Anyhoo (yes "anyway" was already taken).

Trying to remember who I said something to I described the person as "someone nice, and bright" and then realised that of my friends (and relations) that doesn't really narrow it down.

So more seeing of people was done. Sitting in the sun chatting having long run out of food is good. As are unplanned pubs with multiples books, instruments and games. And through the brilliance that is me, and Undone's transport system, and things not being 10-minutes away, I found myself trying the
Boris-technically-Ken-but-I'm-not-calling-them-Barclay's Bikes, thanks to figuring it would be cheaper than the multiple buses needed to get to B'Arcy Park (and quicker).

Advantages: robust and assumed to be ridden by idiots so given a wide berth, and of course it's not your bike so thumping over kerbs is less bad (as is riding it straight into the docking station). Disadvantages: So robust they weigh a ton and the highest gear means you can't pedal on the flat because you're already going faster than the gears can go.

And Undone's very odd; all my navigation is on foot, major roads or public transport. Cue a wee bit of going the wrong way down every one way street in Mightjust (it was that or Pa Clane, and from the way some of the cars were parked I'm not the only one, and anyway it's legal in Belgium), a slight tendency to stop beyond the advance stop zone at lights because there's already a car in it, creeping forward, so then having tokenistically touched the ground and checked the junction's clear happening to cycle off regardless of the lights (well, I was beyond the first set), a couple of instances of getting off and running across a junction because it's quicker (though this did run the risk of being kissed), and a few cases of pavement use (either because I want to go either straight on or right and both are one way the wrong way and busy, or because there's lots of police parked in the cycle lane).

As my brother, who cycles everyday there, put it: Undone's designed for
cars, then pedestrians.

Still it'll have put curves on my legs, and hairs on my chest, and filth in my lungs.

[/Subtle segue] So we've finally had the coroner's report on my father, and that was only by playing the medical risk card (apparently the backlog for one of them is a year).

You know how I mentioned how much the blood in my heart weighed? Bit less than a 100 g per ventricle? My father's whole heart is, or was, 465 g. No idea if that's empty or full, as I've no idea how blood settles when cold.

What else? The lung with bronchial, so pneumonal, mass is 40 g heavier than the other one, which isn't much, and which wasn't enough to kill him, except it kicked off more stress on a weakened heart that wasn't known to be weakened, which feed back through the kidneys conking out due to low pressure, and so acidosis knocking out the liver, and messing up various other bits, all of which makes every part of the system worse. They thought they were chasing septicaemia when it was just feedback loops winding up the heart.

Slightly galling to read all the other bits which translate as "otherwise healthy", except for the thing that he died from, which they didn't think he was dying from (well, he wasn't), until he did.

So his heart was overweight, but that because it was stretched, just like his spleen was massively underweight, because all the blood had been dumped from it. His brain was above the usual range, but that could be partly swelling (just checked, and it's not). Tellingly his liver is fractionally bigger.

And one doesn't quite expect a post mortem report to make use of the word 'nutmeg'. But then 'stripped with ease' sticks further out of the text.

And now I understand why "patently clear" is that.

And I need to stop, because I'm noticing the bits that don't quite correlate, and reading that he was nearly all good is just a bit too curate's egg.

So singing then (except that's not changing the subject enough, because he used to, and I don't have anything of him doing so where I can hear him amongst the other voices, but presumably that just means he was good at it [or not near the microphone]).

The young farmer wasn't there. Neither was the usual teacher. Instead we had very similar teaching and more German tongue-twisting (during which it seemed to be raining indoors), a brief rendition of an old classic, so something Japanese I've never done before, the joy of rounds fractured into too many pieces, and then ABBA, as tweaked to disconcerting slowness and jarring harmony by the anonymous German. It's odd singing,hoping the unheard part works with it.

Anyhoo,