I'm busy sketching yet another commission, heavily drenched in copious amounts of coffee and tea to keep my eyelids open. The cat finds it acceptable to continuously walk across my paper, his pointed little feet sliding across it while his face wears that smug expression that only cat people can truly acknowledge. I've got the news on in the background and for once, I'm not intent on picking the cat up and plonking him back down next to me on a neverending workout where, instead of a toned celebrity, many hopeful slimmers follow the example of a toned, lean, fly-eating, mouse killing, machine. "Simply annoy your owner, and lift and flex and bend and hoist!" Leon is evidently surprised by the lack of plonking today and finally settles, reverently showing me his derriere, lifting his leg like a practised yogi and applying tongue to buttocks in long rhythmic licks.
"We have lift off." An unmistakeable American accent drawls through the speakers of my computer, followed by raucous shreaking and clapping. As I turn my eye to the screen I see the rocket Falcon 9 via SpaceX flying the nest; the safety of the cradle it was carefully affixed to abandoned ceremoniously in a column of flame for open sky. This rocket belongs to none other than Elon Musk, and like a doting robin mother he cooes after his enormous overfed cuckoo chick as it spreads its wings and takes to the air.
He has that air of unbridled boyishness; the mischief and daring to do what others fear to do. Some might look at him in that wide eyed way that suggests he could spontaneously combust at any moment. I wouldn't be surprised. He's like a whisperer for dangerous objects, taming fire just enough to create fully functional flamethrowers 'just for fun'. Overall, he is just like that kid around the corner from your house as a teenager that your mother would forbid to hang out with.
"You'll probably end up getting hit by a car or falling out of a tree or getting caught on fire." But despite your mother's best efforts, you sneak out anyway to put a lighter to an aerosol can or draw a massive phallic symbol on the side of the council buildings.
Despite many who look at Elon Musk with instant dislike, I worship him. I find him addictive to listen to and to watch. He's taking the 80s Science Fiction daydreams and making them real. Real working machines with as much savagery for change as a Greenpeace activist on coke. Of course, many of his inventions are reworkings of pre-existing ideas; solar roof tiles have been around for nearly 10 or so years but their designs, he argues are flawed. If they are to be the pioneer for real change, to push the boundaries for environmentally friendly living beyond our wildest dreams, the designs need to mirror that. They need to be long lasting, look as slick as the well-oiled beard of the Sheik of Dubai and propose the idea that being eco can be more exciting than yet another Audi fuelled by dead dinosaur.
I am definitely excited by what Elon Musk will do next. As I understand it, he plans to create a hyperloop train that can travel at speeds of 760mph to link city to city with an average time from A to B of only 35 minutes. It is as if we're inside a Marvel film, and Wcanda has just declared trading rights for magnetic levitation devices and vibranium. Certainly something to get your Science-Fiction loving hearts fluttering.