minor suns

Back to normal, I suppose, at least until L gets his time off settled and we can get away for a while. Mrs Holmes thinks it's a good plan as well and might even join us for part of it. I don't think we'll be saying anywhere public where we're going, except that it'll have sun (fingers crossed) and hopefully a beach.

L has already painted a vivid picture of himself in (bright) yellow (short) shorts playing air guitar on a pair of jeans - I suppose not actually air guitar, but perhaps laundry guitar? Denim guitar? - when Mrs Hudson brought Laura up to see us.

I wasn't there to witness it, sadly, but L's shriek summoned me fairly quickly, so I got to see his outfit and Laura's reaction to it at least. Or I should say Laura and Mrs Hudson's reactions to it, since Mrs H seemed suitably impressed and told him his shorts fit very nicely (they do).

For those of you not of a mind to keep up with my exes, Laura is the one, as L put it, who has a tiny dog and got me arrested in Egypt. The tiny dog, Biscuit, has since passed on, but she has another now named Vespasian. She gets them from a breeder named, no joke, Mrs Strange. She is, too; I've met her.

L streaked off to put some clothes on, I made tea and introduced her to Sherlock and Mycroft, and we all talked for a while. Or four out of five of us talked, once L returned, and Sherlock glared. Later on in the evening he said she couldn't have me back, which explained the glaring. She kindly refrained from saying she wouldn't want me back, but I know it's true - neither of us would've known what to do with each other in any sort of long term romantic arrangement.

L said he was going to hold my hand possessively on the way to the restaurant, and did so, which I suppose means Sherlock wasn't the only one who was worried, though I hope L knew he had nothing to worry about. Though I'd probably feel the same if his exes showed up out of the blue as mine now seem inclined to do.

Over dinner, Laura told everyone a bit about how we met and kindly left out the fact that I couldn't pay for dinner because I'd lost nearly everything I had in a card game in some bloke's basement. That was an interesting night.

So...there was pizza and ice cream, and Sherlock was won over by garlic bread the the promise of camel riding if we ever go to Egypt. We all stayed up far too late and had a lovely time. I might see her for lunch before she goes back, but I think she's leaving fairly soon, so maybe not.

And now back to bed for hopefully an hour or so before Sherlock's up. It's been a long couple of days. I think I want to just be in bed with L more than I want to actually sleep. 

in the days of frost

Well. This was going to be about Laura's surprise visit, but if you've been reading the comments on L's blog, you'll know it's not going to be.

Someone sent photos to L at work today, pictures of all of us at bouncy Stonehenge. No note, apparently, no overt threat, but the fact that someone sent them is threatening enough. L couldn't reach me or Rachel at first and was understandably concerned, but everyone's fine, physically at least.

It's a difficult situation. I mean, I know I'm stating the obvious here, but...yeah. There's not enough information to actually do anything yet and no way of knowing when there will be. The police and Mrs H's people will be working on it, so that'll have to be enough. I hate the waiting though, always have. 

flourless chocolate cake

Mrs Hudson gave me this one, along with a discourse on what exactly 'stiff peaks' means. 

1.Preheat oven to 150C (300F) degrees and butter an 8 inch springform pan (this is one that the bottom comes out of, which you need because if you turned the pan upside down, the cake might come out, but only in bits, it's too fragile).

2. Melt 125g (4oz) bittersweet chocolate with 1 tsp vanilla, 1 Tbs coffee, and 1 Tbs brandy.

3. Add 90g (6 Tbs) butter, 100g (1/2 cup) sugar, and 50g (1/2 cup) of ground almonds. Heat until butter is melted.

4. Beat 3 egg yolks until lemon coloured and add them to the chocolate mixture.

5. Whip 3 egg whites until they form stiff peaks and fold them gently into the chocolate mixture.

6. Bake for 45 minutes. If you stick a knife or something in the middle, it won't come out completely clean, but it shouldn't be gooey either. Mrs Hudson said it should have 'moist crumbs', which it did, the second time. Sort of. 

late nights

I've been waking up every half hour or so, or maybe not sleeping at all. Just drifting. Thinking, for some reason, of all the friends I've lost, one way or another. I suppose sometimes one just has nights like that. I can't say what brought it on.

