bike day 2.0

Sherlock got most of his bike gear for Christmas...got his helmet...so we arranged a little surprise. L and Mycroft and I set off into the cold and the wet, and eventually met Sherlock and Mrs Hudson near Harrow so Sherlock could have his first ride in real traffic without it being in the middle of London.

And so I could practice with Mycroft on the back of my bike, and in poor weather, in an effort to make L feel a bit less nervous about my abilities. And also obviously because I do need the practice, but he does occasionally give me this concerned look that makes me feel as if I ought to be asking permission before I ride in the rain.

It was cold. It was wet. I may have mention that already, but the cold and wet featured prominently in our day and bear repeating. At one point I thought my fingers might never uncurl, just be frozen permanently in handle bar gripping position.

Not cold enough, of course, because it's still rain and not the S word.

late night tea

We're both unable to sleep at the same time for once. Makes a nice change, having company. Except for knowing we'll both be tired tomorrow instead of just one of us. I was asleep for a bit at least, dreaming about being in a helicopter, going over endless dry dirt, no rivers, no trees, no people or animals. Just dirt and dust and empty trucks stopped dead in the middle of dirt roads. I think I'd rather be awake.

L's doing paperwork and had half a folder spread out over my leg so when I woke up I caused a small paper avalanche. Left him to clean it up while I made tea. So now we're awake in the middle of the night with tea which is, in my opinion, better than without, and with chocolate biscuits, autopsy reports, and crime scene photos. Sherlock would love it.

Sometimes life produces moments that are so unexpectedly nice that I find them almost shocking. I'd never have thought, before I met L, that insomnia and paperwork - even someone else's - could be combine into anything better than mild irritation. But, shared with him (and tea), it turns into something different. Contentment maybe. That's a good word.

I'm still not used to it. Maybe I never will be. 

christmas photos

Happy Christmas, everyone. I hope it was a good one. It certainly was for us. I'm too tired to give a full report, but it had all the usual desired components - good food and people we care for. Lestrade outdid himself with dinner, and Mrs Holmes, Mycroft, and Sherlock created some new version of Cluedo understandable only to them. 

Here's a picture from a while ago (you can tell by the blue sky). Someone had hung one of the trees with these two little baubles. 

And here's a close up of our tree with massive sparkly snowflake. 

Jumper report: Mrs Hudson knit me a very nice jumper. It's mainly cream with red cuffs and collar, and some cabling stuff in the middle and on the sleeves. I think it's lovely, and not too Christmassy. Should be able to wear it all winter if L doesn't make off with it and bury it somewhere... 

And now, everything is cleaned up, Sherlock and Mycroft are asleep, and L is waiting for me in bed while I blog like someone who has nothing better to be doing, when clearly I do, so...good night. 

and a pear in a partridge tree

I said I'd post a picture of my bauble today, since L posted his yesterday and vividly described Sherlock's for you. It's just a little bird. I think I had a bird last year too.

Not like that. I know what you're all thinking, especially you, L.

Mycroft's are in the background. He got a bunch of tiny little pears and berries on wires that you can weave into the branches. Very tasteful. 

The persistent cold and damp hasn't been doing my shoulder any good, but today was mostly an inside day, except for walking the dogs (and Sherlock). Tea, a good book, an endless supply of baked goods from Mrs Hudson's flat, both boys relatively calm... 

Of course, there was the inevitable moment when we got back from the walk and both dogs and Sherlock tried to shake themselves dry at the same time, and Mycroft had to curl over his computer to keep it dry and the resultant you did that on purpose / you were SITTING THERE on purpose. It's convenient that sibling fights don't actually have to make sense. Otherwise you'd run out of things to argue about eventually. 

the world didn't end

We had only minor apocalypses during Sherlock's play, thankfully. He did very well, and we were very proud to watch him, especially the violin piece he played at the beginning. Lestrade also played very well, and we were proud of him as well...especially when he caught the goat.

The kings were following a star, you see, and by star I mean a spotlight with an inexplicably purple gel on it. The gel was positioned wrong, started to smoke...maybe some small flames. I went to turn it off while Mrs N dealt with panicky children. L insists the goat was coming right for me and he manfully wrestled it to the ground, and good thing too, since I was without my goat proof pants.

After a few tears and excited shrieks from the kids, things calmed down a little, and Mrs N got them back on track. They actually finished the play. I was impressed. Sherlock came up to me afterward and said, very proudly, 'None of that was my fault!'

And then there was cake. And later, mulled wine. It was very nice. Mrs H had some and measured me quite thoroughly for the jumper she's knitting. More thoroughly than I have every been measured before. And more unnecessarily too, since she took my measurements two weeks ago... She also showed us a corner of it. Seems to be mainly cream coloured with cables and some red bits. I don't think even L will be able to object! 

shipping forecast

This will be short because I should be asleep...but I startled myself awake by falling out of bed, hitting the floor...and then trying to hit the floor. It hit me first. So I'm up for a while. Cleaned up a bit more glitter.

And then I remembered a long ago blog conversation about the shipping forecast and wondered if it were on youtube. It is.

tree buying

I'd point out that my BMW is winning the poll, but that seems unkind to Lestrade, who was responsible for a very enjoyable time last night, so I won't.

The room was really impressively nice, with its odd hanging cage bed and comfortable sofa. In my limited experience, room service usually isn't very nice even when they manage to get it up to your room before it's cold. It still seemed preferable to going out, but I was not expecting anything to write home (or blog) about. It was really good though, in particular the dessert, as L said. Calvados pannacotta, blackberries, caramelized apples, and salted caramel ice cream. Wow.

It was incredibly strange not to be awakened by a flying tackle from Sherlock early the next morning, but I think we could get used to it. Slept in until eight, which is about right as far as I'm concerned and criminally late for Lestrade. Nice lunch, home, picked up Sherlock from school...and then the Christmas tree.

We went to a tree farm to cut down our own this year. Sherlock had a check list regarding height, width, colour, needle quality, etc. It took two solid hours, not counting the drive there and back. Got home, got it up and mainly straight, and L had to rush off because he was nearly late to work by then.

I tried to be restrained with the tinsel this year, partially for L and Mycroft's sakes, and partially because the enormous wreath Mrs Hudson and Sherlock did is already so extremely sparkly that any more sparkle in or around our flat might cause some sort of sparkle implosion and result in a black hole that would suck all the glitter out of the world. 

disappearing act

If you've read the comments in L's blog, you'll have seen that Mycroft and Carla gave us the slip today. Not just us, but security as well. They lost us in the crowds of manic Christmas shoppers at Harrods. They let us know they were okay after a while, and then apparently went ice skating and had hot chocolate.

I'm...torn on how to feel about it, and what to do about it. He's a teenager now. He's obviously going to want more freedom than he's had, and it's a reasonable thing to want. I don't know how much he can reasonably have. Need to talk to his mum about that. There's got to be some kind of balance between keeping him safe and letting him grow up. Probably should've done it before now, really.

Apart from that, we all had a nice day, despite the crowds. A bit of shopping (all right, more than a bit), lunch out. L spent at least an hour trying to convince me I wanted an earring after we walked by a piercing place. Nearly gave in, but I'm sure I don't need any more holes in my head than I already have.  Pretty sure.

