a story for you

I don't know what made me think of this today, but it's more cheerful than the other one that came to mind, so here you are...

A friend of mine in medical school (and you'll see shortly that I really do mean a friend and not me; this wouldn't have worked nearly so well me, for reasons which will become clear) had a trick she liked to do on public buses.

She would wear a heavy coat and a false moustache, 'borrow' a penis from one of the cadavers, and attach it to the outside of her trousers. She had short hair and the coat covered her chest, and, well , not many people were studying her face.

Someone would go to complain to the driver, and she'd tuck moustache and member in her coat pocket, unbutton the coat, and don an expression of confused innocence.

She did almost get caught once when someone took a photo and brought the police into it...but when he got it developed, it turned out merely to be a close up of the offence, as it were. She now has a very serious job doing genetic research, and I bet she's glad Youtube didn't exist back then.


Also, piercing poll results...

ears	52 (61%)
nose	8 (9%)
lip	2 (2%)
nipple(s)	11 (12%)
other	12 (14%)

So the 12 of you who picked 'other', what are you getting pierced?

the last two

Is that a small amount of eyeliner? I think it might be... He looks barely old enough to shave here. 

The shirt is positively subdued for the eighties... 

Well. Yesterday...I don't know what to say, apart from it was a nice day out, which is safe enough. My Victorian novel metaphors are not holding up, and the whole thing is proving more complicated than I expected. Just as well L was with me, or I might've been in trouble. Apparently the police find it suspicious when you walk up and down a row of houses for half an hour trying to see in the windows. I'm sure I don't know why... 

lord of the manor

"Welcome, Sirs. We have been expecting you," he said, tone low and steady.

Greg felt John give him a gentle push in the back...

*

The castle had a butler, a housekeeper, a cook, and maids in varying degrees. John was not grasping the subtleties of their ranks. There were also several gardeners lined up and looking as deeply uncomfortable as John felt. 

John shook the head gardener's hand and, desperate for something to say, asked, "What, no gamekeeper?" 

"He's down in London having surgery," the man said. "Gamekeeper's thumb. Serious condition. Comes of killing rabbits." 

The butler gave the gardener a sharp look for that, and John didn't dare inquire further after the gamekeeper's rabbit-dispatching technique. 

Eventually, he and Greg were led upstairs and shown to separate rooms, which was about what John had expected. A few seconds after the door closed, though, he heard a knock on the wall, and a section of panelling slid away. Greg stood on the other side. He looked faintly pale. 

"I thought I could just sell it!" he said. "But I'd have to fire all of them! I can't do that." 

"Maybe you can find a buyer who'll keep them on." 

"All of them?"

It did sound unlikely. 

"Let's go and have a look at the gardens. And then you can ring for tea. M'lord." 

Greg rolled his eyes. "Git." 

"Do you get a title with this pile?" 

"Yeah. Lord I Can't Bloody Afford This, of West Money Pit." 

"You could have weddings here," John said, as they stepped out into the gardens. It was fairly bleak, but it should be beautiful in summer. "You could do the flowers for them." 

Greg looked slightly more cheerful at that. They walked down an arched tunnel of thorned climbing roses and out into the light of the main gardens. 

cambridge

We had, as L said, a lovely ride to Cambridge. I had the key to Mary's mum's flat, which was basically in the same condition she'd left it in when she went to France three months ago. It certainly didn't look like she had any particular plans to be away long, although I suppose if she hadn't planned to come back at all, there would've been no reason to empty the fridge.

I did wonder at first if someone had searched the placed in the way you see it done in films, everything tossed about everywhere, but Mary did warn me it would be messy. We did find an old map that very likely has nothing to do with anything, and then we found a chip shop and ate lunch. Sherlock's been pouring over the map today in between glaring at us and eating cake.

The motorcycle lesson went well. I rode something gold and Italian this time, and I think L is going to have some sort of seizure if I don't start remembering the exact make and model so I can tell him later. He listed about forty different ones it could've been and I gave him a blank look, and he said how could I remember what all the bones in the hand are called and not the company that made one bike. I told him my brain's already full of bones and so on, but I don't think he bought it.

I got this from Mycroft today, 'for the internet', he said. Here you go, internet:

now that he's safely asleep

Isn't he sweet? And smiling for once. 

john watson, p.i.?

After I dropped Sherlock at school this morning, I went to talk to the young woman Mrs H told me about.

Obviously, there's a lot about it that I can't say, and I've been trying to think how to talk about it. This is going to be about 80% true in substance and about 80% made up in the details. It'll sound a bit like a Victorian novel, but I think it'll work.

Mary's in her early twenties, just out of university, with some sort of computer science degree. She told me about it. I won't pretend I understood. She'd probably get on well with Mycroft.

Three months ago, her mum disappeared. She'd been on a business trip to Paris. She left her hotel one morning and never came back. Mary didn't realise anything was wrong until the police called her. All her mother's things were still in the room. The police found the cafe where she'd had breakfast that morning. After that, nothing.

A week later, Mary got a pearl in the post. Small box, brown paper wrapping. She showed it to me, not that I could make anything of it. I imagine it's been checked for fingerprints and so on. Mrs H certainly doesn't need me for that. Two weeks after that, there was another pearl, and another two weeks after that, and so on.

