jam and feathers

Right. Where do I start...

Yesterday, 5am: Sherlock flings himself onto my bed and plants his pointy little elbows in my stomach like a pro wrestler going for the kill. He doesn't do it often, but he doesn't do it by halves either.

"Sherlock. What have I told you about staying in your room until it's light out?"

"But I wanna do a 'speriment and you said don't do those unless you're there to watch so come watch!"

"New rule. No experiments before breakfast."

bugs are so cool

Perhaps I was, as Lestrade suggested, mad to hope for sun in London in February, but I do keep hoping anyway. There's something about it that's not like sun anywhere or anywhen else. But. It was gray and drizzly yesterday, so we went to the Natural History Museum instead of doing any of the inadvisable things that sunshine in February is likely to lead to.

(I remember sunbathing with a girlfriend in a certain park where everyone else in London had decided to let their dogs run free that day. I have only three words to say about that: Don't do it.)

Here, have a photo.

the d is for danger

In a blatantly obvious attempt to get back at me for embarrassing him about his "boo-boo," Lestrade asked me what the H and D in my name stood for. The H is for Hamish, which was my grandfather's name, and not at all embarrassing, despite what the bigger boys in primary school tried to tell me.

The D...actually is for Danger. It's not my fault, nor my parents' fault either. Some of the people I served with in Afghanistan called me that - with a fair amount of sarcasm, I think; I was never one for drinking all night and then playing with explosives, unlike some people I could mention.

forgot to mention

After Lestrade's post last night I feel as if you're all picturing me slaving over a hot stove for hours, so let me just say, as I did in the comments: Chinese takeaway. (Although I did heat the eggrolls up in the oven instead of the microwave. It makes them crispy. This is the sort of cooking I'm comfortable with.)

The part he failed entirely to mention was that one of the little shits I'd been feeling sorry for "flailed about" (his words) during the arrest and caught him in the eye. Slight bruise and a scratch on his cheek that he never cleaned because he was "too busy." Honestly, some people just think they're invulnerable.

I know a few of the people he works with read this, so listen up. Next time he's wandering about with blood on his face all day? Say something. I know he's your boss, but even so. Just a thought. (I'm embarrassing the hell out of him right now. It's a sort of hobby I have.) 

heart (not lung) shaped

Lestrade reminded me the other day (when I was whinging about not knowing what to blog about) that I never said how it went when Sherlock took those biscuits to school. True! All right, I can do that.

Sherlock's school is near Lord's Cricket Ground. We generally take the tube and walk from the tube stop - not far - while Sherlock tells me everything that's going to happen in school that day. Not that day. That day he was all sulks and grim silence. Wouldn't hold my hand, would barely walk next to me. He preferred to stomp ahead or trail behind by turns. I was not allowed to help carry either his bag or the biscuits, and I was certainly not encouraged to actually speak to him. It was like a sneak preview of adolescence.

fresh meat

Lestrade's first entry is up. I will admit to some amount of possibly evil glee regarding this. I suspect that, as he says, he won't update as often as I do; he does have a busier life than I do, and a less amusing one. Even so,  I think he'll have a bit more sympathy and less mockery now when I'm done cleaning up the kitchen and getting the boys to bed and sit down to write an entry at 10pm before I'll go to bed.

Also there is no way to explain just how funny it was to watch him attempt to defend the legal system to a five year old in footie pyjamas. No possible way. And! With the mention of the forensics lab, I think Sherlock has someone other than me to bother about getting a human heart to dissect. This is what they call a win-win situation.

interesting indeed

The boys have made something for Lestrade: his very own blog. Isn't that...sweet? Yes, I'm almost certain sweet is the word I'm looking for. Wouldn't you like to see him update it? I know I would.

Come on, Lestrade. It's therapeutic, I swear. I am not at all prodding you into this for my own entertainment. Just one entry, what could it hurt? 

i never could get the hang of thursdays

(I know. Today is not Thursday, but I've been going on about the date...all week? Is that possible? Good god. So, I'm a bit behind.)

I've told Mycroft he's committed to the skating at least until he outgrows the skates (although really that won't be long). He's cheerful about it, and his instructor is looking less grim and wary when he tries jumps that are clearly too advanced for him and starting to be encouraging instead. I'm still torn between pride and wanting to cover my eyes, but I suspect that's normal.