Sherlock asked, idly, if he could get his tongue pierced. We're going to be in so much trouble when he hits fifteen or sixteen. 

bits and pieces

L's mobile had a small accident today. He brought it home for Mycroft to dissect. Mycroft let Sherlock help him, and it kept both of them occupied for quite a while after dinner, almost right up to Sherlock's bedtime. No idea what he wants with phone innards, but I'm sure he'll do something interesting with them. 

RIP

andromeda project

Hello, this is Mycroft. 

I've just been reading about the Andromeda Project, and I thought some of you might be interested. It lets you help astronomers identify star clusters in the Andromeda galaxy, as well as distant galaxies viewed through it. 

The project aims to identify star clusters in our neighboring galaxy, also known as M31. All it takes to find the clusters in Andromeda is an Internet-enabled computer and a desire to help, said Anil Seth, the team's lead investigator. "No special training is required," he said.

The Andromeda galaxy is the one nearest to our own and also the most distant object you can see in the night sky without a telescope. It was first mentioned in writing in 964 by a Persian astronomer named Abd al-Rahman al Sufi, who described it as a 'little cloud' in his Book of Fixed Stars. 

It's also on a collision course with the Milky Way, destined to arrive in roughly five billion years. Not particularly relevant to us, since our sun will most likely have cooled and expanded by then to a point where it will have swallowed up Mercury, Venus, and possibly our planet, too, so if we're not off Earth by then, Andromeda will be the least of our worries. Still interesting though. 

This is a picture of the Antennae Galaxies colliding. They intersected about 200 to 300 million years ago, and the process is still continuing today.

they cannot look out far, they cannot look in deep

We left this morning to go and visit Nicky and her family and Lestrade's mum. Left the boys at Nicky's house, went to the hospital...had a very quiet visit. Clearly quieter than L expected. Quieter than I expected, to be honest. She barely said a word.

Nice lunch with everyone afterward, and then the drive home. Sherlock entertained everyone for a while with various videos he found on youtube and then fell asleep. Mycroft told us a bit about his and Carla's plans for next weekend. He said we can fit it all in if everyone keeps to the schedule. L asked him what he thought the chances of that were. He said about 17%. I'm pretty sure there'll be ice skating though, at least.

We played Cluedo this evening, which ended as well as you might expect, with the board overturned and pieces all over the room. Sherlock insisted his character didn't do it and that we had no evidence...

And then Lestrade casually mentioned that next Sunday is...well, a sort of anniversary for us. I'm really bad at remembering dates. Even when the event in question was extremely memorable. I love him every day, sometimes so much it's almost frightening to me. Certainly more than I ever thought I was capable of. I hope that makes up for it. We've got a date for next Sunday if Mrs Hudson can look after Sherlock. Which, given her willingness to aid and abet on previous dates, seems extremely likely. I'll ask her in the morning, which is coming all too soon. 

friday

Lestrade and I dropped Sherlock off at school this morning, completely failed to run afterward, went home and had coffee until it was time to go and get Mycroft. It's always such a mess when it's time for them to go home - boys, bags, parents, and cars all over the place. The dogs generally clear some space around us, but even so, it's quite an experience. 

L got cornered by a boy a couple of years older than Mycroft who wanted to know every single thing about his bike's engine. I wouldn't have thought there was that much to say (it's a small engine!), but they were talking the entire time we were packing up luggage and dogs. Just before we left, the kid said my bike was nice too, but that he thought Triumph made a 'superior product'... 

Oh, and if you missed the comment, Anthea said she might ride with one of us next time. Nice to be preferred to two large, slobbery dogs. ;)

It's lovely to have Mycroft home again. Sherlock is, of course, once again outraged that he's still in school while Mycroft's not, but the Christmas show is distracting him. Mycroft wants to see the Churchill War Rooms, so we'll probably do that sometime in the week when Sherlock's at school. He's reading Churchill's history of the second world war right now, and I may be reading it too, soon. The parts he's shown me are interesting. 

He showed me this, too: bombsight.org, which marks where the bombs fell in London during the Blitz. When you zoom out, it looks like a solid red splotch and seems a miracle the city wasn't entirely wiped off the map.

And now, as they say, for something completely different:

"When a magnitude 6.8 earthquake shook Olympia, Wash., in 2001, shopowner Jason Ward discovered that a sand-tracing pendulum had recorded the vibrations in the image above."

going fast, slowly

Sherlock's mum picked him up from school today and took him to get cake. I gather she was regaled with every last detail regarding the Christmas show, including the colour of lights he wants on his halo. He also got her to sign a contract saying she'd be there. It covers a number of contingencies, including alien invasion, zombie apocalypse, and nuclear war. In all cases, she is expected to attend the show, even if some of Sherlock's classmates attempt to eat her brain.

With all this time on my hands, I helped Mrs Hudson bake:

Went for a run. Thought about some things, which didn't turn out as badly for me as it usually does. Cleaned the kitchen, waded around in Sherlock's room to make sure  there was nothing growing in there that shouldn't be. And had the following exchange of texts with Anthea:

Me: are you coming to christmas dinner?

A: what's in it for me

Me: the opportunity to wash a lot of dishes after

A: you mean make my minions wash a lot of dishes

Me: thought you said they weren't your minions

A: reconsidering. may need to start life of supervillany, in which case minions necessary 

I think Harrow may be getting to her. 

And lastly, here is a cheetah running very fast...very slowly.

back to the future

Delorean taxi

The linked article says it's not real, sadly - I mean that it doesn't exist as a taxi, not just that it doesn't really take you back in time.

Sherlock's class had auditions for the Christmas show today. Sherlock wants to be an angel with a light up halo. A dancing angel. Possibly breakdancing. Probably not on the head of a pin, but nothing would surprise me. He's also got a violin piece to play at the start of the show, along with two of his classmates, who I believe are playing cello and harp.

On the way home, he said he wants to invite Molly and Sally to come to the show  as well - but only if he gets the part. Heh. I need to ask Mrs N how many guests we're allowed to bring. There are quite a few of us already.

And I need to start Christmas shopping in a very serious way. What are you all getting your mums this year? Any ideas I can steal?

-

I'm not going to continue the poetry indefinitely, but I realised I didn't do any haiku at all. So here's this, by Issa.


In this world
we walk on the roof of hell
gazing at flowers. 

those winter sundays

When I was young, my father had a painting. It was of a very brown forest with some brownish grass, coppery leaves, dusty coloured sky. Generally brown. There was a brown stag in, standing between two trees, and through some mental oddity or lack of visual development, I could not see it. Harry could see it, and had always been able to, even when she was my age. I think I was about three or four then. It's one of my first memories. 

Harry got so angry with me over it. In looking back, I can see she thought I was pretending not to see it, presumably to annoy her, as younger brothers do. At the time, I had no idea why she was shouting. And I remember my father sending her out of the room, showing me right where the stag was, lifting me up so I could touch, but it was no good. Still invisible. He showed me again the next day and I don't even know how many times after that, until one day I could see it. 

I suppose my point is that the holidays always make me think of my family, and I'm trying to be more positive about it this year. Doesn't come naturally, but there you are. 

-

You can also listen to him read it here if you want to.

