I'll just come out and say it. I love Star Trek. I have to love it. I've always loved it. It has been my friend, my conscience, my succour in times of strife. It has made me think, made me cry, and made me a worshipper of the luscious Garrett Wang. The one constant in my topsy-turvy, work-a-day world has been my life-long adoration for the United Federation of Planets. I won't know what to do if that ever stops.

How can I be a successful geek if I no longer love Star Trek?

My tawdry affair with Mr. Roddenberry's favourite child began in my impressionable pre-school days, with a viewing of The Motion Picture. I was so entranced by the vastness, the wonder, the jewel-speckled brilliance of space, and the beauty of that big, white starship, that I was held, spellbound. Okay, so watching it again, now that I can read and even dress myself, I recognise it for the long, tedious, boring -- did I mention long? -- travesty it is. But, then, it was endlessly fascinating.

I guess to truly appreciate the magic of grown-ups in pyjamas you have to be four years old, and wearing pyjamas yourself.

Like all Trek fans (though, with no Internet at the time, I had no idea just how many there were) I lived for nothing else but the release of each new movie. Then the late Eighties, long may they live on in story and song, brought forth the all new adventures of an all new crew in an all new century. I couldn't bear to miss an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation, as it brought into my life tales of warring planets, omnipotent beings and a whole lotta time travel.

Plus, that Wesley Crusher sure was cute.

The early Nineties produced the beginning of Deep Space Nine -- back when Benjamin Sisko had more hair and less rank pips -- then, two years later, Voyager. Ah, Voyager. I was truly living in a golden age, with the prospect of a big screen Next Generation outing, as well as two hours of Trek each week.

But then.... it all started to go wrong.