As a kid in the late 1950s, I used to watch a programme on BBC called The Sky At Night. I didn't understand much of it, but enjoyed the presenter who got so excited about everything. That was my introduction to British astronomer Sir Patrick Moore, who sadly died last weekend, aged 89.
Ever since the show's first broadcast in 1957, he has been the voice of astronomy in Britain and amazingly only missed one show in 55 years. Although he didn't quite turn Britain into a nation of stargazers, he certainly got us looking up at the sky at night with a little bit more curiosity than trying to spot the Man in the Moon.
He was a classic British eccentric, with hair all over the place, tie askew, great bushy eyebrows and a quaint monocle which sometimes popped out when he got excited. He even played the xylophone. If you were making a movie and needed a nutty professor, he would have been ideal for the role.
The Guardian called him ''a slightly dotty boffin''. But he spoke with such passion and knowledge, you couldn't help but appreciate him. He became a true British institution, often mimicked by comedians, a true sign you have made it.
Moore's enthusiasm came close to getting me hooked on astronomy. As a kid, I used to go out in the back garden after dark and try to spot such fanciful things as the Milky Way, Pegasus and The Plough up there in the darkness. Alas, the only Plough I became an expert on a few years later was the pub just down the road.
Tea for two
Moore was a traditional Englishman. Asked how he would react if he actually ran into a ''little green man'' from outer space, he responded: ''I'd invite him in for a cup of tea.''
He was also a brave fellow, joining the Royal Air Force's Bomber Command as a navigator during World War II, having lied about his age. He was just 16.
His rather eccentric dress sense, often featuring tweed suits and bow ties, once earned him a fashion magazine award as the ''worst-dressed man on TV''.
While visiting Utah, a local greeted him with: ''Welcome to the Mormon state. We are quite different to the rest of America. You will find no swearing or drinking or wild women here.'' To which Moore replied: ''Then it's hardly worth coming, is it?''
Moore hated politicians, but did join the Monster Raving Looney Party where he was appointed Minister For Extra-Terrestrial Affairs.
Among Moore's best friends was Queen guitarist Brian May, who holds a PhD in astrophysics. In 2008 an asteroid, 52665 Brianmay, was named in honour of the guitarist and was believed to be at Moore's recommendation.
Eclipsed by the moon
The limitations of my own knowledge of space were exposed in Bangkok during the mid-1980s. There was considerable excitement over a pending lunar eclipse and on the evening in question I summoned my maid, Ms Yasothon, and her minions to gather in the garden to witness the event. So at 7.30pm they were all dutifully assembled to observe this memorable occasion.
I informed them that in the next few minutes the moon would disappear and they all stared at the night sky with admirable enthusiasm. But the moon didn't disappear. Naturally, after about five minutes of nothing happening they began to get a bit restless.
That's when Ms Yasothon's son, who was eight at the time, piped up: ''You won't see anything until after 8pm,'' he announced. ''That's what they said on television.'' I suspect he also added ''The nai doesn't know what he's talking about.''
They hung around a bit longer, but were getting very restless and started drifting away, leaving me alone with just the mosquitoes, cursing at the non-disappearing moon. Of course, as soon as they had left, the eclipse became visible, with no one to watch it but me. The only reward for my wretched efforts was dozens of mosquito bites.
Happy landing
Some years earlier, in July, 1969, I had watched Neil Armstrong and company landing on the moon at a noodle shop near my home in the Makassan area.
It was my regular eating establishment, primarily because everything cost only three baht, unfortunately not including the beer. The owner invited me and my colleague upstairs to watch the event and we sat on the floor in front of a flickering TV.
It might sound kind of stupid, but later that night I couldn't resist looking up at the moon, half-expecting to see Armstrong striding about clutching the star-spangled banner and munching on a Big Mac.
Songs from space
This has all prompted some pondering on the best pop songs about space travel. With Sting performing in Bangkok this past week, Walking On The Moon by the Police immediately sprung to mind. Coincidentally, also giving a concert here this week was Elton John, who is responsible for the haunting Rocket Man about a mission to mars.
But my favourite remains David Bowie's Space Oddity, released in 1969 to coincide with the moon landing. I don't think Moore was into that sort of music, but he no doubt would have related to Bowie's whimsical lyrics: ''Sitting in a tin can, far above the world.''
Contact PostScript via email at oldcrutch@hotmail.com.