that's why we don't hug kale

At the supermarket a few days ago, I saw a little girl and her mother. The girl, about four, was helping unload things. Her mother handed her some kale, and she hugged it, which was rather sweet, but caused it to slip out of its plastic bag and land on the floor. Her mum helped her get it back in the bag, and then said, And that's why we don't hug kale.

I have a feeling some of the conversations around their house may rival ours for oddness.

Caves full of massive crystals, near Chihuahua, Mexico

Sherlock brought his bloodstain pattern book to school today, which in retrospect was perhaps not the best idea. I didn't even think of it this morning when he asked, but Mrs N had words with me after school. Though apparently the problem was more that the kids found it fascinating than that anyone was upset by it. Some of their parents may not appreciate it.

His parents evening is tomorrow, and while it won't go quite as smoothly as Mycroft's, I don't think we have any unpleasant surprises in store. It does make me feel slightly sorry for my own parents though, thinking of them going to these things for Harry and I. Getting told Harry was smoking or leaving school after lunch and not coming back, or that I was starting fights again (which wasn't true, I never started them). It's like Judgement Day.

I've also got another interview coming up, speaking of judgement. Wish me luck. 

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.

fulgurite

L sent me this picture of fulgurite, which looks amazingly like a dragon about to eat someone. It's made when lightning strikes sand and fuses parts of it together. 

Quite a lot happened yesterday. Today. Depending on how you look at it. Mycroft's parents' evening went pretty well. All of his teachers had nice things to say about him. I tried to pay attention and ask useful questions, although how useful anything I had to say would really be is debatable. I mean, it's different at Sherlock's school, but I don't really think Harrow takes anything any of the parents say all too seriously. 

L claimed to be nervous, but looked suave and cool, if slightly damp from the ride. He made it extremely difficult to focus on what everyone was saying. Mrs H looked like she was trying not to scare anyone, which I must say is not her usual look and does not come naturally to her. She's very charming when she wants to be though. 

Afterward, we got to take Mycroft home...into the sugar-fueled disaster zone of hurricanes Sherlock and Harry. They made a batch of cupcakes with edible glitter. Mrs Hudson got two. Mycroft got one. L and I got none. The entire batch of cupcakes was gone before dinner. I don't know how Sherlock and Harry didn't explode, but a walk afterwards was necessary. 

Things happened. Harry is now apparently planning L's stag do. I am sensibly terrified. 

Woke up around three and had a chat with Harry, who was sleeping on our couch. It was...good. We'll probably never be close the way L and Nicky are, but maybe we can do better than we have been. 

car punching

I had another interview yesterday, with Dr B, who thankfully did not google me. He was a bit older and called my phone an infernal device, so I have a feeling google is not top of his list for information sources. He's been doing this a long time though and had some interesting stories. Not sure we're going to suit though. I suspect if he had read the blogs, he wouldn't have approved.

Today, lunch in the park with Lestrade, who could speak and was not wheezing, so that was lovely. Beautiful day.

On the way to pick up Sherlock, I saw someone get cut up in traffic. He started shouting at the man who'd done it and got out of his car at the next light. I thought there might be trouble, which...I suppose there was. Of a sort. He walked up, punched the other man's car, got back in his own, and drove away when the light turned green. He made no impact on the car. I hope he didn't break anything in his hand.

I also looked at more wedding bands.

It's white gold, and the centre bit rotates. Does that make sense? The raised part is not attached to the inner part, so they sort of spin around each other, but they're still connected. There's an animation showing it on the site, but you can only really see it with the one with the diamond in. Anyway, I thought it was nice. Unusual. 

souffle success

I made this. It...worked? Bit dense maybe? I don't have extensive souffle eating experience, so it's hard to judge, but Sherlock ate two of them, so it must've not been too bad. It was actually a pretty simple recipe. It made six, so Mrs Hudson got one, and security got the other. Hopefully they shared and didn't go for a fight to death or anything. They're more used to L's desserts, which are worth fighting over. Hopefully this has erased the shame of the cheese and vinegar incident from everyone's mind.

