bike day 2.0

Sherlock got most of his bike gear for Christmas...got his helmet...so we arranged a little surprise. L and Mycroft and I set off into the cold and the wet, and eventually met Sherlock and Mrs Hudson near Harrow so Sherlock could have his first ride in real traffic without it being in the middle of London.

And so I could practice with Mycroft on the back of my bike, and in poor weather, in an effort to make L feel a bit less nervous about my abilities. And also obviously because I do need the practice, but he does occasionally give me this concerned look that makes me feel as if I ought to be asking permission before I ride in the rain.

It was cold. It was wet. I may have mention that already, but the cold and wet featured prominently in our day and bear repeating. At one point I thought my fingers might never uncurl, just be frozen permanently in handle bar gripping position.

Not cold enough, of course, because it's still rain and not the S word.

late night tea

We're both unable to sleep at the same time for once. Makes a nice change, having company. Except for knowing we'll both be tired tomorrow instead of just one of us. I was asleep for a bit at least, dreaming about being in a helicopter, going over endless dry dirt, no rivers, no trees, no people or animals. Just dirt and dust and empty trucks stopped dead in the middle of dirt roads. I think I'd rather be awake.

L's doing paperwork and had half a folder spread out over my leg so when I woke up I caused a small paper avalanche. Left him to clean it up while I made tea. So now we're awake in the middle of the night with tea which is, in my opinion, better than without, and with chocolate biscuits, autopsy reports, and crime scene photos. Sherlock would love it.

Sometimes life produces moments that are so unexpectedly nice that I find them almost shocking. I'd never have thought, before I met L, that insomnia and paperwork - even someone else's - could be combine into anything better than mild irritation. But, shared with him (and tea), it turns into something different. Contentment maybe. That's a good word.

I'm still not used to it. Maybe I never will be. 

christmas photos

Happy Christmas, everyone. I hope it was a good one. It certainly was for us. I'm too tired to give a full report, but it had all the usual desired components - good food and people we care for. Lestrade outdid himself with dinner, and Mrs Holmes, Mycroft, and Sherlock created some new version of Cluedo understandable only to them. 

Here's a picture from a while ago (you can tell by the blue sky). Someone had hung one of the trees with these two little baubles. 

And here's a close up of our tree with massive sparkly snowflake. 

Jumper report: Mrs Hudson knit me a very nice jumper. It's mainly cream with red cuffs and collar, and some cabling stuff in the middle and on the sleeves. I think it's lovely, and not too Christmassy. Should be able to wear it all winter if L doesn't make off with it and bury it somewhere... 

And now, everything is cleaned up, Sherlock and Mycroft are asleep, and L is waiting for me in bed while I blog like someone who has nothing better to be doing, when clearly I do, so...good night. 

and a pear in a partridge tree

I said I'd post a picture of my bauble today, since L posted his yesterday and vividly described Sherlock's for you. It's just a little bird. I think I had a bird last year too.

Not like that. I know what you're all thinking, especially you, L.

Mycroft's are in the background. He got a bunch of tiny little pears and berries on wires that you can weave into the branches. Very tasteful. 

The persistent cold and damp hasn't been doing my shoulder any good, but today was mostly an inside day, except for walking the dogs (and Sherlock). Tea, a good book, an endless supply of baked goods from Mrs Hudson's flat, both boys relatively calm... 

Of course, there was the inevitable moment when we got back from the walk and both dogs and Sherlock tried to shake themselves dry at the same time, and Mycroft had to curl over his computer to keep it dry and the resultant you did that on purpose / you were SITTING THERE on purpose. It's convenient that sibling fights don't actually have to make sense. Otherwise you'd run out of things to argue about eventually. 

the world didn't end

We had only minor apocalypses during Sherlock's play, thankfully. He did very well, and we were very proud to watch him, especially the violin piece he played at the beginning. Lestrade also played very well, and we were proud of him as well...especially when he caught the goat.

The kings were following a star, you see, and by star I mean a spotlight with an inexplicably purple gel on it. The gel was positioned wrong, started to smoke...maybe some small flames. I went to turn it off while Mrs N dealt with panicky children. L insists the goat was coming right for me and he manfully wrestled it to the ground, and good thing too, since I was without my goat proof pants.

After a few tears and excited shrieks from the kids, things calmed down a little, and Mrs N got them back on track. They actually finished the play. I was impressed. Sherlock came up to me afterward and said, very proudly, 'None of that was my fault!'

