bike day, the third

Sherlock, L, and I went to pick up L's new bike today. It's very...shiny. And sleek. Obviously I am not jealous at all, no matter how new and nice looking it is, and how smooth to ride, and... Not jealous at all. And I still maintain that my bike is superior (for me).

We went to pick up Mycroft afterward, so he could ride it too, got a snack together, and delivered him to his school before his housemaster could start making disapproving faces. Good day.

Last night...was strange. I got a call out a little after eleven, went from that to another, and then got another when I was heading home. Home happened around three, I think, so all in all I wasn't even gone that long. It felt much longer and like no time at all.

In some ways, it was like being back in a war zone. A lot of differences, too, obviously, but that familiar sense of urgency, of things that need to be done right this second, the feeling of not a moment to lose. Different consequences, too, but still the same feeling.

The first and last were fairly straightforward drugs incidents, no overdoses, no one too badly off. The middle one was a man who'd had hot sauce thrown in his face, one of those hot sauces with dire warnings on the label. I hadn't seen that before. I think I can now definitively recommend against it. 

lettuce yesterday and lettuce tomorrow

Someone asked if anything was ready to eat in the allotment and I think I said no, but there is lettuce, sort of. Lettuce thinnings anyway. And cress and various other things.

Lettuces

That's the entire harvest though - not really enough for a salad even for one person, let along three. I'm sure L will find something delicious to do with it though. Just not tonight. I gather it was worse than usually busy at work, and Mrs Hudson made us chicken and potatoes, which was very nice (and nice of her). 

Tomorrow...my first shift. 7pm - 7am. I'm looking forward to it. 

forever and a day

It's been ages since my last post...by which I mean about five days, I think? Italy got the better of me. I don't think I did a single productive thing while we were there, unless you count eating. Which I do. It would've been incredibly remiss of us not to eat...just about everything on offer.

It was really lovely, if slightly confusing on both sides, meeting L's family. They were confused by us, our relationships (mine and L's, the boys and ours - the only one that really made sense to them was Sherlock and Mycroft, but that's not all that different from home). And Sherlock and I (mostly me, Sherlock to some extent) were confused by basically everything everyone said, because half the time L thought he was translating, he was actually just repeating what they'd said in Italian...

He's still speaking in Italian occasionally, and now that Mycroft's back at school, I've got no one to translate. I did learn a few new words though, most of which I would prefer to keep Sherlock ignorant of.

And...I didn't check my email at all for the last two days we were there. Came back to the news that I have my first shift this Friday. I'm looking forward to it.

And here, have some pictures.

frasassi caves

Today, we went to the Frasassi Caves. This is on the way there: 

And these are the caves:

You're not supposed to take pictures, so we didn't, but there are plenty online if you want to see more. It was... I don't know. Beautiful, of course. Astonishing, fascinating. But more than that, too. There's a feeling of stillness and age and time there that I've only rarely experienced before. 

On a sillier note, Harry sent me this picture:

We might need one... 

one year later

The anniversary of Red's death is coming up. We'll be in Italy for it, actually. I'm hoping to steal some time before we go to visit his grave with Murray and Spence. And hopefully L if he doesn't mind. 

I went back and read the entry I wrote after it happened. Honestly, it still doesn't seem real, even after the funeral, even after a year has passed. Sometimes I still expect to get some stupid text or email from him. I miss him. 

He would've hated this poem, which isn't saying much, since he hated most poetry, but it's... I don't know. It seems right today. 

i got the job

I was expecting to be told thank you and we'll let you know in a week or two. Instead it was thank you and when can you start. Bit of a shock. I told her after 2 June, and she looked harried, but I don't see how I can start sooner. We leave for Italy at the end of this week. Which is very, very soon I suddenly realise.

She said she'd email me some information, and I have things to sign, and I should know my first shift date before we get back, assuming we have wifi there, not sure about that.