And here's a tiny bat for Sherlock (and everyone else who wants one):

Lestrade's feeling better, which is wonderful. Sherlock's not even fake-coughing, despite school tomorrow. There was sun today and it looks like there might even be more tomorrow. Things are looking up...and I'm reading about tasers. Or, really, TASERs, since it's an acronym. There's an entire chapter on them in Clinical Forensic Medicine.  Apparently the man who invented them named them after his favourite character: Tom A. Swift and his Electric Rifle (TASER). So, there's something I'm willing to bet most of you didn't know. And will never have occasion to use now that you do know it. 

slow day

Harry sent me a link to this article: We Found Our Son on the Subway. Lovely. You couldn't get away with writing this sort of thing in fiction; everyone would call it unrealistic. I kept expecting something awful to happen as I was reading through it and was very pleasantly surprised. I am so happy for them. And glad to live in a world where things like this are, occasionally, possible.

Lestrade's still ill. Sherlock, thankfully, is not, though he tried coughing and looking pathetic this morning in case I'd let him stay home from school. He couldn't maintain it though. He has too much energy to pretend effectively; it breaks out and suddenly he's jumping up and down on the sofa and singing about orange juice.

Lestrade is looking wan and pale without any effort at all, but I think feeling slightly better today, judging by his slightly renewed interest in coffee. He's mostly been on the sofa with a duvet and an endless supply of case files and autopsy reports. There are so many that I literally don't know how he got them home with them. I think the interior of his bag may be a Tardis. The coughing at night is the worst part, but at least he's had some rest today.

I've been making him tea and reading my new book, Clinical Forensic Medicine: A Physician's Guide. Not an exciting day, but there you are. How are you all doing? 

perils of the internet

I met with one of the people on my interview list today. We were scheduled to meet next week, but she had some time and called to ask if I were free, so we had lunch. She seems nice. We chatted for a while. And then she admitted that she'd googled me. And found the blogs. And I felt as if I'd showed up to the meeting in nothing but my pants.

So. That was interesting. I suppose I have to assume that people are going to do that. I'm lucky Sarah didn't, really. Although in a way, it might save a lot of time. If someone doesn't want to meet me after reading the blogs, I wouldn't have wanted to work with them anyway, so there's that.

Dr A (not even her actual initial; I'm calling them A, B, C etc for now) seemed fine with the madhouse that is my life and said she might even keep reading, at least until we get Sherlock bone-chandelier up, because she wants to see how it turns out. (So, if you're reading this...hello.)

It's an odd feeling. Partly because I'm used to presenting a professional front, but also partly because until L and the boys, there hasn't been all that much that... You know, even as I type that sentence, I realise it's not true. If I'd been keeping a blog in my thirties...probably anyone reading it would've thought I was writing fiction. Anyway. Odd day. 

narwhals and interviews

Narwhals:

I'm reading The Mauritius Command, and sometimes Sherlock perches on the back of the sofa and reads bits over my shoulder. The bit he read today was a scene in which a captain under Aubrey's command is convinced he has a unicorn's horn. It's really a narwhal tusk, which caused Sherlock to interrogate me for my scanty knowledge of narwhals (mid-sized whale, has an enormous tusk, lives in the Arctic), which was obviously not enough to satisfy him, so we looked on the internet for a while and found, among other things, the above picture. 

Before Sherlock got home, I called a few of the people on the list I got from the course to set up interviews for a potential...mentor? Supervisor? Both, I suppose. And instructor, since they're meant to sign off on me and attest to my general competence to do the job on my own after a few months. 

I called five people and got three interviews out of it. The first man said he was retiring soon and wasn't prepared to train anyone, and the third said he was moving to Ulan Bator in three weeks. I wish I'd thought to ask why. I really want to know now, despite it being quite obviously none of my business. I thought about going there to teach English for a while. 

