All of these things are unrelated. To start with, here's a peculiar plant Sherlock and I saw on the way to school; no idea what it is:
1. The book poll is over, and The Jungle Boo is the winner. Sherlock says he'll do cover art for it, though he would've preferred to draw three men in a boa, but "this one can still have snakes because it's in a jungle."
2. My mum wrote me back with all the latest gossip about their neighbors, hopes for her roses in the local garden show, desire to meet Lestrade, etc. She also wanted to know how he'd feel when I went back to Afghanistan and was I sure this was really a good idea. (Maybe I should've told them everything all at once - too late now.) My father added a postscript to the effect that maybe Lestrade and Clara (Harry's ex) should get together as "they'd probably have a better chance at lasting, haha." Sounds bad, I know, but it's actually quite promising in a way. He liked Clara a lot.
3. Chores. I got Sherlock to help me draw up a list today, in the hope that if he were more involved he'd be more willing to actually do them. I told him to think up what he could and Mycroft could fill in the gaps when he got home from Latin, which naturally led to Sherlock wanting to be absolutely certain there were no gaps to fill in. "Hoover ceiling" was one of his more memorable contributions. Not sure whose list that was meant to go on. Spider-Man's presumably.
1. The book poll is over, and The Jungle Boo is the winner. Sherlock says he'll do cover art for it, though he would've preferred to draw three men in a boa, but "this one can still have snakes because it's in a jungle."
2. My mum wrote me back with all the latest gossip about their neighbors, hopes for her roses in the local garden show, desire to meet Lestrade, etc. She also wanted to know how he'd feel when I went back to Afghanistan and was I sure this was really a good idea. (Maybe I should've told them everything all at once - too late now.) My father added a postscript to the effect that maybe Lestrade and Clara (Harry's ex) should get together as "they'd probably have a better chance at lasting, haha." Sounds bad, I know, but it's actually quite promising in a way. He liked Clara a lot.
3. Chores. I got Sherlock to help me draw up a list today, in the hope that if he were more involved he'd be more willing to actually do them. I told him to think up what he could and Mycroft could fill in the gaps when he got home from Latin, which naturally led to Sherlock wanting to be absolutely certain there were no gaps to fill in. "Hoover ceiling" was one of his more memorable contributions. Not sure whose list that was meant to go on. Spider-Man's presumably.
80 comments:
1. I'm sure we're all looking forward to Sherlock's book cover.
2. It sounds like things with your parents will go better than you feared. (Unless it's being out of the Army that you think will get them most upset.)
3. Good luck on the chores. I suspect Sherlock will do his best to make his list as short as possible, and then try to get out of doing them. (I wouldn't count on Mycroft not trying the same thing.) But that's just standard kid stuff; encouraging if aggravating.
As far as hoovering the ceiling, most vacuum cleaners come with attachments that can be used to do that (unless you have really high ceilings.) I want to know what made him think of that.
Tell your dad Clara isn't my type.
As for the army thing, you just tell them when you're ready. if you need me to make helicopter and wounded patient noises in the background of your future phonecalls I'm willing to do that. Just like I'm willing to hold your hand if you want to tell them face to face, or be cameraman if you feel like explaining it via interpretive dance. Whatever you want, I'm with you.
Personally I'm all about in love with the idea of Lestrade making helicopter and wounded patient noises in the background of phonecalls.
Can't you just do that anyway?
I rather desperately want to see that interpretive dance. I am the curve of a bowl. I worship the line of the building. Mum and Dad, I retired from the Army and am living with my adorable, genius wards and sort-of-living with my stunner of a boyfriend. I am a flower turning toward the sun.
TTFN,
Bronwyn
OK, changed my mind, I'm with Bronwyn, I wanna see John dance as long as it's just like that one
(Unless it's being out of the Army that you think will get them most upset.)
That is exactly what I think. I was never that worried about telling them about Lestrade - though I think he was. (And I'm sure you're right about #3.)
L - thanks. You're amazing.
Trills and Bronwyn - perhaps some combination of the two? Interpretive dance to the sounds of war.
Was. Still am. They haven't met me yet. Can I use the boys as diversions away from any attention being on me?