And then there was cake. And later, mulled wine. It was very nice. Mrs H had some and measured me quite thoroughly for the jumper she's knitting. More thoroughly than I have every been measured before. And more unnecessarily too, since she took my measurements two weeks ago... She also showed us a corner of it. Seems to be mainly cream coloured with cables and some red bits. I don't think even L will be able to object! 

shipping forecast

This will be short because I should be asleep...but I startled myself awake by falling out of bed, hitting the floor...and then trying to hit the floor. It hit me first. So I'm up for a while. Cleaned up a bit more glitter.

And then I remembered a long ago blog conversation about the shipping forecast and wondered if it were on youtube. It is.

tree buying

I'd point out that my BMW is winning the poll, but that seems unkind to Lestrade, who was responsible for a very enjoyable time last night, so I won't.

The room was really impressively nice, with its odd hanging cage bed and comfortable sofa. In my limited experience, room service usually isn't very nice even when they manage to get it up to your room before it's cold. It still seemed preferable to going out, but I was not expecting anything to write home (or blog) about. It was really good though, in particular the dessert, as L said. Calvados pannacotta, blackberries, caramelized apples, and salted caramel ice cream. Wow.

It was incredibly strange not to be awakened by a flying tackle from Sherlock early the next morning, but I think we could get used to it. Slept in until eight, which is about right as far as I'm concerned and criminally late for Lestrade. Nice lunch, home, picked up Sherlock from school...and then the Christmas tree.

We went to a tree farm to cut down our own this year. Sherlock had a check list regarding height, width, colour, needle quality, etc. It took two solid hours, not counting the drive there and back. Got home, got it up and mainly straight, and L had to rush off because he was nearly late to work by then.

I tried to be restrained with the tinsel this year, partially for L and Mycroft's sakes, and partially because the enormous wreath Mrs Hudson and Sherlock did is already so extremely sparkly that any more sparkle in or around our flat might cause some sort of sparkle implosion and result in a black hole that would suck all the glitter out of the world. 

disappearing act

If you've read the comments in L's blog, you'll have seen that Mycroft and Carla gave us the slip today. Not just us, but security as well. They lost us in the crowds of manic Christmas shoppers at Harrods. They let us know they were okay after a while, and then apparently went ice skating and had hot chocolate.

I'm...torn on how to feel about it, and what to do about it. He's a teenager now. He's obviously going to want more freedom than he's had, and it's a reasonable thing to want. I don't know how much he can reasonably have. Need to talk to his mum about that. There's got to be some kind of balance between keeping him safe and letting him grow up. Probably should've done it before now, really.

Apart from that, we all had a nice day, despite the crowds. A bit of shopping (all right, more than a bit), lunch out. L spent at least an hour trying to convince me I wanted an earring after we walked by a piercing place. Nearly gave in, but I'm sure I don't need any more holes in my head than I already have.  Pretty sure.

Sherlock asked, idly, if he could get his tongue pierced. We're going to be in so much trouble when he hits fifteen or sixteen. 

bits and pieces

L's mobile had a small accident today. He brought it home for Mycroft to dissect. Mycroft let Sherlock help him, and it kept both of them occupied for quite a while after dinner, almost right up to Sherlock's bedtime. No idea what he wants with phone innards, but I'm sure he'll do something interesting with them. 

RIP

andromeda project

Hello, this is Mycroft. 

I've just been reading about the Andromeda Project, and I thought some of you might be interested. It lets you help astronomers identify star clusters in the Andromeda galaxy, as well as distant galaxies viewed through it. 

The project aims to identify star clusters in our neighboring galaxy, also known as M31. All it takes to find the clusters in Andromeda is an Internet-enabled computer and a desire to help, said Anil Seth, the team's lead investigator. "No special training is required," he said.

The Andromeda galaxy is the one nearest to our own and also the most distant object you can see in the night sky without a telescope. It was first mentioned in writing in 964 by a Persian astronomer named Abd al-Rahman al Sufi, who described it as a 'little cloud' in his Book of Fixed Stars. 

It's also on a collision course with the Milky Way, destined to arrive in roughly five billion years. Not particularly relevant to us, since our sun will most likely have cooled and expanded by then to a point where it will have swallowed up Mercury, Venus, and possibly our planet, too, so if we're not off Earth by then, Andromeda will be the least of our worries. Still interesting though. 

