Thinking back over our travels, I come to realise… “oh, double shoot! I never finished posting that last batch of notes!” Well, if you’ve been holding out… or, for their benefit as a historical document… here is my account of our journey to the former Republic of Texas, and beyond!

Bidding Mexico farewell, we landed in Houston, and found our way to our lodgings – a charming old bed and breakfast, which looked right out of the days of the Republic itself – which, naturally, suited me fine. Our room was, for some reason, all done up in a nautical theme – ship’s wheel bedhead, anchor wallpaper in the bathroom, the lot. Unexpected, but rather fun! Also, there was a coffee machine on the ground floor, which made for fun nights, sneaking down in our pyjamas and robes to get a big cup of hot chocolate… heeheehee.

Now, at around this point, we needed to resupply, so we headed off into the city proper to do some shopping and get horribly lost. Well, that last part wasn’t exactly planned, but… yeah. It turns out that, while Houston’s CBD could pass for Melbourne on a sunny day, it can also be desperately deserted. We wandered and wandered before finding an open Tex-Mexery and, better yet, a helpful police officer, who advised us to head to the Tunnels. The Tunnels? Yes, it turns out that much of Houston is underground – businesses, shops, all in a network of underpasses. The whole thing sounded positively post-apocalyptic. “Head directly to the Tunnels, and descend. That’s Rat territory, so do not stop – do not talk to anyone. Don’t worry, they’re not real rats. We just call them that… since the Changes.”

Now, more than one person did ask why on Earth we were visiting Texas in the first place. It’s not that bad! Even though we weren’t quite in the rock’n'roll capital of the state, the people were generally friendly and it reminded me of home. The more rural parts of home, admittedly, where suburban footpaths might become scrub without warning, but home nonetheless. Our true motivation in visiting Houston, though, were the Rothko Chapel and the Menil Collection, both located on one of the local university campuses. Ms Merah is a longtime Rothko devotee and I’m certainly a fellow admirer, so we were certainly excited to visit the Chapel, but… nothing could have prepared us. It is an extraordinary space, even when set up for a future lecture as it was. It is a place for meditation, on art, on life, on the interconnectedness of mind, experience and creation. We emerged… quite renewed. The Collection, meanwhile, is a more conventional but exemplary display of art from ancient to modern. The ancient pieces, in particular, are quite thought-provoking – seeing such beautiful, technically-detailed pieces from so many thousands of years back in human history makes one realise how little human civilisation changes – makes one feel connected to those long gone. The modern gallery, too, includes an extensive and impressive collection of Surrealist art and artifacts – a rare treat.

The rest of our time in Texas was relatively mundane – catching up on laundry, what have you – and we soon packed up and returned to Los Angeles – this time, though, we took a shuttle to the town of Anaheim and settled in for a longer stay. We had time for a quick nap (so many airplanes!) before our welcoming party arrived – our dear friends Melanthios and Hanford! So wonderful to meet them in person at last, all dressed up for a night of bohemian merriment. We ate, we laughed, Mel and Han were kind enough to sing and play for us… their hospitality continued the next day, when they took us on a tour of their stomping grounds, including Disneyland itself. The Disney company has a fascinating history, and certainly, animation wouldn’t be the powerful discipline it is without them. Also, I wanted to go on the Haunted Mansion. Well, that we did, as well as pirate ships and barbershop quartets and dinosaurs, and some more of Mel and Han’s art, too. Thanks so much, guys! I hope we can do the same for you someday very soon.

We were pretty shagged out by this point – we managed one more museum before The Fatigue claimed us. Specifically, the Treasures of Napoléon at the Muzeo, Anaheim. This was preceded, might I mention, by a rather interesting discussion with a Russian cabman over individual vs social forces in historical progress. The exhibit itself was rather a lot to take in at this point, though highlights include (as well as paintings and documents from the Egyptian campaigns) Napoléon’s velvet sleeve, separated from its coat – if memory serves – after it was be-souped by a clumsy waiter, and resultingly outliving its wearer considerably. There were very few werewolves or werewolf-related objects on display, but that’s all right. One can’t have everything, after all – where would one put it?