Meanwhile, I have laundry. And packing. And cleaning. And...something to confirm for tomorrow. But for now, I get to meet L and tell him the good news in person. :)

PS: telepathic rats

cupcakes

L crunched himself into some odd position at work today, as you've probably seen in his comments. As a result, I took his (my) bike home, and Sherlock took him home...via cupcakes and pizza. He's just said they have 12 cupcakes. Probably of all different icing and cake combinations. I think they spent at least half an hour in the shop debating.

I went to work in the allotment for a bit today, watering and pulling weeds and so on. The French beans have grown enormously:

Nothing else was that impressive, so no pictures. I texted the beans to L, and he suggested they were giant mutant city-eating beans. If this were a film, each individual bean in its pod would be an egg and hatch into something face-eating and horrible, but since it's not I think we'll probably just have beans more quickly than I expected. (Note: not more quickly than other people expected; I just had no idea how fast beans grow.) 

My interview is Wednesday. I'm sure I won't know anything definite for some time afterward, but hopefully they won't take too long about it. I'm foolishly (and uselessly) nervous about it. Be glad when it's over. 

eurovision, cake, suits

This is the chocolate and peanut butter monstrosity L and Sherlock made for Jo and Lisa's Eurovision party tonight. Sherlock said I should help, so I stood nearby and ate bits of it when they weren't looking. I think that counts. (It's delicious.) The marshmallow coating is Sherlock's doing. He was sad we only had two colours. 

And we went suit shopping. With Sherlock. I always semi-expect him to be bored by clothes, but no. He has opinions and he wants to share them. I tried on many terrifying shirts today and bought one that I will probably never wear. It's not bad, really; it's just much brighter than I'm used to. I also got a couple that I will wear and a grey suit. 

Learned about this place from someone in the shop, which custom makes suits (and shirts) online. You send them your measurements, and they send you clothes that fit. Sounds like a brilliant idea to me. Except, of course, then I wouldn't be buying them with L, which is certainly a better experience than I've ever had buying them on my own. 

And soon we'll have cake to eat and Eurovision to mock. Hope you're all having a good day too. 

i don't have a good title for this

Yesterday was nice and quiet after the unfortunate excitement of L's bike accident. Quiet anyway - not so nice for him, obviously. The bruises are pretty spectacular, and the muscle strains don't show, but they're just as bad. 

Sherlock asked him about seven times yesterday when he was getting a new bike. We thought it was just excitement at the idea of something new and shiny, but he seemed more worried about it than anything. L talked it over with him while they looked at new ones online. Turns out Sherlock was worried about it because last time L didn't have his bike was when he got kidnapped. So. There was that. We talked to him about it - mostly L talked to him about it - and I hope he feels better now. 

(Lestrade, you know you can borrow mine until you can get a new one, right? Not that I think you're going to put off buying one...)

And the allotment is proceeding:

pitch drop

From this site:

In 1927 Professor Parnell heated a sample of pitch and poured it into a glass funnel with a sealed stem. Three years were allowed for the pitch to settle, and in 1930 the sealed stem was cut. From that date on the pitch has slowly dripped out of the funnel - so slowly that now, 83 years later, the ninth drop is only just forming.

Pitch appears solid at room temperature, the site says, or even brittle. It'll shatter if you hit it with a hammer. But it's actually flowing down...very, very slowly. What it doesn't say on the site is why Parnell decided on pitch for his experiment, which I'd be interested to know. There's a video which shows a year's worth of (non)movement:

And there's a live webcam at the site. The only thing you'll see moving is the clock and the people staring at the pitch to try to see it move. It's sort of fascinating - not watching it, that's pretty boring, but the concept and the fact that it's been going on for so long, and that no one's ever seen it drip. Apparently when it goes, it happens quite quickly, in about a tenth of a second...every ten to twelve years.

I showed this to Sherlock. He was initially interested in the solid-that's-actually-a-visco-elastic-polymer concept and watched the webcam for a few minutes.

Sherlock: What happens when the next drop falls?

Me: What do you mean what happens? It...falls.

