happy birthday, Mycroft!

(Look, I even capitalised your name, even though I never capitalise my subject lines because...I have no reason. But I know it bothers you to be improperly lower-cased.)

Mycroft is fifteen today. 

Fifteen. 

15. 

That doesn't look like any smaller of a number no matter how I write it. It seems enormously older than 12, which isn't exactly an earth-shattering revelation, but I'm still astonished every time I think about it. 

Mycroft, you're growing up into a wonderful, kind, thoughtful young man, and it makes me proud to know you. Happy birthday, and I hope this is a good year for you. 

Actually, Mycroft probably won't see this at least until tomorrow - he's studying hard as I believe his exams begin next week. Astronomy? I think it's astronomy first. So there can't be any weekend birthday trips unfortunately, but we are stealing him away tonight for dinner and cake and whatever else he wants - hopefully some relaxation, since school must be pretty stressful right now. 'Something quiet' was his request via text a few hours ago. We'll do our best. Might have to go and pick him up before Sherlock gets out of school to accomplish that. 

Sherlock is planning to make him this massive cake that is essentially two enormous chocolate merengues with whipped cream and berries in the middle. He wants to make it 'all by myself but Lestrade can help', which is how he likes to do his cooking these days. 

-

Fridge art on the International Space Station: 

pic by Chris Hadfield, Canadian astronaut

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

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... 

another day

I still have pictures of Kew, so I'll talk about that because I don't know how to talk about Red. It's not the first time I've lost a good friend this way, but it is the first time since I got home. It feels different.

Anyway. Sherlock's enormous goldfish:

shadows on a lake

First, a PSA: if anyone's still having trouble commenting, and you're using Firefox, apparently you have to enable third party cookies. Don't ask me why.

Dinner...was it really Wednesday? This week has gone so fast. We had focaccia and this nice salad with tomatoes and mozzarella and some nice salmon and baked Alaska. Which he did set on fire, much to Sherlock's delight. Jo and Lisa were lovely and have probably won Sherlock's heart forever. Not only did their presence get him a fiery dessert and the promise of painted-on tattoos and the chance to stay up past his bedtime, but Jo rather rashly said she'd come and get him next time Lestrade and I were being boring and they could do something together. I think she may come to regret that...

I suppose part of the reason, apart from the week going by at breakneck pace, that I've put off posting is that now I've got to sort out everything in my head. It was...a surprise when L told me what they'd asked him to do. Not just a surprise, a shock really.

fourteen

Mycroft's birthday is today, and he's fourteen. Which seems mad and impossible and hugely older than twelve, though I know it's not really. I'm afraid I'm going to turn into something like one of those annoying older relatives who pinch your cheeks and say things like, 'Oh, but you can't possibly be that old, I was changing your nappies just yesterday!' Not that I ever changed his nappies, but you take my point.

Part of it is remembering what I was doing when I was twelve (riding my bike, getting muddy a lot) as opposed to what I was doing when I was fourteen (would rather not say). But at the same time, it seems fitting, since Mycroft has often seemed older and wiser than his actual age would account for and occasionally older and wiser than the adults around him.

I'm continually impressed with his maturity and determination and maybe even more so by the times he lets himself just be a kid. I know it's not easy to let go of responsibility once you've got it. Or had it thrust upon you.

Anyway. Happy birthday, Mycroft. I love you, and I promise I'll try not to be too embarrassing when we come to fetch you from school. 

not-a-date night

When he was ready (clean shirt and socks, both very important for dates I'm sure), Sherlock went outside and knocked on the door...because he remembered Lestrade saying it didn't count as a proper date otherwise...

He must've gone online looking for places to go, because he had the address written down to give to the taxi driver. I was not allowed to see it in advance, and I was...mildly concerned about where we'd end up. But it was, to my relief, a perfectly ordinary Japanese restaurant - or mainly ordinary.

He said he was looking for sea urchin sushi and found this place instead (I'd link but they don't seem to have a website). They do okonomiyaki, which is sort of...a cross between an omelet and a pizza? I'd never had it before, but it was quite good. You get to pick what goes in it, and, most important to Sherlock, they cook it right in front of you. Here's a picture of mine being cooked:

We also had a few bits of sushi while it was cooking, but not sea urchin. Sherlock told the waiter we were on a date. The man cooking our okonomiyaki said he was from Hokkaido, and Sherlock asked him many questions about it. Sherlock also told him we were on a date, which caused...a bit of confusion. 

Having traumatised the staff, we headed out for... Oh, wait, I'm forgetting. 

At the end of the meal, Sherlock produced L's bank card from his pocket and said he would pay... He swore L gave it to him of his own free will, so I let him. I have no idea what the waiter thought, but he looked amused.  

We went to have liquid nitrogen ice cream - chocolate for him, and blueberry muffin for me. Had a nice walk, discussed various things, such as why bananas grow upside down (it's probably the right way up from the banana's perspective), the point of the Olympics, and why they shouldn't give misleading information on QI (Stephen Fry is still in his bad books over the bronze sky incident). 

