On Being Beside Myself.

No walk tonight. When I heard the sound of the rain rapping its frigid fingers against the window, I decided it was better the window than me. And the gale wasn’t just whistling and moaning, it was thumping as well. Heaven knows what it was thumping against.

Instead, I stayed by the fire and watched this week’s episode of Sherlock. I like him, you know. I do. He was performing the best man duties at Dr Watson’s wedding, and at one point – shortly after the solution to the mystery had unfolded in his mind whilst making the best man’s speech – he uttered a classic Sherlockian line:

‘Keep your wife under control, will you Watson.’

Dr John wasn’t pleased, but I was. Beats ‘Elementary…’ doesn’t it?

I was reminded that it was one role I never played in life. I was never anybody’s best man. I suppose nobody ever considered me best enough to offer the invitation. And when I got married, I didn’t have a best man because there was nobody to ask. It meant I had to make the speech myself, but that was OK. The best man’s speech is usually one of the most torturous aspects of a generally frightful occasion anyway.