Those Winter Sundays
Robert Hayden

neither out far nor in deep

I saw Harry for lunch today while L was visiting his mum. She's still sober, and she got a promotion recently, so we were semi-celebrating. Which isn't to say we managed not to piss each other off at all, because we didn't, but even so, it was nice. 

She said she'd like Sherlock to stay with her overnight some time. If he wants to and his mum is all right with it, I think I would be too, at this point. It's funny, thinking about the two of them, Harry wasn't that different from him as a kid. Maybe more socially aware, less sure of herself, but I remember her being absolutely enraged when people (mostly our parents) told her the truth was inappropriate, just the way Sherlock is. I wonder if we might've got along better if she weren't my sister

-

Neither Out Far Nor In Deep
Robert Frost

greg the florist, part i have no idea

Previously on Greg the Florist...

The woman peering out of the window after them seemed to be clutching a wooden cross, holding it out at them, but as he squinted to see more clearly, she moved away into the shadows. He shook his head. It must have been some sort of optical illusion...

la belle dame sans merci

Mycroft rang this evening and told me off for never admitting I was ill and trying to carry on regardless even though I won't let anyone else do that. Probably tells you all you need to know about my day. I honestly don't feel that bad, just tired, scratchy throat, etc. I plan to be better tomorrow, but meanwhile Drs Holmes and Lestrade have made me promise to rest. 

And this still isn't Greg the Florist because I can't find the last bit of it on L's blog and search box won't load. I don't suppose anyone has a link to it? 

-

No laughing at 'her elfin grot', I know you people. 

La Belle Dame Sans Merci
John Keats

sneezles

I'd meant to write Greg the Florist today, but got a call from Mrs N instead, telling me to come and fetch Sherlock. He's not too ill - at least there's no vomiting (yet) - just quiet, cranky, and miserable, poor kid. And then L came home with a headache, and he and Sherlock napped on the couch in between demanding orange juice (Sherlock) and insisting he was fine (Lestrade). Mrs H came up and force fed everyone tea, and then I was putting Sherlock to bed, and...the day has gone very quickly. 

-

Sneezles

A.A. Milne

in a disused graveyard

View from the top of the monument. It was tall. There were a lot of stairs. I need to run more. I know I've said that already, but mostly likely doing it would be more beneficial than talking about it. I'll look into that. 

 The church, complete with real live blue sky, in as much as the sky is live:

DW asked me: "Doc, in all the time you had soldiers telling you things, did you ever once believe them when they started with "See, it was like this..."? Because if you did, I have a very nice bridge for sale..."

So, once upon a time, in the freezing remains of an abandoned and possibly haunted mental hospital, a soldier sidled up to me. We'll call him M.

M: See, it was like this [emphasis mine], we were just trying to have a little fun [also a phrase to be treated with deep suspicion], like a water slide, only with ice, and now Jameson's got his arse froze to it, so can you come and unfreeze him? I hear vodka's good for that.

The vodka should've been my tip off. In my defense, the rest of his story, given the people involved, was completely believable. Why he thought I had vodka, that's a mystery for the ages, but when I got back from talking to Jameson (unfrozen), I found M eyeing up a bottle of alcohol like he was wondering how it would taste. He'd also pocketed a number of tongue depressors.

We had a talk. Evidently it did't stick, because two weeks later...

M: See it was like this, Doc. I got bit by a bat and now I think I'm turning into a vampire and I don't have any garlic. Do you have some garlic?

The next week...

M, face covered in god knows what: Doc, I'll be honest, sometimes a man just needs to exfoliate.

I still don't know what it was, but the resulting rash was surprisingly difficult to get rid of.

-

In a Disused Graveyard
Robert Frost

see it was like this

The weather's miserable. Sherlock said someone should find a way to make it colder out and then the rain would be snow and snow isn't as cold. Which...is not true, but I do see what he meant. You're not as cold when you're out in it. Although I can tell you that if you're standing in the snow and some bastard throws a bucket of cold water over you, you will be colder than if you were standing in the rain.

L made curry last night, and I had the leftovers for breakfast and lunch. He wouldn't kiss me for ages, even after I brushed my teeth. He told me to go and gargle with milk at one point, which led to some interesting discussion.

I like this sort of weather, really. It makes the inside seem warmer. Even the colours are warmer, all yellows and oranges, while everything outside is grey and blue.

-

You get a picture for this one, because I'm not going to try to reproduce the line breaks and indents. Blogger always does funny things to my formatting.

See it was like this
Lawrence Ferlinghetti

stopping by woods

So, the Christmas show. I talked to Mrs N today, and I'm reporting the following bit of conversation so that L can see that the result was not my fault. 

Me: Has Sherlock said anything to you about Lestrade playing guitar in the show? 

Her: I didn't know he played! Oh, that would be lovely. I was going to play piano, but it'll be easier to organise everyone back stage this way. Thanks so much for offering. 

...Clearly not my fault, right? L, I can probably still get you out of it if you really don't want to. 

As for the actual content of the show, she said it started with the kids thinking that the most interesting part of the nativity story was the three wise men trekking across the desert and ended as some sort of desert survival story...with science...and dancing. And, she says, possibly a live goat. 

I, for one, cannot wait. 

-

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Robert Frost

loveliest of trees

I did the poem part of this post earlier and then never wrote the post part because Sherlock read the poem and started declaiming it from atop the sofa. Between that and L following me around singing Slade songs and making a tinfoil wig, I laughed so hard my face hurt. 

Tomorrow I will do my best to interrogate Mrs N as to the exact nature of this Christmas show before anyone starts building animatronic camels or shooting stars that really shoot. 

-

Loveliest of Trees

A.E. Housman

when i watch the living meet

I completely forgot about posting today...yesterday, really. I'm up though, and everyone else is asleep, so I'll just do this before I go back to being L's foot warmer. I'm so very glad to have him home. Tried not to fuss at him when he came home and failed completely, I think. He was cold and wet generally miserable looking. Much better by the time we got to bed. 

Sherlock said something about interpretive dance for the school Christmas show... I don't know whether that's actually what his teacher said, or if he's just heard the phrase from L and picked it up. Should be interesting either way. 

Yeah. Sleep. 

-

When I watch the living meet
A. E. Housman

low tide

Well. I imagine you've read L's post so you know his mum is in hospital after a stroke. He's staying with Nicky. I've answered all of Sherlock's and Mycroft's questions that I could. And now I'm really just sitting here staring out the window and failing to think of things to type. So I'd better go and try to sleep. Good night, everyone. Thank you for all the support today. 

Low Tide
Edna St Vincent Millay

second coming

I had lunch with Spence today - he's one of the friends I saw for the first time in a while at Red's funeral. The one who told L every story about me he could remember in the five minutes I left them alone together. To be fair, it was probably a joint effort, but I'm sure he was the instigator. 

We talked, about a lot of things. People and things we remember. Strange times. He said he didn't really talk to anyone when he got back either, including his wife. I gather they're doing a little better now. 

He came along with me to pick up Sherlock, but ditched me when he saw the tidal wave of children coming toward us...heh. Something about having to do the shopping. Excuses, excuses. I took Sherlock to kung fu. He's learning to do this jump kick where you turn all the way around in mid-air and then inflict grievous bodily harm on the foam pad someone's holding for you. They're encouraged to yell while doing it. Quite an impressive sight.