The most recent one came with directions - turn right, go a quarter mile, take the third left - not those actual directions, but things like that. Which might've been helpful if you knew where to start from. Mary and I started from her flat, but the directions had us turning right and walking 20 paces through a brick wall...not that helpful.

That's about as far as we got today. She thinks her mum is alive and responsible somehow for the pearls and the directions, suspects the directions may be code of some sort, and resents the French police and Mrs H for not taking it all more seriously. I can't blame her, but Mrs H doesn't do anything by accident, so there must be some reason she sent me. Just need to figure out what it is. 

eye of the tiger

Please note the tiger striped seat covers...

So. The meeting with Mrs Holmes yesterday. I didn't really know what to expect. I never do with her, and these little visits are always exciting. It was only the second time I've been to her office. It's quite small, extremely wood paneled (all the walls and the ceiling), and has an espresso maker that L would be wildly jealous over. It looks brand new though, and it did last time I was there too. I don't think she spends a lot of time there.

We had coffee, talked about the boys, made certain plans which will be a pleasant surprise for them and for L, I hope. And then she asked me to go and talk to...some people about some things.

This is where it gets tricky. I can't give out details in a public blog, and frankly I barely have any details to give out if I wanted to. There's a possibly accidental death involved, and a young woman who's been sent a number of...well, I can't say what, so let's call them pearls, over the past few years.

I don't know why she'd want me to look into it. I'm sure she has more qualified people. And I'm a bit worried L may die of worry. But it does sound awfully interesting. 

he knows how to make an entrance

First motorcycle lesson tomorrow. L claims to be nervous, but give the appointment he has later in the day, he has much better reasons to be nervous than me wobbling around on a bike for a few hours. The one he claims is his 'eye check up'. The only similarity is that he's also got two of what he's actually going to get seen to.

Speaking of appointments (but not the sort L has tomorrow), I have one with Mrs Holmes on Friday. I don't know what about. Should be interesting, at least. They always are. 

seeing blue

Once upon a time, on an unnamed base in an unnamed country, which may or may not have contained a great deal of desert terrain, dust storms, and devious goats, there were six officers.

These officers were not what one might call well liked. These were officers who had been known to regularly get their undergarments back from the laundry with a faint pinkish tinge. Not one, but four of these officers found a small goat in their offices at various points during that goat's stay with us. It was installed on their desks with a bowl of tinned fruit and nowhere, so to speak, to...go.

I should say, at this point, that while I might possibly have had some knowledge of the goat's location, what follows was nothing to do with me.

One night, there was a comedy thing that a lot of people went along to. The next day, I was stopped in the hall by Officer A (not even his real initial). He said, and this is a direct quote:

'Doc, you have to help me. I'm pissing blue asparagus.'

I started at him for probably too long while trying to switch those words around until they made sense. In my head, it went something like this: there is no asparagus here, fresh or tinned. Asparagus urine smell. Does his smell for some other reason? Has he somehow found and consumed actual dyed blue asparagus? Some other (blue?) veg he thought was asparagus? Is the asparagus a red (blue?) herring? Does he just mean he's pissing blue? 


He was just pissing blue. And he had thoughtfully brought me a sample. Which was really and truly unnecessary because I knew what it was. He insisted I take it anyway.  I thanked him and departed. (Note please that it was in no way in my job description to receive anyone's blue urine. There were a number of other people he should've given that sample to. I don't know why he chose me; that's just my life.)

Through the course of the day, I was stopped by two more of those officers (the other three had the sense to present their blue urine to the appropriate people). More direct quotes:

'Is it normal to pee blue?' (A: 'No. No, it isn't.')
'I think I might be dying.' (A: 'Why, is your urine blue?' Cue panicked face from Officer C.)

The thing is...while the methylene blue part was relatively easy to figure out (it was pretty well known at medical school and considered incredibly passe as a prank)... I did open that sample. And it genuinely smelled like post-asparagus urine. I have no idea how they accomplished that.

In closing, I just googled asparagus pee, and found this eminently reasonable request:

It's said that in a venerable British men's club there is a sign reading "DURING THE ASPARAGUS SEASON MEMBERS ARE REQUESTED NOT TO RELIEVE THEMSELVES IN THE HATSTAND."

revenge of the eighties

This is the exact face I made when I saw the shirt he's wearing in this picture.

photos

There was going to be a story here which I could trade for DW's one about snowballs...but I'll do that tomorrow. I think this should stand on its own.

And the face I imagine L is going to make when he sees it....

There are a few more, but I feel they're best strung out, possibly over a few weeks. 

resolution

Well, let's see. Last year, I said I would...

1. Learn to cook one thing so Mrs Hudson can have a night off once in a while
2. Keep anyone I care for from getting kidnapped
3. Live

Three for three, not bad. Possibly the trick is to aim low. Nevertheless...

1. Run more (more than currently would not be difficult)

2. Keep everyone I love out of hospital (doesn't seem like it should be difficult, right?)

3. Get a life

Working at the surgery's a decent start, but I can do more. Need to do more, I think. Also, more physio for my shoulder. I stopped before I should've when I got out of hospital, which was stupid. Never got back to it, and it's good enough most of the time, but could be better. 

I was going to do a sort of summary of the year in list form, but looking back over all the entries... Maybe tomorrow, after I've had more sleep. 

Happy new year, everyone. I hope it brings you everything you want, or at least everything you need.