Clarissa was grumpy. ‘Honestly’, she began as she stirred her G&T viciously. ‘Clayton Anderson – he’s a flight engineer – rings me up to ask me how to fix their Foxtel. They’re on the International Space Station and apparently they can only get Dancing with the Stars in Russian. They’ve rung the Foxtel Help Line, but they keep being queued. So I say to him, “Welcome to the real world matey, queuing is just what happens when you ring Foxtel” -’
I had to interrupt there. ‘Yes, but Clarissa, they AREN’T in the real world, are they? Not really. They are 350 kms away from Earth.’ ‘Well,’ she sniffed, ‘Be that as it may, it is not in my job description to sort out astronauts’ TV reception problems. I’m there to tell them how the rocket works – and God knows they need enough help with that.’
She took a sip of her gin. ‘Anyway,’ she said changing the subject. ‘How are you getting along with that Jo Sharp Lace Panel Sweater? I’ve got a skirt I think it will look rather nice with, so I’m looking forward to borrowing it’.