Anyway, I'll let you know how the interviews go, and of course even if someone takes me on, it's no guarantee of employment. Just have to wait and see how it all turns out. Even if I don't get work right away, I might start looking at the requirements for the DMJ (diploma of medical jurisprudence). I think it'd be interesting. 

-

Aaaand apparently Sherlock is the proud owner of a giant purple sparkly bone, which we need to pick up tomorrow. The things that happen when I leave town for a week... 

wedding day

We're just back from Jo and Lisa's wedding. Sherlock fell asleep while we were still there and has been put to bed without waking enough to do more than grumble that he wasn't tired at all before dropping off again. Mycroft has retired to his room to be alone and hopefully get some sleep as well. He was, as always, a perfect gentleman, and must've danced with at least five little girls under the age of six, which takes fortitude.

I got to dance with L, which was lovely, and gave me some hope for our wedding, since I managed not to trip over either his feet or my own. Didn't even feel like I would, which I'll give him the credit for.

During the course of the evening, L managed to balance on my head a veil, a flower from the cake (the cake was delicious, by the way), and a button someone had lost. That's just the things I know about, of course. I dread to think what he'll manage for our own wedding.

And of course we got to hear him play. It was beautiful, no other word for it. Such a depth of feeling, too. I wish you could've heard it. I was, and am, ridiculously proud of him, and I know it made Jo and Lisa very happy, you could see it all over their faces.

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. 

city lights

A shot from the Met helicopter that L sent me: 

Our house is down there somewhere...

Beautiful, isn't it? Night shots of city lights always are. It's hard to imagine the entire planet dark the way it was really not very long ago at all. I wonder if any light source people could make prior to electricity would show up from space. Or helicopters. Alien helicopters, obviously, since we sort of needed electricity to... I'll just stop there.

The boys and I have been out enjoying the city while L slaves away at his desk, although Sherlock desperately wants to stop by in his continuing quest to get every single person on Earth to sign his cast. We might at least drag L away for coffee if he's not too busy.

One of the things we got at the end of the course was a list of names of FMEs (or FPs or FMOs or one of the other many acronyms that have been/are being used to describe this job) currently working in our home cities who are willing to supervise trainees - that would be us - for the first six months or so. The idea is that we call a few, set up interviews, and find someone we work well with. After we start working, we get to call them if we have questions, and they look over our cases, things like that, to make sure we're doing what we're supposed to be doing, and then, eventually, they sign off on us, and we're on our own.

So that's the next step. I'll look into it soon, but not until after the boys are back at school probably. Hopefully I can do the interviews while Sherlock's at school so I won't need to bother Mrs Hudson. 

sofa

Sherlock came and woke me up about half an hour ago. I got him some water, and now we're on the sofa. He's asleep again, sort of draped over me like a small, warm, bony blanket, with his arm propped carefully on cushions. My computer's balanced precariously on the back of the sofa, so this is probably not going to be a long post.

The course was good, despite the lack of decent tea. I didn't sleep well without L's freezing cold feet and his... Well. Just without him, I suppose. It's easier to remember where you are when you wake up in your own bedroom next to someone you love than it is when you wake up in an empty hotel room. This was the first time I've been away on my own since I met him and the boys, and it was strange to see how much I've changed. Even the concept of having a home is unfamiliar, at least since I left my parent's house, and missing it - not just the people in it but the physical place - is a first.

Got home around 7.30, locked the bike up, got hit in the midsection by a Sherlock-shaped torpedo and grabbed as tightly as he could managed with only one arm. There was some sniffling when I picked him up and he told me all about it (for the second time, because of course he told me on skype as well, but that's not the same) while Lestrade and Mycroft came to hug me slightly more gently and help me get my things upstairs.

Tea, biscuits, curry, my favourite people, two large slobbery dogs...a good homecoming.

I'll leave you with some valuable information from the course. One of the things we covered was 'demeanor in court', on which our instructor had this to say:

Consider carefully the proposed response prior to putting one's mouth into gear.

