cucumbers and cats

Cucumber: the first of many. There are a million flowers and quite a few tiny cucumbers as well. This is the first moderately full sized one. Sherlock picked it and did not heed any warnings from me or Mycroft about the prickles all over it. He took them personally. I've seldom seen anyone that annoyed with a plant.

Also, L sent me this...

It's a book...of newspaper articles...about cats that hate cops. I think he's trying to say something about Maf. It's a weak case, considering how often she sleeps on his shoulder while he sits on the sofa. She's cleaning the top of his ear right now, and he's poking her every few seconds before it tickles, but she's determined.

She's doing all right with the dogs - holding her own. Using them as transport and things to jump off of in order to get onto the kitchen counter or the top of the table. I'm waiting for she and the dogs to start working in concert. With her brains and their brawn, I think they could get the fridge open. Then we'll really be in trouble. 

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. 

puzzlewood

We went to Puzzlewood. Here are some photos which are definitely not ours - they're much too good.

It's really...I feel like the word magical gets overused a lot, but it seems apt in this case. Even shared with a load of other people with children to entertain over half term, it was pretty amazing. Makes you wonder what it would be like to come upon it unexpectedly, alone, like walking into A Midsummer Night's Dream.

That's my opinion, anyway. Sherlock had his own ideas: i.e. it was a very large, green pirate ship, particularly the bridges. Well, obviously, right? There was a lot of stick fencing, primarily between Sherlock and the air, but at one point he called Mycroft's dogs (not present to defend themselves) blackguards, and there was a duel. Invisible flintlock pistols at (nowhere near) dawn, fairly tame piratey insults exchanged...

S: Your mum's...a hopeless landlubber!
M: She gets a bit seasick, that's all. I think that's uncalled for.

I sent the video to Mrs H. She firmly denies getting seasick at all, ever.

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.

foxes and peacocks

 A peacock from the park, photo by Mycroft. And L sent me one of his cockney fox, for anyone who was wondering what it looked like...

This post is going to have very little actual content, just to warn you. Apart from the pictures. Which I didn't even take.

Sherlock is completely manic about being off of school, bouncing off the walls, sometimes literally. Races with the dogs, playing with the kitten until she is worn out (which takes some doing), dissecting a stick of butter (don't ask), inserting cloves into the middles of all the grapes (you can ask, but I have no answers). Mycroft retreated to his room by two this afternoon, and I don't blame him. Of course, maybe it was tactical, since I did then get a short break while Sherlock sat outside his door and demanded to be let in.

S: Let me innnnnnn.

M: No.

S: Whyyyyyyy?

M: Because.

S: Whyyyyyy?

Repeat ad nauseum. If it was on purpose, Mycroft, thank you. I sat down for five minutes. It was lovely.

phobos

Watching L watch football is more entertaining (and occasionally heartbreaking) than actually watching almost any sport.

Sherlock's class are doing ancient Egypt related things again, although no one's getting mummified (that I know of) (possibly one of us if we stand still too long). I called Mycroft earlier and got about two minutes to talk to him before Sherlock stole the phone and told him about Egyptian temple architecture for two hours and also discussed what sort of animal head he would have if he were a god. His top options were jackal, crocodile, and cobra. (He said I ought to have a giraffe one, for which I blame my husband.)

I then got two more minutes of Mycroft before he had to go and do his homework. He says he's fine and, if transformed into a god, would like the head of something with no ears. We'll have him and Anthea and the dogs home again this Saturday, which will be very nice.

In his first two minutes, he told me a story about Phobos going after the rugby ball while some of the younger boys were practising and making off with it...all the way back to Anthea. Bounding across the campus with two teams of twelve year old tearing after him and whooping. He laid it at her feet and sat down, proud and panting and expecting a scratch behind the ears. Sometimes I wonder if Anthea regrets meeting us...

day off

Yesterday the boys went off with their mum, and Greg and I took a bike ride. We saw floods...

And more floods...

And cows. Not pictured. Mainly they're not pictured because I (completely understandably!) mistook some mooing for my phone vibrating, and L was laughing too hard to take any photos. And I was too busy trying to look stern and then watching him actually have to sit down and wheeze slightly to take any. I still maintain it wasn't that funny. 