Sherlock: But what happens? Does it explode?

Me: No...

Sherlock: Then why is everyone so excited about it? It's already happened eight times.

He may have a point there. I'll probably still check the site every now and then for video of the ninth drop though. 

small growing things

Here are some tiny things coming up in the allotment that may or may not be sorrel. We didn't label things as well as we could have. 

And bleeding heart, which we put in Saturday with Mycroft before we had to give him back to the school. It seems happy so far. 

Mycroft also told me I shouldn't keep abusing my phone's camera apps like this, but I'm  not listening. When I was about nine, our neighbour gave me his old camera, which was cheap and plastic and broke almost immediately (probably didn't help that I dropped it in a pond...a few times...) and it took pictures like this. Which is why the apps sell so well, I imagine. Nostalgia? Of course, fifty percent of mine were of Harry making a face because she'd got between the camera and whatever I was taking a picture of. 

On the job front, I have an interview coming up. Wish me luck. I feel like I might need a better suit. 

Oh, and Muray says to tell you that he's started the process of leaving the Army and should get his 'soul and free will back in roughly seventeen years'. By which he means a few months. 

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

worker bees

A multi-storied bee...dwelling. Made by architecture students in Buffalo, New York. There are more pictures here where you can see the outside, but I thought this one was the most interesting. 

Sherlock got very excited by this and asked if we could build one on the roof / at the allotment / in a park / on the roof of NSY (because 'they're not even using it for anything and the bees could see the fireworks from up there!'). I'm afraid normal beehives won't satisfy him now.

I just got an email from Dr Feelgood, coincidentally, about consulting a few years ago in a case where a man was stung to death by bees. He ended it with 'And that's when I moved to London'. 

Also in the email...I might have a job soon. One 12 hour shift a week to start with - I'd be on call, not necessarily working the whole time, obviously, but presumably there are days when you do work the full 12 hours, so I need to make sure L or Mrs Hudson will be available to look after Sherlock if I can't be. Need to make some calls, but...yeah. Could be starting soon. It's quite exciting. 

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. 

a post of pictures

First off, here's the one Nicky sent to L, asking if Greg-the-Florist had expanded his business... 

Sherlock's new shoes with exciting skulls and two colours of laces! 

Picture of a pond that Mycroft took. (I think it's really nice, I'm sending it to his mum too.) 

And a slightly blurry picture that I took with his phone of our blueberry bush in bloom... 

And when we got home, we made flapjacks, because...that's what you do after you have pizza for dinner?

 I swear we do eat quite a lot of vegetables. They just don't get discussed on here as often. And I never think to take pictures of peas or asparagus. Although they are quite nice looking when you think about it so perhaps I should. Well, maybe not peas. They're basically just small, green (sometimes wrinkled) balls. (I am now waiting to see what L will say about balls...)

Tomorrow...in theory at least...we're going rock climbing. There's a place that has all the gear and gives lessons for beginners. When I say 'we' I might mean Sherlock and Mycroft. L is remembering climbing a tree at Nicky's and the regret that followed, and I'm not sure how my shoulder will feel about it, but we'll certainly try, and I think the boys will love it. (Wish us luck.) 

more greg the florist

Once again, part I have no idea...

-

When he reached the kitchen the door banged closed in a breeze, making him jump out of his skin.

"Greg?" He called, pulling the door open and peering out into the darkness.

There was nothing there but silence and the rustling of the wind in the trees. 

John swallowed hard and called out again, louder. The darkness seemed to gain solidity around him with every unanswered cry. The second match singed his fingers, and he dropped it. Torch, he thought. There was one in the car.

The car was parked perhaps twenty yards away. That was nothing, he told himself. That was a short walk, even in the dark. And Greg would probably jump out at him along the way and scare him senseless. They'd have a laugh. Everything would be fine. 

He lit another match, fetched the car keys from the kitchen table, and stepped outside. 

