As a boy, one of my favourite Christmas presents was an acre of the moon. Costing £10 from my local Safeway supermarket, it was by no means my most valuable present that year, but it was the one that most captured my imagination. No longer was I just another insignificant twelve year-old. I was a land owner. A baron. A member of the landed gentry - nay, a member of the of the extraplanetary landed gentry, with certificates and mineral rights. Up there, in Area F4, Quadrant Charlie, was an acre land that would be forever mine.
Of course, there were detractors immediately. People ho refused to acknowledge the deal's legitimacy. Schoolfriends who refused to believe that a man called The Big Cheese had laid claim to moon selling rights. But it didn't matter to me; that land was mine.
I felt similar frissons of pride and excitement this week, upon finding out that I'd laid claim to a similarly remote piece of land. This time, though, the land was virtual. It seems that if you type "My Kingdom for an Intelligent Octopus" into Google, my blog is the top result, from over 40,000. Its logo (designed in the last post) is the top image result. I know that, actually, that isn't much of an achievement, and isn't going to cause hoards of people to suddenly start flocking to my page, but that doesn't matter. Because like my moon acre, it's uniquely mine.
And I'm not prepared to rule out the prospect that, one day, there might be a use for these real, and virtual, plots. They say the meek shall inherit the earth, but the way things are looking, that's a bit of a poisoned chalice they stand to take on. So given the need for escape seems like a possibility, the real question is: who shall inherit the moon? Surely land barons like me are at the top of the queue. When people are growing moon potatoes in soil rich in my moon minerals, I'll be laughing all the way to the moon bank.
The usefulness of my unique plot of internet could be even more imminent. I keep hearing of the prospect of cyber war - that in future the new batttleground for fights between nations will be the internet, with super viruses flying around on the super highway. There could come a time when merely accessing the BBC website would cause your computer to explode in your face. So when the war comes, my quiet corner of cyberspace could become a safe haven for refugees from twitter and facebook. You may not be able to network with friends, but at least you can read an insignificant man's musings on insignificant issues. It's so safe and remote that my anti-virus software, which has been to almost all of the internet and assessed its safety, hasn't even bothered to visit.
With this perilous future in mind, and the prospect of many migrants to my borders in future, I think it's about time I codified a constitution for my lunar and cyber kingdoms. But I can't be bothered right now, so for the time being, let me finish with a few basic rules and regulations.
No polo shirts
No use of the word "epic"
Yes to cats
No to dogs
No deliberately breaking wind for comic effect. It's only funny if it's by accident.
No claiming to be fluent in sarcasm. It isn't original, and was never clever. And if you really were fluent in sarcasm, you'd claim not to be.
Right, the power's beginning to go to my head, so I'd better stop. I want you to know that, broadly, you're welcome here. Or in my bit of Area F4, Quadrant Charlie. And remember, it's never too early to save yourself. But of course, if you're reading this, you already have.
No comments:
Post a Comment