the tennis

Well...Federer's in the final. I wasn't expecting that, to be honest, even though I put him down to win the whole thing in our tennis pool. I thought he'd go out to Rafa in the semis. Now that there's a chance he might actually win the whole thing, I'm bizarrely nervous. I've also done something to my back and may end up watching the final from a prone position on the sofa while avoiding any sudden movements.

I've been at the allotment a lot (that and the back may be related), and things are coming along surprisingly well. Sherlock wants us to plant watermelons, but I think it's too late (?) and also given the planting instructions, they might well take up the entire allotment. Space 6-8 feet apart! Still, maybe next year. Fruit seems to be our downfall (blueberry bush shows no sign that it might ever consider producing anything except leaves).

Mycroft is doing well in his new job, to no one's surprise. We went for a visit and Sherlock did not consume their entire supply of ice cream, although he is now convinced that, having got it once for free, he will get free ice cream there forever. Presumably even when he's grown. I tried to pay for it this time, but the woman who runs the shop thinks he's 'precious and a very polite young man' and since he actually is very polite with her, I didn't want to press the issue.

In other news, Murray's seeing someone, and she's apparently tennis mad. They went and camped in the queue for tickets. Murray said it was a lot like the Army but with less nudity and more swearing. Not sure if he was serious or not. He sent me pictures, one of court 18 and part of his finger and one of someone who had a Federthemed umbrella:

hawkeye

I feel like L posted this already in the comments somewhere, but in case he didn't, here is Rufus the pigeon chasing hawk of Wimbledon. And if anyone knows who's doing the voiceover, I would really like to know. He sounds so familiar.

One of the first times Sherlock watched tennis with me, one of the commentators talked about Federer's dislike of Hawkeye, and Sherlock was convinced for days that Hawkeye must be an actual person, because who would dislike a computer system, that just wouldn't make any sense, right? I have a picture he drew somewhere of Hawkeye scowling. He had an eyepatch I believe.

We have Mycroft home again with all his things, all over the living room, and all his dogs, also all over the living room (and Anthea, not all over the living room). He said there was no point taking it all up to his room as he'd have to bring it down to wash most of it tomorrow, which I think means he's turning into an actual teenager. Also his shoes have formed a nest with L's by the door to trip unwary newcomers.

And now I should probably get to bed. L and I have been up talking about the op he has coming up, which I mention only as an excuse for being up so late because I know you lot will worry otherwise. It's...not ideal, but nothing too bad. And of course if it goes well, the result will be a very good one, so fingers crossed. 

2am wakings with a small cat

Went to sleep with a cat on my head as usual. Woke up with her gone, which was nice. Wearing a fur hat to bed gets a little warm. We're going to have a problem in the summer. I was up for a while, went to make tea in the kitchen.

As I was waiting for the kettle to boil, the cabinet door opened ever so slowly, and Maf stepped out onto the top of my head. She stood there for a second and then sat down and hung her tail in my face. Given she can barely make it up onto the bed, I have no idea how she got in the cabinets. And I hope we're not going to find little piles of cat hair in there now.

Anyhow, we watched some tennis I'd recorded (Federer v Djokovic in Monte Carlo, Federer won), and I thought about things. She probably did too, but did not share her thoughts.

Did you know that Gabriel García Márquez died a few days ago? There's a quote from One Hundred Years of Solitude that I think about fairly often. A person does not belong to a place until there is someone dead under the ground. What if you think of it the other way around? If someone you cared for has died in a place, does that mean part of you belongs there? Does part of you stay behind and make a home there? We're supposed to carry the dead in our hearts, but what if they carry us?

I think Maf was probably considering how to bend the dogs to her will and use them as portable heating pads, which makes her far more sensible than I am.

snakes etc

Wawrinka is two sets up on (Andy) Murray in the US Open. I'm not even sure what to think about that.

In non-tennis news, I'm back to work tomorrow night, 7pm to 7am. Going by previous Friday nights, I expect the forecast to be light drugs with occasional heavy drinking and stupid fights that, in the end, have no identifiable cause.

Dr Feelgood emailed to say congratulations, so apparently he's reading the blogs. Also that it's time for a meeting to discuss how the job's going and so he can look over my files - until the six months are up, it's his job to make sure I'm keeping proper records, with the kind of information needed for court cases, not just normal medical records. So we'll do that later in the week, hopefully when Sherlock's at school.

I keep my file cabinet locked, for obvious reasons, whose initials are SH. If he asks, it's also booby-trapped and magically warded. And full of snakes. 

two good things

1. Murray won - barely, he was two sets down against Verdasco of all people, not that he's bad, just that he hasn't historically be this good at Wimbledon. Anyhow, Murray's through the semis.

