Just because you don't believe that I wanna dance

So...I'm home. Early. And with more of the NHS's supplies attached to my head.

We went to arrest someone who was known to be violent (I mean, to be fair, we mainly arrest people who've tried to kill someone...so it's not like any of them are going to welcome us with baked goods and a cuppa.) Anyway, we went with lots of help. Four of us, four uniform officers, all for one man.

But he didn't disappoint. Went absolutely postal, shaking us off like rag dolls.

He tried to run into the back garden, but, amazingly, we'd thought of that...so I burst out of the back door to find four officers clinging to him like ants on an elephant... and joined in, naturally. And ended up making close friends with a very badly made greenhouse.

So, by the time the CS gas and tasers were flying, I was mainly out of it, really.

We ended with one arrest, one fractured wrist (uniform), one frankenstein's-monster-ish head (me), one black eye and fat nose (Sal), plenty of bruises and scrapes and lots of streaming eyes from the CS...

Anyway, paramedics and even more officers showed up, took us all off to our various destinations...John showed up, because Sal called him - we weren't that far from home, so he arrived while the paramedics were busy mummifying my head. Followed us to the hospital, then followed the panda which dropped me home. Staples in the scalp mean putting on a bike helmet isn't happening for a while.

And eventually, after a lot of staples in A&E I was sent off home with him to care for me. Got to pretend I was a doctor though, in a fetching set of scrubs, as my suit is a. ruined and b. forensic evidence.

Mrs H fetched Sherlock, who has announced that staples are 'better than stitches'. I'm not 100% sure on how the hierarchy of medical fastenings runs...probably...sticky tape, glue, stitches, staples? He hasn't seen mine, as they are currently under a ridiculous sticky dressing which I'm sure nurses only put on my head for a laugh. But John thoughtfully took pictures at the hospital, so he was somewhat mollified.

He also showed me this - which is rather cool.

Anyway, John's now having great fun looking after me....honest...perfect patient, me. I'm apparently playing a game of 'the floor is lava' that I didn't sign up to, because every time I try to get off the sofa he's there, stopping me. Although, thus far, he hasn't catheterised me...so I must stop writing this and go and wee out some of the 20 cups of tea he's made me drink so far ;) Later on I might even let him pick some scabs out of my hair..

I'm not the man they think I am at home.

Well, we lose Mycroft today, off back to school after a lovely long time at home. So tonight the place will be empty of dogs, large teenagers, stuff, things and the fridge will remain full for slightly longer... although to be fair, he's been bringing us lots of treats home from work, when he was there.

Here's the first lot of florentines Sherlock and I made. We have somewhat refined our recipe since, and added in some pre-toasting of nuts. But still, they tasted good, even without any of the right ingredients.

I think we're going to make some more in a bit, so Mycroft can take them back to school with him.

The policemen they're acting so tough.

The missing criminal, I'm glad to say, has been apprehended. He tried to leave the country, but for once, happily, someone was actually watching at the port, and they nabbed him. It's not often our ports are really watched, but hey, worked this time.

Sherlock has discovered that there is some form of school trip in the offing, to celebrate the end of term. I think there are options, but he has firmly chosen some sort of water-based adventure. He wants to go sailing, but as far as John's investigative work has gone, it seems to be canoeing that he'll actually do. He'll still love it, because his lust for life is insatiable, which is something to be seen. And envied, on occasion.

He found this earlier, and eagerly showed me when I got home. I wonder what we'll do that lasts that long...not much. It does make me wish, sometimes, that I made things, instead of....whatever it is that I do.

It's bloody hot here at the moment. Hot and sticky and generally unpleasant. But they say storms are in the offing, maybe at the weekend. Let's hope so. John says as much as he's watering the allotment every day it's still looking a bit droopy.

I was going to take tomorrow off, but now I've got court for the scrote we picked up. So I might take a bit of next week off instead. And then, shockingly, it's the summer holidays and there will be hours and hours of Sherlock to entertain. And we haven't even thought about a holiday yet.

Jess is two tomorrow. We haven't seen her and Rach for ages.

Is it worth the aggravation, To find yourself a job when there's nothing worth working for?

It's Mycroft's first day at work tomorrow. They're going to see how he gets on, and if he's happy to, he's going to work the weekend too, to help with the rush.

If he doesn't feel ready, he'll just work weekdays for now, starting before the lunch rush until they close. But I've a feeling he'll do fine.

