I can remember where I was when they landed on the moon. I was at home in London with my brother: my parents had gone to Ceredigion for a holiday and we were home alone. Alone that is with much of the world watching grainy pictures on black and white television.
We watched the landing and were so amazed and excited that we decided to drive to Cellan to share the experience with Mum and Dad. Why did we do that: absolutely no idea – it just seemed like a good thing to do at the time.
And boy o’ boy did we drive: 4 hours and 15 minutes from East Finchley to Cellan (I said I remembered it well) and that was the second world record that day, one for the Americans and one for us.
What a moment, what a giant step. How did they do that with less processing power than I’ve got in my mobile phone. With the wisdom of hindsight though it was an amazing night.
But over time the dream faded. Where was the exploitation? Was this the American equivalent of Concorde? Was it worth it? It sure as hell was worth it just to see my Mum’s face when we arrived in Cellan in time for Breakfast.