On the way home, he asked me why I was sad. I told him I'd been thinking about people I miss. "Like I miss Grand-mère?" he said. Yes, like that. "People shouldn't die," he said. "It's not right." Leaving aside the difficulties of overpopulation, sometimes I agree. Sometimes not.

And then, perhaps inevitably, we talked about zombies.

-

The Second Coming

William Butler Yeats

the lady of shalott

I'm tired, and extremely full of pie - still - so this will be short, apart from the poem, which is long. 

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, we had to pick something to memorise and recite in class, and I did Resume, by Dorothy Parker, which you can look up  or find in the comments of the previous post. It was...not well received. It deals with methods of suicide in a more lighthearted manner than my teacher felt was appropriate. My parents were called, I had to see the headmaster, etc etc... Despite the fact that Parker was, as I insisted repeatedly, a 'real, famous poet'. 

I'd got it out of one of my mother's books, and my parents were, for once, on my side, and the only punishment I got in the end was to pick a different poem. I picked this one, primarily because it was the longest one in our book. I recited it as slowly as humanly possible. It took up nearly half the class. I also completely alienated that teacher completely, which made the rest of the year rather unpleasant. Still, no regrets. And I do like the poem. It's very peaceful. 

-

The Lady of Shalott 
Tennyson

bee-scuits

Sherlock and Lestrade's creation of the day, bee biscuits. Or, as Lestrade insists, bee-scuits:

With chocolate wings, legs, and stinger, of course. Unlike actual bees, they are delicious. 

The off road place was good. I definitely still have mud in unexpected places, but if that and a few bruises are the worst price we pay for getting to act like complete lunatics for a few hours, I'd say it's more than worth it. 

Sherlock had a ride on the back of L's bike again...he's almost there. Just a touch unstable still. Not quite enough length in his legs, but since he's growing like kudzu, I don't think it'll be too much longer. 

I watched Mycroft go around the track by himself and thought about my father's reaction when I asked him to teach me how to drive: an aghast look, accompanied by a demand to know how old I thought I was. He knew, of course, so I can only assume it was the shock talking. I can sort of understand it now, when I realise that Mycroft will be old enough to have his own bike in a very few years. 

I'm getting into an odd place with the poetry, where the only ones that leap to mind are ones that I suspect will seem vaguely depressing to everyone else and inappropriate for happy posts involving bee-scuits, but that I personally find amusing or hopeful. I'm also trying hard not to make this Millay Month, but nevertheless... 

Spring

Edna St Vincent Millay

departure

Today Sherlock and I worked on his bee innards and looked at a lot of pictures of bee wings, close up. I also answered the question 'When is Mycroft coming home?' roughly 5000 times. He is home, at last. He and Sherlock spent a little time on the bees before Sherlock decided to make off with L's Murder Investigation Manual, and he also showed us all this:

More about it here: http://calebcharland.com/energy-from-a-single-orange/

Which is pretty amazing, I think you'll agree. The orange is powering the LED that's lighting it up from inside. Sherlock wants to make one. 

-

Departure

Edna St Vincent Millay

hope is the thing with feathers

I went to see Lestrade play his guitar at a very small pub tonight. Last night, technically. I was under strict instructions to not do anything whatsoever - applaud wildly? Fling various items of clothing at the stage? Not sure what he had in mind. I behaved with perfect decorum but was still accused of looking 'soppy'... Well, he might've had a point. Couldn't help it. I really do think he's amazing and was so pleased and proud to be there with him. 

Sometimes I wonder how things would've gone if we'd met years and years ago, when I was in med school and he was still in his band. Really poorly, probably, when I think back on most of my relationships. And that's assuming I got up the nerve to talk to him at all; also unlikely back then. 

On nights like this, it's possible to believe that sometimes things really do turn out for the best. 

-

Hope is the thing with feathers

Emily Dickinson

purple bougainvillea vine

Our day was, as L said, lovely. We were awakened at a semi-godly hour, and I got to stay in bed a bit longer while L and Sherlock did ill advised things with cheese on toast and calculated the speed of light, all before breakfast. Took Sherlock to school. He likes L going with us because he'll let Sherlock ride on his shoulders. It gives Sherlock a chance to see over garden walls and mimic L's hand gestures while L can't see. It's a good show. 

Got home, had a semi-healthy breakfast, by which I mean that although it contained bacon, it didn't contain pancakes, and lay about on the couch for about an hour saying we should do something. Nice to have the time for that, for once. 

Then a slightly chilly bike ride with random pub lunch - just pulled over and took a chance, as people did before the days of the internet. The food was good, but there were some people talking about Arsenal...in ways that L did not approve of. Thought we might have to leave early for a few minutes there... 

-

Purple Bougainvillea Vine

Don Blanding

the listeners

Despite Federer losing last night, I had an absolutely amazing time at the tennis with L. Being there makes all the difference. The seats were closer than I've ever been to the court at a tennis match; I was afraid to ask what he spent on them. It was incredibly kind and thoughtful of him, not just to arrange it, but to go and sit through two and a half hours of a sport I know he doesn't really care for! Must be love. 

And whatever he tells you, I did not get Federer to sign any part of my body. 

The poem today doesn't fit with the post at all, I realise, but I was thinking about it on the way home last night with us out later than usual and the streets relatively quiet (for London). 

-

The Listeners

Water de la Mare

driftwood

Tonight is the World Tour Final...final. It's Federer and Djokovic, here in London, which means I've gone another year without managing to see him at this one or Wimbledon. With Wimbledon, I have some excuse, but it's fairly easy to get tickets to the WTF, at least for the earlier rounds. I suppose I don't need to worry since he's now saying he might play at the next Olympics as well... I assume he's not serious, but with Federer, who knows? He is, as Nadal once said, from another planet.

And apparently I wasn't the only one thinking of Red yesterday. I got a call from Spence this morning...as well as a series of drunken texts from Murray around 3am his time, asking me if I remembered the time Red decided he was going to save the bottle cap off of every water bottle he drank while he was over there, and did I know what had happened to them. (I do know - he was ordered to get rid of them, because within a week there were so many he was having to hide them in other people's packs without their knowledge, so that when they stopped to get something out, a waterfall of white plastic caps would flow out...)

Today's poem...Don Blanding isn't someone you'll find taught in any school, I'm pretty sure, but I like him. He lived in Hawaii, wrote mostly in the 1920s and 30s, and a lot of his poems are about that, or about his travels.


Driftwood
Don Blanding

into my heart an air that kills

I don't have a post for this day two years ago, but I remember how I spent it. Indoors, staring at the wall, feeling sorry for myself. At the time it seemed like the only choice I had. And yet I knew Red was in London. I could've called him easily enough. I remember thinking it was his leave and he should see his family and I didn't want to bring him down.

So I didn't call him, and a few days later I was in Devon, and soon enough he was back in Afghanistan.  I never saw him again.

When I started this post I meant to write about how I met him. It's a good story and more cheerful than this, but I can't seem to do it. Maybe another day.

Into my heart an air that kills

A. E. Housman

miniver cheevy

I almost did Richard Cory instead of this one. It's better known and I suspect better thought of. But I like Miniver Cheevy. It makes me think of Harry. She wanted to be a knight when we were kids. I always had to be the dragon. 

And I feel like this should be longer, but it's been a long day and I've got a headache, so...the end.

