The reason space firms are all based in California? It must be the weed

EVERY day, it seems, we are treated to the unedifying spectacle of yet another giant, rocket-propelled sex toy trying to land.

There’s a lot of wobbling about, followed by a jet of thruster power, followed by a lot of dust and then an enormous explosion as the entire thing blows up.

It’s sad, because even if the billionaires who own these re-usable rockets get them to work, you kind of know that mankind is never going to get off this planet if that’s how we’re supposed to come back.

If something looks wrong, it usually is wrong.

Despite all this, however, we were told this week that a company in California — where it is legal to smoke cannabis — is designing a space hotel. And that construction will begin in just four years’ time.

They’ve shown us artist impressions of middle-aged couples in carpeted bedrooms, gazing out of the window at the blue marble that is Earth, and tell us that there will be a gym and even a basketball court.

Basketball in space? How’s that going to work? You throw the ball up and it will just keep on going up.

Mind you, it’d be a doddle to do the weights. “Hey Mildred, I bench pressed 1,000lb this morning.”

Food served by Clangers

Then there’s the problem of space sickness, which affects most people who go up there.

It’s hard enough getting all your vomit into a lavatory when you are on Earth, so I imagine that in a weightless environment you’re going to get an awful lot of it on the walls and in your hair.

Apparently, the boffins behind the scheme say they’ve thought of this and say they will create artificial gravity.

Yes, right, and then the food will be served by Clangers and the Soup Dragon will run reception and, after pudding every night, guests will be able to have moon cheese.

There are a few other issues that need to be addressed, though. When we had the Space Shuttle, launching each kilogram of material into space cost around £45,000.

Apparently, if Messrs Musk and Bezos can get their giant metal vibrators to work, that will fall to around £2,000 a kilogram.

That’s great, but even so, it’s still pretty costly to take a carpet into space.

Never mind all the ovens and the table tennis bats and the food. It’d cost a grand to get one bag of potatoes up there. And millions for the running machines.

I guess that, as a result, the cost of a weekend on the space hotel would be around £5,000trillion.

Most people would be unwilling to pay that sort of money, especially as they’d almost certainly explode as they came in to land.

Sure, the view would be wonderful, but I once stayed at a hotel in Scarborough and the view from that was fairly special.

And it only cost about £40 a night for two.

Panic is being locked in a ship

A “PANIC room” is an impregnable fortress with its own air supply and communication links. It’s a refuge where you and your family can hide if kidnappers break into your house.

There was rather a good film in which Jodie Foster and Kristen Stewart, used one to escape from the Last King Of Scotland.

I’m fairly sure, though, that in real life, no one has ever used a panic room in anger, but having one says to your friends that you – nudge, nudge – are the sort of player who might need one. That’s why they’ve become the latest billionaire must-have accessory.

And now Roman Abramovich has gone one step further by installing one on his new yacht.

OK. I see. So the baddies storm the yacht, intent on killing him. So he takes his family into this impregnable room to shelter. And then what? He continues to sit in it while they drill a hole in the hull and sink the ship.

So now, he gets squidged by the pressure until his head explodes.

I think, on balance, I’d rather get shot.

Nicola is a bit fishy

AS we know, the whole of Scotland is currently engrossed by a public inquiry which has been set up to determine who’s more mad, the former first minister, Alex Salmond, or the current one, Nicola Sturgeon.

This week, Ms Sturgeon gave evidence and this, in essence, is what she said.

“I don’t know. I can’t remember. I can’t recall that meeting. I can’t be expected to remember that detail. I don’t know. I don’t know. I can’t remember. It’s on the tip of my tongue . . . sorry, it’s gone.”

It made me wonder, after a while, how on earth she can run the country when she very obviously has the memory of a goldfish.

It's my idea of Holl

I’VE always wondered why I was unable to stay at a Pontins holiday camp.
And now I know.

They’ve taken one look at my Irish girlfriend’s surname – it’s Hogan – and declined our booking on the basis she might be a gypsy.

Apparently, they really have been doing just that.

Of course, there could be a more realistic explanation.

It could be I’ve never been to Pontins because I’d rather use my gums to pluck the hairs from James May’s nutsack.

Glue's being cruel?

THERE seems to be a new craze in the racing world, which is to have your photograph taken while sitting on a dead horse.

This was billed by one observer as: “Cruelty beyond belief.”

But I’m not so sure.

Because if the horse is dead, it doesn’t know that it’s being used as a chair.

Nor does it know that tomorrow, it’s going to be eaten by dogs or sent off to the nearest factory to be turned into glue.

Yes, it’s cruel to mistreat animals when they are alive, but once they’re dead, they’re not animals any more.

They’re meat and hair.

Or in some cases, Parker Knoll recliners.

Happy Hazza

NO one will be more delighted to hear that Prince Philip is recovering than the Duke of Sussex.

Because if Mr Queen had died, Prince Harry would have been forced to get on a plane back to England for the funeral.

And that would have meant quarantining for ten days at the Holiday Inn at Heathrow.

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