The Fondness of Stevenage

So the yuropeonz are making a satellite system to watch everything we do, in order to fine us.

I'm not even joking.

They're making a group of so called 'sentinels,' to monitor who's producing what environmental discharge, in order to fine any lawbreakers.  This will, naturally, extend into watching through your window to make sure you're law abiding, but I assume it might take a while until the lense required for that is developed.  It won't be until 2020 that the climate system is operational, so do all your ill-deeds now, before the voyeur satellite is launched (presumably some time before the climate system becomes sentient and takes over the nukes.)

One interesting tidbit gleaned from the article is where it's being made.

Stevenage isn't exactly the first place I think of, when high-tech (hi-tech) industry is mentioned.  This is stupid of course, as my whole family is/was involved in aeronautics and kill-onautics at BAE systems which is a forerunner of pretty much all advanced tech in England.  The problem is that my view of Stevenage is worlds away from the hermetically sealed labs of spacecraft creation.  In my mind, I liken the creation of extra-terrestrial objects to the creation of bacteriological weapons, and as a result the umbrella corporation.  If you don't know what that is, you're not nerdy enough for this blog.  Sorry.  I'm going to have to ask you to leave.

If you do know what that is, then I'm going to have to ask you to get out of your house more often, and possibly get more exercise, while certainly eating more healthily.  As a result, I'm also going to have to ask you to leave.  Sorry.

But look on the bright side.  Stevenage, while not quite Newcastle, Manchester or Hull, still has enough burnt out cars to provide scrap metal aplenty for the ship.  They can make any number of mistakes (something you wouldn't often want to hear uttered around a space mission) and still have enough material to build plenty of spares.

There will be pieces of old Nissan flying around the planet yet, just you wait.

As an addendum, to address my attempt at writing a novel in November (an admirable website called nanowrimo taunted me into starting), I failed.  Quite miserably, I might add, with some 12,500 words written over the course of the month.  The story was about... well something that's for sure.  In those 12,500 words I only managed to establish three scenes within the structure, one of a prison, one of an airship, and one of the airship attacking the prison.  As such, I fear it was a terminal case of the BrÖntes, describing every minute occurrence.  Where it doesn't stack up is in the interest, as I am quite willing to read her work, I would be unwilling to subject a self-aware being to my story.  Quite inhumane.


Also, check this madness out.