I've had seven texts from him today. 

1. moo

2. bananas? [this was in response to mine about did he want anything from the shops]

3. moooooo

4. moooooooooo

5. you love me really

6. what do ghost cows sound like?

7. moooOOOOooOOOOOoooo

I do love him really, and it's a good thing... 

Here are some pictures Mycroft took last night and this morning at his mum's. The first one is the fire Sherlock lit mainly by himself with help from Mycroft (according to Sherlock's report, that is):

And the second is from a walk they took. Lovely, isn't it? Looks like a painting.

And now we're all back together once more, and we've had pizza, and the Christmas tree is lit up. Sherlock and Mycroft are fiddling with Sherlock's microscope, and L and I are semi-conscious on the sofa with dogs drooling on our feet. 

not good

I just got Sherlock to bed. It was a struggle tonight, but I expected it to be. He was up at least eight times between his bedtime and now, asking for anything and everything, but mostly asking if we could go to see Mycroft tomorrow.

Most of you will have seen it on L's blog, but there was a possible kidnapping at Mycroft's school today. Mycroft is fine, Anthea is fine, the dogs are fine. They're probably shedding all over L right now. He got the case - went there earlier today and hasn't been able to come home yet. Hopefully he'll get some sleep on Anthea's sofa, at least a few hours.

I hope the boy's all right. His parents must be terrified. 

canal ride

We took a bike ride today (bicycles, not motorbikes). We went to the canal, which was a pretty long ride for Sherlock, maybe the longest he's done. You can tell he's getting bigger and stronger though. He wasn't nearly as exhausted as we had feared/hoped. It was a beautiful day and a beautiful place:

We bought sandwiches and things and eat in the grass by the water. It was strange not to have Mycroft and the dogs with us. I missed him a lot today. He would've had a good time. And, obviously, the dogs would've loved it. They also probably would have jumped in the water and then shaken it off all over us, which I didn't mind missing.

Also, Sherlock would like to remind you, me, L, Mycroft, Mrs Hudson, and the world at large that his birthday is coming up. 

klein

Klein bottles:

From the website:

This is one of a series of glass Klein bottles made by Alan Bennett in 1995 for the Science Museum, London. It consists of three Klein bottles, one inside another. A Klein bottle is a surface which has no edges, no outside or inside and cannot properly be constructed in three dimensions. In the series Alan Bennett made Klein bottles analogous to Mobius strips with odd numbers of twists greater than one.

I've always liked Klein bottles, and I like these particularly.  The more you look at them, the more confusing they get.

We have been swimming. Sherlock worked on his diving for a while and then worked on hurling himself into the water and making as big a splash as possible. He's now decided he wants to go kayaking, preferably on the Thames, but he says the ocean would do. Just like that. 'I suppose the ocean would do.' I said I'd consider it, but definitely not on the Thames. You would think he's heard enough stories from L by now to not want any chance of getting that water in his mouth.

Mycroft's gone to walk the dogs and invited Sherlock along. When last seen, Mycroft had said he knew more of pi than Sherlock did, Sherlock declared he didn't, but even if he did, pi was pointless...and so on. I'm just going to enjoy the peace and quiet for a bit. 

just going out, part xxi

We are at an undisclosed location in the countryside. Undisclosed to me, that is, because I fell asleep on the drive here, and no one will tell me where we've ended up... Doesn't matter that much, I suppose. It's green, and the dogs are enjoying because allowed to tear around in huge circles, leaping at dust motes and biting at grass. The grass must be particularly threatening. I just saw Deimos pull up a chunk of it by the roots and try to devour it savagely before he remembered it tasted like grass and spat it out again.

We're walking. We have a packed lunch to eat at some point. I have only the haziest memory of packing it, because for some reason I woke up around six and did it before I went back to bed. I think I thought it was a school day or something, which doesn't explain why I thought we all needed one. I think I'm becoming gradually more like one of the undead early in the morning. I suppose because L usually deals with things then, so I don't have to force myself to. Still, good job I'm not in medical school now, I'd never make it.

