You know that feeling? That feeling you get? That feeling you get when you and your mate are climbing in the Andes and the weather closes in and before you know it you’ve slipped off an icy ledge and suffered a horrific impact fracture of the femur.

I am pleased to be able to announce that, having taken up jogging at the turn of the year, I can now run faster than a rocket. Well, strictly speaking, I can now run faster that the Rocket–or rather a very fine replica thereof–which I overtook yesterday lunchtime in Kensington Gardens. This was the view as I whizzed past: Stephen passes Stephenson . Anyone wishing to take a ride in the train has until the 18th April.

Today it is my signal honour to have a guest post on @JackofKent‘s most excellent blog. It examines the understanding of the nature of scientific evidence set out in the Court of Appeal’s recent ruling on the libel case brought by the British Chiropractic Association against science writer, Dr Simon Singh. In my opinion, the stance taken by the Court is pleasingly scientific .

I was in Court 4 at the Royal Courts of Justice at 9.30 this morning, the Court of the Lord Chief Justice. This one was a ‘real’ court room, all oak panel, wall-to-wall shelves of legal tomes and even a dock caged with cast-iron bars for the defendant (empty on this occasion). It was a brief affair. The buzz of conversation stopped abruptly with the words “Court Rise” and in came the Lord Chief Justice himself.

At the weekend the clocks went forward. Time was shifted and the days suddenly seem longer. I realised that my stargazing will be pushed later and later into the spring and summer evenings. Oh well, I’ll just have to sit up longer. Earlier today I travelled under dismal skies to North London to attend the funeral of a colleague, a man in his prime–not yet forty–for whom time has cruelly and suddenly stopped. His young family is devastated.

I am reading The Age of Wonder , Richard Holmes’ award-winning romp through the romantic era of science which lasted, roughly speaking, from the middle of the eighteenth century to the middle of the nineteenth.

Sunday evening saw the Curry clan heading into central London for the Big Libel Gig in support of the ongoing campaign for Libel Reform.

It’s hard to believe, but Bob Dylan is at Imperial. Stranger than an eleven-dollar bill. But it’s true.  Not in person you understand, that would be ridiculous. But his words are there, as the sub-text to an exhibition of photographs by Mark Edward illustrating humankind’s disconnection from the planet that we inhabit. The pictures are displayed on temporary boarding along one side of the Queen’s Lawn in the centre of the campus.

Mark this day! Mark this day. Hang out the bunting And launch a clatter of fireworks from the grassy earth For its like may not be seen again. Today I ran for a full twenty-eight minutes Without stopping. I lapped the gleaming Serpentine And came to rest in Albert’s gilded gaze Beside the sun-turned crocuses. Mark this day Because life is short And we must take our pleasures where we can.

Returning home from Lablit this evening at about 11 pm I scanned the clear sky in the south-east and noticed a small bright speck to the left of and slightly higher than the glowing moon. A quick perusal of Starmap on the iPhone told me that this was likely to be Saturn. At last! I dashed into the house, had a quick comfort-break (at the Americans so delicately put it), grabbed my telescope and set up shop on our front pathway.