And I'm more than happy to do background sounds for your dance.
Can you feed the boys? I think i'll be late. Been out all day, returned to a huge pile of paperwork.
Interpretive dance to the sounds of war. Just so long as a certain trio of violin, guitar, and piano (unless Mycroft has given that up for good) can accompany you...
L, yeah sure. And I'm rather hoping the boys will divert attention away from both of us to be honest.
Right, good. Take the dogs too and your parents might not even notice us.
There's gnocchi in the fridge, and a tub of sauce if they want it.
Once I've got this down to a small enough stack I might bring it all home.
We are absolutely taking the dogs.
Oh great! All three of us are very pleased to hear that, sounds a lot better than cheese sandwiches.we'll save you some.
I think the interpretive dance to the sounds of war, violin, guitar and piano would be distracting enough that it might take them a while to figure out what it meant. If nothing else, it ought to amuse everyone.
I'm with Trills and Brownwyn; I really want to see this dance. I'm grinning like a fool here at work.
Fourthing the request for the filmed interpretive dance with full musical accompaniment and sound effects.
Ooh, cold congealed gnocchi? You're too good to me.
Let the boys eat it, i'll get some toast when I get in. Or some marmite and cheese on toast.
I was going to heat it up! Maybe even with frozen peas if you were lucky... Yeah all right.
Everyone else, I can't dance, as many past girlfriends will attest.
You were dancing with Sherlock last time I had the guitar out. Like a maniac. A headbanging, arm flailing maniac.
That is precisely what I mean when I say I can't dance.
0. Plant looks as if it plans to eat you the moment you dare touching it.
1. Can't wait for Sherlock's art.
2. Sounds rather good. Maybe Mrs.H. can give you a fake MIsomething ID to impress them. ;)
3. I always tried to avoid chores. Chores are stupid. Wait a minute... I still try to avoid chores. Sadly I just have to hoover the ceilings sometimes. I'm not very fond of spiders, so I better hoover their webs away. And I don't feel guilty about it, because they're so scary!! The spiders, not the webs.
You'd have made a brilliant helicopter for the interpretive dance thing.
Almost done enough to fit in my tank bag. Sorry, I wanted to spend some time with you.
Although you're welcome to join me and my paperwork on the sofa. And forge my signature.
John, I'm sure Greg the florist could help you identify that plant.
And I hope your parents' desire to see you as a soldier has to do with their belief that you were happiest as such. When they see how happy the boys and L make you, I hope they want to share that with you.
I believe your Mystery Plant is a rex begonia, of the variety "Escargot." Or at least, that's what Google is telling me.
The bell above the shop door rang, and Greg cursed under his breath. Always just when you had your hands full.
"Two secs," he called out, plunging the Stiff Cock into a pot. He dusted off his hands and stepped out of the back room into the shop. "How can I help...oh, hello again." He couldn't help but smile.
"Hi," the cactus-loving man with the limp smiled shyly back. "I was wondering - I saw this plant, and I thought...sorry, not interrupting anything, am I?"
Greg reached for the photograph the man was holding. "No, no, I was just doing some re-potting. Need to harden off my Sticky Willy, ready for the winter. And just finding my Stiff Cock a new home."
He didn't meet the man's surprised look, and bit his lip as he looked at the picture, trying not to laugh. When he was almost sure he could get a sentence out without giggling he glanced back up.
"Begonia 'Escargot', mate. Nice plant. Can get you one if you want?"
The man opposite smiled. "Yes, thank you. And your...um, Stiff Cock? Perhaps I could help with that..."
Greg smiled widely. "I have a feeling you could."
And before anyone says anything, yes, I'm doing my paperwork and eating some cheese on toast with marmite. And yes, those are real plants.
Diospyros Crassenevis and Galium aparine.
And yes, I'm waiting and watching out of the corner of my eye to see when Danger reads that...
Paula - 0. It really does, yeah.
2. I've got…something like that. Sort of. But I've also got the feeling I'm not meant to flash it around.
I had no idea so many people felt the need to hoover their ceilings. It honestly hadn't occurred to me as a necessary chore.