I never wrote anything about visiting my parents so I thought I'd try that now, at least a bit.

It wasn't bad. If anything, it went better than I expected. They liked Mycroft, said he was a very polite and well brought up young man. They liked Lestrade. My mother said he seemed very steady and would be a good influence on me.

They were less certain about Sherlock, but they don't like a lot of noise and chaos, and Sherlock is 50% noise and 50% chaos - in the best way, of course, but they weren't seeing that. And I think Sherlock was predisposed not to be overly fond of them because he knew I was reluctant to see them. That's my fault, and I wish I could've done something differently there.

They're good people. I'm not even sure I can explain why I find it so difficult to be around them. It's...a restrained atmosphere. And I know I'm not a champion discusser of feelings, but there's a difference between not saying things and feeling you can't say them. I remember that feeling so strongly, starting with my very first memories, the undercurrent of belief that if anyone said what they were actually thinking that our world would collapse. And it was never anything that horrible, but lacking the ability to acknowledge it made every tiny thing loom over us.

Well. This is accomplishing nothing. I'm going back to bed, either to sleep or talk to L if sleep fails. Good night. Almost good morning. 

camping and fish and karate

This is Sherlock and I drew Lestrade wearing his uniform and also our tent because he told Mycroft we could go camping and I want to go near the sea and catch a fish. He's not camping in his uniform, it's only to show you what it looks like. I think it's kind of boring and he should have an enormous hat made of bears and a red jacket and shiny buttons but I told Lestrade that and he said then the criminals would see him coming and run away so maybe he's right, he's sort of like a ninja. 

stargazing

Hello, this is Mycroft. A few people have asked when I plan to go on the stargazing trip I mentioned. I'm going today, actually, and I've arranged with Mummy for Sherlock to go and stay with her until I get back. I thought Lestrade and John might want some time to relax, and they can't really go anywhere since Lestrade needs to be available for work.

This is a picture of the inside of our balloon being inflated. I think Lestrade has a lot more of what the city looked like from above, especially the football stadiums, so I expect he'll post some of those. 

Sherlock and I are leaving today, so I need to pack and wrap up my telescope now, but I wanted to show you a poem that John showed me first. It's called The Old Astronomer to His Pupil, and this is the last part, which I like especially: 

Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

it's your birthday

It's your birthday, and you even remembered this year! Happy birthday, Gregory Martin Finchley Lestrade. I hope this card is accurate; I'm picturing you leaping on top of bars for your guitar solos when you played in your band.

I love you. It's funny, but every time I think I've got to some plateau on that front, you surprise and amaze me and I fall in love with you all over again, even more than before. Thank you for being here, for sharing your life with me, for being who you are. 

olympics

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

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

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

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. 

the moor, pt. i've-lost-count

I'm going to skip the part the Mycroft told you about, but I'll get us from where I left off to the place where Mr Hudson was holding him first. So...L and I and Sherlock got back to the house. Mr Hudson had hit Mrs Hudson and ran off with Mycroft.

Sherlock said he knew where he'd gone, and that he could lead us there. I was...not happy about that idea, but he said if we didn't take exactly the right path, we'd sink into the mud and never be heard from again. I don't think I even questioned whether it was a good idea to go at all, which you can put down to sleep deprivation and stubbornness, like most of the things I did that day.

Lestrade definitely did question whether it was a good idea to go or not. He wanted to wait for back up, which I still think was probably the more sensible choice. Despite what he says, the fact that it all worked out was more due to luck than anything else. Eventually, because he couldn't convince me not to go, he came with us, which I'm sure surprises no one here.

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.

strange dreams

I had one of those nights last night that are so full of dreams that you wake up feeling like you need to go back to sleep. None of them were quite nightmares, just very tense.

1. Interrogated by the KGB, with my son, on an international flight.
2. Dropping eggs into a vortex of water at a Greek Orthodox church and getting told off by the priest for not having my head covered.
3. Someone stroking my hair, which was quite soothing until I realised I was dead and they were stroking my decapitated head.

