Personal logs, delivery notes, survival warnings, music diaries, cleaning reports and official Eric Strudelhofen regulations from across the Space 2047 universe.
Music is the language of the universe, except on Tuesday when it is mostly feedback.
Invented a new genre called panic funk. Karen says it already existed whenever I enter a room.
Misplaced guitar again. Suspect gravity, Brian, or a very ambitious cupboard.
Recorded a song with the engine room. The chorus exploded beautifully.
Nouala is free, provided everyone does exactly what I say before I say it.
All spoons must be admired for at least three seconds before use.
Anyone taller than Eric must crouch during official photographs.
Any suspicious pastry is property of the state until I have finished eating it.
They are friendly, affectionate and catastrophically bitey.
Space Cheese distracts MAAM aliens for exactly nine seconds. Use those seconds wisely.
Do not accept hugs from anything with more than two elbows and a bib.
Karen has negotiated a treaty based on snacks, distance and shouting.
Royal patience is infinite. Mine, sadly, is not.
Never accept a crown from a planet that also offers you a receipt.
Citizens of space, please stop naming moons after lunch items.
I have reviewed Gerald’s latest song and declared it almost legal.
I do not chase dirt. Dirt flees me.
Brian described the floor as clean enough. Brian has been reported.
Robot underpants discovered in vent shaft. Sanitisation ongoing.
Sixteen teacups entered low orbit. Recovery net deployed.
If Brian says it is probably fine, put your helmet on.
Gerald tried to tune his guitar using the engine. The engine now plays jazz.
Crew evacuated in six seconds. Brian returned for his moustache comb and ruined the average.
Cedric opened a crate labelled Definitely Not Dangerous. It was dangerous.
Romance in space requires confidence, oxygen and a reliable escape pod.
If someone calls themselves irresistible, check for hidden tentacles and unpaid parking fines.
Three planets have requested diplomatic training after Susan winked at their ambassadors.
Never kiss an alien until you know where its mouth officially begins.
A successful delivery is one where nobody sues the moustache.
Collected vinegar near the event horizon. Lost two chips, one receipt and most of Tuesday.
My moustache was mistaken for a diplomatic flag by a traffic warden moon. Negotiations remain itchy.
Parcel asked to speak to my manager. I promoted Cedric temporarily and hid behind the cargo bay.
The cargo bay is not haunted. It is administratively unsettled.
A box marked Fragile bit the forklift. Forklift expected to recover emotionally.
Found one moon, two spoons and a small legal department behind the emergency biscuits.
The cheese has started humming. Gertrude says this is unhygienic.
