Dear The Police
Re: Walking On The Moon
To be perfectly frank, I am exasperated at having to write to a pop group featuring an ex-schoolteacher with so many corrections to your popular song of the above title.
Let us begin with your utterance “walking back from your house, walking on the moon”. First and foremost, although I am prudent and fortunate enough to own my personal residence, I can assure you that I do not own any property on the lunar surface, or for that matter anywhere not situated on Earth, so I am rather perplexed by your statement. If you are however intimating that you are intending to travel on foot from my residence to Earth's only natural satellite, I would question whether or not you are aware of the logistics and (if you will excuse the witticism) “lunacy” of such an expedition.
The distance between the moon and my house is approximately 240 000 miles; using the rationale that there are 8766.1536 hours in a calendar year, and assuming an average walking speed of 3mph (disregarding for the present the impossibility of travelling through space by this means), your excursion would take 7.01298 years to complete, by which time you would have more than likely expired from exhaustion, malnutrition, and psychosis. A slightly more realistic scenario, factoring in extra time for sleep (assumed to be an average of 6 hours per night), sustenance (a further hour per day) and the assumption that the weight of your “space-suit” (assumed at 400 pounds, not accounting for the extra initial 973.9 kilos required for food storage based on daily rations of 100 grams) would slow your progress to an average of 2mph, resulting in an overall journey time of 26.876 years.
A further, falsetto, fear is subsequently expressed; you evidently “hope (your) legs don't break, walking on the moon”. I assume that you are alluding to injury simply from travelling on foot in this particular environment. Assuming that your lower limbs have not already been damaged by the considerable weight of your attire and backpack by the end of this hypothetical journey, I am flabbergasted that I should have to furnish a former student of Northumbria University with the information that zero gravity has no perceptible impact on human bone.
E minus, Sumner.
If, however, the composition in question is a wry simile, and you are observing that walking back from my house is akin to your idea of the sensations you would feel if “walking on the moon”, then I am deeply shamed. You are obviously familiar with the fact that my residence is situated in a private road which is in a very sorry state of disrepair. This is due to an ongoing dispute with the residents' association as to the fairest way to divide the cost of resurfacing between the eighteen freeholders responsible for its maintenance. Its hazardous pot-holes, uneven tarmac and gaping cracks do put one in mind of the condition of the similarly neglected landing site in the seminal Apollo 11 footage.
So...upon what would you like comment?
The composer's efforts were undeniably fruitful enough without all of that edifying research. Listen again to the lyric. Stingo had no intention of walking to the moon. He was already there, walking ON it. Still is last time I checked.