Miniver Cheevy
E.A. Robinson

the guest house

On Tuesday, I went to see Dr E. It was mainly getting reacquainted, or perhaps I should acquainted for the first time, given how resistant I was to actually telling her anything before. I'm not terribly keen on it now, but I've realised that there are worse things. 

She asked what I wanted to get out of it. I said a lot of things, but what I came to in the end was that it would be good to be able to initiate difficult talks with L without making him feel like it's solely for his benefit, which I think I do. Maybe not intentionally, or at least not with conscious intention, but it's still not good. So. There's that to start with. 

From here: "This tractography image was made to help the neurosurgeon to choose the right approach for his neurosurgical planning. The surgery was at risk of damaging the visual field, as well as damaging complex sensory and visuospatial functions such as orientation in space, perception and motor functions."

The Guest House 

Rumi

translated by Coleman Barks

tu fu to li po

After school:

"John, can we go see the dinosaurs?"

"Do you have homework to do?"

"Maybe." 

"Maybe?"

"If I say I do, are you going to say no to dinosaurs?"

He's getting sneakier...but not a lot sneakier. You can guess how that one turned out. There was also no to swimming, jumping in ponds, getting ice cream (isn't it past ice cream season?), buying bats to keep as pets, going immediately to the zoo to satisfy a sudden bat craving, going to the library to look up everything on bats instead of doing homework, no, not even if he did a report on bats because I don't think Mrs N would consider it an adequate replacement for fractions. Polar bears and making a video of him baking cake: also not a replacement for fractions. 

When I said we could probably go to the library after he did his homework, he said: "Instead of is way more fun than after." So often true. 

-

I'm not entirely sure that Carolyn Kizer actually wrote this; I've seen different attributions, and I've never seen the poem anywhere but online, despite my best attempts to find out what books it's in. I think it's her though. 

Tu Fu (or Du Fu (I don't know which version of their names is more correct)) and Li Po (or Li Bai) were 8th century Chinese poets. 

Tu Fu to Li Po

Carolyn Kizer

upon a peak in darien

This one I would probably never have read if it hadn't been quoted at the beginning of Swallows and Amazons, which caused me to look it up. I remember being slightly disappointed when I found out he was only talking about reading a translation of Homer, and then still more disappointed when I tried to read the Iliad. (Hint: it's better when you're not seven.) 

And that's all I have today... I was going to post about going to see Dr E, but I find I need to think about it for another day. 

On First Looking into Chapman's Homer
John Keats

at noontime

Sherlock's class did their reports and floated their boats on the pond today. He was happy enough with his boat last night, but when I picked him up, he'd hidden it somewhere in the classroom and wouldn't tell Mrs N where, so we had a chat about that. He produced it, finally, from behind a bookcase and shoved it in the bottom of his bag. A couple of the other kids came up with things he wished he'd thought of, apparently.

I tried to explain that that didn't make his bad - I thought it was very nice, especially for someone who'd never tried carving anything before - and L tried to introduce the concept of telling the other kids he thought their boats were good... Not sure how well either of us did. I suppose we'll see. Makes a change from him being impatient with everyone who's not picking things up as quickly as him, at least.



At Noontime
Sappho
translated by Mary Barnard

siege

I'm stealing L's question again, which was: 

what I wish someone had told me when I was 7 and 14, that I'm making sure the boys know now...

Fourteen...that the world was bigger than I thought it was, bigger than I could even understand, then. That things always change, not always for the better, but they always change. That my whole life would not be decided based on my marks at school. 

Seven...that my sister wasn't as horrible as I thought she was and that she had her own problems, and so did my parents. That very little of what happened between them was my fault. 

I don't know if those are really things Sherlock and Mycroft need to know, or, if they are, if I'm getting them across. I think they're both more grown up and aware of the world than I was at those ages. 

Siege

Edna St Vincent Millay

modern declaration

I found this while I was looking up another poem of hers to make sure I had it right. I'd never seen this one before. She wrote it during World War II. Good time to find it, I think. 

Modern Declaration

Edna St Vincent Millay

spring and fall

More poetry...I feel I'm getting off lightly here while Lestrade comes up with actual posts, but I am enjoying it. I'll answer the question he did today as well, which was what he'd like to learn that he hasn't yet. 

I'd like to learn to cook, like he does, by just looking at food and knowing how it goes together and what cooking method suits it. I can just about get by these days if I follow a recipe, but it's not the same. 

I remember making something that called for six sage leaves and having ten or so left in the package. Lestrade said to just put them all in and use them up, and I said, 'But it only calls for six! Six is not ten!' I still get slightly irrational when I try to cook. 

I think I'd like to be able to write fiction some day too. 

Spring and Fall: to a Young Child
Gerard Manley Hopkins

the bearer of evil tidings

Kestrel suggested poetry, which I could probably do all month, though I'll try not to. I know it's not everyone's thing. This is the first one I memorised, partly because I thought it was funny, but mostly because Harry said it was too long and I'd never be able to remember it. I was eight, I think. 

New words I learned from it: bower, discreet, mandates, divine.

Other things I've done primarily because Harry said I couldn't, or wouldn't dare: jumped in Lake Windermere with all my clothes on, stole a teacher's hairpiece, spent the night in a supposedly haunted house... On the whole, this one probably turned out the best. Or at least got me in the least trouble. 

The Bearer of Evil Tidings

Robert Frost 

every day??

L is doing the posting every day thing that we did last November. I suppose I'll make the attempt as well (no promises). I feel singularly uninspired recently though, so I'll need your help. Questions? Post topics? Anything?

Do you think they let people get married in that bombed out church L likes?

Also, I have an appointment with Dr E next week, which L may or may not attend, as he likes. We'll see how that goes. When I rang her she seemed to think I must've fallen into some sort of deep and desperate depression and was rather surprised when I explained. I told her it served her right for not keeping up with my blog... 

science!

More here. I thought Sherlock would like these and probably some of you will too. 

I had a dream last night that I'd asked L to marry me and he said yes, and then I woke up and I had to wake him up to make sure it wasn't just a dream...very peculiar. 

Mrs Holmes rang me today to congratulate us and offer to send us to Antartica for our honeymoon. It's sometimes quite difficult to tell when she's joking. 

Did you know they make wood wedding bands? I didn't know that until today. 

Nicky - I don't think I ever answered your comment on L's blog, and I'm sorry. I thought my answer very hard at you, which I realise I've been doing more and more lately. (Note to self: telepathy still doesn't work.) Thank you. You and your family have been so kind and welcoming to me and Mycroft and Sherlock right from the beginning, and it means a lot to all of us. I hope we'll see all of you at Christmas. 

Right, I am off to do the shopping and to pick Sherlock up from school. L, let me know if you have anything to add to the following list contributed to by Mrs Hudson, various elderly neighbours, and security:

odd things you think about

Lestrade posted in the comments of his blog about thinking when he was a kid that the sensation of his heart beating was caused by it swinging back and forth on a pendulum. It made me think about some of the strange notions we get when we're young.

L posted a picture of me long ago, in a post far, far away (that I cannot find). I was four or five, I think, and wearing a suit for my great uncle's funeral. I barely knew him and wasn't too upset about it, but I absolutely refused to go up and see him in the coffin with my parents and Harry. They all thought it was because he was dead, but that part didn't bother me. I wouldn't go because I was convinced he would be naked.

