The Paroles Of JK

Look into the night sky, and you see stars, if you are lucky. Except you don’t, of course, you see stars as they used to be. Look up at the moon and if you have picked a good night then you will see a brilliant dot of light close by it. That is Jupiter, except Jupiter is no longer there. It has moved on already; you are only seeing the brilliant after-image of a planet.

The point of this is to dispel the belief that space is small. It is a belief born of maps of the solar system hung on walls of physics classrooms everywhere. On these maps we are all practically neighbours; indeed, we should hardly be surprised if a Jovian (who might or might not be Jovial) popped over for a cup of sugar and a chat about Mrs Xzjhverhgv, down on Mars, what is she like, heard her husband’s been working late, if you know what I mean.

Which they won’t, of course, because Jovians don’t speak Mandarin. Or English. Or Spanish, in fact.

It is with this in mind - that the galaxy, and by extension the whole universe, is impossibly massive and not that Jovians are incredibly bad at Earth languages - that the tale of Daniel Accord has to be told.

It should also be kept in mind that Jovians are not real and, were they real, would probably find sugar poisonous.