All that between about one when L and I got to bed and six when Sherlock woke us, his customary energy undimmed by his late night. Woke up with muscles aching, apparently from having clenched them all night.

L was mostly unhurt after the attempted mugging last night, but in pain from bruises and a shoulder strain. I sort of wish he weren't going back out tonight, but I know why he wants to - even assuming work was giving him a choice, which it isn't. I suggested he shave his head again to better fit in with the surroundings he's meant to be lurking in, but he just rolled his eyes at me...

We had pancakes this morning, a nice time in the park, in the sun, and ice cream. Sherlock lept out at us from behind trees, and from above, and from below. Mycroft told us about how school has been going, and apparently he's going on a camping trip with some other boys from the astronomy club (society? I can't remember what its official name is) to do some stargazing, so that'll be nice. By nice I might mean mildly worrying, since as far I can tell, this plan involves no parental supervision, but I haven't got all the details yet. And anyway, they're 14 and 15, and that's probably old enough, right? It's only for the weekend. 

moosercycle

Sherlock's play was yesterday afternoon. It was...roughly what you would expect from a play written and performed by four, five, and six year olds. Very colourful, a bit chaotic, a certain number of forgotten lines, upsets, and tears. All in all though, I thought they did brilliantly.

The story went something like this: Hamlet's father (a ghost) tells Hamlet that his brother (Hamlet's uncle, Claudius) is in league with pirates. There is a duel between Hamlet and his uncle, and then between Hamlet and the queen, his mother, and then between Hamlet and Polonius. Polonius is fatally wounded and has an extended death scene wherein he wills all his swords to his daughter Laertes and all his animals (including moose) to his son, Ophelius (played by Sherlock).

Laertes burns down Hamlet's castle with a lot of billowing silk fire, and Ophelius rides his moose up-river to where the pirates are moored. He unleashes various forms of animal life upon them. Many duels are fought. I'm pretty sure everyone in the play got to have a sword fight at one point or another, and I'm very sure they planned it that way.

In the end, despite the death of their father, Laertes and Ophelius join forces with Hamlet against their common foes of pirates and evil uncles, vanquish them, and...I think go to live in a treehouse. Not quite sure about that part though.

It was very, very loud, and reasonably entertaining, even when I wasn't quite sure what was happening. Sherlock rode his moosercycle very responsibly and at a safe speed down a river of blue cotton fabric (with very faint floral pattern), and relinquished it at the end of the play with only the mild whinging of the overtired, rather than a full-blown tantrum as I'd feared.

We went to the park, had ice cream and pizza, and came home. The end. 

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. 

hello, beef?

 Just watched this with the boys:

Sherlock thinks 'There's been a moooder' is the funniest thing he's ever heard. He's gone to tell Mrs Hudson about it immediately. I'm not sure Mrs Hudson knows youtube exists, so this should be interesting.

Mycroft's gone out to walk the dogs in the rain. L is either napping or possibly doing paperwork in the bedroom. Not a terribly exciting day really, but that's Monday for you. I'm looking at places to go where it's not raining. It's difficult to pick when the sky is blue in all the pictures. 

more on the moor (5)

Hello. This is Mycroft. I'm doing the next part because I don't think John wants to, and anyway I haven't talked about it much except with Mummy, so perhaps I should.

After I got back to the hall, I went upstairs. I meant to go to my room, but I heard an odd noise. It was a sort of thumping. When I got closer to the attic door, I could hear a man's voice as well, although not what he was saying.

I thought it had to be Hudson, and he shouldn't have been in the attics. I went up to tell him to leave. He was going through a trunk of our grandmother's things. He hit me on the head, and I don't remember very much for a time after that. I remember little bits in between, but they're mostly dark. I think he must have either blindfolded me or put something over my head. Or perhaps I was in a sack so no one would see me. There was a sack on the floor when I woke up.

I was tied to a chair in a stone room. There was a lot of computer equipment and printers, and there was also a cage with two large, black dogs in it. Hudson said he would feed me to them. He said a lot of unpleasant things.

son of the bride of the moor (pt. 4)

I'm afraid I wasn't taking the interrogation terribly seriously, partly because I still in Afghanistan for at least one or two of them, and partly because I was...distracted. As anyone would be. He kept trying to smoke his pen.

