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

who throws cheese?

Sherlock, that's who. (And, apparently, the USAF...)

Apparently the older children at his school get two shorter playtimes instead of one longer one, so they're not outside at the same time as the little ones. Thwarted in his daily 12:00pm pond visit, he removed the cheese from his sandwich and threw it at his new teacher. Thankfully, cheese is not aerodynamic, and it hit her leg, not her face.

He missed the second playtime entirely through a combination of sulks and time outs and flung himself at me, sobbing and insisting he would never ever go back to school again. Ever. EVER, did I hear him? NEVER EVER IN A MILLION TRILLION YEARS. He hasn't had a meltdown quite this spectacular in a while. He's definitely going to sleep early tonight.

In other news, the sink is leaking...more. Because I tried to tighten a bit of it that looked tightenable and made it worse.

And at work, we got 50 cases of latex gloves delivered. We were meant to get five. They wouldn't take the other 45 away with them, and there are now 45 cases of latex gloves shoved into every free area of the surgery, of which there aren't many. Oh, and someone's child spat on me.

I am also going to sleep early tonight. 

fresh meat

Lestrade's first entry is up. I will admit to some amount of possibly evil glee regarding this. I suspect that, as he says, he won't update as often as I do; he does have a busier life than I do, and a less amusing one. Even so,  I think he'll have a bit more sympathy and less mockery now when I'm done cleaning up the kitchen and getting the boys to bed and sit down to write an entry at 10pm before I'll go to bed.

Also there is no way to explain just how funny it was to watch him attempt to defend the legal system to a five year old in footie pyjamas. No possible way. And! With the mention of the forensics lab, I think Sherlock has someone other than me to bother about getting a human heart to dissect. This is what they call a win-win situation.