Elizabeth - Sherlock's violin playing often sounds like a war zone all on its own.
Innie - it's a nice thought and I suppose anything's possible.
annoyedwabbit - thanks! Aptly named, too.
....Lestrade. I don't even know what to say. But I'm going to look those plants up right now.
You could say something along the lines of what the mysterious stranger said to Florist Greg.
I don't think I can keep up with your level of vegetal innuendo, but I'll give it a shot.
Good god Lestrade, that's disgusting. I'm shocked.
I mean, really... *marmite* on your cheese and toast? Disgraceful.
(Anon - cannot tell you how much I agree re: marmite.)
"Needs more room, does it? Your...Hard Cock?"
"Yeah, why don't you come round behind the counter and give me a hand with it. If you don't mind getting your hands dirty."
The stranger gave him a bland smile. "No, I'm quite used to that."
It wasn't until he'd eased Greg's Hard Cock free of its confines that he volunteered his name. "I'm John, by the way. Hi."
They shook, hands both faintly damp and sticky, as the Hard Cock was leaking a bit from its recent watering.
Marmite and HP sauce, if I have a choice. But I don't.
And where did Hard Cock come from, Danger? That's just wishful thinking on your part.
"Greg," Greg answered, easing his Stiff Cock into a new, more welcoming, home. He patted it down, nodding in approval. "Thanks. It can get a bit hard to handle, on your own."
John nodded and looked around. "So, you run this place alone? No err...staff?"
Greg shook his head. "No. Just me. Could do with a hand, really, but it's hard to find anyone reliable...willing to start at the bottom, work up. I mean, you've got to love the job, give it your all."
"Actually, I'm sort of looking for employment," John said. "I mean, I don't know a pansy from a Morning Glory, but, well, I'd be willing to learn under you."
"Really?" Greg said. "Well..." The shop bell rang and Greg glanced out, seeing a customer waiting. "Tell you what, give me a call, when you're free one evening, and we'll talk about it. Deal?"
John nodded.
Greg grabbed one of his business cards and scribbled another number on it. "My mobile," he explained.
As John walked away from the shop he turned the card over in his hands.
'G Lestrade
Back To The Fuschia - Flowers For Any Occasion.
(Rose? Where we're going we don't need rose...)'
He smiled, and tucked the card into his wallet.
I'm not sure what I love more -- the fact that John just invented the Hard Cock or the name "Back To The Fuschia." (Inspired, Lestrade. Simply inspired.)
Hahaha I keep imagining Mycroft's face reading this!
Yes, Mycroft, those two *are* responsible adults.
I love you both to bits, but I just HAVE to stop reading these posts in public. *dies laughing*
On a slightly-related note, I'm excited to see Sherlock's drawing. I have to admit, I did vote for Three Men in a Boa, but I seem to have imagine it in a more...sartorial direction. Looking forward to the Jungle Boo, though.
Stiff Cock! Sorry, I can't seem to keep them straight...
Back to the Fuschia, oh my god.
Speak for yourself, Danger. I think it's about the straightest thing about me.
And hey, Anon, I'm only employed to be responsible for 12 hour shifts. This is downtime. It's Danger who has to be responsible 24/7.
itsmeektg - I'm not sure Sherlock knows what the other sort of boa is. Suspect he was picturing a large snake with three bulges in it.
Suspect he was picturing a large snake with three bulges in it.
Like The Little Prince?
Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse...
... you add HP sauce as well?
I would. But Danger says he has to draw the line somewhere. So it's ketchup or nothing. No HP allowed in the flat.
Have just had to look up HP sauce to see what it was, and I am now thoroughly disgusted with you.
Elizabeth - yes, exactly!
L - I still don't understand how you think marmite goes with ketchup OR HP. Or really even cheese. Or...food. In general.
As one of your Canadian readers, I feel I need to speak up in defense of HP Sauce, which is perfectly acceptable in the context of barbecuing. There is, however, no defense possible for marmite (so much so, that my phone wants to correct it to "marmots").