The first thing he noticed was the cold. It had been chilly since they arrived, windy and wet, the normal sort of bone-chilling damp that you got this time of year. This was different. The air was so still. It hung around him, inside of him, a tangible weight in his lungs, like ice was forming in his throat with each breath. He ignored it and struck out for the car with a brisk step. 

Five feet out, he pressed the unlock button on the key fob. The locks whirred and clicked. The lights went on inside the car, and it was as if a spell was broken. Everything seemed lighter all at once, and John broke into a run. 

His hands shook with relief as he opened the door and found the torch, wedged under the passenger's seat. He flicked it on and shone it around, heart still beating far too fast. He saw the gravel drive, the house lit up a sickly yellow by the beam, the wet grass, the wood pile. 

The wood pile was sheltered under the eves of the house, pressed up against one stone wall. As he approached, he could see a deep scrape in the grave and then a foot print, as if someone had slipped and stomped down hard with the other foot to catch himself. He looked behind the wood pile, around the corner of the house, and flashed the torch down the short flight of stairs that led to the cellar. 

Something on the stairs caught his eye, and he moved closer. It was a long, jagged splinter of wood. A touch assured him it was dry. As if it had been stored, sheltered from the weather, with the little stack of kindling at the end of the wood pile. 

The obvious conclusion that Greg was in the cellar warred with the obvious question. He had no reason to go down there. John sure as hell didn't want to go down there, but he was moving already, thudding down the steps before he could change his mind. He shoved the door open. 

The space inside was completely dark. The torch beam caught Greg standing alone in the middle of the floor, arms at his sides, eyes open. 

"You scared the shit out of me!" John said, as he stepped in. 

Greg didn't respond. Didn't move. He was looking past John into empty space, eyes unfocused, pupils contracted to tiny black dots. 

"Greg?" John moved closer. Still no response. He caught Greg's shoulder and shook him once, gently. "Hey. Are you all right?" John tugged at his sleeve, and Greg stepped toward him. 

One step at a time, and without looking too hard into the shadows, John led him back up the stairs. The door was standing open as he had left it. The house lights were on again. 

Inside, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea steaming in front of him, Greg finally looked at John instead of through him. "What happened?" Greg asked quietly. "You look...worried." 

John held onto his hand as hard as he dared and tried to think what to say. 

horrible histories

I got to see Sherlock's chicks yesterday - that is, the chicks that belong to his entire class, although he refers to them as his and wants to take them home so they can live in his room. He's not alone. I had four other children tell me they wanted a pet chicken while I was there. One little girl showed me a chicken harness she'd made so she could take it for walks. She plans to name it Dog, because 'no one's dog is ever called Dog so when I call him in the park he'll know I mean him.' You can't argue with logic like that.

Read about an exhibition just now...

'Horrible Histories: Spies'. Based on the popular childrens book series by Terry Deary, the display will immerse visitors into the world of World War Two espionage, including codes and ciphers, disguises, camouflage, forgeries and gadgets. The spy theme will continue in 'Secret War', an ongoing IWM London exhibition exploring the clandestine world of espionage, covert operations and the work of Britains Special Forces.

So I think the odds are quite good we'll be going to see that. Or Sherlock and I will anyway. Mycroft might be too old for it...but then again, I'm not, so perhaps he isn't either. I have a feeling one of you mention a spy exhibition and then I forgot to look it up, so if this is it...sorry, and thanks. Some days I feel I should be grateful my head is firmly attached so I don't wander off without it. And some days I wish I could wander off without it. 

Well, I'm awake, and that's clearly  not going to change, and I think I hear Sherlock stirring in his lair. Might as well see if he wants to help with breakfast. 

undulations of a skate

I got an email from someone I used to work with today about giving a talk at a conference he's organising. Could be interesting, but it's in Cardiff, in the summer, and both the boys will still be out of school, so I don't know. He said I've got time to think about it. If I can't, maybe Murray can do it instead. 