No idea where I came up with that. I suppose it makes sense in an odd way that you'd be buried in the same state in which you were born, and I wasn't old enough to realise that his friends and family would not want to see that. I would tell my parents why either, because I thought they'd say something along the lines of, 'Well of course he's naked! That's just the way it is, come along.' And then I'd have to go. So I wouldn't explain and instead, I seem to remember, hid under a table.

amazeballs

The post's title is Carla's reaction when we told Nicky and her family the news. I think that sums up my reaction pretty well, too. If you haven't heard, go and check L's blog.

No, I mean it, go. He tells it better than I do.

on the way

Lestrade's driving. Mycroft and Sherlock are glaring at each other in the back seat. Sherlock spent ten minutes poking Mycroft, and I didn't notice until Mycroft finally lost his calm and stuck a wad of gum to Sherlock's forehead.

Gum has been removed and Sherlock has been told to keep his hands to himself. I'm having flashbacks to car trips with my parents and Harry. Except Harry stuck the gum to the top of my head, and I ended up with almost no hair after mum was done cutting it.

I think we'd better stop and eat soon. Food always helps in these situations, and those two are meant to be sharing a tent tonight. A tent room. I'm still not used to tents having rooms. When did that start happening anyway? At what point did some tent designer say to themselves, you know, I think this tent needs to be more like a house? Let's add a kitchen and some statuary. Impractical? Oh, maybe just another room then. 

fully equipped

We now have enough cold weather gear to launch an expedition to the North Pole, although Sherlock has pointed out that we should wait until we've baked biscuits because when we get to the North Pole, we'll want them to celebrate with. I told him I didn't think they'd last that long. He said he'd make extra. I also got a hoodie, so I can test it vs jumpers and prove L wrong.

I know it hasn't been that long, but I feel sure Mycroft has grown since the last time we saw him. Lestrade was joking about him being taller than I am, but honestly it's not going to be that much longer.  He's far more grown up and dignified than I was at fourteen. We got sushi today, and he uses chopsticks like he's been doing it his whole life. That sounds silly when I write it out, but at the time all I could think was that he's growing up so fast.

 He's brought home a computer game called Minecraft where you build things out of blocks, which makes it sound like a game for small children, but you can build literally anything you can think of and there's some sort of wiring system and...I'm really not sure. He thinks he can make a computer in it. And he's helping Sherlock build his boat virtually before building it in reality.

We're now awaiting L's presence for biscuit creation, and I'm simmering the beef and broccoli thing, which ought to be done by the time the biscuits are. 

enormous jacket

Since L has said he doesn't mind... 

I like it because he looks so happy. Thanks, Nicky. 

Sherlock's class are building boats to sail on the pond - one or two at a time, I presume, or there are going to be shipwrecks. They're meant to choose a historical or fictional boat/ship and do a report on it in addition to the actual building. Sherlock already has a list of about ten. 

Got the following text from Anthea today: will be taking time off whenever you madmen are going camping in the freezing cold, so let me know. It's going to be fun though, honestly! 

leaves

I think someone asked if Sherlock's half term dates are the same as Mycroft's and I never answered, but they are. Sherlock's plans are becoming ever wilder. If it were left entirely up to him, I think we'd be climbing Everest over the weekend, followed by a short jaunt to the Amazon basin in the week. I'm not sure we'll be going anywhere at all, but I'm sure we'll have fun. It'll be great having him home.

Lestrade brought me home flowers last night because he's the sweetest man alive. White roses and green chrysanthemums, the kind with the extra long petals. There's probably a name for them, but you'd have to ask Greg the florist. They're lovely, and sitting in a slightly wonky vase on the table. It's white and chipped, and I don't actually know where it came from. Maybe it's Mrs Hudson's. The only vase we had whose origin I was certain of is the one I got cracked over the head with.

It's funny how things just appear like that. Not something I'm used to, like having a fixed address and more than two pairs of shoes.

Lestrade, let me know if you want to get lunch or something? And then I've been advised that I'm not too old to jump in piles of leaves in the park with Sherlock, so I expect we'll be doing that after school. 

normality, or something similar

Lestrade's at work. There wasn't enough time to cook dinner before he had to go so we sent him off with sandwiches and spider biscuits, and now Sherlock and I are making breakfast-dinner, with eggs and pancakes and bacon. It'll be good if I don't burn anything. Sherlock says he'll keep an eye on me. The spider biscuits will keep eight eyes on me.

L and I had a long walk around the park and a talk, during which neither of us cried in public, though it was a close thing once or twice. I'll leave him to tell what he said if he wants to, later. I don't think anyone here will be particularly surprised to learn that I feel responsible for not stopping what happened to him, for not getting him back sooner. I know that makes no sense. Knowing it doesn't help.

More than that though, I could feel this distance between us when he got back, and that was... I didn't know how to fix it, or change it at all, didn't understand why it was there, and all I could think was what if it got worse and I somehow lost him over this even after we got him back. So that was terrifying.

I think we're moving past that now though. At least I hope so. Still trying to work out how it happened, and I think it's at least partly the assumptions we make about each other. I think a lot of the time L expects I won't want to talk and tries to respect that and I assume he'll do the talking when he's ready and...yeah. Turns into a bit of a mess.

He said in one of the comments on my last post that he didn't mean to make me feel like his way of coping is better than mine, but I think pretty much the entire world and certainly all mental health professionals prefer talking to silence. I need to do better there.

And now if you'll excuse me, I think my bacon may be smoking. 

sleep's dull knife

Dire sounding subject line is actually from the most cheerful-insomnia related poem I know:

Cut if you will with sleep's dull knife
each day to half its length, my friend. 
The years that time takes off my life
he'll take from the other end! 

It's either Edna St Vincent Millay or Dorothy Parker. I can't remember. Also, accuracy not guaranteed, it's very late.

I was already up and getting some water when Sherlock came and found me in the kitchen. He'd had a nightmare about giant skeletons clattering up the stairs, and he said the worst part was that they never got there, they just kept coming up forever and he had to wait for them. I can sympathise.

I made him some warm milk, which he declared acceptable but not as good as Lestrade's, and stayed with him until he fell asleep again. He didn't ask to come back to bed with us, which I hope is a good sign. Might let him stay home again tomorrow if he wants to, we'll see. I think he's ready for school again though.

Work, thankfully, is not yet ready for Lestrade. I hope not for at least a few more days. He might be all right to go back, but I'm not sure I am. 

bad news

We got another envelope. It had the same bug stickers as the one from Sherlock's 'birthday card' did. This one was hand delivered. Not, I think, by the person who took the photos. Just a kid, maybe sixteen or seventeen. I asked him to wait because we'd had trouble with a stalker, and he said he thought the man who gave him the envelope was 'kinda creeptastic' but that he'd given him twenty quid.

I thought it would just be more photos, and there were photos - the three of us at the zoo. There was also a note. It said to enjoy the pictures since it was the last we'd see of Lestrade. I can't get him on the phone or by email or text. I've called Sally, and Anthea's bringing Mycroft home.

I...don't know what else to say. 

latibulize

From the list of words that wolf-were provided:

Latibulize v.

