Britain's entry into the Space Industry has (just like the dear Tower of Babel) suffered a set-back. The attempt to send up a rocket, with lots of sweet little satellites, came to naught. And the attempt was made from Newquay Airport, just up the hill from the ancient Carmelite tranquillity of Lanhearne!
When I was about eleven, I was being taught English by a Mr Packenham (nickname Pacco). I used, in one of my essays, the verb "commence". He instructed me always, if possible, to use an English word, such as "begin", rather than to reach for important-sounding French words.
When the important-sounding people in Newquay (they are something, I think, to do with Virgins ... or should I write Maidens?) had to reveal that their rocket hadn't worked, they announced that it had suffered an anomaly. Poor Poppets.
I could never have worked in the Space Industry.
Thank you, Mr Packenham, ubicumque sis, for all that you taught me. I haven't forgotten it or you.