2. Our rings arrived today! I waited (again, barely) until L got home to open the parcel, even with Sherlock circling it like a shark eyeing an unwary swimmer with a bleeding head wound. He doesn't like unopened parcels, even when he knows for a fact that they have nothing exciting inside, and of course this one had something very exciting inside. Mycroft was very helpful in distracting him, although I caught him eyeing the box too. We were all pleased when L got home.

They look amazing. Well. They look pretty plain, I suppose, compared to some. But I love them, and of course it's impossible to see them objectively. I see them for what they mean rather than what they are, and yeah...amazing. 

wimbledon

This morning started as usual - L went to work, I took Sherlock to school. Mycroft came along for the walk and seemed...unusually amused when I said I needed to do some serious cleaning that morning and he might want to shut himself in his room before I drafted him into helping. I found out why he was so amused when we got back home.

L was back as well, waiting for us...with Centre Court tickets to Wimbledon. I honestly don't know what I said. There may have been unseemly noises. And overly enthusiastic hugging.

The whole thing still seems unreal. We saw both Murray and Djokovic play - Murray won (good), Djokovic won (unfortunate). Also saw parts of a few matches out on the smaller courts, including Li Na's and Fernando Verdasco's, both of whom are going on to the quarterfinals (good! - in my opinion at least, especially Li Na). And we wandered about a lot and had strawberries and L was extremely patient while I told him basically everything I know about Wimbledon and tennis (don't worry, I don't expect you to remember it all; it was enough that you listened!).

It was just...amazing. And I am still overwhelmed and happy and so grateful to him and Mrs H both. 

mycroft, tennis, and turtles

Mycroft's coming home today! We're leaving to pick him up in a bit, although not as soon as Sherlock would like. He set all the clocks in the flat forward. I wondered why I was so tired when I got up at seven...it was actually five.

Here, have a baby two-headed turtle. Her name is Thelma and Louise, and apparently she's healthy and 'eating with both heads', which I imagine is a good thing? Sherlock wants one, needless to say.

I read this article the other day, Where Are Tennis's Young Guns?, and while I don't agree with it entirely, it does mesh with some thoughts I've been having. Maybe it's just me getting old, but I find myself wondering who I'll watch when the current crop of players retires - and by 'current', I don't mean those coming up now, because there doesn't seem to be anyone coming up now. I know you can't expect a Federer or Nadal in every generation, but there's no one who really stands out to me.

I don't know if it's the baseline play or slower courts or different equipment, but the play itself seems significantly less interesting than it did even ten years ago, and that's sad. 

indeterminate berries

Black raspberries? Blackberries? Someone's else's patch at the allotment. Sherlock is mad with jealousy because our pink blueberry bush has not yet formed one visible berry. We thought they were starting, but they haven't got anywhere and it's been weeks. 

I've been watching a lot of tennis. I was shocked when Rafa went out, of course, and...less shocked today when Federer went out. I wasn't expecting him to lose the match, but I suppose I was expecting something like this, at some point before the quarters. It's too bad. I hope it improves Murray's chances. 

I've been thinking a lot about work on Saturday night. The last man I saw was detained under the Mental Health Act, and shouldn't really have been there at all. But he was a bit drunk and...not violent exactly, but shouting, making gestures that could've been interpreted as threatening, which is why he was brought in. And why it was so hard to find anywhere for him to go. 

The hospitals didn't want him because he wasn't an emergency and was 'potentially violent' (I really don't think he was). No crisis team available. It was about two solid hours on the phone before I found someone who'd take him, and he would've spent the night in a cell otherwise, not getting the help he needed, and he hadn't done anything wrong. He was more scared than anything else. There ought to be a better way.  

the listeners

Despite Federer losing last night, I had an absolutely amazing time at the tennis with L. Being there makes all the difference. The seats were closer than I've ever been to the court at a tennis match; I was afraid to ask what he spent on them. It was incredibly kind and thoughtful of him, not just to arrange it, but to go and sit through two and a half hours of a sport I know he doesn't really care for! Must be love. 

And whatever he tells you, I did not get Federer to sign any part of my body. 

The poem today doesn't fit with the post at all, I realise, but I was thinking about it on the way home last night with us out later than usual and the streets relatively quiet (for London). 

-

The Listeners

Water de la Mare

driftwood

Tonight is the World Tour Final...final. It's Federer and Djokovic, here in London, which means I've gone another year without managing to see him at this one or Wimbledon. With Wimbledon, I have some excuse, but it's fairly easy to get tickets to the WTF, at least for the earlier rounds. I suppose I don't need to worry since he's now saying he might play at the next Olympics as well... I assume he's not serious, but with Federer, who knows? He is, as Nadal once said, from another planet.