-

Sherlock, last night: Can I have the middle of the paper towel roll when it's done?

Me: Probably. Why? (it's always better to ask)

Sherlock: So I can be an anteater.

Me: How are you going to get your tongue through there to eat ants?

Sherlock: I will have a prosthetic tongue with a stick and gum on the end so I can stick things to it.

Me: Of course you will. Silly question. 

home alone

L and I had a very nice day (helped along by the fact that England won the rugby). I lazed about, he cooked, neither of us got much accomplished. We rang our mums, which went all right. We ate, watched the match, I dozed on him... Perfect, really.

Mrs Holmes picked up the boys this morning fairly early. Sherlock had a giant sparkly card for her, and Mycroft had a less sparkly one, and they had their respective instruments because they'd planned a duet for her on guitar and violin. L got a text from Mycroft saying it went well, and I got seven from Sherlock - a sort of play by play.

She's taking Mycroft back to school tonight, and Sherlock's staying the night with her. L's just been called out. I am, for once, alone - although not really, because Mrs Hudson is downstairs, and there's someone down in security all the time now I think since we had that break in. And, of course, two enormous hounds, to be picked up by Anthea tomorrow and return to Harrow with her. And two degus, who I need to feed, and a partridge in a pear tree (no, Sherlock, no partridges. or pear trees). And to think now that's my definition of alone...

I prefer it this way though. I think part of what disconcerted me so much about being out of the army was going from four in a room (or 30 in a tent) to just me, not even a plant. I'm glad it's not like that for most people when they come home.

quiet day

More dog walking and cake eating, but other than that, not much to report. I'm enjoying the Olympic tennis very much, especially as it looks like either Federer or Murray will get the gold now. I think it'd be a great boost for Murray to get it. He might even manage to win the US Open this year.

I'm still not sure what was going on last night that kept L out until all hours. I meant to wait up for him, but didn't quite manage it. Think I fell asleep somewhere around one, and I barely remember him kindly herding me off to bed when he got in.

The boys and I have been making plans for L's birthday. I think he'll be surprised, if not quite as surprised as last year, when he didn't remember it was his birthday at all. The plans include cake, of course, which I am making, by request, without assistance. The things we do for love... 

chocolate surprise

I'm scheduling this to post later so I can write about Mycroft's dessert and still make L taste it with his eyes closed, which is my current plan. It's chocolate cake with with a whipped ganache filling and frosting. Ganache is cream with chocolate melted into it, and this also had coffee, and apparently if you chill it you can whip it like whipped cream. It was both impressive and delicious, very rich and smooth, and extremely chocolatey. I think L will love it.

He's volunteered to watch Federer's match with me. Can't decide if I'm finally winning him over and he's actually interested, or if he just wants to eat cake and doze on me while I watch it. Both options sound pretty good to me, so I don't mind either way.

Today was quiet. We didn't go anywhere particularly exciting, just a long walk with the dogs. Mycroft walked them, and I walked Sherlock. Still considering investing in a leash for him, especially with his by no means new, but still exciting, tendency to stop complete strangers on the street and ask them questions. At least he's more polite about it these days.

'Excuse me ma'am, why are your shoes so high?' is probably better than simply demanding an explanation for her high heeled trainers, although not, perhaps, any easier to answer.

We went to the cheese shop, and the butcher, who gave us bones for the dogs, and to a shop that only sells only various chocolate products, of which we bought many. They have bins full of different kinds of cocoa powder. I didn't know there were that many kinds.

And then we came home, and Mycroft set to work on his dessert, and I put my feet up and listened for sounds of mutiny from Sherlock, of which there were, amazingly, none. 

on the ceiling

After Sherlock's exciting announcement that he got blood on the ceiling from the cut on his finger, I feel the need to point out that it was only because he was waving it around so wildly. There was also blood on the floor, cupboard, Mycroft, and one dog.

It's sunny for the moment. It's supposed to rain later I think, so we're off to swim while we still can. It's meant to be hot today, and it's fairly warm already. (To those inclined to scoff at our weather, the high is meant to be 31C/88F, which is hot nearly anywhere.) The coloured sunblock is a huge hit with Sherlock, who is painting stripes all over himself right now. I'm going to have a hard time getting him to put a shirt on until we get to the pool, I think. Not to mention keeping him from getting pink, red, and orange stripes on the sofa before we leave.

