liACA.\ ILAN

ci* MALT'

COMPETITION

Hotel Galactica

Jaspistos

IN COMPETITION NO. 2113 you were invited to supply extracts from the diary of a future tourist visiting a hotel in space 300 miles above the Earth.

The race to establish the first `spotel', as it's already horribly called, is between the Japanese and the Germans. The German one will be a 490-ft-diameter ring from which sleeping chambers for four people will be suspended. It will rotate on its axis twice a minute so that a third of Earth's gravity it simulated. 6,000 Germans have already booked into the Hotel Galactica — price £180,000 each, though so far they've only had to pay a deposit of £300. Wunderbar!

The prizewinners, printed below, get £25 each, and the bottle of The Macallan Single Malt Highland Scotch whisky goes to Chris Tingley.

Monday. Pressure drop again. Very devil to catch soap. Pressure returned suddenly, swal- lowed my toothpaste. Breakfast eggs from cloned in-house chickens. Shells identical shape, 12 speckles each — oddly depressing. Jenkins is a thorough pest; thumbcap transmitter crashed, trying to do earth business on old 2010 mobile. Took phone while he was in spaceloo, paid tech- no to slip it through master valve and into orbit.

Tuesday. Old-time party planned for tonight.

Saw Guide Andromeda opening box of gamma- PVC Spock ears. Fear the worst. Evening: Fears confirmed. Jollied into painful Dalek conga. Wednesday: Lifecraft drill. Fresh rumours of asteroid collision, especially when virtual orches- tra. started playing. Tried special hot drink: GM cocoa with coffee mutation option ('just add Cassiopeia Capsule'). Wish I hadn't. Wigging from hotel security over Jenkins's mobile (techno spotted, talked to save skin). Seems I breached joint Washington-Brussels off-globe guidelines.

Instant fine. Petty. (Chris Tingley) Sunday. 'Relax for a week in space!' the Saga ad trumpeted. Who were they kidding? Problems from the start, with blast-off from Reigate delayed for three euro-hours. Leaves on the launchpad, according to Mr and Mrs Charles, who are experienced space-people. No nosh

until in orbit. Devilled egg. Mrs Charles main- tains she can usually coax ten squeezes from every tube, but Mary only got eight from hers, and one of those ended up on the ceiling.

Thursday, Mary's unhappy again. She's rap- ping off about the bathroom facilities, or lack of. Personally I quite like perching on top of a vacu- um cleaner. It's when you forget to switch on that you're in trouble. Unless things improve tomorrow, Mary's threatening to decamp on the 13.59 Connex Economyhop. I've warned her that after sustaining a faulty chip yesterday, the 13.59 had to abort over Redhill, but even this

appalling prospect.... (Alan Surridge) Days have become meaningless. No idea what we're eating. Young Daniel's gone mad and Helga has lapsed into a coma. They nearly killed the travel guide and he's permanently sobbing. I've no sympathy — I'd throw the bugger out myself. Freda is pregnant, would you believe, and we all know who the father is. Everyone wit- nessed the lurid conception. We'll be here for the birth at the rate the ship's travelling. They've told us we're in a hyperbolic not an elliptical tra- jectory, so we're heading for Ceres. They've promised another space-bus but I'll believe that when I see it. There was a crunch of metal just now which probably means we're in the meteor belt they said would come nowhere near us. To make matters worse, the home monitor flashes 'Merry Christmas' every ten seconds.

(Frank McDonald)

Tuesday. Satisfying, as we rise into orbit, to reflect that we are pioneers of man's leap into space. Also satisfying to remember the look on the faces of the Grant-Pedersens from down the road when we told them. We never stop hearing about their yak-trekking in Bhutan. On arrival, take up the complimentary pedicure offer. A mistake — never underestimate the dangers of weightless toenail clippings.

Wednesday. Our first dinner in orbit. I got used to sucking the St Emilion through a straw, but there are other techniques to learn. It's not so much a matter of catching the waiter's eye as catching his foot before he floats out of range.

Thursday. To the observation deck to try the digital Earth viewscope. Just type in your post- code for a stunning aerial view of your neigh- bourhood. Alarmed to notice the Grant- Pedersens are constructing their own launchpad.

(Christopher Bazalgette)

Day One. Official at Luton airport explains delay: 'teething troubles'. K. protests failure in second week is v. disappointing. She threatens to

tell Hogg-Porringers who, 'as consequence, may prefer Sidmouth.

Day Three. Spent yesterday changing rooms. Underlined premium was paid for Moon view and twin beds, not one or other. Gravity-control failure meant K's bath emptied inwards, not out- wards. Quarrel with K. over whether staff willing but incompetent (my view) or unwilling and incompetent (hers) maintained in restaurant with subsequent loss of invitation to Captain's table.

Day Four. At life-capsule drill met woman who was at school with Marjorie Hogg-Porringer. K. complained to purser about non-appearance of complimentary drinks before dinner. Error acknowledged by free half-bottle of champagne on table for two unexpectedly now allocated to us.

Day Seven. Search for K. continuing. Shame if has to miss fancy-dress party. Captain insists, despite evidence, falling overboard is impossible.

(Fergus Porter)

No. 2116: Paracrostic

This is a poem in which the initial letters in each line reproduce the letters of the first line in their correct order. This is the first time I've thrown you this challenge. Please write one (maximum 14 lines). Entries to 'Competition No. 2116' by 16 December.