Seconding some comments above, I hope that's what's most important to your parents is your happiness, not the career in which you find it. Good to know you'll have Lestrade as noise-maker/backup dancer if needs be. :)
And oh your florist novel just keeps getting better and better. Stiff Cock, Back to the Fuschia, ahaha. This is delightful (though I can almost /feel/ Mycroft's eyerolling from here)!
Unfortunately I'd be a hypocrite if I didn't step in to defend unusual sandwich combinations. When I was a kid I liked vegemite and mayonaise sandwiches. ;)
Also, since I didn't like normal tea, my Mum used to make me 'vegemite tea,' which is 1/2 a teaspoon of vegemite in hot water.
I cannot get over how much I love the phrase vegetal innuendo. Please tell me that's the name of the band you all are forming - Lestrade on guitar, Sherlock on violin, Mycroft on piano, with John dancing provocatively in tiny tennis shorts.
I adore Sherlock's interpretation (as predicted by John) of Three Men in a Boa! I'd been thinking much more . . . disco-y . . . thoughts.
The tagline (Rose? Where we're going we don't need rose...) is just genius, but I'm afraid, Lestrade, that it was also all the proof that was required to demonstrate that YOU, not John, are the real writer of smutty, innuendo-laden, porntastic cheese. You keep saying that we all found John's blog through his secret career, but consider that we might be sticking around because of the quality of your purple prose.
Yes the vegetal innuendo is really getting thick around here. I'm not sure I'm old enough (48) to be reading it. :-) Although the title and tagline are pretty cool.
Why have you all got it in for marmite? It's lovely! And good for you. And cheese and marmite isn't an odd combination. I still get HP at work, so I'm prepared to compromise at John's place.
Innie - I believe you're all sticking around because John is just lovely, and you all care about him. Although I can see you may find the 'vegetal innuendo' a bonus, knowing you all as I now do.
X - Mycroft's eyerolling threatens to shift the earth from its axis.
Anon - Boil is pretty good to drink, in the depths of winter. Used to get it a lot as a kid, sometimes with a bit of bread, for our tea.
Bloody text! Bovril. Not boil. Bovril is nice to drink.
I haven't tried Marmite, but I love vegemite and cheese on toast. As kids we used to get it a lot for dinner when it wasn't pay week. It's quick, cheap, nutritious and yummy :D
And all the 'vegetal innuendo' on these blogs is definitely a lovely bonus. Though I'd stick around without it, because you both lead such interesting lives! :)
I like HP sauce with sausages. Omnom.
Vegemite, marmite, etc is of the devil.
I'm becoming strangely entranced by the florist story. I think it's the episodic format. I remember getting excited when Nescafe Gold churned out another of their UST love story ads when I was a kid. Anyone remember those? Australia had their own, but I seem to remember seeing that Tony Head was one of the actors in the UK versions. Now, there's another silver fox.
I always pictured Three Men in a Boa as people in a snake. I think somewhere I referred to it as 'a lost play by Samuel Beckett'.
Bovril is nice to drink
Marmite, HP sauce, bovril - and yet you can barely manage a Korma?
(Hope you got more than just a mug of bovril and some bread for your tea as kid)
And I'm not even going to touch the Stiff Cocks and Sticky Willies...
Iamshadow - oh, God, I do remember the Nescafe couple. John and I are NOT like that. I assure you.
Nameless - we didn't just get Bovril and bread every day, but inbetween dole money/child benefit, and depending which layabout Mum had around the house drinking all the money with her, yeah, we got it pretty often as our tea. It was fine. We got free school lunches every day, so it wasn't like we were starving. It was usually either bovril or broth with a few bits of pasta chucked in, when money was tight. Or the staple of eans on toast.
And I always pictured a feather boa, but like the snake you're all describing...as if the feather boa was a snake and had eaten the men. i have no idea why.
Anyone else enjoying a shitty day? Just lost two of my team to the murder from last night - young lad shot. Tragic, needless, as usual. And really not helping me with my current op, now we're two bodies lighter. The Met needs to employ some more people, but all they're doing is cutting. Might go and hit my head against a wall for a bit.
Lost as in transferred or lost as in killed. I'm really hoping it's the former; the latter is horrible. If the latter, my heart goes out to those left behind.
