UNDER THE PLOUGH

I was up late the other night, out in the park after sun-down. I was looking for the comet.

They said you could see it about 10 degrees below The Plough. I found The Plough, its stars twinkling brightly. It was elevated high above the horizon, way over the trees. But there was no comet; there wasn't even a smudge of a comet, splashed across the night.

It was dark. The sun had left a band of orange, spiked with the silhouetted shapes of trees and rooftops. Above the thin remnant, light blue turned to deep blue; deep blue turned to velvet, and velvet to black.

I wondered whether it was still too bright - perhaps that light pollution was hiding the comet from view? It certainly wasn't as clear as the photographs I'd seen of it sparking over Stonehenge and Durdle Door. It should be as bright as the moon, if Instagram is to be believed.

The wind blew gently in the dark trees, rushing soft across a park of shadows. I was the only one there - quite safe beneath The Plough.

What's the point of a harbinger of doom, if nobody can see it? You'd think, wouldn't you, that if God were going to send a disaster-warning, He'd make it a little more obvious? How did all those medieval people see it and not mistake it for a cloud, or just eye-wobble? After a while, even my eyes were playing tricks on me from looking up into the sky too long. I could easily have seen circles and dots up there.

There was one point actually, when I had to remind myself that comets don't flash regularly on the starboard side or leave double vapour trails; pretty sure that one had a more man-made explanation.

I went home and did a bit more work. About an hour later, when it was fully dark, I decided I would switch all the lights out, open the curtains and look north once again to search for the comet.

I threw open the bedroom window. After my eyes had adjusted and I could make out the ends of the gardens, I looked up and saw The Plough - now a little brighter, but half-hidden by the trees it had moved behind. I rubbed my eyes. There, underneath that glittering constellation, was a little smudge of cloud, barely visible, like a whisper of a nebula, or a strand of candyfloss. If I'd had a telescope, I'd perhaps have taken it out to the park to make sure, but all I had were tired eyes.

There was a cool breeze. Jupiter was sparkling in orange, just behind some trees as they waved. I yawned and shut the window, ready for bed.

No comet, no doom then. The rest of the universe seemed entirely in keeping, safe and pleasant. And with that, I thought, I'm probably quite happy.