Monday 1st December 2104 - Christmas Lights in Trafalgar Square
"Ready everyone? Count down from ten with me!" The actress at the podium shouts excitedly into her microphone as her hand hovers over the large red button that is set in its centre.
Naturally, the crowd eagerly does so; including Watson, John and Lestrade. The noise is almost deafening.
The countdown concluded, the button of the podium in the centre of Trafalgar Square is pressed and New London is instantly bathed (nay, flooded) with brightly-coloured lights. A gasp escapes me at the sight; it is like nothing that I have ever seen before.
"Stunning," Watson remarks close to my ear and I can only nod my agreement.
"This is what you missed last year," Lestrade informs me with a satisfied smile. "See what happens when you get all sulky and refuse to go out?"
I ignore her, for I was not merely sulking last year, and take in the sights and sounds all around me; the voices singing carols, the Christmas tree in the centre of the square, the sculptures made of metal, fibreglass and coloured lights. There was nothing like this in my day! Perhaps the decorations are a little over-the-top, but I am Victorian - my era quite possibly invented over-the-top.
"Well, I'm gonna go get myself a hot cocoa and a mince pie," Lestrade informs me. "D'you want anything?"
Mulled wine. Surely one of the vendors must have some on offer.
Lestrade grimaces. "Mulled wine? Zed Holmes! You and your alcohol!"
"I am not a drunkard," I grate at her through my teeth. "I never drink too much; it clouds one's judgement."
Watson announces that he would also like one, along with a hot meat pie.
"Mince pies don't have meat in 'em," Lestrade informs us. "The 'mince meat' is a mix of fruits and sweet spices. Want one?"
I am willing to try anything once and Watson is much the more adventurous than I where food is concerned.
While Lestrade purchases the pies, Watson and I buy our spiced wine and our friend the compudroid gets Lestrade's hot chocolate. We then regroup at a table beneath the enormous tree in the centre of the square. The pies are good, as is the heated wine, and I relax completely in the company of my friends. There is a small band playing now, in company with the singers, and we all four listen appreciatively in silence.
It is John that decides when it is time to go home. The temperature is dropping as it only can in December and he can see that we are becoming chilled.
I am not sure whether I am glad to be leaving the cold square or sorry. There is an atmosphere there like nothing that I have experienced before.