Anyhow, the result is that my Thursday afternoons have become a game of How to Entertain Sherlock at the Skating Rink. Harry came along this time and proved quite good at it.

ironically, part 3

The second interruption was when we got mugged. Or, I should say, when a young man about the unfortunate constable's age attempted to mug us. I probably shouldn't have found the second interruption as funny as the first, but I'm afraid I did.

We'd given the constable the rest of the cake as an apology (to him, for the yelling, and from him to his girlfriend for working instead of taking her out; I bet he wishes he'd skipped work altogether) and we were walking back to Lestrade's.

ironically, part 2

Where was I? Oh, yes. Gazebo, mystery cake. Moving on.

No, wait. The cake really is worth describing.

Layers of actual cake soaked in something alcoholic, I suspect rum, and interleaved with bands of dark chocolate and white chocolate mousse. I would've taken a photo, but he had my mobile by then. Fair enough, as I was finding it difficult not to phone Mrs Hudson and make sure the boys the were all right and doing their homework and not setting fire to anything.

I think I may have got tipsy off that cake.

ironically

I stayed over at Lestrade's the night of the 14th (no, I am NOT going to tell you about that part) and then most of the 15th as well. Mrs Hudson looked after the boys ("Just this once, dear, I'm not their nanny"). Lestrade arranged the whole thing. I had no idea; I thought we were just going out to dinner.

We did do that as well, at the Pizza Pit, which was decorated with anti-Valentine's black crepe streamers, black hearts, and Love Hearts in bowls on the table that said things like You Suck, Fuck You, and Bite Me. I wonder if she gets them made up specially; I've certainly never seen them in shops. Professor Pizza's girlfriend was there helping out, and they seemed quite happy in their shared loathing of the holiday.

john won't be posting today

Because I won't let him use my computer. And I stole his mobile.

Cheers,
Lestrade

lowered expectations

There are two kinds of boys who join the Army: the ones who think it will be hell, and the ones who think it will be a lark. Guess which sort whinge more during basic training? You can think about everything in life like that, and things get easier when you do. Imagine the worst and you are almost always pleasantly surprised.

That holiday to Mallorca you mean to take - well, it'll probably rain the whole time, and you'll have a miserable cold, and someone will steal your camera. No? What? You mean mean it was sunny and you only had a bit of a headache and you got a great photo of - oh, what do they have in Mallorca? Rafael Nadal? That's brilliant!

double glazing

We made two sorts of glaze, hence my astonishingly clever title. I only have photos of one sort, so let's start with that. 


Chocolate Glaze
3/4 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips
1 tablespoon light corn syrup
3 tablespoons butter
1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract


Combine, microwave, and stir. Actually Lestrade said you really shouldn't microwave the vanilla, you should add it in after, but I microwaved it and it was fine. Don't tell on me. This was the best glaze by far. It was very thick and very chocolate and very shiny on the biscuits. 

a recipe for successful biscuits

Lestrade's Mum's Italian Shortbread

3 cups flour

1 cup icing sugar

1 cup olive oil

(optional, but tasty: 1/4 tsp salt and 1 tsp vanilla)

Combine all ingredient into a dough ball. At first this will seem impossible, but it will come together eventually. It's easier if you use your hands and still easier if you use two children to do it for you.

(Also optional: divide into 2-4 small balls and flavor with...whatever. Below you can see one of our balls contains tiny pieces of chocolate that Sherlock created with two bars of Flake, a plastic bag, and a rubber mallet. The other we left plain. Lestrade says you can use almost anything, but that too much liquid will make the dough turn into a batter, which is not optimal.)

authentic

Once again Techcrunch reminds me why I continue to read their blog, despite the fact that there isn't one of them I'd like to have over for dinner, as my mother would've said. Google is rolling out a new security measure and although I haven't exactly got state secrets stored in my gmail account, I would be sad to lose this blog, so I'll probably use it. (Yes, Dr E, I can hear you snickering from across London. I have actually grown to enjoy this, I admit.)