The village, which consisted of about ten buildings total including houses, did not have a mortuary or coroner or anything of the sort. The body of the dead man was in the local doctor's office until someone could do something more useful with it. Lestrade asked me to look at it, I presume out of a combination of wanting to see if I looked guilty and lack of any other options since the local doctor was...not in a state to draw any useful conclusions. 

We went there. I looked at the body. Sherlock, I'm sure you'll all be shocked to learn, wanted to see it. I did not think that was advisable. He started crying, got confused when that didn't work, and started crying for real. That was fun. He can be quite loud when he wants to be. 

Mycroft got fed up and asked if he could walk home on his own. It was a relatively short walk, in broad daylight. I said yes. I wish I hadn't. 

I got Sherlock calmed down slightly. Lestrade drove us back to the Hall. We found Mr Hudson had hit Mrs Hudson, kidnapped Mycroft, and escaped onto the moor. 

devil in the white city

Last week, while picking up Sherlock from school, I had a book pressed on me rather insistently by one of the mothers. (We know each other slightly and chat sometimes while waiting for school to let out; it wasn't completely out of the blue.) I took it, because she was so sure I'd love it, and because why not?

It's called Devil in the White City, and it's about the 1893 World's Fair in Chicago, and the serial killer H.H. Holmes. If I'd known that last part, I would not have brought it into the house. Sherlock is wild with curiosity over 1) not just a murderer, but one with his last name, 2) a book I'm reading that he deems worthy (i.e. contains no magic, talking animals, and isn't about boring things like people and their ordinary lives which are not cut short by sudden death).

I can't decide whether to read him the fair parts and hope he gets bored with it, or keep him away from it entirely, but he's definitely not reading the serial killer parts. It's good though. I don't know how accurate the history is, but he's clearly done his research going by the forty pages of citations at the back.

In some ways, I wish it was just about the fair. The descriptions of it, and the quotes from people who saw it at the time, are fantastic, makes you wish you'd been there. I suppose the stuff about the killings wouldn't have been so disturbing before I knew L. Not that it was ever going to be light reading, but now it's impossible not to imagine what he'd go through investigating that sort of crime.

(Also, I'm glad to see I've finally found someone who can beat Genghis Khan in the poll.)

something mycroft sent me

Mycroft sent me this video about the Higgs Boson particle, and I...understand it slightly more than I did before, but I still wouldn't say I understand it. It's also made me very slightly paranoid, in that it sounds like the opening to a science fiction film in which scientists accidentally open a rift into another and much more hostile dimension.

Mycroft will roll his eyes so hard he may strain something when he reads that last sentence.

The Higgs Boson Explained from PHD Comics on Vimeo.

And I may have posted this before, I can't remember, but here's Brian Cox explaining...the universe.

In other news, L is still refusing to let me try his tart until after dinner, which I think you'll all agree is appalling behaviour. On the other hand, he's made me a tart, so I can't really complain.

L continues to insist that 'no moose' is still an option, but he's not fooling anyone but himself. Sherlock hugged his leg when he got home that day and said he was sure L would make the most brilliant moose ever, so he was doomed from the start.

A patient at work today told me that he's 81 and the secret of his continued health is onions. Loads and loads of onions. He said he goes through a bag of them every week. I admit, he did look good for his age. And smelled only faintly of onions. 

red and shiny

I got the call just after lunch. The man on the phone seemed nearly as excited as I was, confirming my impression than my bike is superior to all other bikes, but perhaps it's just his personality? Anyhow, went to pick it up as soon after work as I could decently manage, but had to go home first to retrieve helmet, etc. and then excite various curious glances on the tube regarding non-tube-standard attire.

It was waiting for me outside when I got there, looking very red and shiny and larger than I remembered. Last bits of paperwork taken care of, I had time for a very short ride before fetching Sherlock from school, sadly not on the bike.

(I now want him to grow nearly as much as he does because then I could drive him to school on it. As it is, since I go straight from his school to work, I'll really only be able to ride it in the afternoons - though after the summer holidays and two months away from the surgery, I can't really expect Sarah to keep me on anyway. Perhaps when Mycroft goes back to school, I'll just ride about all day.)