He's got a little apron to wear, and a black waistcoat, white shirt, black trousers - looks very smart! He actually seems sad not to be wearing a tie though, odd boy :)

Obviously we're all thinking about the freebies...I mean, wishing him well.

Sherlock already wants to visit. Which has led to low-level bickering of the sort only siblings can manage to keep going for so long.


In the allotment, our beans are growing up, our tomatoes are shooting away now, and even our spring onions, which everyone doubted, seem to be doing okay.

Lettuce is just an ongoing battle.


Work is really eating at me at the moment. I can't tell you all anything about the op, but...it's not much fun. And although I'm happy that I'm the right person to run the op, and when we catch the guy, it will be very much for the good, I'm not enjoying it.


When I was younger, people used to call me a 'pretty boy'. And I can't pretend I didn't use that, sometimes, to my advantage. But I definitely grew to hate it, too. What it was used as shorthand for. And when I joined the force, it changed, but people still thought I was younger, less experienced, than I was. People didn't take me seriously, I guess it boiled down to. Everyone always says coppers are getting younger, so I suppose having a young face didn't help. Didn't help with my confidence either, at first, especially with my background. Like I said to DW the other day, I felt like a fraud, for many reasons - my background, my sexuality, some of my ... thoughts on the people we locked up, the people we dealt with. Of course, when everyone's on refs talking about the scum down the local estate, the slag who's been sexually assaulted by the drunk boyfriend, you don't get to fight back, to say it could have been any one of us, because that's not how it works.

Of course now, now I'm more comfortable in my own skin, now I have the rank, I can speak up, and I do. And maybe sometimes that's the only way you can win the battles, by doing what you can, when you can, and accepting there are some fights it's not worth picking.

There were definitely times I thought I was in the wrong place. But I suppose whenever I really thought about anything else I could be doing, I just knew this was where I should be. And I knew I would never forgive myself if I gave it up. But it could easily have been the other way - knowing it wasn't right, and setting out on a new path.

Anyway, didn't quite mean to get sidetracked by all that. And now Sherlock is hanging off me wanting fruit with ice cream and John is trying to untie a knot in Maf's favourite fishy toy whilst she valiantly tries to kill it.

And here's a page John showed me earlier, to cheer me up. Can't believe the cheek of the florist though!! They must read this blog ;)

Dirty old river, must you keep rolling

We're trying to find two suspects at the moment. We have issued notices to the public, which means we get a lot of phonecalls which are no help at all. And hopefully one or two which will actually help.

More excitingly, I decided we should all have a day by the seaside, and booked us a hotel and stuff. It's just after Valentine's, and the first day of Mycroft's half term.

The hotel I chose just happens to be attached to a little coffee shop, who have their own roastery locally. Obviously that didn't influence my choice. At all.

Sherlock immediately began looking things up - last time we went he was, in his words, only 'small'. And not quite so quick to Google everything. He has found this:

It's the old electric railway, which ran up on stilts to keep it out of the sea. It was nicknamed 'Daddy Long Legs'. Sadly it doesn't exist any more, which Sherlock is currently protesting wildly about. We've said if the weather is okay we'll go and try to find the tracks in the rock.

The weather hasn't been okay for the past 18 months, so... not much of a promise.


Our sofa arrived, and has been thoroughly tested now - it's good. Comfy, long enough to lie on, big enough for us all to sit on, the cushions have been approved for fort-building.

And now I've got paperwork to do, and a husband who probably needs a mug of tea, and a Sherlock who apparently needs a hot milk and an ice cream...

Also, there's a Tube strike starting tomorrow. Sherlock is very excited, because he is inventing places he needs to go which will require him to go on the back of the bikes. So there's two public service announcements in one - Tube Strike, Excitable Young Boy On FME's Bike.

But If This Ever Changing World In Which We're Living, Makes You Give In And Cry

Worked late. Wanted to get on and interview a suspect we'd found inconveniently late on in the shift.

Came home to find the flat at DefCon1, with some sort of cold war of glaring going on.

Apparently Sherlock climbed on the back of the sofa, the sofa decided that was above and beyond it's call of duty...one large crunch later and Sherlock was on the floor, and the sofa is...well...not exactly sofa-shaped any more.

This is partly because Sherlock is no longer a little waif. He's a strapping young lad. And partly because the sofa is probably older than him.

Up side, we're getting a new sofa... downside, we currently don't have one.