I liked it so much I wrote it down verbatim. I don't think there's any area of life that couldn't apply to. 

forensic romance

The course continues. Still interesting. Still a lot to take in, and I feel like I ought to be remembering everything, which is obviously impossible when someone's talking to you from eight in the morning till five in the afternoon. That's what notes are for, of course, and I haven't taken this many since medical school. It's like a week-long flashback. Leaves my brain a bit fried at the end of the day. 

Tonight I looked up one of the historical records the instructor mentioned on Monday:

On the Uncertainty of the Signs of Murder in the Case of Bastard Children, by William Hunter, 1818

That is, it concerns children born out of wedlock being killed, not murders done by bastards. It makes for fairly unpleasant, if interesting, reading, especially once you get past the introduction and read about the individual cases. 

birmingham

Want to help name Pluto's moons? (Who wouldn't want to help name Pluto's moons?)

Anyway, I'm in Birmingham. This is the picture I sent Sherlock and L last night of my hotel room.

Unexciting hotel room

spider legs

3D fractals

There's a lot more of them at that link. They look like whole alien worlds. Just amazing.

Well...let's see. I'm leaving the day after tomorrow. Sherlock has helped me pack twice so far. I've removed:

• his book on mummies (interesting, but not exactly a good size to fit in a smallish bag)
• a container of black glitter
• three kinds of gum, including the nicotine variety
• two kinds of tea (a nice thought, but I'm reasonably sure they still have tea in Birmingham) 
• a small, plastic fish
• four pressed leaves
• a candle
• a book on bees
• a carrot
• L's uniform hat

I'll leave it up to you to decide which is the most inexplicable. It's either the carrot or the hat, for me. Spider is going to be the most difficult, I think. Her legs stick out no matter what I do. I hope whoever cleans the room at the hotel isn't bothered by spiders. 

Things I am taking include, boringly, clothes, The Mauritius Command, laptop, toothbrush, etc. Trying to decide if I can get away with wearing boots most of the time, because I can fit normal shoes or trainers, but not both. I'll probably go with the trainers and then not run the entire time I'm there. That's always the way it goes, isn't it? No? Just me? Right. 

Sherlock says he has a surprise planned for me while I'm gone... He also says L approved it, so I am extremely curious and only mildly concerned. 

maze

"Almost 30 years ago a Japanese custodian sat in front of a large A1 size sheet of white paper, whipped out a pen and started drawing the beginnings of a diabolically complex maze..."

More about the maze at the link in the caption. I'm resisting the urge to call it amazing. Apparently I'm not resisting it very well though. I hope they decide to do prints of it because Sherlock already wants one. As a stopgap measure, he's drawing his own. I'm pretty sure his has more traps, pools of lava, and buried treasure than the original does. 

I got in touch with a couple of people I know in Birmingham and in theory we'll get together while I'm there. One of them is married to a woman I used to date. Don't know if he plans on bringing her along or how awkward that will prove to be if he does. Hopefully not too bad. She threw a teacup when she broke up with me, but if she'd wanted to hit me with it, she probably would've. 

Sherlock and I are cooking dinner tonight. What did he pick for the vegetable? Broccoli. 

voyager

Stardust from PostPanic, a short film about Voyager I. I originally thought of Mycroft when I saw this, but I'm not sure how much he's going to like it, given it's mostly computer generated and not real footage. It is beautiful though. 

So. I am signed up for the FME course in Birmingham. It starts one week from today. I'll leave the night before, mostly because it starts early enough that I'd have to be on the road long before I prefer to even be conscious to make it in time, but also because I think saying goodbye to Sherlock before he has to leave for school would be disastrous. At least this way he'll have Sunday evening with L to get used to the idea and make biscuits or something. 

No, to make mango eggs, he's just told me. (Hope you're prepared, L...) He also says he'll be fine and he's very very grown up now and won't miss me at all and what day am I getting back? If only all it took not to miss people was being grown up. 