Brought it home, went to collect Sherlock, brought him home and introduced him to the new bike. Let him sit on it. Successfully extracted a promise to keep entirely away from the internet until after I surprised L. May have bribed him slightly with biscuits.

Mrs Hudson agreed to look after him and feed him dinner, and I left for NSY, keeping a safe distance from anything that might scratch my paintwork.

L walked right past me, though he gave the bike an appreciative glance, and I had to take my helmet off and call him back. His appreciative glances were this time more appropriately divided between the bike and me, and he called me a sneak and a toe-rag and a git, which was entirely the reaction I was going for, and then graciously allowed me to take him to dinner. We had a very nice time, and I'm already plotting where we can go for a decently long ride, hopefully at the weekend if not sooner. 

return of greg the florist

A few minutes later they each had a steaming mug of tea and fresh bread thickly slathered in butter and jam. They watched the sun dip behind the trees in a blaze of golden-red glory.

Behind them the castle loomed, windows dark. An owl screeched in the nearby woodlands.

Greg shivered.

"It's too bad we don't have a ghost," John. "It'd be good for business." 

Greg shot him a quick glance, but he appeared to be perfectly serious. "Quite glad we don't, I think," he said. 

"No old legends? Women in white? Women in black? Why's it always women in white or black? It's never little boys in red. Or grandfathers in blue."

"Drama," Greg suggested. 

"Suppose so." 

The sun left a lingering line of fire along the tree tops and then vanished entirely. The light went from warm to cool blue, and John edged closer as the temperature dropped. They stood there until the blue washed away and ink black spread out over the hills and sky. The stars bloomed, a handful at a time, until they covered everything. There was no moon. 

"Inside," John said, finally. "Come on. It's too...big out here." 

Greg thought he knew what he meant. Both sky and possibilities seemed infinite, more than his mind could comfortably contain, and the future was as penetrable as the dark bulk of the night forest. 

He took John's hand and led him inside for more tea, and toast, and bed. 

*

In the morning, he lay in bed for all of five minutes when he woke, and then he picked up the phone and called an electrician. That was where the trouble really began.

---

On a non-florist-related note, I've bought racquet-shaped pasta again for Wimbledon. 

no bike

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

just thought you'd like to know

Just got back from picking Sherlock up from school. Went to check on L and his migraine...found him in bed, asleep, clutching one of his files from work like a teddy bear. A very sweet image, but I thought I should take it away from him and get him under the covers properly.

Now Sherlock and I are making courgette loaf and trying to be quiet about it. Not easy, since cooking is usually a sort of extreme sport for Sherlock, but we're trying. 

who throws cheese?

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

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

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

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

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

I am also going to sleep early tonight. 

the stars are not wanted

So. Red's funeral. It was...good. If that's possible. I saw a lot of people I hadn't seen for a long time. Some of them not since Afghanistan, some of them longer than that. Years. None of them since I got back, though a lot of them have been home longer than I have.

His mum sang Bonny Portmore. She used to sing professionally, and she still has a lovely voice. She told me afterwards that she used to sing it to him when he was little.

Wore my dress uniform for, I think, the first time since the last funeral I went to. That's probably 90% of the reason I don't like it.

L was wonderful. Held my hand through a lot of it. Stealthily. I think he wasn't sure whether I'd want to tell people about us. I probably should've reassured him beforehand, but I just didn't think about it. I wasn't much use that week generally.

Sorry. I'll do a post about the visit with my parents soon and then I'll stop being so bloody depressing for a while, promise. I know this isn't what you signed up to read. 

one confession

L - seems only fair to tell you, since you told me yours. Number seven. 

Day Ten: One confession.

I keep trying not to write this, because I don't think it's appropriate for a blog, or...for anywhere really. But I think can't think of anything else. Not because there aren't other things to think of, but because this one seems to have driven all of them out of my mind. So. 

I've killed three people. Even in retrospect I can't think of a way I could've acted differently without the people I was supposed to be protecting getting badly injured or killed. I suppose I'm lucky in that regard. They were fairly clear-cut situations. 

