Yesterday, I had a new experience that tested my scientific mettle to the limit: I got stuck in a lift. There I was, dropping smoothly from the 7th floor of the Huxley building on my way to a student viva, when the lift suddenly jerked to a halt. The metal box then announced, in soothing female — almost Adamsian — tones, “This lift is out of service.” She wasn’t wrong.

I’m beginning to recognise the signs. Have you seen them too? The mercury is holding steady but there’s a sudden and unexpected stiffening of the breeze. And a darkening tint to the clouded sky. Yes — there can be no doubt — there’s a storm coming. A Twitter-storm. We’ve not had much of this kind of thing in the past but these squalls seem to be becoming more frequent. They are a very interesting phenomenon;

The twitterverse has been alive this morning with the wonderful news that Simon Singh has been granted leave to appeal Justice Eady’s ruling in the libel case that the British Chiropractic Association had brought against the popular science author. See here and here for some background to the case. The news is all the more wonderful because it was so unexpected.

When it comes to language, I am a lover and a fighter. I’m no great expert but I know what I like and do try to take a bit of care every time I lay out my little handkerchief of prose here on Nature Network.

At the Diamond synchrotron last week, Jamie Oliver would have been proud of us. Amar and I pitched up last Thursday afternoon at the great gleaming doughnut in the Oxfordshire countryside with the latest batch of Amar’s crystals, packed carefully into a dry nitrogen dewar to keep the little jewels frozen at a chilly 80K. Because we were sharing the beamtime with other users from Imperial our slot didn’t start until about 8.30 in the evening.

Thanks to the very good offices of Matt Brown, who knows everything about everything happening in London, I found myself at the Smithfield Gallery last night. Jenny, Richard and myself joined Matt there to gaze at Luke Jerram’s artful glassy virus sculptures.

Flags are potent and emotive symbols for many people but when my daughter plonked her new school-bag on the kitchen counter at the beginning of this week I cracked a wry smile. Love that Union flag? My reaction to the garish decoration of her bag made me realise what a long way I had travelled from my own childhood, a journey that has been at least partly influenced by science.

I am determined to finish the third and final installment of the posts about my vacation reading before the holiday season comes to an end — which I think is tonight. I want to tell you about the biography of Huxley and Eric Ambler’s Uncommon Danger . Truth be told I have been struggling with this post.

I attended last year’s Science Blogging conference very much as an outsider. I’d signed on at Nature Network and passed a few comments, but was not a blogger. However, the event was a turning point for me and in the warm flush of excitement that emanated from the conference, I finally decided to jump into the strange reality known as the blogosphere.

I once read in a physics textbook that if an atom were to be magnified to the size of London’s Wembley Stadium, the nucleus at the centre would be about as big as a hazelnut. Well screw that, because I can think of much better uses for Wembley Stadium. Besides the obvious — football — it is of course an ideal venue for rock concerts and last Friday night U2 showed exactly how it should be done.

For my second holiday read I gave in to the excitement surrounding the 40th anniversary of the Apollo 11 moon landing and splashed out on Buzz Aldrin’s Magnificent Desolation . The book (co-written with Ken Abraham) tells of the aftermath of his visit to our dusty satellite. I have long been a fan of the moon landings, having been just about old enough to realise what was happening in the later lunar missions in the early seventies.