In other news, London has decided it's really more late winter than late spring once again, and our run this morning was chilly - at least until we got going and then it was the usual overheated, red-faced, we should really do this more often temperature, with Sherlock literally riding circles around us at some points. 

We are doing better though and running at least semi-regularly - even more so since Sherlock enjoys it (mainly the telling us not to be so slow parts) and asks if we can go out. L's home for the weekend, and we're going to see Mycroft tomorrow. Probably lunch and maybe a short ride. It's so nice that both of them can ride now. 

And here's something Sherlock found this morning before anyone else was properly awake:

Undulations of the fins of a skate viewed from the side, by  Étienne-Jules Marey, 1894

like spring

It was freakishly sunny and warm today, as if it were actually spring or something. Amazing. Sherlock and I went to the park after school and were pirates for a while - sword fights with sticks, sailing leaf boats on tiny bodies of water, that sort of thing. Sherlock has learned nothing from his broken arm and will still climb everything in sight given half a chance. He was halfway up a statue today before I stopped him.

Murray joined us for a bit, and for ice cream. He says he's not going back and might be leaving the Army too. He's thinking about looking for A&E work in London. I don't know what that job market's like, but he could hardly be better qualified. I told him there was babysitting in his future. He looked worryingly pleased. It's possible I shouldn't leave him and Sherlock alone together without someone else to babysit both of them.

I'm...relieved, I suppose. Sad, too, in a way. It feels like having both of us done with all that is a more permanent end to it than when it was just me, somehow. But I'm quite glad he won't be getting shot at anymore, obviously. And I'm glad it was his choice.

Anyway, as you probably saw in the comments of L's post, we're letting Sherlock pick out eggs from here to grow into a butterfly (or moth) and then release at the allotment. He is wildly excited, and I'm pretty excited too. We'll let you know what he decides on. My money's on the death's head moth...  

pretty much just pictures

I'm sure I had things to say, but then it got late and I should be in bed already... Here are some pictures of the blueberry bush and its pot:

The rocks at the bottom are to help drainage. 

And here's the actual blueberry bush. It's a kind that grows pink blueberries. Sherlock was entranced by the idea, and it sounds like it'll look nice in winter - yellow stems. 

And...I've been thinking about this for quite a while and I suppose I'll just say it and hope it comes out right. I never really understood before why people whose partners or spouses were hurting them wouldn't just...leave. I mean, I understood intellectually that there could be practical or financial reasons, but I never understood emotionally why someone would choose to stay if they didn't have to. 

Maybe that's a failure of imagination on my part, because it took having my life and heart so thoroughly entwined with L's to realise exactly how horribly wrenching it could be leave someone you love, or even used to love, or still want to love. And that sounds like I'm...comparing him to Bryan or something, which is awful and not what I mean at all and why I hesitated to try to say this. I suppose I just mean...you can't stop loving someone like flipping a switch, and the visceral realisation of that has made me see things differently. I suspect it's fairly obvious to people who aren't me, but I've led quite a solitary life up to now, emotionally speaking. Anyway. That's all. Good night. 

roses and invisible fish

Transparent fish:

No reason. Just because I liked them. More about them here.

Beautiful day. Chilly, but sunny. L had to work, unfortunately, but Sherlock and I had breakfast with him before he left (both of us, perhaps cruelly, still in our pyjamas...). Got the flat tidied (because if this isn't done on a daily basis, it devolves into complete chaos almost immediately) and then we went to get some plants. Not, as Sherlock would've preferred, all the plants they had, but possibly still too many.

Highlights include a blueberry bush in a pot (which I'm told we should get a few berries from late this year but which should do much better next year), tomato seeds, two roses, delphiniums, and sweet peas. And nasturtium seeds. And some other things. Also extremely small gardening gloves for Sherlock with bugs printed all over them. He showed them to everyone at the allotment...and then took them off and put them aside so they wouldn't get dirty.