We came home, and he presented me with a somewhat wilted collection of reeds and grasses, which he forgot to give me before we left. He said he thought they'd be better than flowers because they came from the pond we built and that he was careful to take all the bugs off and leave them at school. 

He's so sweet sometimes it amazes me. 

poetry for insomnia

A sleepy degu that Sherlock put in my lap earlier. I think it's Argon, but I'm not sure; I had them both at one point. 

Despite the title, I was asleep for a while, and I think I will be again. You get more poetry anyway though. This is from memory because I can't find it on google, which means it's probably a bit wrong (and the punctuation is all wrong). I imagine someone with more skill than I have can find the correct version.

I am a shepherd of those sheep that climb a wall by night
One by one, until I sleep, or the black pain goes white.
Because of which I cannot see a flock upon a hill
But doubts come tittering up to me that should by day be still,
And childish griefs I have outgrown into my eyes are thrust,
Till my dull tears go dropping down like lead into the dust.

Edna St Vincent Millay again.

Sounds actually rather depressing when I write it down, but it tends to cheer me up on bad nights. Which this is not one of, oddly. L and I had a good talk earlier, and...well, that's enough, really. He gives me hope. 

the flowers that ate london

I got some flowers at work today. I forgot to take a picture before I left, but here is one I've stolen from the internet to give you an idea of the general scale...

Bloody enormous, in other words. Pink and red, mainly roses. They smell lovely. L denies sending them, but the poem that came with them gave him away. He can share it with you if he wants to. I'll just say...I can't believe he dictated that over the phone to a stranger. Good lord. I wonder if florists get a lot of that sort of thing on Valentine's Day. 

And then I checked I checked his blog on the way to pick up Sherlock and found his post... Well. I can't think of a better gift than that.

hollandaise

He wasn't joking about the breakfast in bed. I woke up to tea and eggs benedict, all made from scratch.

Me: You can make hollandaise sauce?
L: Where did you think it came from?
Me: A jar at the supermarket?

Although honestly, I'm not sure I've ever seen it at the supermarket, and I know I've never had it at home. It was excellent, of course, much better than when I've had it in restaurants, and presented on a tray with a rose and everything. I was very impressed. (That sounds flippant when I read it over, but I really was. Am still. Not used to that sort of thing.)

This is the mill:

We've been out walking most of the afternoon. It's chilly and quiet and peaceful. The only thing you hear is the water and the wind. 

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. 

celebrity

RR wanted to know about any celebrity encounters I might've had, and Random Anon Lurker wanted teenage celebrity crushes (although that might've been meant just for L, but I'm answering anyway).

Last one first: Humphrey Bogart, Katherine Hepburn, Robin Sparkles (shut it), Angelina Jolie, DeForest Kelley...and I don't know if fictional characters count, but if they do, then Archie Goodwin and Lily Rowan, both from the Nero Wolfe mysteries. It's an odd collection, I know.

I don't know what else to say about the crushes - I certainly have no explanation for them - but if you have specific questions, you're welcome to ask.

Celebrity encounters... Well, there was one with someone you've never heard of, but for an Army surgeon, he was a celebrity. He'd been around forever, gone just about everywhere, awarded the George Cross for retrieving five injured soldiers from a mine field all on his own, nearly died of his wounds afterward. Basically, he was who I wanted to be when I grew up.

He was with us briefly in Kosovo, pre-haunted-mental-hospital. They'd sent him to do a report on medicine in modern warfare. That was about the time they were finally making adjustments in procedure for the fact that we were treating as many local civilian casualties as military - if not more.

He was very quiet. Barely there, really. It was funny, because the stories I'd heard about him made him seem like the sort of person who could fill up a room just by walking into it, if you know what I mean. He seemed very old to me at the time - in fact, I think he was about five years older than I am now. He watched everything, listened to everyone. I think I ended up telling him a lot more about myself than I meant to, almost certainly more than he wanted to hear.

I don't know if I'd call him kind, exactly, but he was very present. Mrs Holmes reminds me a bit of him actually, in that respect. I'm still honoured to have met him. 

a difficult post to phrase politely

Anon wanted to know: When you've been with girlfriends is there anything you miss about men? And now you're with Greg is there anything you miss about women?

The short  answer is no. The slightly longer answer has to do with romance and why I've historically been pretty terrible at it.

In my early thirties I had a string of short-lived relationships with women - a few months each - and I came out of each of them not missing men exactly, but missing how much simpler things usually were with men. And I know (or assume) your question was referring to physical differences, but I never really cared about those much, it was all fine, all good.

The differences I saw were mental and emotional...and also they were nothing to do with the differences between men and women. They were about the differences in romantic relationships vs non-romantic.

But I didn't realise that for a long time, and in the back of my mind I think I blamed the women I was with for not being more like men. By which I meant wanting more of me than I was willing to give to anything except my job and my team.

And then I met Laura (the woman in Egypt, owner of Biscuit), who had no interest in me romantically, and that was great. And as a side effect, I became slightly less of an idiot.

