My great-grandmother remembers just being able to peer out through the bulkhead - waist-height on an adult. Her father pointed out at the blue-green sphere floating below them.
"What do you think of your new home then? What shall we call it?"
My great-grandmother, who had mislaid her robot bear that morning and was feeling fractious, screwed up her face, stamped her small foot and turned away from the view.
"Don't like it - wrong wrong wrong!"
Her father, used to the volatile moods of small girls, laughed and replied, "Wrong it is!".
Things never really got much more mature after that.