...And I see the dogs are slightly striped as well. Right, going to wash off dogs now and then to swim, and then who knows.

sports day and possibly romance

Tonight is Moose Night (actual title of the play is Fire and Pirates, which I think you'll agree is much more exciting than Hamlet), and yesterday was sports day. I started out with a bang early on by falling over during the sack race and coating myself in mud from the neck up. I thought I got most of it off, but I found a great deal more in and around my ears when we got home.

L's cakes were very popular, as they should have been. Both were delicious, but the chocolate-lavender one was the best, or maybe I just think that because it was chocolate. It was interesting to watch him making it too, with soaking the flowers and all that. I always like watching him cook.

Sherlock entered just about every race, and entered L and I and Mycroft into every race as well. L and I did a few of them, and Mycroft declined in order to keep an eye on the dogs. Just as well, since the other dogs there were mostly of a size that ours would regard them as snacks.

I told L he should've gone in uniform and impressed everyone, but he declined and attributed my helpful suggestion to impure motives. I still think it would've got him out of that conversation about parking tickets.

Mrs Hudson and hopefully Mrs Holmes are coming along to the play tomorrow evening. I hope it all goes well. The moosercycle looks great, but I'm a little concerned about Sherlock's ability to ride it. And about his willingness to stop riding it when the scene in question is over.

-

Also, I got a comment last night...

I need some romance advice any chance of you running a dating/Romance column some time? You seem to know exactly what to do to turn your man to jelly and I'm sure a few of us could do with that!

So...yes, sure, ask away. I cannot promise to be any help whatsoever, but I'm certainly willing to try. 

saturday report

turtle

Today I:

-got lept upon by Sherlock
-managed to kiss L's ear goodbye because I wasn't awake enough to aim correctly
-went and collected Mycroft from school, along with the dogs, Mycroft's things, which have multiplied while he's been away, I'm sure of it, and Anthea.
-nearly got vomited upon by Anthea, who barely even protested at being sat down on the sofa with tea and fell asleep thirty seconds later
-discovered that secret agents make worse patients than doctors, soldiers, or coppers
-had a very nice lunch with L and the boys
-spent an astonishingly long time at the florist while we each picked out precisely one third of L's flowers
-saw a turtle (see above)
-came home
-got growled at for trying to take Anthea's temperature
-called in reinforcements (i.e. Mrs Hudson)
-made salad nicoise for dinner with the boys to make up for all the cheese
-gave L his flowers
-managed to aim correctly this time

I'm hoping for more sleep tonight than I've been getting. Been thinking about Red a lot, and his mum.  The funeral's Wednesday. 

paint

I really wonder about the people who make up paint names. There's one we looked at called Dark Linen that's quite a light sort of spring green colour, which I think you'll agree is neither dark nor linen-coloured. Our wall now looks like a patchwork quilt of browns and blues and lots of colours that are really beige but called Rum Caramel or Twisted Bamboo or Desert Dawn.

There is paint on Sherlock's nose and a bit at the ends of his hair, and a Sherlock-sized handprint on the back of Mycroft's shirt. One of the dogs also has a Striking Cyan tip on his tail. He's going to be harder to clean than Sherlock, or at least harder to keep still.

Mycroft's learning Morse code and trying to teach the dogs to tap out words with their tails for treats. I'm not convinced the dogs have that much control over their tails.

That's all, I suppose. Decent enough day, considering. 

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. 

a collective noun of degus

It seems like forever since I posted last. I suppose five days is forever in internet terms...and that wasn't even me posting. Christmas was perfect, but busy. And logistically difficult, what with having to get the degus and their cage and all and then smuggle them into Mrs Hudson's flat and then keep Sherlock out of there until Christmas morning.

He's in and out of there two or three times a day normally, so it wasn't easy, but worth it in the end. His eyes got so wide, and he actually couldn't make a sound for almost a minute, just jumped up and down with glee.

This is Argon. Mercury hasn't held still long enough to be photographed yet.