To hibernate. Function of a teenager during that part of the morning when papers are being brought in, cats being fed, garbage cans put out, digital clocks being reset after overnight power failures, etc., etc.

Also what Lestrade and I did briefly today after dropping Sherlock off at school, going for a run, etc. That's et cetera as in 'and so on' not as in anything else. We went back to bed, and I went back to sleep, which must've been fairly boring for Lestrade, but he took it well. No reflection on you, L. The past few nights haven't gone well, that's all. Maybe I should switch to decaf too.

I wonder if the last part of the above definition will ever apply to Sherlock. It seems incredibly unlikely, but surely it must happen to everyone? I've never known a teenager who springs out of bed at five in the morning unless the alternative is being discovered by their girlfriend/boyfriend's parents.

I wonder how large a part that played in the creation of boarding schools. 'Let's put them all together where they can't get into so much trouble!' Except, having known boys who went to boarding schools, I'm well aware that they can and do.

Speaking of which - the schools, not the trouble - Mycroft texted to say we could come and visit on Saturday if we wanted to, which of course we do, so that'll be nice. We can bring him the leftover biscuits and scones from tea, of which I imagine there will be several thousand. 

after school special

Mrs N asked to speak to me when I picked Sherlock up today. She's coming to tea on Friday. Sherlock has apparently promised her baked Alaska, which I don't think is going to happen, but I imagine we can at least provide brownies or chocolate swirl biscuits or something.

He was a chimpanzee on the way home. On the whole I prefer elephants, since they very rarely try to climb up you while you're waiting for the light to change.

Sherlock: Chimpanzees fling poo.

Me: No.

Sherlock: They do, I saw them!

Me: I mean, no, your chimpanzee impression does not need that level of verisimilitude.

There is no more reliable way to distract him than with new words, but I'm going to run out eventually. 

arrogance, guilt, and squid

Lestrade is cooking squid. Probably will have cooked squid by the time I finish this. I admit I'm slightly dubious about the prospect of barely cooked squid, but I trust him. Apparently you either have to cook it a long time or barely at all. It gets rubbery otherwise. Having had a fair amount of rubbery squid, I believe it.

I've said before that I don't think I could do what Lestrade does, i.e. go out every day into what is essentially a war zone and come home at the end of it and somehow make the transition back to being a relatively normal human being. Transition has never been particularly easy for me. It's always got to be one thing or the other, all the way or not at all.

I think that's why I found a lot of the work at Sarah's surgery a bit...well, boring. I suppose there's no way to say that without sounding like an arrogant arsehole, but any nurse (especially Murray) will tell you that all doctors are arrogant arseholes, so maybe I am. It wasn't the sort of work I went into medicine for, at any rate. And I know I shouldn't feel that way, but knowing that doesn't help. Just adds guilt to the mix.

When L brought up the possibility of working as an FME (forensic medical examiner for anyone who missed that before), I think, despite having a fair idea of how hard it would be, I knew that second that I'd do it if I possibly could. I've looked into A&E work before, but it just won't fit with Sherlock's schedule. A lot of times I'm the only one who can guarantee I'll make it to his school functions, and I don't want that to change.  This seems like it'll be a bit more flexible. Mrs Holmes is back this week, so I can talk to her about it. Just the prospect of it is a relief in a lot of ways. I didn't realise how much the lack of occupation was weighing on me. 

fme and bed snails

Last night in the comments, I was being unintentionally morose about my lack of employment (I know, I do have a job, but with both the boys back in school, it really doesn't feel like it, and I'm not good at doing nothing all day), and L brought up the possibility of working as a forensic medical examiner.

Basic duties...I'll just quote Lestrade here: examining injured people in custody, examining people who claim to be sick/injured, people who claim to be the victims of police brutality, take blood samples, write out death certs. at scenes, and sometimes present your findings in court. And also, I think, from the reading I've been doing, examining assault victims. I'm going to talk to someone he knows about it and find out a bit more. There's not as much additional training as I would've expected, though there is some.

I talked to Sherlock about on the way home from school. He seems alternately excited and worried about how much I'd be gone, which I'm a little concerned about too. Obviously, he and Mycroft are my first responsibility, and I'm not quite sure it would be fair to them. But I don't know enough about it yet to make a decision either way, so that'll have to wait.

I think I'm also signing up for krav maga lessons at a place Anthea recommended, too. I'll let you know how it goes.

ETA: This was Lestrade when I went into the bedroom just now...

grim grey palisades

We went to Spike Island. Over the years, it's had a monastery, a prison, a fort, and more recently a prison again. The prison was closed down in 2004, and now it's just a tourist attraction. 

The fact that it was a prison before it was a fort certainly shows, doesn't it? The weather was decidedly grey when we went to visit, and it made the whole thing still more foreboding. 

post

Sherlock got an envelope in the post today. I didn't think much of it. His birthday's coming up, after all, and it had balloon stickers on it. Glittery ones, even. I did check with his mum, because he doesn't generally get cards, but there are a number of people it might've been from. Mrs Holmes said to let him open it. I could tell she was doing what I'd been doing - weighing the risk against letting him be a normal kid excited to get mail of his own. And he was so excited he nearly burst on the way home.

It was a birthday card. It's got a bug on it, so someone clearly knows his taste. Inside the card were photos of Lestrade, obviously taken by someone who'd been following him on his bike-less commute recently. Some were taken from quite close up.

Sherlock was mainly confused and thought it was a very silly thing to send him for his birthday. I am... Well, I think you can imagine. Lestrade is on his way home. 

caught in this isthmus of a middle state

Paralympics women's doubles medal ceremony:

Esther Vergeer's record is just amazing. I think she's got over 20 slam titles, and a few years ago she topped 400 straight wins. (I know this is late, but a lot of the tennis I'm just watching now.)

Also, there's this. I think they're fantastic, and I wish I'd had anything like that amount of determination when I got home.

Anyway, life goes on. L's told me a little about his case, which is...not good. Some of the cases he works are fairly ordinary, if murder can ever be said to be ordinary, and some, like this, leave me wondering how things like this can happen, how anyone can do these things.

Sherlock asked me what the point of life was today, which was a more complex question than I was expecting to have to answer while making cheese sandwiches on four hours of sleep. I'm afraid I didn't have a satisfactory answer for him. 

loose ends

The meeting with Mrs Holmes today was very short. She gave me a package, had me memorise an address, I took the package there, and that was that. I got the feeling that wasn't what she'd called me in for, actually, that I was filling in for someone who hadn't shown up just because I happened to be there.

Bit odd. But I'd rather be the one filling in than the one who didn't show up. Hope he escapes with his life when she gets hold of him.

I did also get her to sign off on Sherlock's martial arts lessons while I was there, so that's ready to go when he is. Maybe another week or two. he's still complaining about things being different at school. He says they have better books in the new classroom though, so that's something.

We made avocado and tomato pasta for dinner. Basically, you cut up tomatoes and avocados, mix them with olive oil, lemon juice, salt and pepper, and basil, and then when the pasta's done you drain it and put it in the bowl with the stuff and mix it around. Very easy.