We planted things and positioned and repositioned the blueberry bush and dug enormous holes for the roses to fill with compost and things roses like. Late in the afternoon, an amazingly handsome man pulled up on a motorbike and became the talk of the allotments by kissing me and then shortly afterwards taking his top off... All in all, quite a good day. 

hexaflexagons

Mycroft sent me this. I think Sherlock will want to make one as soon as he sees it...



I spent yesterday mostly vomiting and drinking water (repeat as necessary) and L was kind enough to fetch Sherlock from school and take him to the allotment where he apparently dug an enormous hole that he wants to show me tomorrow. I'm mostly better today. Just tired and wary of food. L's migraine is still hovering though and all in all we're not in the best shape. And I feel like I should've timed my food poisoning better, which is...absurd.

That's it, I think. Too tired to think of anything else at least. We're going to eat, two of us cautiously and Sherlock ravenously and then have a quiet evening.

catfish

I had another interview yesterday, the last one. I can't remember which letter doctor I'm on... I think it might be E, and I've already got a Dr E, so this one will have to be Dr F. He's probably a bit older than Lestrade, used to be a medical officer aboard a submarine (not the Army, but you can't have everything...). He's been doing this about ten years. 

He talked a bit about the differences between this and treating people in the military - a lot more drugs, for one thing, which I'd expected, although possibly not to the extent he implied. More of people attempting to hide weapons in various orifices, which I don't think I ever saw anyone in the Army try to do unless you count one young man and the barrel of his rifle, but he wasn't trying to hide it. 

Anyway, I think we'll do pretty well together. I asked him if he'd take me on, and he said yes, so there we are. Of course, I still need an actual job, but one thing at a time...

Here are some glasses that make 3D movies 2D again.

And here's a poem I just read for the first time and really like.

Your Catfish Friend
Richard Brautigan

If I were to live my life
in catfish forms
in scaffolds of skin and whiskers
at the bottom of a pond
and you were to come by
one evening
when the moon was shining
down into my dark home
and stand there at the edge
of my affection
and think, "It's beautiful
here by this pond. I wish
somebody loved me,"
I'd love you and be your catfish
friend and drive such lonely
thoughts from your mind
and suddenly you would be
at peace,
and ask yourself, "I wonder
if there are any catfish
in this pond?It seems like
a perfect place for them."

late nights and early mornings

I just got Sherlock back to bed after a nightmare. He said things with teeth were chasing me and Lestrade and he couldn't warn us, which is...a pretty terrible dream. We got up for a little while and had tea (me) and warm milk with honey (him) and talked on the sofa. I tried to convince both of us that the world isn't really a terrible place even though it seems that way sometimes.

He called Mycroft's school stupid roughly thirty seven times and said he'd never go there, he'd go to 'the other one'. I wonder how Eton feels about being the other one. He even said he missed Mycroft, which he'll hardly ever admit.

It was a big change, straight from motorbikes and guests and Mycroft and the dogs and Anthea all being there to a very quiet flat and school. I need to manage that transition better for him next time somehow.

I have a headache and an interview tomorrow, so I suppose I have to try to sleep again. I hope all of you are all right and so is everyone you love. 

it's a...thing

What is it? Strange underwater creature, artificial eyeball? You can guess if you want to and I'll put an explanatory link up tomorrow - someone remind me if I don't.

We were planning to pick up Carla and Paul after Longleat yesterday for ease of taking them to the off road place today, which didn't happen, because Paul had a thing (not sure what) that he had to do today. He and Carla came on the train today, and we will do the off road place tomorrow.

Today was a restful day of planting things in the allotment and getting dirty and cleaning up and then going to meet Paul and Carla's train...after which Carla and Paul and Mycroft and Sherlock were set loose upon London together. On their own. And by 'on their own' I mean with security trailing them, thank goodness.

And I spent part of the afternoon thinking about parents who don't have a security team following their children around (most of them) and wish they did (again, I'm going to guess most of them). It's an odd thing, and I know Mycroft's tired of it already, even if he's far more accepting of it than most boys his age would be. Me, for example. I had no sense whatsoever at fourteen and would've escaped every chance I got. And Sherlock, for now, doesn't care, because he wouldn't care if the entire city of London paraded after him everywhere he went as long as they didn't get in his way and perhaps bought him ice cream every now and then, which the security team has been known to do. But we can't expect that to last forever.