Assuming it's the former, yeah, I get to spend the day making sure that Max is "depressed, increase his meds", not "depressed, worry about suicide". (Pretty sure it's the former, but I could have done without that email yesterday.)
I keep seeing marmite on the shelf in the International Foods section, and while I'm tempted to buy some to try, the comments on here have truly put me off. What is it, exactly? What does it taste like?
(Notice I have no comment on the vegetal innuendo up there, other than...that's just all kinds of wrong.)
I do remember the Nescafe couple. John and I are NOT like that. I assure you.
I think we managed to get together with a lot less fuss (if not a lot less coffee), but I don't remember them being particularly objectionable?
Mazarin - it tastes like death on toast. No, sorry, you should try it - you might like it, and it is good for you. I suspect it's something you have to grow up eating though, and I didn't. Mum wouldn't have it in the house.
Cranky, God, no, not dead. I would have been considerably more worried and less self-centred if that had been the case! We lose very few officers, ever, I'm thankful to say. No, they've just been transferred down to Lambeth for a few days, to help with the enquiry. The chance of catching anyone goes down dramatically as the hours pass, and they're both experienced MIT officers.
And my day is considerably less shitty than yours, by the sound of it. Hope you and Max are both okay.
Mazarin - it's delicious. Don't listen to Danger. it's really savoury, quite salty, strong flavour. You only spread on a really thin layer. Although I like it enough to have quite a lot, sometimes. And it's leftover Yeast, a byproduct from the beer brewing industry. They brought out one made with Guinness a while ago, which was amazing. (make sure it's UK Marmite, not New Zealand Marmite, which is weaker and has sugar and stuff in it, apparently).
John Danger Watson. You're a lunatic and I bloody love you. Your addition to my sandwiches has made my day considerably less shitty (although almost landed me in hospital, when I choked on my coffee).
Everyone reading - he put a new 'chapter' of the Greg the Florist story inbetween the layers of foil around my sandwiches, the nutter. I'll type it up when I get back to the office for you all. I'm still smiling just thinking about him scribbling that down to pack in my lunch for me.
And the Nescafe couple were so...wishy washy. Boring. Couldn't get their act together. And twee. Not like us two BAMFs. But no, I suppose not exactly objectionable. Greg and John in the florists are shaping up far more Nescafe than we did.
it tastes like death on toast.
Well, that's a ringing endorsement if ever I heard one. :)
That's ok, we have lots of regional breakfast oddities here in the States that seem yucky to people from other parts of the country. In Indiana we eat a lot of sausage gravy on biscuits - not the sweet biscuits you guys have, but big, fluffy, buttery bread-like biscuits. Crumble up some pork sausage, add flour, milk, salt and pepper, cook it until it's nice and thick, split a biscuit and slather the gravy over. So good it'll make you wanna slap yo' mama.
(Sorry. Indiana is considered the most northern Southern state, after all, and I have not entirely managed to escape my roots.)
L- it's WHAT? Like, dead yeast from making beer? Is it scraped from the bottom of the barrel or something? Even the lure of Guiness might not save it, now that I know what it is.
(and John *is* such an awesome BF, you lucky, lucky dog. And you guys are way too BAMF for Nescafe.)
Mazarin - yes, essentially, it's scrapedout of the brewery's tanks. But it's delicious! Here's a website with FAQs, and links at the bottom-
http://www.spurgeon.org/~phil/marmite.htm
Hinestly, you don't know what you're missing out on. (you're missing out on Danger pretending to be sick when he notices me licking the knife straight from the jar...)
I am indeed a lucky dog.
See? Death on toast. Literally.
L - so glad you enjoyed the lastest installment, though I'm sorry it wasn't as funny as yours. I just can't keep up with your Sticky Willies.
I suppose they were a bit indecisive, but Tony Head was hot. And in fact still is.
It was perfect, and it made me smile and laugh when I was starting to think I might have forgotten how.
I'm trying to remember what the guy looked like. Fairly sure I didn't take much notice at the time.