Anyway, Sherlock blamed the sofa, John blamed Sherlock, the sofa remained silent, I blamed...me, probably, and told Sherlock he wouldn't be watching any more programme likes the one last night, if he can't behave the next day. So he decided he blamed me too. And a degu (won't say which one), for 'probably eating some of the sofa and making it weaker'. And Mycroft, for sitting on the sofa...ever.

Now Sherlock is sulkily in bed. And I am attempting to massage the frown creases from John's forehead.


What else... Mycroft is home at the weekend. We may or may not own a sofa by then... more room for everyone, if not? But most of us will have to sit on the floor...

Work is...work. Some good, some bad. I have to go on a firearms refresher, which is...well, inevitable.  Given I've barely had to use my skills, it's not too bad, I suppose. It's come in handy, so can't complain.

Good news is, my ankle survived a run...well...slow jog, the other night. As long as I'm careful, it seems fine. And don't do any silly sudden direction changes or anything.

Oh, and Sherlock's volunteered us to clean the pond up...which is kind of him... and get it ready for all the critters to turn up in the spring.


Right...I'm going to....not sit on the sofa.

I must disagree, oh no sir, I must say, you're wrong

Evening all, hope you're not feeling too sick after eating all the leftover sweets.

Here's an excerpt from my day:


"Good morning, Sir. I'm DI Lestrade, and I'm investigating an incident from last night, on ***** street. I've been told you might know something about it?"

"Yeah," (over his shoulder, to two young children) "Shut the f... up! F...ing copper's here!"

I am invited in...

"So if you could tell me what happened, Sir."

Running Rings Around The Moon

I'm so tired I may fall asleep before finishing this.

Sherlock seems to have enjoyed today. I don't know why he's always wanted to be put on a stainless shelf in a mortuary freezer and shut in. But he has, ever since he first went in there.

Today he finally got his wish. He couldn't ever go in one when there was a body in there (they each hold four) - and as much as he begged, Molly wasn't going to get a body out for him to see. So he just had to wait until there was a vacancy. Today there was.

So he's been slid into a giant freezer and locked in for a few seconds.

By the time we opened the door again he'd rolled onto his front, and was completely beaming.

He still hasn't managed to explain why he wanted to do it. He just did. Which is probably as good a reason as any, when you're 8.


Our little jaunt yesterday morning has led to one person in custody and the other released on bail. Not a bad result. Sometimes you just need to go in hard, shake the tree, see what falls out.

Friday I've got my MOE course. This is basically an entire day of breaking into things people would rather we stayed out of. So I will spend 8 hours breaking down doors, smashing in windows, all that. And discussing 'dynamic risk assessment'.

It means I spend a day in full gear - from steel toes and shin guards to goggles and a nice helmet. Occasionally with  a shield... I will doubtless need to have some TLC from my lovely doctor once I'm done. It's hard work wielding an enforcer!

I've heard a rumour it'll be taser training too - we do different sorts of entries. Rapid, General, Shield and Taser call-out. So...yeah, we'll see. I'm supposedly allowed a taser now I'm firearm trained...

Not sure what we'll do tomorrow. Last night's weather was so horrible - and then this evening it was all blue skies and gorgeous pink clouds! So there's no telling what it'll be like. Maybe a museum.


Am hoping to get to take to John out to dinner on Saturday, to celebrate a year since he asked me to marry him.

Then Sunday morning it's tank-time with Mycroft... I go through stages of looking forward to it, then getting a bit...I don't know, not worried, but wondering if I'll like it. I can always get out if I don't.

It's not the message that keeps you here

I'm tired. Weird, sometimes, when the first day back leaves you more tired than the rest of the week.

Still, I think...hope...I've got Thursday off. Just me and the husband, for an entire (school-length) day ;)


Anyway, RSF asked about the difference between an outer and inner cordon (for bread making...but usually for a crime scene.

Well, in Sherlock's words: "The outer one is blue and the inner one is red and says inner cordon."

There...what more do you need to know?

But seriously. Depending on the situation, we can have up to four 'cordons' - vehicle, outer, inner and crime scene. Usually we have outer, inner, scene.

The outer cordon is for the public. We stop the general public getting past a certain point, for various reasons. They get in the way. They see disturbing things. If we have to arrest someone at the scene they could potentially be in danger. We can't control lots of people if we also have witnesses to protect/isolate. Etc.

Also, we usually have a fleet of vehicles by the time we're all there. Forensics vans, original responding officer vehicles. Ambulances. Meat wagons. My car ;). Sometimes Fire engines. And we don't like people touching our stuff. Or stealing the contents. So we park them inside the outer cordon, if needs be. But generally, anyone we like can trample about in there and not compromise the scene.

