HOUSTON, we have a problem.
An intergalactic pyjama party of excitable female celebrities appears to be hurtling towards space.
Oh wait, it’s even worse than we thought . . . now they’re coming back to .
As go, and her fellow NASAssists on their Mission To Nowhere was quite the spectacle.
Here was a group of some of the most privileged women on the planet being shot into orbit to become the most privileged women in space.
Six ladies who launch on a pointless 11-minute vanity voyage that was over and done with before you had a chance to register, no that really was pop star looking like one of those Lycra-clad lasses from the Cannonball Run.
Meanwhile, we were all supposed to believe this launch was not a $150,000-a-head joyride for six rich chicks in designer jumpsuits but a giant leap for womankind.
“It’s an important moment for the future of commercial space travel and for humanity in general and for women all around,”; gushed Perry in full competition-winner mode.
She went on to inform us she had felt “super-connected to love”; 62 miles above her loyal fanbase.
“I think this experience has shown me you never know how much love is inside of you,”; she declared.
It was just one of an asteroid field of affirmations from our star trekkers so vomit-inducing they would even make cringe.
Much was made of the fact that “social entrepreneur”; Amanda Nguyen had become the first Vietnamese woman in space.
Ditto, aerospace engineer Aisha Bowe, who had finally put the beyond the blue.
Two claims that made you wonder if we’d all been missing the most important aspect of exploring space.
That being: To ensure that someone from every country on the planet has spent some time above it performing a weightless somersault while holding a daisy and simultaneously shrieking at glass-shattering decibels.
What next? Will press gangs be sent to far-flung places like Togo and the Federated States of Micronesia to enforce global compliance?
And women only, please! Oh gimme a break.
It’s no wonder Perry and her pampered passengers’ aerospace antics were quick to be lampooned — most hilariously by women, from comedian to singer .
Along with all the cheap (but funny) shots, such as the burger chain asking on , “can we send her back”; were some more profound jabs.
Model spoke for many when she harrumphed: “You say you care about Mother Earth, and you’re going up in a spaceship that is built and paid for by a company that is single-handedly destroying the planet.”; Ouch!
But of course the real reason for this week’s heavenly hi-jinks is far from rocket science.
And it had little to do with women’s achievements and a whole lot to do with . . .  you guessed it: Men. And two men in particular.
Billionaire boys’ toys
Monday’s launch was just the latest instalment in the seemingly never-ending cock rocket contest between , who paid for this orbital odyssey (and whose fiancée was, of course, on board) and his fellow maniacal manchild, .
You’ll remember Musk’s previous missions, like the time he sent up one of his electric cars with a dummy in the driving seat.
OK, dude.
This is what space travel has become — a celestial train set for men so rich they literally have money to burn (a tank of rocket fuel costs at least $200,000).
Both Bezos and Musk like to dress up their billionaire boys’ toys playtime as some sort of benevolent gesture to the rest of the planet.
As if the problems of all the world’s poor and downtrodden will somehow evaporate overnight when Musk drives a Tesla on Mars’s first motorway.
Or when Bezos delivers his first package to ET’s wheelie bin.
No — move over, cocaine — commercial space travel is now God’s way of telling you you’ve got too much money.
So I’m sorry to knock you off that “super-connected”; nebula of love, Katy.
But with your cynical stunt you just completed yet another giant step . . . for a man.
PS ALIEN life may exist on a planet  729,000,000,000,000 miles away, according to boffins from Cambridge University.
Which makes for a great round two for Perry and her pals.
The trip will take at least 248 years to complete, there and back.
So by the time they return to Mother Earth we’ll all be dead and won’t have to listen to how bloody “empowering”; they found it.
Votes must be Erned – just ask Nigel
OUR survey this week on what people think of our party leaders didn’t surprise me one bit.
has more charisma than the other three – don’t forget Ed Davey! – put together.
Coupled with a solid grasp of what’s actually going wrong with this country, and a thick enough hide to actually spell it out, he is an attractive solution for many.
Of course, Nigel has a whole heap of problems to overcome – not least all those nasty in his party – before he can even dream of building that smoking shed at Number 10.
But I can see why he’s giving the likes of Tory leader the heebie-jeebies.
She is the polar opposite of tab-puffing, pint-swilling “man of the people”; Farage.
I’ve no doubt Kemi means well, but she often comes across as so uptight she makes look like a barrel of laughs.
The plain-speaking MP for North West Essex will say she doesn’t care about such trivial matters.
But I think the electorate do.
In politics, selling the sizzle can be just as important as selling the sausage.
Look at the affection Boris Johnson had in the Red Wall seats she urgently needs to win over.
Likeability matters.
Kemi can be as tough on this, that and the other as she likes, but she needs to find a bit of the X Factor before voters will give her their “X”;.
BITTER SWEET TIMES
HOW sad that youngsters find beer that is called “bitter”; or “mild”; too challenging.
They need it watered down and given a jazzier name, according to Wye Valley Brewery, which has just given one of its ales the gibberish moniker “Pyoneer”;.
A session on the bitter or mild is a rite of passage.
If you can stomach a beverage that looks like Worzel Gummidge’s bath water, you’ll be set up for any other drinks that may come your way in later life.
Growing up, I guzzled gallons of Stones Bitter at my local in Derbyshire.
A few years necking that and I was ready for anything the barman had to offer.
Just in time for my 18th birthday.
BRAVE FRED’S LESSON
HEARTBREAKING to watch in the new trailer for his documentary about his life-changing 2022 horror smash.
He was a very lucky lad indeed.
And it has been a gruelling comeback for the former cricket dynamo as he slowly pieces back together his handsome face.
But in spite of all this misery, we haven’t heard a single “woe is me”; comment from the no-nonsense Lancastrian.
His determination to bounce back and selflessly help others through his excellent Field Of Dreams TV series was inspiring.
Bravery and positivity – that’s a lesson to us all.
POOR old having to witness get booted out of the after such a nail-biting game.
Still, it’s all part of and parcel of being a football fan – for every soaring high there is a soul-sapping low just around the corner (or six if, like me, you follow ).
But there is one part of his football education that needs some urgent attention.
He was spotted at Tuesday’s game wearing a half ’n’ half scarf.
No proper supporter would be seen dead with one of them.
Time to go slo
I’VE just returned from a delightful week in , also known as “wherever that is”; to some folk who I told where I was going.
Among the many highlights were the charming dot matrix motorway announce-ments that attempted to regulate drivers’ speed.
One in particular tickled me: “Slovenia is a small country. What’s the hurry?”; Well, quite.
There is really nothing worse than all those BMW and Audi drivers hurtling along at 100mph, flashing their lights at you for daring to drive at the speed limit.
Don’t they realise that the Complete Ar*ehole Convention they are in such a rush to get to can’t start without them?