I don't really feel guilty. I don't really feel anything. Sometimes I feel guilty about not feeling guilty. Mostly when I think about it I feel sort of...empty. I don't know. A lack of any recognisable emotion. I worry about that fairly often. About what it says about me. 

I know this is hardly a unique experience in war. But I've managed to accept most of the things I've seen and done, and I still don't know what to do with this. I don't know if I ever will. 

two images

Day Nine: Two images that describe your life right now, and why.

Acquiring food: I don't understand how it takes up so much time, but it does. Even with L doing most of the cooking, I sometimes feel like I live at the supermarket. 

Taking care of small things: not birds specifically, but Sherlock and I found this one and put it back in its nest. 

Bonus turtle: I keep seeing them now and I can't recall having seen...really any in London before. But that was before Sherlock and his endless enthusiasm for all creatures great and small. I think this is the same one that I posted a picture of before - at least it was near the same pond. 

Day Ten: One confession.

three turn-ons

On the assumption that the game will stay popular for a while, I've put the answers post into the bar of links at the top of my blog so people can find it easily.

Day Eight: Three turn-ons.

If L can do it, so can I , I suppose... I think this was the worst one. Easier to think of but much harder to post. 

 

1. Competence. In particular at driving and fixing things around the house, but just in general as well.

2. A bit of dirty talk can be nice. 

3. Smoking. Look, I know, all right? I've dissected those lungs. Believe me, I know. Logic doesn't help. And it's only with certain people anyway.



Day Nine: Two images that describe your life right now, and why.
Day Ten: One confession.

four turn-offs

Day Seven: Four turn-offs.

1. Dishonesty. Game playing. Manipulation. All that sort of thing.

2. Cruelty. 

3. Really small hands on men. Sometimes on women too. I don't know why. 

4. Excessive back hair.

Day Eight: Three turn-ons.
Day Nine: Two images that describe your life right now, and why.
Day Ten: One confession.


On another note, related to 1 and 2, I hope everyone's read L's post by now.

When I started this blog, I was easily the most unhappy and alone I've ever been in my life. Watching this change from just me talking into the ether, into a place where all of you can come and talk and share your lives hasn't just made me happy; it's changed my view of humanity, maybe given me back some small amount of faith in people. Thank you for that.

Edited to add the clues from Ryo's game, which I haven't even started on because my brain still hurts from the last one:

Live but not die

Devil but not angel
Era but not period
eve not adam
draw not color
pan and pot but not stove
Ron but not Mike
Wed but not marry
Rat but not mouse
Reward but not present
ten but not eleven
bad but not good
loot not treasure
lever not pulley

deified not god-like
Ewe not us.
Saw not hammer
was but not will

five people

Day Six: Five people who mean a lot (in no order whatsoever)

Well...leaving aside the completely obvious... 

1.  Harry

2. Murray

3. Mrs Holmes

4. Mrs Hudson 

5. Laura

But that still leaves an awful lot of people out. This should've been the ten things one.

Day Seven: Four turn-offs.
Day Eight: Three turn-ons.
Day Nine: Two images that describe your life right now, and why.
Day Ten: One confession.

We are home. I've started the laundry. I'm exhausted. 

Here's a list of the clues for Lancs. Anon's game:

It's a game of cap and hat but not bonnet
It's a game of route but not root
It's a game of rut but not puddle
It's a game of iron and tin but not gold
It's a game of den but not nest
It's a game of dream but not vision
It's a game of lit but not lite (unless you're American, in which case it is a game of lite)
It's a game of kin but not kind
It's a game of plus but not minus
It's a game of butter but not bread
It's a game of grin and smile but not cry
It's a game of clot but not clod
It's a game of ton and tun but not barrel
It's a game of not and no but not yes
It's a game of boo but not ghost
It's a game of boo and not shoe
It's a game of boo and not page
It's a game of hi but not greetings
It's a game of to and fro but not hither or thither
It's a game of tan but not color
It's a game of join but not meet
It's a game of roo not kanga
It's a game of hone but not sharpen
It's a game of pen but not nib
It's a game of rabbi but not vicar
It's a game of war not peace
It's a game of cow not donkey