By this point, we’d run out of holiday, and it was time to stagger home and get ready for the next inadvisably spectacular endeavour. ’twas all a bloody good experience, though, and I wouldn’t have traded it – and, in particular, who I got to share it with – for this world or any other. We’ve now lived beyond our means across two continents – and you can’t beat a good adventure.

Author’s Note: Pictures to follow shortly.

You have, no doubt, noted my absence. I can offer little apology or explanation for this unforgivable behaviour, barring that it was perfectly reasonable and it’s preposterous of you to cast such as aspersions, I mean really. I have, in fact, been inventing! I have invented three things so far; first, I invented roll-on reoderant. Roll it on, and you’ll still sweat, but you’ll smell of blueberries. After I invented that, I invented a monogram remover for second-hand hand-kerchiefs. Finally, I invented a useful travel guide, which I will, with your permission, reprint here in whole or, dare I say it, part. It is called Scenic Pluttock & Surrounds (of Pluttock) and it is (though I say, who shouldn’t) indispensable for any traveller with Pluttock on their itinerary.

Introduction to Pluttock
Pluttock is one of the oldest villages in northern Leicestershire, and well worth a visit if you’re passing through the region. Local legend has the founding of Pluttock at around the time of the Roman invasion, and certainly the present layout certainly resembles the Classical-era stone paintings set down by ancient cave-cartographers, found in Pluttock’s famous Wunty Caverns. Visitors will enjoy Pluttock’s charming scenery and hospitable inhabitants; every Monday evening sees the Welcome Dinner hosted at Pluttock Hall, where newcomers to the village are toasted and scraped by the Chamber of Commerce. No Welcome Dinner would be complete without a taste of the Shipberth Brewery’s famous Pluttock Parsnip Cider, made from locally-grown parsnips. “When you want some cider inside yer, take a sip of our ‘nips,” as Pluttock residents say!

To Do, Things
Don’t let the idyllic country setting deceive you – Pluttock is a cosmopolitan settlement! By long tradition, the rector of Pluttock is also the town’s cultural emissary, arranging visits by artists and innovators. Fitness fans in particular will be in for a treat – Pluttock was the site of some of the first lessons in bartitsu by the martial innovator E.W. Barton-Wright, and it maintains a strong following as a sport in the modern parish. If you feel like a workout, come on down to the rectory on Tuesday night, and the holy man’s flock can show their bartitsu and give you the thrashing of your life. If you’d prefer some gentler exercise, Pluttock’s countryside offers some astounding views to the hiker or saunterer. Why not give back as good as you get – help the rector out and enjoy the scenery at once by offering to take the glebe terrier for a walk.

Business with Pleasure
For the working traveller, Pluttock offers ample opportunity, particularly for the firm-bodied and able. The modern village grew on pit-mining, and, while the veins are long since tapped out, Sodden Pit still holds a rotating staff for cleaning and replanting, with the aim of reproduction as a recreation area. Rooters, lumpers and haulers are all needed to cart the soil and establish fresh flora. If you’re not so physically inclined, Pluttock’s library regularly hires on hands to tend the stacks during summer rush. This would be a superb opportunity to check out the volumes of Pluttock’s great author, G. Edwinly Winderstash, beginning with his famous All My Mother’s Manacles.

However your interests lie, Pluttock is a worthy destination while touring northern Leicestershire. With fun, food, fishing and falderal, you can’t miss its charm and appeal. If you’re unconvinced, write to the Pluttock Tourist Offices and request a copy of Pluttock: A Village Quite Near The Trent.

I was quite prepared not to enjoy the new Sherlock Holmes film (directed by Guy Ritchie and starring Robert Downey, Jr and Jude Law.) The previews seemed to promise thrills, sex appeal and edgy modern costumes – none qualities I really look for in a Holmes story. I certainly wasn’t expecting a faithful treatment of Conan Doyle’s characters. Well, you can have me down as an ass, but those previews lied. Glamour and violence it has, to be sure, but Sherlock Holmes is a fair interpretation of the Holmes universe, attentive to period detail, fun to watch, and, yes, very pretty to boot. With some very pretty boots on display, too.

