rat in a hat box

Work was...relentless. Not particularly terrible in any one case, but a sort of low grade, consistent terrible that makes one wonder if the human race is really worth it. It's not an unfamiliar feeling, but I suppose when I came across it in other countries, I had the luxury of thinking 'oh, well, but it's better at home' even when I knew that wasn't really true.

Getting home (properly home, our flat, as opposed to London in general) helped. Pizza and getting L back from his seminar helped more. So here's the one mildly bright spot of my day.

Reasonably nice house with a flooded basement and a break in. The man came in through the basement, sloshed up the stairs and had an altercation with the home owners. In the course of this, the woman's pet rat jumped off her shoulder and bit the intruder. Scampered off downstairs (the rat, not the intruder; he tried to go out the front).

By the time I got there to treat rat-inflicted facial wounds, etc., both husband and wife were absolutely frantic about their pet...who was eventually found floating in a hat box in the flooded basement. Like Wind in the Willows, I imagine, presumably with oars and a picnic lunch and a mole.

they grow up so fast

The sun came out today in order to taunt Greg for going back to work. What was he thinking? I took the boys and the dogs to the allotment, where Mycroft and I dug things and Sherlock and the dogs sniffed things. This has nothing to do with any of that, but L sent me this picture while we were there - jumping spider holding tiny jumping spider:

And thence, to the park. Where we pretended to play rugby. I tried to explain the rules to Sherlock, not for the first time, and then we all ran around with a rugby ball in more or less complete chaos. In theory, it was me against the boys, but the dogs wanted to play to, and then it was every man (or canine) for himself.

While we were distracted (Sherlock had climbed a tree with the ball and was taunting us), Phobos wandered off and tried to play with a little girl's balloon. The balloon went off with a bang, which gave me quite a start, Phobos tried to hide behind Mycroft, and the little girl hid behind her mum. Couldn't blame her. Phobos was easily bigger than she was.

Mycroft got her a new balloon and an ice cream and made Phobos apologise, in a scene I found eerily familiar. Just replace Mycroft with me and Phobos with Sherlock...

the road home

I'm writing this on the way back from Brighton. Mycroft's reading, Sherlock's asleep, and both dogs are looking over Mycroft's shoulder as if they can read too, or at least as if they're learning. 

I have some pictures for you, none of them taken by me. The food ones are by Greg (I was too busy eating). Deep fried battered buttermilk-soaked halloumi with chips, seaweed, peas, and the best tomatoes on Earth. They were pickled in vodka. More things should be pickled in vodka. I'm not sure what though. Maybe plums? Sherlock hated them, so we ate his.

Doughnut straws with brandy cream and chocolate to dip them in. Obviously we all loved these. It would be difficult not to. 

this day

For anyone who didn't see it in the comments, Bryan was arrested on a drugs charge today...and called L for help. Help was obviously not forthcoming. I don't even know what he thought Greg could do.

Anyhow. Sherlock's blisteringly angry about it and thinks Bryan should be boiled in oil at the very least. Getting him to settle down for bed was basically impossible, and he sat between us on the sofa until he drifted off around eleven.

L took him upstairs and then we talked for a while. I'm also angry. Obviously. Trying not to suggest he should be boiled in oil or anything similar. It wouldn't help, and Sherlock doesn't need the encouragement.

We went to bed. I'm reading Some Buried Caesar again and read some of it to L. Possibly not the book for him as it put him right to sleep. Although, really, it was midnight by then, and he hadn't had the easiest day, so.

And I'm still awake. Shoulder hurts, leg hurts, brain hurts. Oh, and I worked today. Got one call where a fourteen year old kid had been arrested for attacking his grandmother. So there's that as well.

I don't know if writing this down has helped or not. Going to read some more I think.

owl hugs

I invited myself along on Sherlock's class trip today. Ostensibly I was there to help out Mrs. N and try to keep the kids from actually exploding with excitement when they saw the birds. In reality, I think she and I were nearly as excited as they were. Here are some of the birds they brought (images not mine, taken from their website):

African white-backed vulture:

Barn owl (possibly the most patient bird in the world):

Tengmalm's owl (the one I most wanted to take home):

The rain held off for long enough that we got to see some of them fly. The kids got huge protective gloves and each of them got to hold one of the birds…if they wanted to. Some of them couldn't be convinced. Even the very small owls might look intimidating when you're that young I suppose. Sherlock was obviously not among them. He held everything he was allowed to hold and gave the barn owl a very careful hug.

I had the vulture sitting on my shoulder at one point. He was lighter then I would've thought possible, given his size and 6 foot wingspan. And he nibbled my hair.

Sherlock is still stratospheric about the experience and has had to be dissuaded from perching on the back of the new sofa at least eight times since we got home. He wants to know what would happen if he ate a whole mouse, if it would come out like an owl pellet. I've told him not to try.

gloomy garlic man

I forgot I had started this post and came back to find it the next day with space Alka-seltzer already in place. Odd.

Alka-seltzer in space:

 

And a Tea Council advertisement from 1951:

That's not an ad so much as a way of life.  And now also my phone wallpaper. 

I was doing...something, maybe laundry earlier, and Sherlock fixed me tea all by himself and brought it to me with no ulterior motives - sorry for being so suspicious, Sherlock! It was very kind of you, and I appreciate it.

Sherlock and I went to get tea/coffee/hot chocolate and cakes with L today. He's still missing a suspect, who's evaded a helicopter search, which seems like an impressive accomplishment. Hope he stops being so clever soon and gets caught like he should. 

We have also been to the allotment and saw a man standing over a patch of barren ground, actually weeping a bit. Asked what was wrong, he responded, "Oh, it's my garlic. I'm sure it's all dead." 

Sherlock has been calling him Gloomy Garlic Man and wants to get some and plant it secretly for him, but you're supposed to plant it in the autumn and I think now it would just go soggy before it had a chance to grow. We can give him some of ours, although perhaps that would just be twisting the knife?