Well. Maybe slightly less of an idiot. Because mainly it served to convince me that I wasn't fit for a romantic relationship at all. Maybe that was true at the time. Maybe not. I don't know really.

But in answer to your actual question instead of rambling about romance: no. I love the human body, I think it's amazing in just about every form, and there are so many more (and more important) differences - even just physical differences - from person to person than male vs female that I just don't think of it that way. I have occasionally missed someone's specific physical traits, but not not men or women in general.

open

Nameless wanted to know: What impact do you think that blogging so openly about your life has had on you?

Blogging about what we do and where we go and so on...oddly, I don't think it's had much effect at all. Occasionally someone will mention the blog, and I think it's getting slightly wider play now than it used to, but I think L probably gets more fallout from it than I do. 

Apart from that, I'm not really sure how open I've been, to be honest. I mean, I do try, and I think I'm better than I used to be, but on the whole, this expressing one's emotions business...I'm not at all good at it. And I try a lot harder with L in person than I do on here. 

Even so, I think it's been good for me. It's certainly been easier than I expected, in a lot of ways. You hear a lot about the way people behave online and I thought I'd get a lot more criticism from people than I have. Instead, nearly every person who's commented here has been more kind and understanding than I had any reason to expect. Thank you. It makes things easier, a bit, especially this month when some of these entries have felt like slowly pulling out my own intestines. (No one should feel guilty about that, by the way. It's my own choice to do them.)

I suppose what I'm trying to say is that  I think it's good practice for being more open with L and the boys, and I really need the practice. It wasn't something I thought of as at all important up to now. Which, looking back on my life, explains a lot. 

no one expects...

Desert Wanderer wanted to know: What about something you were unexpectedly good or bad at?

The first thing that comes to mind is shooting. Or, well, marksmanship, I suppose. Precisely hitting what I aim at over a long distance, at any rate, as opposed to most shooting in actual combat, which tends to be less about precision and more about suppression. 

I hadn't thought much about that aspect of being in the Army before I went to Sandhurst. I knew I was going to be in the Army, of course, and I was in the RAMC medical cadetship programme, but medical school didn't leave a lot of room for thinking about anything but medical school, and my F1 and F2 years even less so. I suppose I thought I'd be perfectly adequate at it, but I didn't expect it to be... Fun is the wrong word. Satisfying, maybe. 

It's a difficult physical skill, and, while the Army teaches you a lot of difficult physical skills, most of them don't require that much mental focus. I'd say it's more like surgery, but it's not really like that either. It's its own thing. 

And, of course, it's a skill I've very seldom had to use off the target range. That probably makes a big difference in my attitude toward it .

autumn

Small Hobbit wanted something about autumn...

When I was fifteen or sixteen, there was this massive storm a few days before Bonfire Night - high winds, rain pounding at the windows, loads of damage. Entire trees went down. We heard one go with a crack you could heard over the thunder.

We went to Bonfire Night on Hampstead Heath, and they had all the debris from the storm piled up and fenced off, and... I feel this must've grown in my mind to be bigger than it really was, but I'll tell it like I remember it. The piles were higher than houses, so long they faded off into the dark on either side.

They were already burning when we got there. It was a chilly night, and most people had set up near the fire for warmth to wait for the fireworks. Mum and Dad and Harry did too. Harry and I wandered off pretty quickly after that, in opposite directions.

another guest post

Hello. This is Mycroft. I can't sleep, and I don't want to wake anyone up, so I thought I'd talk to the internet. Why not? Everyone else is doing it.

I wanted to say something anyway. Thank you. You've all been really kind to me, and generous in speaking about your own experiences at school, and I haven't replied, mostly. Because I don't know what to say. I don't know what to say a lot of the time.

It helps, to hear so many people agree that things will improve eventually, even if I'm not sure I believe it.

It's five now. Sherlock will probably wake up soon, so I'm not sure there's any point in trying to go back to sleep. We're going to go to the motorcycle shop today, where John got his protective clothing, so that I can get some too. I didn't think I'd ever ride a motorcycle in my life, so I suppose some things can change. I'm going to go downstairs now and make tea and wait for everyone else to wake up.


I probably won't know what to say to the responses to this post either. But anyway, thank you.

back to the polls

Right, I still have nothing to say, really, but I'm tired of that last post staring at me from the top of the list.

91 people voted for the Oxford comma. 94 voted again. All of you who voted against, why? It isn't always necessary, but I can't think of an instance where it's actively detrimental to the sentence, so why not just stick it in there? You must have your reasons, so please explain.

Sad roses, abandoned in the park.

bugs are so cool

Perhaps I was, as Lestrade suggested, mad to hope for sun in London in February, but I do keep hoping anyway. There's something about it that's not like sun anywhere or anywhen else. But. It was gray and drizzly yesterday, so we went to the Natural History Museum instead of doing any of the inadvisable things that sunshine in February is likely to lead to.

(I remember sunbathing with a girlfriend in a certain park where everyone else in London had decided to let their dogs run free that day. I have only three words to say about that: Don't do it.)

Here, have a photo.