And apparently I wasn't the only one thinking of Red yesterday. I got a call from Spence this morning...as well as a series of drunken texts from Murray around 3am his time, asking me if I remembered the time Red decided he was going to save the bottle cap off of every water bottle he drank while he was over there, and did I know what had happened to them. (I do know - he was ordered to get rid of them, because within a week there were so many he was having to hide them in other people's packs without their knowledge, so that when they stopped to get something out, a waterfall of white plastic caps would flow out...)

Today's poem...Don Blanding isn't someone you'll find taught in any school, I'm pretty sure, but I like him. He lived in Hawaii, wrote mostly in the 1920s and 30s, and a lot of his poems are about that, or about his travels.


Driftwood
Don Blanding

olympics

This is the bike portion of the triathlon that we went to see. It was more exciting to watch than I thought it would be, although some disagreed. Mycroft went so far as to bring a book, though he didn't read it the whole time. Admittedly that would've been difficult with Sherlock asking him questions every three seconds. 

The Ukrainian and the Swiss cyclist were at the back, on their own, and as Sherlock said in the comments, everyone cheered for them loudest of all. I wonder if it actually is encouraging or if it just points up the fact that they've fallen behind, and after all their training, too. I hope it's encouraging. I can't decide how I'd feel if it were me.

It was a lovely day out, and we did get ice cream eventually, and L got a nap later, though not for as long as I would've liked. Sherlock and Mycroft discussed Olympic events to take the place of the ones they don't like. Swimming in pudding and dolphin riding were both very popular. 

no bike

I got a call this morning - no bike today. There's been a delay of some sort, maybe something to do with the flooding, I'm not sure. Next week they said. I'm not sulking, honestly.

Sherlock did reasonably well today at school. He was still grumpy about going, but there were no incidents, involving cheese or any other airborne food, so I think that's good enough to be going on with. The new teacher seems inclined to forgive and forget. I suppose it's not the worst thing she's ever had thrown at her, given the age and temperament of the kids she's working with.

She came out with Sherlock and I and a few of the other kids and parents when we went to visit the pond before she left...

Sherlock: *searching for newts* LOOK AT THEIR FEET!

Mrs N (for new, but also conveniently her real initial): Have they got feet already?

Sherlock: *tells her more about the stages of newt development than she could've possibly wanted to know and nearly drags her into the water with him*

She looked more pleased than not at his near-supernatural levels of enthusiasm for newts. So, there's that.

I'm watching Federer play Benneteau. It's not looking good. Like with Nadal and Rosol yesterday, Benneteau is just out-playing him. He's moving a bit better now though, and Benneteau looks knackered, so maybe he's got a chance. Someone has a sign that says: Federer - the once and future king. Let's hope. Oh, and Boris Becker is a arse.

And an article I expect to be good because theirs always are, though I haven't read it yet: Wimbledon, ‘Bare-leg’ Tennis, and the Bitter Rivalry Between Helen Wills and Helen Jacobs

snow forever

It did not snow forever, despite Sherlock's hopes. His plan was that Mycroft would have to stay home tomorrow because he couldn't get back to Harrow, L wouldn't be able to get in to work, and we would build a massive snow fort in the middle of the road.

Mycroft is, sadly, back at school now, along with Anthea and the hounds, but we all had a nice day at the park, with snow balls, peculiar snow sculptures, snow angels, and a particular DI who clearly wanted me to tackle him into the snow or he wouldn't have stuffed a handful of icy slush down my shirt while he was kissing me. There wasn't really enough for an entire snowman, but Sherlock did attempt a snow pancreas. It wasn't bad, considering the limitations of his medium. He fed it to the dogs when he was done.

Mycroft and I watched bits of the England vs Scotland match yesterday. England won, first time at Murrayfield in years, so I'm pleased, my father is probably cranky about it, and my grandfather would be livid. Mycroft, I think, doesn't quite see the point of team sports, and Sherlock said it was more interesting when L and I were playing, which I took as a compliment until I remembered how keen he was to see a broken bone up close.

Back to normal tomorrow for everyone. 

incomprehensible tennis blather

It's the US Open, though I've managed to miss a lot of it. I saw Federer play today, and I've no idea what was going on with some of those shots he was hitting - not just into the net, but completely wild. Really appalling. He pulled it together to win anyway.

Dolgopolov, whom I've mentioned once before, beat Karlovic, after a bit of a struggle. Pretty good match. As is the one I'm watching now - Tsonga vs Verdasco. Verdasco just hit it so hard it looked as if it knocked Tsonga right over when it his his racquet, though I imagine he was off balance already. Tsonga just won the second set though, and I expect he'll win the match. That's good, it'll make things more interesting later on.