The inner cordon is like, invite only. So most plod won't get in there, and often we'll want people to be getting into/out of their crime scene clothing (the paper suits, over shoes, gloves) in that area. It'll be where the emergency services usually co-ordinate, away from earwigging press and public.

And then we have the crime scene. Very strictly controlled. At that point we usually have these stepping stones that we put down, so none of us walk on the floor. We try to very clearly indicate where the first responders went, and follow that path, so we don't contaminate anything else.

After we've established there is nothing that can be done to help the victim (or if they've been carted off to hospital), and we're sure it's safe, we'll get everything photographed, sketched, noted, swabbed, sampled, then removed and recorded.

Every time you cross a cordon it's recorded. We know where everyone at the scene was all the time.

Of course, being the emergency services, everything has a million acronyms. The most amusing seem to be saved for the most serious circumstances. I don't know who they pay to come up with it all.

But basically, if the Fire Brigade say IMIP, and the Ambulance service say METHANE.... then we have to think SAD CHALET.

No, not making it up...

Anyway, today, went to prison, spoke to a 'friend' of a suspect.

Went to arrest suspect, who, while we restrained and cuffed him, screamed police brutality. Then when we put him in my car to wait for the van to pick him up, proceeeded to bash his head against the window, leading to blood everywhere. Fantastic start to the week.

Cover me, when I sleep Cover me, when I breathe

Well, that was a more...exciting? day than I'd banked on.

Work, right now...it's kids killing kids. Parents killing kids. Just...pretty depressing, really.

Today we headed out on a lead about where a teenager we were looking for was.

I was walking up the little path to the door, looked down as I checked my flies (it's habit!). Saw a red laser dot on my front and yelled...something, I don't even know what yet... and dived for the ground.

The DC I was with hit the floor the other side of the garden wall. We called it in. ARV arrived fairly swiftly after, although it felt a long time then.

And...well, we all waited. A long time. My DC could get away, once we had backup, by crawling along the wall. But I was stuck behind some fairly ripe smelling bins. Cover about 2ft wide, three ft tall, and I had to keep my legs tucked in.

Negotiator arrived and everyone just dug in for the long haul. Except everyone else had somewhere a bit comfier than me.

To cut a very long and boring story short, the negotiator worked it out in the end - with the help of the boy's mum, and it turned out he only had a plastic gun and a laser pointer. Although the murder we want him for is a shooting. They're still searching the house, so might find something, but they probably borrowed the real gun, hired it, something like that.

Arsenal only drew.

And...well, I'm pretty done in, so I'll leave it there, put a very clingy Sherlock to bed and get some rest with John.

I'll leave you to ponder this. Official police issue. ANy ideas on what it is?

And it burns,burns,burns

I shall probably fall asleep after posting this. Apologies for lack of replies to any comments.

Last night, got called out to a scene. Older bloke beaten to death. The body had been there a little while - probably around a week.

We did all the usual things, got the body sent away, made enquiries with the neighbours who were up and being nosy helpful. Started looking through lots of paperwork in the flat, but there really was a limit to what we could do at that time on a Sunday, so eventually I came home - later than I wanted, but I had to set a few things in motion.

Of course, Sherlock not being here meant there was no pointy-elbowed alarm clock, so I slept in until almost six-thirty - which is the absolute limit of when I can fall out of bed, get clothes on, and get out the door and still be on time for work.

Then we hit all the lines of enquiry hard. And it eventually paid off. Got an excellent lead.

We found our suspect at his workplace.

He tried to do a runner...we were prepared for that, and had some uniform with us to cover the back entrances.

I'd just grabbed the guy, and he was struggling, when one of the PC decided to get enthusiastic with the CS Spray.

I want the world to know, I would rather dance with you

Well...I haven't done much since my last blog.

Got quite a lot better. Coughed really more than I'd like. Wished I hadn't spent 30+ years smoking. The usual. Coughing gives me a pounding headache. It's very tedious. I really really hate being ill. Although being ill with John around is a vast improvement on being ill before.

I wasn't going to blog about it, but as I've been leading such a boring life these past few days - here you go. We got a 'commemorative coin' for our Olympic duties last week. Mine's still in the office, but I did take a picture of it:

...just can't tell you how proud I am.

Today we mainly cleaned the flat. Hung up Sherlock's huge sparkly bone. Argued about trapezes. The usual...

In fact, hell, given it's so quiet, and it's been (sort of) requested...why don't we have another Lestrade's Upstanding Column Of Love*

*questions need not be about love.

