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incandescensTomorrow one of my coworkers who's been on annual leave gets back. Thank goodness. I need to check with her about a lot of crossmapping stuff.
I also need to get the last choice/deposit on the Work Christmas Lunch List and then take it down to the selected restaurant, who will hopefully still have free booking space on the selected day. Mutter mutter.
No, really, things aren't that bad. I'm just tired.
I'm also trying to remember which of my Edmund Crispin books (he wrote crime fiction about Gervase Fen) has the bit where bullet grooves are faked by first shooting the bullet out of the pistol in question, then wrapping it in moss or similar wadding and shooting it out of a gun with a larger barrel in order to preserve the first gun's "print". I think it was one of the short stories. Will just have to reread them, I guess.
---
It was a dark and stormy night and the rain fell in torrents -- except
at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind
which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies),
rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of
the lamps that struggled against the darkness.
-- Edward George Bulwer-Lytton
I also need to get the last choice/deposit on the Work Christmas Lunch List and then take it down to the selected restaurant, who will hopefully still have free booking space on the selected day. Mutter mutter.
No, really, things aren't that bad. I'm just tired.
I'm also trying to remember which of my Edmund Crispin books (he wrote crime fiction about Gervase Fen) has the bit where bullet grooves are faked by first shooting the bullet out of the pistol in question, then wrapping it in moss or similar wadding and shooting it out of a gun with a larger barrel in order to preserve the first gun's "print". I think it was one of the short stories. Will just have to reread them, I guess.
---
It was a dark and stormy night and the rain fell in torrents -- except
at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind
which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies),
rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of
the lamps that struggled against the darkness.
-- Edward George Bulwer-Lytton