Seeing Birmingham again will be a bit strange. The last time I was there, I was a patient at Selly Oak, I think very shortly before they started moving it all to the new Queen Elizabeth Hospital. The time before that I was visiting someone there, and the time before that I worked there for a little while before I was sent to Kosovo. I gather they're turning the site of the old hospital into some sort of residential area? I'd like to see it though, if anything's still there. 

artistic and other sorts of doom

I talked to Mrs N today about the possible painting class. She said they might start it as soon as March, and that Lestrade was so very kind to have volunteered to help out... I told her I wasn't sure how often he'd actually be able to do it since he's usually at work at that time...and she said she was sure I could fill in for him when he couldn't make it. She's tricky. You've got to watch her all the time or, apparently, you end up covered in small painty fingerprints.

I skipped krav maga yesterday to go with L to visit his mum (which was good, I think, in that she seems more or less resigned to my existence now?) so I went today. The instructor likes to demonstrate on me because, he says, it's important not to rely too much on body mass. Which I think is perilously close to a short joke, though I won't call him on it, because he's a bit terrifying. So I'm once again lightly bruised in various places, but it feels good to work my body that hard. It's a good class.

There are two upcoming FME courses, one in Birmingham and one in Manchester. One's quite soon, starts the 11th I believe, and the other's in early March. Lestrade, any preferences? 

caput mortuum

Hi this is Sherlock and today I learned that there used to be a colour of paint that was made from ground up Egyptian mummies, it was called caput mortuum or mummy brown or some other things but those two make the most sense. We had a man come to our school today to talk to us about painting and they might do an extra class sometimes that people could sign up for and I think I'd like that but we didn't get to do any today because Mrs N said they didn't have all the things and it was too messy but I think I would take the class if they do it.

The painter's name was Mr Berns with an E, not like fire, and he also restores paintings for a museum but I don't remember which one, and he said there are paints no one uses anymore because they are poisonous or no one can get the things to make them now, and we said like what, and he told us a lot, but mummy brown was the best and when I got home I looked at it on the internet and I found a thing that gives a FAKE MUMMY RECIPE for if you couldn't get real mummies.

Take the carcase of a young man (some say red hair’d) not dying of a Disease but killed; let it lie 24 hours in clear water in the Air: cut the flesh in pieces, to which add Powder of Myrrh and a little Aloes, imbibe it 24 hours in the Spirit of Wine and Turpentine...

I don't see why he should have red hair though or even be young. And also this which is about what the mummies looked like before they were made into a colour.

“They gave noisome smell at all, like pitch, beinge broken; for I broke of all parts of the bodies to see howe the flesh was turned to drugge, and brought home divers heads, hands, arms, and feete for a shewe.”

And John said it sounded a bit disrespectful making dead people into paint but I don't think it's worse than putting them in museums and I think that if I could be a paint when I die that would be all right although only if I got used by a really good painter.  

stop that

Mycroft's back to school with bat biscuits of various flavours. Sherlock was excited enough about the app he and Mycroft put on L's phone to not be too sad about it. He actually told Mycroft he'd miss him, which was...astonishing. Usually it's 'I hate you and your stupid school!' which means the same thing of course, but I've never heard him actually say it.

So far L's app has told him to 'stop that', 'ask Sally to do it', 'kiss John' (I approve), and 'stop shouting at the television', among others. It has eerily good timing. When it told him to stop shouting at the television, he'd just told off Brian Cox for having silly hair. Not really shouting, but still...pretty good for a presumably non-sentient app.

And here's this:

The road from Muonio to Kilpisjarvi in Finnish Lapland is known locally as the "Northern Lights Route".

If you click on the picture, it should take you to the photographer's flickr page. There are a lot of other really beautiful photos there. I'd like to drive that road someday. 

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. 

off the map

Disused tube stations:

There's not all that much information about them at the site (it seems mostly to be an art project), but still interesting. Here's some more on St Mary's, with pictures. 

