I'm not the first to have observed that the fascinating and moving rescue of the Chilean miners has been reminiscent of watching a moon landing. A grainy capsule, images being broadcast from an eerie, alien world, except this is down (almost half a mile) instead of up (250 000 miles). I can't help but worry for the last man to be rescued, waiting on his own for Phoenix to come sliding back for him. I've been thinking of Zola's Germinal, which we read in our second year at uni. I recall re-reading it for an exam, my cousin and I had gone to a caravan in the Trossachs for Easter and would go jogging first thing, study all day and get tipsy at night in front of the cosy stove. Those were the days. Good luck, brave miners, I hope by morning you are all 33 safely out, back with your loved ones. It must be sweet agony for those still waiting, 13 I think. I read this piece in Indy with interest. The book deal is already being sewn up. And Oakley - who donated the sunglasses to the emerging miners - are getting major free advertising. I am curious to know how long they have to wear dark glasses for, how long does it take to readjust? And not to dampen the joy of it all, but ... I hope these miners make a fortune from selling their stories to the media. They deserve it.