Today was full of rain-verging-on-snow, cranky children, cranky adults, and cranky machines. This is going to be a very short post because it is after midnight and I have just sat down for the first time since 7am. I could swear that before I left for Afghanistan it was possible to pay for one's shopping by handing money to an actual person. Now, it seems, not so much. Maybe I'll tell you about it tomorrow.

For now, however, I will say that Lestrade has sent me a biscuit recipe of his mum's. It has only three ingredients and he claims even Sherlock and I can't mess it up, so at least I've got tomorrow sorted. Good night, everyone.

sloths on ice

No, the subject certainly does not refer to Mycroft. He's terrifyingly fast on ice. If he stays with this, I foresee many Thursdays spent silently hoping for minimal wipeouts and no broken bones.

Yesterday, Trista posted this baby sloth photo in the comments. I was up reading comments at 4am, which perhaps explains the little journey my brain took regarding the zoo keeper who clearly smuggled that sloth out of the zoo.

sea change

I went to the pub with Harry last night, a fairly pointless exercise, given that we both had soda water and lime. She's been sober for almost three months. It's not quite her record, but it's close.

She's a different person when she's sober. It's true we've never really got on, and it's easy to blame that on her, what with her penchant for locking me in the basement when our parents were out and she was supposed to be looking after me, but the thing is... When she's sober, she's my sister again. And lots of people are horrible when they're kids, and god knows she didn't have an easy time of it growing up. And I miss her when she drinks.

inappropriate pets

The events of earlier today:

From upstairs: *CRASH BANG*

"Is everything all right up there?"

"Everything is fine and really good don't worry!"

I mentally translated this as: "Armageddon is taking place in Sherlock's room at this very instant."

it all comes down to zombies

First off, Lestrade is a low down dirty deceiver who let me think he'd got that chemistry joke on his own while I banged my brain on it for two hours.

Second, Jessica has provided us with a non-baking math joke, which is also perhaps the most groan-worthy joke I've ever heard in all my life. Answer in the comments of the previous post (assuming I got it right):

RO
OT


Third, here is an actual conversation we had at breakfast this morning. 

more jokes

I enjoy how all the math ones are also related to baking.

From Book Geek:

Q: What do you get when you cut a jack o'lantern by its diameter?

A: Pumpkin Pi!

From Jessica B.: 

If z is the radius and a is the thickness of the crust, what do you get?

pi*z*z*a

or pi*z^2*a 

Either way, it's tasty!

Also from Jessica B, in the chemistry department:

NaCl/KOH

Lestrade read me this one and wouldn't show me her explanation. It took me about two hours to get it (I was sick, all right?) and then I groaned a lot. Because I am much nicer than he is, her explanation is below the cut. 

i'm still on about the skating

Most of that post about Mycroft's first lesson was actually about Sherlock, so: Mycroft let someone tell him what to do for an entire hour, which was enough to qualify the whole thing as a success for me. He's used to respecting (a very very few) people for their minds, but this is the first time I've seen him accept the idea that there's more to life than intellectual pursuits, let alone defer to someone else's non-academic experience (all right, except mine, but I think sometimes he views me as a necessary evil inflicted on him by his mum). [John, that's not true!] (All right, perhaps more of a necessary morally neutral obstacle to independence.) [...Yes. But. I like you too. I wouldn't want you to go anywhere.]

lessons

Remnants of the plague. Found roghly two dozen of these cleaning Sherlock's room today. That's what I get for teaching to fold paper airplanes and then leaving the cough drop bag with him all that time.

mysteries of the universe

How are maths jokes winning the poll when no one's even posted any? All right, if you want to be technical, all of us being mad for thinking these are funny is winning the poll, but I expected that.

Anyhow, under threat of googling for unattractive images, Lestrade sent me the following email this morning. (He did give me permission to post it here...eventually.)

hubba hubba

Back again. I was not half as ill as Lestrade would have you believe and at no point was there whining of any sort, especially not for ice cream. I was stoic.

I completely agree with Lestrade's self assessment in the comments of the last post ("Damn right I'm hot") and offer the following completely accurate photo as proof:

the plague, day 7

Lestrade here again. John is an unsurprisingly terrible patient, but I can't blame him. I'm always the same way. It's hell not being able to do anything when you're used to being up and about every second of the day.

Another science joke from the comments (Mycroft is still slaying his maths tutor with these, and even I found this one hilarious):