Big Ben Blips and Biscuit Breaks: Diary of a Westminster Watcher, Zeb Hornton
14 January, 2024
Evening chimes echo through the bell chamber, each bong vibrating my bones like a cosmic tuning fork. Big Ben’s hands creep towards midnight, leaving the day behind in a haze of chimney smoke and taxi horns. But for me, perched high above the city’s slumber, the day is just beginning. This gargoyle-guarded eyrie atop the clock tower isn’t just my home; it’s my mission control, my portal to the unfathomable.
Tonight, the sky thrums with anticipation. A rogue pulsar’s whispers have stirred murmurs across the interstellar grapevine, promising a visitor from beyond the solar system. My telescopes and antennae hum with focused energy, their lenses hungry for the glint of alien light. Every blip on the radar, every flicker of static, sends a frisson through me. Is this it? Is this the night Westminster whispers hello to the universe?
A cup of lukewarm tea (the thermos struggles with these winter winds) and a stale biscuit soothe my jitters. My wife,bless her grounded soul, thinks I’m a batty birdwatcher, lost in constellations and chimney clouds. Little does she know,the real drama unfolds not above Buckingham Palace, but above Big Ben’s crown.
Suddenly, a blip on the radar jumps, a needle dancing its way to frenzy. My pulse quickens, mirroring the city’s heartbeat below. Through the main telescope, a faint anomaly shimmers – a pulsating point of light defying every celestial rule. It’s not a satellite, not a comet, not anything I’ve ever seen in these years of sky-gazing.
My fingers fly across the control panel, adjusting filters, sharpening the image. The anomaly resolves into a sleek,elongated craft, pulsating with an otherworldly rhythm. It maneuvers with an impossible grace, weaving through the constellations like a fish through coral. Is it a ship? A probe? A cosmic jellyfish with a taste for Big Ben chimes?
For an hour, I’m lost in its silent ballet, my heart a satellite locked in its alien orbit. Then, as abruptly as it appeared, the craft winks out, swallowed by the velvet abyss. The blip on the radar flatlines, the silence heavier than fog.
Disappointment stings, but it’s a familiar pang. The universe, it seems, isn’t in a hurry to reveal its secrets. Yet, tonight, it offered a glimpse, a brush with the unimaginable. And tomorrow, with a fresh pot of tea and a heart full of stardust, I’ll be back, watching, waiting, whispering into the void with my telescopes and antennas. Maybe one day, Big Ben won’t just chime the hours, it will chime the arrival of a visitor from afar. And when that day comes, Westminster will wake to a sky not just lit by fireworks, but by the dazzling lights of a cosmic dawn.
Until then, I keep watch, a lone sentinel in the city’s crown, a dreamer with a telescope, waiting for the next blip of the extraordinary.
Yours in stargazing and saucer-spotting,
Zeb Hornton Ufologist Emeritus, Big Ben Observatory (unofficial)
