Fly me to the moon - but don't crash the Vauxhall Cavalier

A masters in Nelson Mandela may be jolly handy if you apply for jobs in the Guardian, chair of handlebar support or something, but to be honest falling off a wall would be more to boast about than 15 hours a week for three years and all the PC bull you can swallow.
Which is why this BBC headline attracted me: NASA successfully crashes two spacecraft into the moon.
Ah ha, so this is the definition of success 2009, crashing.
Hell and all, I've got a BSc in crashing.
Wishing, as all young men do, to start at the top and work down, my first write-off was a Vauxhall Cavalier Sporthatch (it may help some of you to take a motoring history module at this point) which I disposed of on behalf of the Luton press fleet by turning it on its roof in Wigan.
I had just returned from the Zandvoort skid school in Holland, which shows the value of a good education.
Next I slammed a MkV Cortina up a woman's rear end while hailing an errant cyclist via the sunroof (manual) before moving on to a brilliant career as navigator in a series of on-launch escapades.
These included the total demolition of a 2CV in Almeria (Toyota), t-bone torment in a Fiat driven by the top Yorkshire PR gamekeeper at Kia while he was still with the poachers, before getting back behind the wheel to take out the cars of four neighbours when I lost purchase turning left in my Hi-Lux during a blizzard.
By comparison bombing two orbiters in to the Moon is about as difficult as whacking a bull in the arse with an axe.
But the this is an American mission. And people have said there was little visible evidence of a flash-bang to accompany the alleged wallop.
So any day now we can expect a complaint to the United Nations from Mars about a totally unprovoked US attack.