Tomorrow...Andy Murray is playing Feliciano Lopez. Who will Judy Murray be pulling for I wonder?

Anyhow. Day out tomorrow, Sherlock back to school Monday, Mycroft off to Harrow Tuesday. It'll be...strange. 

practice makes...embarrassment

Rugby practice went all right. On the whole. I'll just quote Lestrade to start with:

Picture the scene - 20 odd cops, practising rugby...

Sherlock swinging around, holding hands with Sal, wearing shorts, t shirt...and his wings. And in a quiet moment he chooses to shout 'when are you all going to KISS, like John and Lestrade do when they play with each other in the park??'

Most of the time I don't think twice about the things he says and it takes L to remind me that it would really be better if he didn't say a lot of them quite so loudly and in public. This one...I was fortunate to have a coating of mud that probably disguised the colours I was turning. Except for the tips of my ears, Mycroft informed me. Thanks, Mycroft. 

L was, of course, also covered in mud, but it looked good on him. (Wait, he'll now accuse me of harbouring secret mud wrestling desires.) 

Anyway, I'm glad, in a way, because it was odd not having anyone but Sally know we were together, and they certainly do now. Now I suspect they're wondering where L was hiding Mycroft and Sherlock all those years. And, according to one conversation I overheard, if Sherlock is a boy or a girl. 

I was going to say more but I forget what it was and also L's both commented and texted to tell me to go to sleep, so I'll give it another go. I have Alice the Spider to keep me company of course, but it's not quite the same. 

rugby

All right, so...I still like it, but rugby at 40 is significantly different than rugby at 25, which is the last time I played with any kind of regularity. Still, with Sally in charge, I feel like we'll have a decent chance. Definitely need to be more regular with the running though. And possibly other things.

...But not until Sunday, because right now I feel like I've been stepped on by something large. I think his name was Ian.

After that, the park, Sherlock and Mycroft running around and trying out newly acquired rugby skills on each other while I lay very still in the grass. Ice cream. Mycroft got vanilla and chocolate, Sherlock got mint and chocolate, and I got something called goji berry...I don't know, it was pink and nicely tangy.

And then we came home. And, I know you'll all be shocked to learn, I cooked actual food. 

due to some confusion

Explanations:

1) In the poll, NSY = New Scotland Yard (i.e. Lestrade & Co.). City of London is the City police force. The four horsemen are, of course, the four horsemen of the apocalypse, but they're only reserve players.

2) Innie asked on L's post yesterday if I had any tattoos, and I admitted that I had, once, but it was small, and then I got shot, and what now remains is a scar and maybe a fleck or two of black ink. L guessed what it was (eventually, with some help). A target, a bullseye. To which everyone's natural response was, "Seriously?" Yeah. What can I say? That's the way my life works.

I said I'd explain how that happened.

muffins vs cupcakes

The muffins vs cupcakes poll came out very nearly even, 56 to 57. Cupcakes won by a hair. Must be the icing. I should hope the outcome of the new poll is a forgone conclusion, if not the outcome of the actual match, but as always, vote early, vote often.

To those being confused by the comments on L's post, Blogger's comment limit for one page is 200, and we've reached it over there. You can see the new comments by clicking through to page two of them.

Mycroft's school visits have been rescheduled due his mum being...somewhere. I thought she said Antarctica, but that seems unlikely. Anyway, Harrow's on Friday now, and I'm not sure about Eton.

For once L's asleep on me instead of me on him. Nice. We ought to work it like this more often. And I have at least another hour before anyone jumps on me. Probably. So, back to sleep. 

sports day pt 2

Right, I believe with left off with L publicly groping me, I mean patting my bum. The groping came later.

He was extremely popular with the mums - all of them, not just Y. I don't think he noticed, which was really quite sweet. That was no doubt partly due to the focus with which he was pushing his own agenda...

A: John tells us you're a police inspector. Tell the truth, is that how you two met? Were you arresting him?*
L: Oh, that's a long, long story.
B: We've got time!
L: Nah, really, I think I have to go get tied to Danger** here. But I'll tell you all about it later. You'll be there when we dig the frog pond, right?

They all agreed they would. We'll see who actually shows up.

sports day pt 1

Today was sports day at Sherlock's school, and a good time was had by all, despite the rain. The kids were there from the usual time in the morning, though Sherlock says they didn't manage much in the way of lessons. More running around excitedly and hindering the older children who were helping the teachers set up, I suspect.

Mycroft and I got there about ten minutes late. In those ten minutes Sherlock had consumed, by stealth and cunning, a quantity of cake that Mrs T found so alarming that the first words out of her mouth when she saw me were, "He mustn't have any more!" A variety of things Sherlock potentially shouldn't have any more of flashed through my mind, so I was actually quite relieved when she explained.