not too spotty

Sherlock continues tired, not too spotty and intermittently cranky, which is to be expected. He has consumed his entire body weight in homemade ice lollies several times over. I hope L keeps making them all summer. The lemon-basil ones were not a hit with Sherlock, but I love them.

Speaking of basil, it exists in the allotment. Our little non-producing blueberry bush looks happier this year, so perhaps we'll get some actual berries out of it (although Sherlock informs me that most things we call berries are technically droops drupes, but he doesn't know if that includes blueberries or not, and Johnnnnnn stop typing so I can look it upppppp why can't I use your phoneeeeeeee [answer: because of the 38 texts he sent L in a two hour period before I took it away from him]).

We will also have these enormously long Thai red beans:

They stay that color when you cook them, which Sherlock is very pleased about. Most of them that aren't green to start with turn green when you cook them. They also apparently get about as long as your arm, which should be something to see.

I'm going to let Sherlock look up droops now. Talk to you all later.

worker bees

A multi-storied bee...dwelling. Made by architecture students in Buffalo, New York. There are more pictures here where you can see the outside, but I thought this one was the most interesting. 

Sherlock got very excited by this and asked if we could build one on the roof / at the allotment / in a park / on the roof of NSY (because 'they're not even using it for anything and the bees could see the fireworks from up there!'). I'm afraid normal beehives won't satisfy him now.

I just got an email from Dr Feelgood, coincidentally, about consulting a few years ago in a case where a man was stung to death by bees. He ended it with 'And that's when I moved to London'. 

Also in the email...I might have a job soon. One 12 hour shift a week to start with - I'd be on call, not necessarily working the whole time, obviously, but presumably there are days when you do work the full 12 hours, so I need to make sure L or Mrs Hudson will be available to look after Sherlock if I can't be. Need to make some calls, but...yeah. Could be starting soon. It's quite exciting. 

avebury

After talking about it for only two years or so, we finally made it to Avebury today. Lovely day, if chilly. We had a picnic, Mycroft and Sherlock and the dogs played tag, Sherlock tried (unsuccessfully) to climb ancient stones that were as unconcerned about him as they have been about generations of children doing the same while their parents' backs are turned for two seconds. He said he would've managed it with both arms full functioning.

I was a little worried about the dogs and the sheep, but they were both very good (the dogs and the sheep, that is). The dogs watched with fascination and lolling tongues, and the sheep wisely kept their distance, drifting away whenever we got too near. They had more trouble from Sherlock, who wanted to touch one, and kept trying to creep up them. Frustrating for him, endlessly entertaining for the rest of us.

I have no pictures for you, sorry. It seemed like the sort of day that didn't really require cameras or phones, except for a few pictures of the boys to send to their mum, because I try to do that most days. Here's someone else's photo though, which is much nicer than mine would be anyway.

Failed success by Esen Tunar

Also, here's a video about how ice flakes are formed, courtesy of Innie. I'm sure Sherlock will be snow mad once again when he sees it.


And now, a second attempt at sleep. Good night, everyone. 

contents under pressure

Lestrade's off work today, Mycroft's coming home...and Sherlock still had to go to school. He felt, obviously, that this was monstrously unfair. He flung himself on the floor and refused to get dressed, relented only when told that if he was going to be that way he wouldn't be allowed to go along to fetch Mycroft, and got dressed as slowly as was humanly possible. I wouldn't actually have believed it was humanly possible for Sherlock until I saw it. He was like a film played at half speed. With zombie noises dubbed over the dialogue.

He made zombie noises at his toast as well. And all the way to school. I walked with him, and Lestrade stayed home to do nothing around the flat, because he ought to have a chance to do that once in a while. On the walk he gradually sped up until the zombie noises became more akin to growls and I was suddenly walking a small, bouncy wolverine to school.

School, by the way, is a wonderful invention, and all teachers deserve medals for bravery. And a pay rise.

I explained to Mrs N what she might be dealing with, apologised, and left her to herd everyone into the art room. Hopefully that'll calm him down a bit. It usually does. Maybe he'll draw something for Mycroft.

And now L and I have until afternoon to do absolutely anything we like. 

snow and pinstripes

It snowed. I believe Sherlock may have mentioned it once or twice. It's very pretty, or at least the parts that haven't been turned into grey sludge by the traffic are very pretty. 

Sherlock has done his best to spend every waking moment outside and actually chose to walk to school today rather than have us take him on the bikes so he could be out in it longer. Amazing.

L and I dropped him off, had a run that ended with cold fingers, dripping noses, and a desperate desire for coffee. We went home rather than inflict our sweaty selves on some unsuspecting coffee shop. There were showers, coffee, toast, etc., and he talked to me about accent colours for the wedding, which seemed premature, since we don't know where we're having it, exactly when we're having it, or in fact any about it except that it will occur at some point in the future. But since we can't decide about any of those things, perhaps accent colours are a good place to start? He was talking about lithianthus purple (I had to look it up too), which is...extremely purple. But you can't get married in a beige jumper, and it is a nice colour.

Harry texted to say it should be a bee-themed wedding. I'm not even sure how that would work, but Sherlock would probably love it.

After lunch, we went to look at suits, which was like entering some sort of time warp composed of fabric, polished floors, and terrifying neckwear. We only went to two places, and then suddenly we were almost late to pick up Sherlock. I'll let L tell you about the shopping. The only thing I definitely decided was that I don't want to wear pink pinstripes, ever, for any reason, and I don't know how anyone could wear them without looking like a super-villain.

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

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

irrational is relative

RR wanted to know: John--have you any irrational fears?


I thought of this after the discussion about Orwell's books on L's blog. I never read Animal Farm, but I did read 1984 when I was eleven and afterward I gained a fairly irrational fear of rats eating my face off. Not that, if it was about to happen, I wouldn't be justified in being completely terrified, but it's not exactly likely, is it? Given I don't live in a dystopia and I'm not trying to overthrow a totalitarian regime, I feel fairly safe from being abducted off the street and fed to rats. So it was a bit silly.

And actually when I picture it now (and I can picture it more accurately than I could then, unfortunately) I find it still leaves me a little queasy.

Also bees, sort of. I'm not phobic and I can cope with them with no outward signs of distress, but I dislike them a lot more than is justifiable considering all they can do is sting me a bit. But yeah, mainly rats eating my face off. Thanks, George Orwell.

Though I should say I've read others by him (without face eating) that I quite liked. Down and Out in Paris and London and Keep the Aspidistra Flying are two of my favourite books.

i never could get the hang of thursdays

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

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

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

sea change

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

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

spiders: more of them

Cara asked in the comments of the last post about Australian spiders. Having done some research, my verdict is: No thank you. Someone else left a link to a camel spider devouring a lizard, and while I'm not sure "awesome" is the word I would choose,  it was certainly impressive. I hardly know what to say about it, except that I'm glad that's not my face. 


This post is mainly an excuse to share this video:

covered in bees

It's our last day here, and it's doing what it's been doing since the night I committed gross acts of bagpipery.  I feel it's some sort of judgement on me. Deb insists it's her grandfather weeping for joy at seeing (hearing) his son come home.

Mycroft is sulking in his room with Ovid, Homer, and Aeschylus (all in Greek, of course). Sherlock stuck it out with him for a while (he's learning the Greek alphabet; not sure whether to be pleased or concerned at the prospect of them sharing a common language I haven't a hope of understanding), but as ever there's only so long he can sit still.

We've been to see the bees.