I don't think I had a point there; it's just something I think about every now and then, because it's a strange situation and one I often feel grateful for, but I'm aware that possibly I shouldn't feel grateful for it? Because they need to ordinary kids and learn to navigate the world on their own, but then again...I worry. I can't help it.

Well. That was...a lot of words I didn't expect to write today. Anyhow, they're fine, and they're almost back now, and we're going to be making pizza. We'll have to invade Mrs Hudson's flat to bake it because our oven is still broken, so I'd better go and warn her. 

be grateful this title is not a thyme pun

Allotment pictures. Here is a slightly sad stone frog guarding Reg's old thyme patch, which is on our side, so he says we can have it. He wants to try some new sort of thyme. So we need to pull the leaves out I expect and maybe cut it back? Need to ask him. Or get a book. Or ask you lot. Any of you gardeners? 

And here are some onions that aren't ours, for variety. Except for the thyme, our patch is pretty much just bare earth at the moment, if well dug over earth. Hopefully the pictures will improve as things start to grow. 

We're going to Longleat safari park tomorrow, which should be a lot of fun if we don't lose Sherlock in a maze or let him get devoured by a bird of prey. L's home for the whole weekend, starting today, which is lovely, especially since this is Mycroft's last weekend at home - he and Sherlock are both back to school next week and of course L's at work, and I have another interview...back to what can loosely be called normal around here. 

Also, here's this: 

 O sweet spontaneous

 O sweet spontaneous
 earth how often have
 the
 doting

           fingers of
 prurient philosophers pinched
 and
 poked

 thee
 ,has the naughty thumb
 of science prodded
 thy

       beauty      .how
 oftn have religions taken
 thee upon their scraggy knees
 squeezing and

 buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive
 gods
         (but
 true

 to the incomparable
 couch of death thy
 rhythmic
 lover

           thou answerest


 them only with


                         spring)

-- e e cummings

abandoned

Royal Marines out of Afghanistan. I'm pretty happy about that. I know a couple of those guys in 40 Commando and I've patched up more than a couple. Glad to know they're coming home safe.

In totally unrelated news, the comment in my last post from Kate L about abandoned places reminded me I'd come across this:

It's an abandoned hotel in Japan. There are a lot more pictures at the site. Very interesting. He has a link at the top to more places like this that he's documented. 

L and Sherlock are making chocolate and raspberry cupcakes. L has told me I'm not to eat all of them this time, which is really not at all limiting. Five isn't all of them. Ten isn't even all of them. I'm only saying. They smell really good.

Mycroft took Sherlock to the museum today, which is the second outing they've been on alone together without any major property damage, fire, or other catastrophes. I'm very proud - I mean, really, I actually am. They don't always get along perfectly, but I'm so happy they can go out and have a good time together, especially as both of them start growing up.

I almost literally cannot believe they'll be eight and fifteen in few months. Terrifying. 

murray

So, that was Murray. I'd told him about L and the boys and life in general obviously, but not about the blogs because I knew he'd be on here in a flash with every embarrassing story about me he could think of. He was surprisingly restrained though. Not just in that but in general. I suppose it comes of being home and trying to decide what to do next. Because you can't do that sort of thing forever, no matter how...essential it feels. You have to pick when to get out, or the choice gets taken away from you.

We talked a lot, mostly in the middle of the night, so that I feel about as sleep deprived as L does after those night shifts. Yawning my head off. I'm really glad he came to visit, mockery and all.

L and Mycroft have been baking - making cherry and almond cupcakes for Nicky and her family, and banana ones for his mum. It will be a struggle not to eat them before dinner. Or instead of dinner.