And a tour of the station:

I find it fascinating, the things that people build and then forget about, brick up, or pave over, like repressed memories in London's brain.

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.

twist and shout

The video I wanted to show you of sea worms eating a dead seal won't embed, so here is a fish with a see through head:


 

It snowed a fair amount. Mrs N looked like she was more than ready for the day to be over when I picked up Sherlock. Two of Sherlock's classmates told me about all the things they'd done in the snow because their parents weren't there yet, and apparently they couldn't wait to tell someone. 

Sherlock and I went directly to the park and stayed there. I thought at some point he'd admit he was cold, or want hot chocolate, or...something, but I underestimated his ability to ignore everything but SNOW. We had a snowball fight, and made a small, lopsided snowman, built a very very small snow fort that Sherlock could just about fit into if he curled up tight and ducked his head down. L joined us when he got out of work with a surprise snow attack on Sherlock, stuffed some down my jacket, whereupon I was forced to rub snow in his hair...

And then pizza. After I finally convinced them both we had to go inside at some point. You should've seen their sad sad little faces...

L also explained his dancing plan for the wedding. Not sure I should tell you all what it is yet...might wait until I'm sure I can actually do it... 

marriage of true brains

Interesting photos from a professor of neuroscience, Eran Gilat.
Found while googling ice brains with Sherlock.

We had lunch with Jo and Lisa today. They seem to have every detail of their wedding firmly under control. Lisa said she started thinking about it two years ago. Lestrade and I are planning to get married this spring or summer, and we haven't even started. The more I think about it, the more it starts turning into a mental game of 'who can I afford to offend by not inviting them?'

Well...that's overstating it. Obviously, I don't want to offend anyone, and it's possible my parents may not even want to come. It's a long trip for them, and they're getting older. But once you get outside immediate family, any hypothetical guest list seems to grow exponentially until you're inviting your cousin's dentist, and there's tulle draped over everything, and ice sculptures of zombies eating ice brains.

I told Harry I thought twenty people would be more than enough, and she laughed at me until I was forced to hang up on her. But Harry's wedding was enormous, and she probably would've invited our cousin's dentist, if we had cousins. She might be right to laugh though. When I count up the people I consider immediate family these days, there's already 11 of them, and that's not counting me and Lestrade.

Texts, after I hung up on her.

Harry: you should run away and get married in vegas
Harry: by elvis
Harry: wearing elvis costumes
Harry: WHILE SKYDIVING

permanent

In her continuing efforts to brighten my life and/or make her brother cringe, Nicky sent me this:

the perm...

I imagine the very serious face is due to him imagining Nicky using it against him in the future. Smart boy.

In other news, I've been looking into the FME training course. The next one in London isn't for quite a while yet. The ones coming up are all far enough away that I'd have to stay there for the week. Not sure how Mrs H would feel about me being away from the boys for that long...or for that matter how L and Mrs Hudson would feel about it, since they'd be the ones making up for my absence. The course summary looks interesting though. 

walk down the street, there's no one there

Stealing L's lyrics-as-subject line thing for this. Though since I started writing this last night after L was asleep, and then fell asleep in the middle of it...I can no longer remember why I thought the lyrics were relevant. Anyhow, here's some cheese we got that Sherlock wanted me to take a picture of because it came wrapped in leaves.

I've been thinking about time recently. One of the things I realised while talking to Dr E a few weeks ago is that I do more now than I did in the Army. Which seems impossible. I remember days when I barely got to eat, didn't sit down for more than five minutes, riding so high on adrenaline that I could barely sleep even when I got a chance. But those are the sorts of days that stick in the mind, aren't they? I know perfectly well there were also days when we sat in the on call room and played cards, or read, or drew on the walls (they were unfinished plywood; it was practically an invitation). 

