Essex, got the least rain, with just 46mm and 43mm respectively.

We should be grateful for rain. People say it’s miserable, but it has made we Scots what we are. Er, miserable. We are the Dreich People.

Do not shed salty tears over this. Rain is good. According to my researchers, it is made of water, and water is predicted to become an increasingly valuable resource with global warming.

Soon, like the Saudis with their oil, we will be able to hold the world to ransom. Hang on. We had oil as well, you say? And we gave it all away? Oh well, might as well include the water an ’all.

Cuddle something

MEERKAT news, and it seems the controversial mongooses have been missing their human visitors at the zoo.

Isn’t that odd? You’d think all animals – except maybe most dogs – would hate us because of our gross depravity. But it seems that, in some cases, they have come to value us. We are as gods to the little creatures. We should be benevolent ones.

Deprived of our gawping company at three zoos, meerkats became discombobulated and started turning on each other, according to a study by Nottingham Trent University, Harper Adams University and Twycross Zoo. When visitors returned, the beasties’ mood improved and they resumed playing and social grooming.

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Anecdotal evidence from keepers at London Zoo suggested a similar phenomenon with gibbons, pygmy goats, Humboldt penguins – aye, thaim – and lowland gorillas.

This column has previously draw your attention to evidence on YouTube that all animals, fierce and docile, large and small, like nothing better than a cuddle or perchance a tummy rub.

It’s sad to think that many beasties go through life without one. Make it your mission this week to cuddle something. Start small and docile, mind.

Our columns are a platform for writers to express their opinions. They do not necessarily represent the views of The Herald.