Sitting in a tin can

On 4 October 2021 there was a six-hour window when people throughout the world were forced to confront awkward situations by actually speaking to each other. The WhatsApp network had collapsed and, for a brief time, texting "Look, I think maybe we should be free to meet other people :(" wasn't an option. The angst was palpable.

Spare a thought, then, for the astronauts on the Armetis II space mission who experienced a short, scheduled drop in communications with planet earth while they were hanging around at the back of the moon. That's a whole other level of worry, isn't it? All the reports that I read rather glibly mentioned a 40-minute lapse, without specifying whether it was supposed to be precisely 40 or about 40. It's an important detail.

"Did they say exactly 40 minutes, guys? It's just that by my watch -"

"Be quiet and deal the cards."

You've got to be a certain type of person to be able to sit with three other human beings in a metal capsule roughly the size of two people carriers, hurtling merrily through space at 25,000mph. This is why, quite rightly, all candidates need to pass extraordinarily stringent tests. The physical health one is clearly a given - let's face it, it's no good having anyone on the team with a raging case of athlete's foot when there's nowhere to air your socks.

However, it's the psychological test which begs the biggest questions. In most everyday examples, you'd be analysing somebody in order to deduce whether they were sane enough to perform a specific task whereas, in this case, you'd really need to confirm that, on some level, they were as mad as a box of frogs.

"Good morning, I'm Doctor Ernest Enquiry."

"Good morning."

"Can you tell me a bit about your childhood relationship with your parents please, and, also, if you don't mind, whether you're, er, you know, stark raving bonkers?"

"I couldn't stand either of them to be honest, and most certainly, yes - completely nuts."

"Splendid, you'll do nicely. Next!"

Surely, anyone even vaguely sane would be overwhelmed sooner or later by the thought of something going radically wrong on the mission and having to spend their final days tumbling headlong into the abyss of infinity haunted by the knowledge that the last words they uttered to their wife were "Cheese and pickle, please."

Well, it's possible that there are hordes of people out there envious of the Artemis II crew members but it's safe to say I'm definitely not one of them. They did send back some stunningly beautiful photographs, though.

Hats off, then, to the brave and the bonkers.

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