The central story – concerning a disgraced nobleman and occultist who pledges to rise from the grave after his execution and perform an unholy rite to rule the world – is entirely outlandish, though no moreso than the popular recent crossover adventures with the Lovecraft mythos and the Arsène Lupin stories. (I always thought Lupin rather a thug, myself, but that’s a story for another time…) The Great Detective himself is quite unalike the detached, otherworldly Jeremy Brett – Downey’s Holmes is far more immediate, more physical. Jude Law’s Watson is superb – I quite suspended my disbelief, in fact. (Law, incidentally, previously appeared opposite Edward Hardwicke’s Watson as Joe Barnes as Lady Beatrice Falder. In a lacy dress.)

Many – including The Age’s Ms Bunbury – have raised eyebrows at the film’s lengthy action sequences. Certainly, much of Holmes’ detective work took place in the intellectual realm, and some of his greatest successes were achieved almost entirely within his sitting-room. However, Holmes is still an able man of action. His greatest foes were all defeated by martial means: Professor Moriarty, killed in a struggle by use of bartitsu, the Japanese system of wrestling; Colonel Sebastian Moran and John Clay, both physically subdued after being caught in clever traps. He demonstrated his great physical strength against Dr Grimesby Roylott and in the case of Black Peter, and his skill at bare-knuckle boxing (featured in the film) against the oafish “Roaring Jack” Woodley and any number of further minor villains. He displays, in short, the sound mind in the sound body.

This is not to say that Holmes never challenges the canon. Certain events appear out of order – the affair of the Scandal in Bohemia originally took place after Watson’s marriage, for example – but the original chronology is so unclear that I do not consider this at all a serious complaint. Ms Morstan’s introduction differs considerably from that recorded in The Sign of the Four; originally, she was introduced to Watson through consulting Holmes, not introduced to Holmes through becoming engaged to Watson. She does not deny Holmes’ deduction that her jewellery was borrowed from her employer, also, when – were the canon in effect – surely she would possess the jewels sent to her by Thaddeus Sholto? Where the facts conflict, however, the characters align – the excellent Kelly Reilly plays the best Mary Morstan I have ever seen or heard.

I do wonder about Downey’s Holmes – would Holmes be likely to abuse alcohol, for instance? His drug use provides the stimulation his mind requires in the absence of mysteries to solve; surely alcohol would have rather the opposite effect. Similarly, I am intrigued that Irene Adler has so cleanly divorced herself of Mr Godfrey Norton of the Inner Temple… but then, I suppose she did the same to Wilhelm. Speaking of, Holmes mentions that she disrupted the marriage of a Hapsburg and a Romanov – might this be the King of Bohemia and the Princess of Scandinavia? If so, I have no doubt that His Majesty brought it on himself – he never was on her level, and doubtless could not leave well enough alone.

So, though I was expecting to, I can’t really fault the film for its attention to details. If a proto-fascist conspiracy to seize power were attempted by certain well-placed members of the British government, drawing on the resources of an (authentically Egyptianate) mystical society and on radically advanced physics and chemistry sourced through a network of underground scientists… then Sherlock Holmes is exactly how Holmes would have foiled it. The grand picture is fantastical, but there is no element which does not have a relative somewhere in Conan Doyle’s work: I count no fewer than six stories involving ingenious deathtraps, three plots against the government, and three crimes by apparently supernatural means – all of which involved the use of rare poisons or chemicals.

Judged on its own merits, aside from its source material, Holmes is as decent a superhero film as any. By the climax, I felt the pacing had worn as bare as Ms Adler (she’s wearing a shirt and vest but no waistcoat or tie, if you’re wondering. All the basics were there, but those important finishing touches were missing.) Still, hardly enough to bury it – it’s fun and there are a lot of clever touches. It’s definitely a film intended for fans of the books – they, and those who enjoy Ritchie’s usual fare of adorably English dust-ups. Come to think of it, I’d describe it as the English Batman Begins – what chance that the sequel may be a The Dark Knight, I wonder? Or of an Arkham Asylum, perhaps… hah, that’d be a sight to see.