Now, the things that I do are constant. Pack Sherlock's lunch, walk him to school, do the shopping, go for a run (...usually), do the cleaning, the laundry...and then, astonishingly, it's usually time to pick him up again. I don't know how just those few things can take up so much time, and there are days when I feel I must've lost several hours into a rogue, travelling time warp. 

I thought I'd have a conclusion for this when I started writing it, but I don't. Just vague confusion and the continuing sense that I ought to be doing more. Perhaps with more of a sense that it might actually be possible. 

Anyway, go and read this man's blog post instead. He knows how to write a conclusion, and it's a good cause. 

super powers

Someone asked in the comments of L's blog what his preferred super power would be. Pretty sure mine would be sleep. Just...sleeping through the night, no nightmares, no waking up and wandering around and worrying. The ability to nap instantly anywhere would be great too. I used to be able to do that. Doesn't seem to work very well anymore. 

delicious camels

Puff pastry camels

L and the boys made these today. Mycroft got some to take back to school and Sherlock posed a lot of them in a line inside one of the cupboards, so that when I went to get a mug there were camels staring at me. L insists it's an Italian tradition. I think he just wanted an excuse to use his camel pastry cutter. Or a justification for owning it. Or a reason for its existence. Or possibly just  to tease me about camel rustling again. Were I going to rustle camels, I would start with these. 

They're very good. You just cut them out and sprinkle on sugar before you bake them as far as I could tell, and you could make them in any shape, if you're the sort of person who has pastry cutters, or just into squares in you're not. 

After such a long time having him home, it seems very strange to have Mycroft gone again. I know we've said it before. Quiet. Empty flat. Just doesn't stop being true. We miss him a lot. 

...And he must've been reading the comments on L's post because he just texted me to say 'I'm not DEAD, you know.' Heh. We know! And we want you to do what you want to do, and have fun doing it. Just never doubt we'll be happy to see you when you come home. 

victory, of a sort

Sodium acetate crystals.




But I suppose everyone's more interested in an explanation of the picture of me that L posted...

L was closest with his guess about it being in Egypt. I'd gone to see Laura and she was out at some event for the museum, so I was wandering around Al Azhar park. Met this guy who worked at the US Embassy, we had dinner, met up with some of his friends, played poker. Played some more poker. Played more poker than was advisable, especially after I ran out of money, which didn't take long.

I lost the watch my parents gave me when I graduated from medical school, and that was about it for things of any value I had on me. It wasn't too bad though, considering one of the other guys lost his fancy gold cuff links, and the third lost his car. I still think our host was cheating, but at least he was a good sport about it. He said he'd let us bet our clothes against what we'd lost...and gave us dresses out of his wife's wardrobe to wear so we could ante up. I suppose the entertainment value made up for the lack of monetary value. Maybe? It seemed logical at three in the morning. I won my watch back, the other guy won his car back, but the cuff links stayed with our host.

And then we watched videotapes of old American football matches while they tried to explain the rules to me...until I fell asleep. It didn't take long.

The picture is from the next morning when Laura came to fetch me. I was only slightly hungover and still triumphant about getting my watch back. I put my own clothes back on shortly thereafter, but not in time to avoid being seen the owner of the dress. Luckily for me (and her husband) she had a good sense of humour. Laughed so hard her orange juice came out her nose. 

strangers in the night

All four of us went riding today, Mycroft with me and Sherlock with Lestrade. Sherlock kept up a running monologue for nearly the whole time, punctuated by singing We Will Rock You at the top of his lungs. Even over the singing, I could hear Mycroft rolling his eyes.

Came back home and found a late Christmas card from Murray, mailed from Australia. Citizens of Australia, beware: if you see a manic looking Englishman with a terrible beard coming toward you, do not engage, or you'll spend the next three hours paying for his beer and wondering why you're doing it. He has a talent.

He says he's coming back home soon, which he'd better be, because his mum has called me five times so far to ask when that's happening. He either didn't come home after Afghanistan or didn't tell anyone and left again immediately. Neither would surprise me.