And here, because I fear some people reading last night's comments might think we'd gone actually insane...is Rufus Hound smashing eggs with a mallet sellotaped to his cock, for charity....

Obviously, this contains a cock. And quite a lot of confusion.

I'm cancelled out and rendered obsolete

Today John was forced to go and fetch a huge purple sparkly bone from a shop. As you do.

Obviously, I felt guilty about that... really! So as I happened to be passing, I thought I might give John and Sherlock a lift home with it. Rush hour on the tube is no place to have a huge purple bone, poking innocent travellers in the back...

I also just happened to be in a marked police car... Well, it would take someone with greater willpower than me to take advantage of this situation.

Picture the scene...a busy street, an excited Sherlock, and John hugging a huge bone - almost as big as he is.

Loneliness took me for a ride

Started today by biting the inside of my bottom lip. Swore. Apologised to Sherlock for swearing. Made him promise not to swear. Made him promise again. Immediately heard him practising...

Headed to work, and to court, which always takes longer than it should. Then had to rush back to the yard because we had info regarding a suspect.

(En route, picked up a text message from Mycroft asking that I 'lose' John's yellow hat. He's said he'll buy a replacement 'tasteful' one.

Later, got a message asking me to promise to intercept the post man if any jumper-shaped parcels were to arrive...assured him that plans for that were already in place.)

Went to an address, and after a bit of waiting, executed a pincer-like move to nab the bloke... well, that went about as well as they ever do. Ended up chasing him after one of the PCs tripped over a small shrub...

Anyway, running about isn't my idea of fun anymore, nor is scaling walls or leaping fences or any of that, especially when there's a bloke trying to kick you in the face every time. However, London's criminal classes aren't known for their healthy attitude to keep-fit, so he tired before we did, and we got him in the end.

Then, once he'd been checked out and got a brief, into interview. Which... I dunno, they're long and boring and entail going over and over and over things waiting for him to say anything slightly intelligent and/or truthful.


And finally, home! For a bath, but not before Sherlock had virtually leapt on me from the window, because he got the part he wanted in the play.

From what I can gather, he's an Angel, and he gets to dance, and he gets to 'tell people when we've moved from one place to another place if they're too stupid to tell.'...let's hope he's slightly more diplomatic than that...

I think he has to do at least one dance with the three kings. Or possibly some camels. Or both. It all got a bit muddled in the telling, because he thinks I know the story, and I clearly don't...

Anyway, going to go and smile sweetly at my other half and see if he'll give me a neck rub. Then practice these songs on the guitar, or I'll face the wrath of Sherlock, the world's harshest critic...

Get Your Hands Out Of My Trousers

Sherlock has changed my blog. He was bored of the old one, and this is a nice picture. I was also sort of missing my grey and blue colourscheme.

It was taken in Ireland, for his birthday weekend. Down into the sea in a little gap in the cliff.

There seems to be nothing but bad news around at the moment. It's all a bit depressing, isn't it?

Although I did have a bright spot to my day today. Was buying a coffee (yeah, there's a surprise, right?) when I was staring out of the shop window, waiting for the nectar of the Gods to be brewed and ready...and noticed a very familiar face outside. Someone I thought was...inside. Just chatting to someone on the other side of the street. So I called up control and enquired, thinking that if he'd gone away then it was a bloody short stretch and I'd want to look into why the judge had been so lenient.

It's so hard to be yourself when you feel like something's wrong

We're all together again :)





(It was the closest to glitter that the internet would provide)

Sherlock went to bed horribly late, but he doesn't have school tomorrow, so we didn't think it would do him any harm. And if it subdues him at all, then even better...

Obviously can't tell you where we're going for his Birthday, but you'll find out soon enough. It's just lovely having Mycroft home again, and spending time together.

Especially in light of what's going on.

I don't get it. None of us do. Unless the entire point of sending pictures of us...or me, this time, is just to make us uncomfortable. In which case well done, it's working.

When I spoke to John after Sherlock had opened the envelope I...I dunno. I almost knew, after he'd asked me if I'd sent anything. Don't have to be a genius to get from that to why he'd suddenly want to talk to me.

I wasn't expecting it to be pictures of me though. Us, maybe. Not just me.

I suppose I was just the easy one to find.