For Sherlock (who's been very good today after yesterday's episode of theft, hostage-taking, and coercion into ponds) an old medical illustration with various ways of stitching wounds:

guest post

Hey, this is Murray. Sherlock says I've got to post this bat.


I guess it is pretty cool. Look at the length of that tongue. Damn. What I could do with a tongue the length of my bloody arm...anyway.

Soooo. How does this work exactly? 3C says just say stuff.  Except not that, he says. And with less swearing than usual. Right. I slept on their sofa last night. It's not bad as sofas go and I am a connoisseur of sofa sleeping. I just had to ask a seven year old how to spell that, by the way. What is my life, god. We had french toast for breakfast, that Greg's an amazing cook.

Went to see the allotment just now that Greg got Watson for his birthday, which is... I dunno. John Watson. Allotment. Not two things I would've thought went together, but he's really into it, so that's good. All their glasses match too. When did you grow up, Johnny? I only left you alone for a couple of years and nothing in your emails led me to suspect this level of adulthood although I guess getting shut down by op minimise in the middle of every other conversation made things a little weird. Started feeling like I shouldn't talk to anyone off Bastion for a while there. Like it would help or something.

Although being ancient (over forty) now I suppose matching glasses and allotments and proper jobs are age-appropriate, thank god I am still younger than you and always will be. This is bizarre, this writing thing. Makes you say things you wouldn't otherwise. Like: I'm thinking about not going back. I'll probably regret it if I don't but the way it's been since I got home, maybe there's only so much fucking over a bloke's head can take and I should stop while I'm ahead. Whatever.

Why don't I have a tag? I am giving myself a tag. 

unexpectedly exciting

L's been sent off to interview someone at HMP Frankland, which is much too far away. He'll spend the night there (not at the prison, in a hotel nearby). So will Sherlock. He was begging to go along, L and I were saying no, because where would he stay while L was doing the interview? Sherlock insisted he was old enough to stay in the hotel alone (no), and then one of the security people said his mum lived up there and he hadn't sent her an Easter card and he could go along and look after Sherlock for a few hours while L was doing the interview...

And suddenly, I was packing Sherlock an overnight bag and they were off to the train station. Sherlock was wildly excited, and there were multiple updates from the train, including one about how he could fit into the luggage rack... They're at the hotel now and asleep - at least Sherlock is, and I hope L is by now.

I think Mycroft and I are going to the Soane Museum tomorrow and maybe out to breakfast beforehand - despite having been instructed that we're not to do anything fun while Sherlock's away. It's the house he built for his family to live in but there's also a sort of fake monk's cell and yard:

Soane pretended that he had discovered the remains when digging the foundations of his new house: in medieval times, he explained, this had been the hermitage of a monk named Padre Giovanni. In fact had had assembled the ruin from pieces he had salvaged in his role as architect to the old Houses of Parliament. 

Also:

The tomb itself is is inscribed 'Alas  Poor Fanny!' as if Padre Giovanni had withdrawn into seclusion because of a broken heart. But Fanny was Mrs Soane's beloved pet dog, and its tiny coffin still lies in the Monk's Grave.

(both quotes from In Ruins, by Christopher Woodward)

He sounds like an interesting man... 

i always forget what the day after my birthday is

Early this morning - and I do mean early - L woke me up and said he had something very serious to tell me. What was it, I asked, still groggy but trying very hard to be awake and supportive and really listen rather than wonder why I'd been dreaming of giant snails.

'John,' he said. 'I think I have feelings for Anthea. She's made me discover a part of myself I never knew existed. A...[dramatic pause] heterosexual part. So I'm really sorry, but we're going to run off together and start a school for ninjas. You can enroll if you want, we'd be honoured to have you.'

Once my brain got past the initial sleepy panic and the 'feelings for Anthea(???)' part and processed the ninja school, obviously I had to pummel him with pillows until...matters were resolved.

I'm very glad I don't go out and try to drink myself into an early grave for my birthday anymore - April Fool's Day, at medical school, with a hangover, is something everyone should do their best to avoid.