So is the litmus test of whether your Mum likes me her reaction to me opening a big jar of marmite at the breakfast table? Or if I do that, in her house, will she throw me out on my ear?
And whilst on the subject of your folks - was your Dad in the army? Is that why he's so....invested in your career? Was he a doctor, too? Just wondering.
If you're smart, you won't try to smuggle it into the house in the first place. I remember my dad and Harry eating it out in the backyard and then washing the knives etc with the hose before reintroducing them to mum's marmite-free kitchen.
Not my dad, no, my grandfather. RAMC, 150th Field Ambulance. He died a couple of days before Dunkirk. My dad's dad, that is, not my mum's. And yeah, that's probably at least part of it.
I'm not smart. And I've always had a rebellious streak...
Ah. Family history is a hard thing to be up against, I imagine. I'll practice my helicopter noises.
L - After reading it about three times, I was pretty sure it was something like that, but I'm in "better safe than sorry" mode.
And, with a little luck, this will make things much better in the long run, so it's not as bad as it could be.
...but Tony Head was hot. And in fact still is.
Woah woah woah, hold up. As in, Anthony Head? As in the scrumtilescent, sexy-singing-voiced, best reason to watch Buffy Tony Head? Rupert GQMF Giles was in Nescafe commercials?
It is completely unfair to mention this while I'm at work and unable to access vids, I hope you know.
Tony Head does, in fact, equal Anthony Stewart Head (as he's credited in the US). And he is delightful, isn't he? I got to see him play Frankenfurter in Rocky Horror and it was a thing of joy and beauty. That man rocks panties and a leather jacket like no one I've ever seen. The corset wasn't bad either.
TTFN,
Bronwyn
Greg and John in the florists are shaping up far more Nescafe than we did.
I meant the florists. It's the mini comment fic episodes that reminded me of the Nescafe ads.
Iamshadow - sorry, yes, I see that now. And yes, it is a bit like that!
I'm clearly going to have to fire up YouTube later to find out what Tony Head looks like.
Danger, you know we were talking about stitches the other week? How do you, as a doc, decide when they're needed? And if, hypothetically, they were, could you really do them?
Cranky - hope it all goes to plan and does make things better.
Oh god, what happened? And yes I could really do them. Do you need me to come by? And the way you personally decide if they're needed is by letting me look at whatever you've done to yourself.
Correction: more likely whatever someone else has done to you.
I haven't done anything 'to myself'. What if it's just a hypothetical question? Hypothetically speaking...
And I'm leaving any minute now, so don't come down here.
He's cut his hand. I did do first aid, so don't worry too much.
And i'll give him a lift home, too, so don't worry about that, either.
I know, sorry. Like I said, I'm sure it was someone else. In my experience people don't generally have hypothetical questions about stitches. They're usually fairly urgent non-hypothetical ones.
All right, if you're sure.
Thank you, Sally. I was a little worried about him riding the bike with some undetermined amount of blood loss going on.
it tastes like death on toast
This is true. A less rude simile than I would have used, but close enough.
he put a new 'chapter' of the Greg the Florist story inbetween the layers of foil around my sandwiches, the nutter.
Aww, John, you soppy sod.
Lestrade: I had a relatively shitty day, but nowhere near as shitty as yours or Cranky's. And I suspect that you're about to be subject to some tender loving care (whether you want it or not :-p)
I'm fine. Just a bit of a slice. And Sal has mummified me in half a first aid kit. There wasn't that much blood, really.
Bollocks. That bloody sneaky git of a boyfriend of yours has done a runner. He must have posted that from the car park - he's taken all his bike gear. Sorry, I was downstairs in the custody suite.
He told me he'd wait.
You're a slippery bastard sir. With respect.
Sorry, that was me, posting from his computer, from his deserted office.
Yeah, I figured. Don't worry, if he's that slippery he's probably all right to get home.
On the topic of marmite and tennis, the Australian Open occurs while Australia Day is celebrated. For such a special occasion, they brought out the marmite (vegemite? what do Australians eat?) and made each of the American commentators eat some.
The gagging and frantic grabs for water did not make me want to try it, somehow. The Australian commentator, of course, is protesting about how delicious it is.
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