Been a bit difficult sleeping again recently. And now...yeah, probably worse. I mean, I have complete faith in the security team, and John, to keep everyone safe - not that there is any direct threat anyway. It's just...the thought of being watched. Waiting for the next thing to happen, constantly feeling like you've got to be on your guard. Honestly, it's like the last couple of years of my marriage. That feeling that you just can't relax. Always wondering if you're doing the right thing.

I thought I was past all that.

I'm Glad It's Your Birthday, Happy Birthday To You

Happy Birthday Mycroft!

Not sure about him, but we've definitely had a brilliant present in that he's at home with us! And taller than ever...

Fourteen. Unbelievable! Where does the time go??

Tomorrow we head off to Nicky's, with hounds and chaos in tow. Depending on the weather we might hit the Camera Obscurer and the observatory... or we might not :)

Carla and Mycroft have Skyped regarding the menu for tomorrow night already, so it looks like the rest of us will be getting the evening off!


The murder that got me out of bed the day before yesterday...or was it yesterday? It's all blurring into one... anyway, it isn't solved, it's very brutal, and the torrential downpours washed away most of the evidence. So it's not going too well. We're waiting on forensics now. (It isn't like on TV - we often have to wait a week to get forensics back, not ten minutes.) But we're all still busy as we've copped a stack of cold cases to review.

It really does feel like it may never stop raining. My bike gear barely dries before it's soaked again.

I don't believe in Peter Pan, Frankenstein or Superman...

So Bashful won. Which was...a surprise.

To me, anyway.

I cannot wait for this week to be over. Partly because of today, last week, the last few weeks...I don't know. I just know I'm really really looking forward to getting away from everything with John and the boys.

Today we went to talk to a boy who is known to us - he's like a hanger-on to a gang. Been in some minor trouble. The sort of person we lean on to see what they do. Not the brightest kid in the world, but not such a bad lad either.

Got the usual when we knocked on the door and his Mum opened it. "He wouldn't get mixed up in that, not my boy, he's a good lad" etc. So she let us in, led us up the stairs, knocked on his door...and when it opened he was standing there with a pistol pointed at us, shaking, crying, saying if we moved he'd kill us.

Took a little while to sort out. Needless to say his Mum changed her tune. But was all okay in the end. Sal's still giving me evil looks for grabbing her and standing inbetween her and him. It was just instinct, Sal, nothing to do with you being the fairer sex, promise ;)

Oddly enough, when I got back to the yard after picking out a bike with John and enjoying the sunshine, there was a memo telling me I'm on the firearms course next month. Coincidence? Don't think much in my life is these days.

 Quick! Vote in the new poll!

Can't make it all alone, I've built my dreams around you

Sherlock finished school for the holidays today - and this evening had a show. I got there just in time, after being stuck at a crime scene all afternoon, watching the clock tick down... There was singing, dancing, and some truly amazing violin playing from him. Everyone really enjoyed it. He looked positively angelic in his sparkly wings.

He'd played us the pieces he was going to play while everyone was singing already, but he hadn't played us one piece - another boy sang, really beautifully (he's a choir boy), and Sherlock played. It was just astounding. Sherlock said it would be okay because he "knew he wouldn't get it wrong"...it's good to know he trusts other people sometimes! Although he can't understand why you'd want to be good at something that you can grow out of...

Today is also something of an anniversary. On this day last year, Sherlock had his first brush with the law, and turned up at Scotland Yard with a PC having been accused of shoplifting from Harrods. Outing me in the process...Happily that was all sorted out... and led to me becoming err...rather better acquainted with John('s sofa), than I had been previously.

I also arrived home to an envelope telling me I'm officially a free man. Dissolution done. Finally. I am a divorcee. Dissolutionee? Very happy man.

A weekend of celebrations and festivities await.

A jury consists of twelve persons chosen to decide who has the better lawyer.

Lindsay and Desert Wanderer both had great stories of not-so-intelligent criminals. So I thought I'd do a post about some of the top excuses I've been given. When Sal saw that, she insisted on getting in on it too, so she's emailed me some of these.

When I was first a detective, we'd caught a bloke who had tricked his way into a business and stolen a large amount of cash. The crime itself wasn't stupid - he'd had to blag his way in, keep it up, get the cash and leave. We had tip offs and some really quite poor video evidence - but we were pretty sure he was our man - however, you never know when someone will have a good enough brief to get them off. His face on the video really wasn't very clear.

It helped our case a lot that his brief had obviously told him to dress smartly and make a good impression on the court. Because he wore exactly the same suit, shirt and tie as he'd worn during the offence. Afterward he just shrugged and said he only had one set of smart clothes...

***