After dinner, Sherlock said everything was too quiet and stood on the sofa to see how loud he could make his violin be. Quite loud, it turns out. 

protection

Lestrade got this one:

And I got this one: 

Which, as you can see, is red, and goes with my bike. Although, it's going to be L's bike for a while as soon as his hand is well enough to ride again. I don't really need it on a daily basis. I hope his gets fixed soon though. I know he misses it.

The accident, if it was an accident, was over so quickly that it's difficult to remember the details. It always seems odd that something that happens in so little time can have such lingering effects.

no one needs to worry

We had a little accident on the bike. Bruises and scrapes mostly. We're going to hospital for L's hand, which is swelling nicely. I don't think anything's broken though.

I've talked to Sherlock and Mycroft already, and Mrs H is picking Sherlock up from school, though he's not happy about it. Please be good for her, Sherlock. Hopefully we won't be too long.

Some bastard, also on a bike, cut right in front of us and there was just nowhere to go, bus on one side, pedestrians on the other. You'd almost think he was trying to knock us over. I'm glad it was L driving and not me; I'm sure he managed it better than I would have.

And when I say no one needs to worry...I mean about us. The bike didn't fare so well. I don't think he'll be riding it for a while. 

unpacking, a drama of innumerable parts

We left yesterday morning (Spain, as I think most of you probably guess) and got back to London yesterday afternoon. Mycroft's leaving for school this evening, so not much happened yesterday apart from travel, tantrums about leaving, laundry, un/packing, and consolation brownies. They didn't really make up for not being in Spain anymore, but they helped.

Today: more laundry, more un/packing, the realisation that there are more laundry labels to sew into Mycroft's new shirts, acquiring food one way or another, etc etc.

Sherlock brought Mrs Hudson home a stone he found that has a hole through the centre of it. He's been fascinated this trip with the way water smooths things out and wears them down. He would've brought home every piece of beach glass he found if he'd had his way.

We'll probably do another pan of brownies so Mycroft can take them to school for his friends, or, as he insists they be referred to, the people he knows there. I suppose he has a point. My mum would refer to anyone I knew from school as my friend, even people I considered my mortal enemies. Drove me mad.

I'm using my how to infuriate monkeys tag retroactively for the Gibraltar incident. 

on the blue shore of silence

Mycroft and Mrs Holmes stayed back at the house yesterday, and L and Sherlock and I headed down the beach to explore. Sherlock had a plastic bucket and war paint sunblock, L had his film star tan and smug grin, and I had a pounding headache, L's sunglasses, and occasionally a towel draped over my head. I honestly did not have that many mojitos. They're deceptive. And I'm out of practice.

We walked quite a long way, built a series of quickly abandoned sand castles along the beach, which were misshapen lumps by the time we passed them again, picked up shells and bits of seaweed, watched while Sherlock poked at things in tide pools. I stuck my head in the sea every now and then. It helped a bit.

There was no ice cream, but we did get cold drinks near the surfing school, and looked at, but did not ride, the horses. Sherlock and L wanted to try surfing, and I wanted to lie very still, so they went off for a while. I floated peacefully in the water...until Sherlock was boosted without warning onto my stomach and L ducked down to bite my bum again. It was a well coordinated assault that nearly ended with L's sunglasses at the bottom of the sea.

Sherlock can really swim now. I'm not sure when he went from splashing and paddling to diving and cutting through the water like a tiny eel (that's a moray...), but he's really quite good now. We'll have to find somewhere indoors to take him this winter.

On the way back, Sherlock was pretending to be a bull and charge Lestrade, which led to L wearing Sherlock's bucket on his head, standing on a rock and singing that Toreador song. He doesn't think I have pictures, but I do. 

wake

After the incident with Sherlock and the monkeys, we got on the ferry to Morocco. The wake behind the ferry from Gibraltar to Tangiers:

I wasn't quite sure about the S on the end of Tangier(s) so I looked on Wikipedia (which says either way is correct), and found this: Tangier has been reputed as a safe house for international spying activities. I'm dying to ask Mrs Holmes if this is true, but she'd just give me that look of hers.

I did ask Anthea, but she said Mrs Holmes had given her the day off (as if she answers my ridiculous questions when she doesn't have the day off) and headed down to the beach...not with beach towel and sunblock as one might expect, but for a run, from which she didn't return for two hours. I'm not sure she properly understands the concept of a day off.

And now L has made mojitos and guacamole. He also bit my elbow and informed me that our beach has land sharks. I love seeing him like this, happy and relaxed and playful (even when he cheats at water volleyball). 

let's rewind

I think Lestrade mentioned some of these, but...

Things Sherlock tried to pack on Sunday, for your entertainment:

A smaller bag inside his bag, so that he could bring 'nearly twice as many things!' back with him as he took with him.

Spoons.

A dog.

Mycroft.

The attempt to pack his brother was mainly in retaliation for Mycroft working out how to put books in collections in the Kindle before he did. There is, at the moment, only one Kindle, because Sherlock went unexpectedly Luddite on us and declared that he only liked real books. Of course, now that we're here, and Mycroft has unlimited book access and he doesn't, he wants one desperately.

Oh, and I didn't fall asleep in the airport, whatever L says. Don't listen to him. I think I did sleep on him  for most of the flight though.

And now we're here, and it's...honestly one of the nicest places I've ever been. It's strange. I'm still not used to being able to afford proper grown up holidays that don't involve sleeping on someone's sofa. I know I ought to be; I'm certainly old enough, but it still seems faintly unreal.

I'm writing this next to the pool. You can hear wind ruffling the leaves, hear the waves rolling in, smell the salt. Just woke up from a bloody awful dream, but I don't even care as long as I don't wake up from this. Trying to decide whether L would be cranky if I woke him up for a very late night swim... 

packing, a drama in three parts

Act I, scene i, the kitchen. 

Lestrade is getting ready to leave for work. Mycroft is drinking orange juice and eating toast. I am hunched over my tea in a protective fashion because that is my standard morning position when I'm not forced out of it by the divers alarums and excursions that so often fill our lives.

Sherlock rushes in, dumps a pile of things on the floor, and rushes out again. The things are as follows: a microscope, a large green towel, one of Lestrade's rare ties, a small live frog (how?), a packet of biscuits, part of a computer with some wires hanging off of it, and his book on mummies.

Mycroft, Lestrade, and I stare at the pile.

Act I, scene ii, Sherlock's bedroom. 

I enter, with my tea held before me like a particularly ineffective talisman. Sherlock is wrestling his suitcase out of his wardrobe. With the handle extended, it is as tall as he is, so this isn't going well. I ask what he's doing. He replies with a look that says it should be blatantly obvious that he's trying to force his suitcase into submission. Fair enough.

I remind him that I said we'd start packing later in the day, and that we're not leaving until Monday. He says that if we all get it done sooner we could leave earlier. I explain that this is not how it works. He nevertheless proceeds downstairs with his suitcase.

Act I, scene iii, the sitting room. 

Lestrade is pursuing a small, live frog. Mycroft is restraining the dogs from pursuing a small, live frog. Sherlock has retreated into the kitchen to pack all his belongings which haven't yet run away.

I contemplate taking my tea back to our room and locking myself in, but instead send L off to work and take over the frog hunt myself. It takes close to an hour. It's an agile frog.

Later in the day, we'll have to take it back to the park. For now, it's in a glass bowl, regarding me with a hurt expression.

Tomorrow, no doubt, act two.