This is a picture of the Antennae Galaxies colliding. They intersected about 200 to 300 million years ago, and the process is still continuing today.

they cannot look out far, they cannot look in deep

We left this morning to go and visit Nicky and her family and Lestrade's mum. Left the boys at Nicky's house, went to the hospital...had a very quiet visit. Clearly quieter than L expected. Quieter than I expected, to be honest. She barely said a word.

Nice lunch with everyone afterward, and then the drive home. Sherlock entertained everyone for a while with various videos he found on youtube and then fell asleep. Mycroft told us a bit about his and Carla's plans for next weekend. He said we can fit it all in if everyone keeps to the schedule. L asked him what he thought the chances of that were. He said about 17%. I'm pretty sure there'll be ice skating though, at least.

We played Cluedo this evening, which ended as well as you might expect, with the board overturned and pieces all over the room. Sherlock insisted his character didn't do it and that we had no evidence...

And then Lestrade casually mentioned that next Sunday is...well, a sort of anniversary for us. I'm really bad at remembering dates. Even when the event in question was extremely memorable. I love him every day, sometimes so much it's almost frightening to me. Certainly more than I ever thought I was capable of. I hope that makes up for it. We've got a date for next Sunday if Mrs Hudson can look after Sherlock. Which, given her willingness to aid and abet on previous dates, seems extremely likely. I'll ask her in the morning, which is coming all too soon. 

friday

Lestrade and I dropped Sherlock off at school this morning, completely failed to run afterward, went home and had coffee until it was time to go and get Mycroft. It's always such a mess when it's time for them to go home - boys, bags, parents, and cars all over the place. The dogs generally clear some space around us, but even so, it's quite an experience. 

L got cornered by a boy a couple of years older than Mycroft who wanted to know every single thing about his bike's engine. I wouldn't have thought there was that much to say (it's a small engine!), but they were talking the entire time we were packing up luggage and dogs. Just before we left, the kid said my bike was nice too, but that he thought Triumph made a 'superior product'... 

Oh, and if you missed the comment, Anthea said she might ride with one of us next time. Nice to be preferred to two large, slobbery dogs. ;)

It's lovely to have Mycroft home again. Sherlock is, of course, once again outraged that he's still in school while Mycroft's not, but the Christmas show is distracting him. Mycroft wants to see the Churchill War Rooms, so we'll probably do that sometime in the week when Sherlock's at school. He's reading Churchill's history of the second world war right now, and I may be reading it too, soon. The parts he's shown me are interesting. 

He showed me this, too: bombsight.org, which marks where the bombs fell in London during the Blitz. When you zoom out, it looks like a solid red splotch and seems a miracle the city wasn't entirely wiped off the map.

And now, as they say, for something completely different:

"When a magnitude 6.8 earthquake shook Olympia, Wash., in 2001, shopowner Jason Ward discovered that a sand-tracing pendulum had recorded the vibrations in the image above."

going fast, slowly

Sherlock's mum picked him up from school today and took him to get cake. I gather she was regaled with every last detail regarding the Christmas show, including the colour of lights he wants on his halo. He also got her to sign a contract saying she'd be there. It covers a number of contingencies, including alien invasion, zombie apocalypse, and nuclear war. In all cases, she is expected to attend the show, even if some of Sherlock's classmates attempt to eat her brain.

With all this time on my hands, I helped Mrs Hudson bake:

Went for a run. Thought about some things, which didn't turn out as badly for me as it usually does. Cleaned the kitchen, waded around in Sherlock's room to make sure  there was nothing growing in there that shouldn't be. And had the following exchange of texts with Anthea:

Me: are you coming to christmas dinner?

A: what's in it for me

Me: the opportunity to wash a lot of dishes after

A: you mean make my minions wash a lot of dishes

Me: thought you said they weren't your minions

A: reconsidering. may need to start life of supervillany, in which case minions necessary 

I think Harrow may be getting to her. 

And lastly, here is a cheetah running very fast...very slowly.

back to the future

Delorean taxi

The linked article says it's not real, sadly - I mean that it doesn't exist as a taxi, not just that it doesn't really take you back in time.

Sherlock's class had auditions for the Christmas show today. Sherlock wants to be an angel with a light up halo. A dancing angel. Possibly breakdancing. Probably not on the head of a pin, but nothing would surprise me. He's also got a violin piece to play at the start of the show, along with two of his classmates, who I believe are playing cello and harp.

On the way home, he said he wants to invite Molly and Sally to come to the show  as well - but only if he gets the part. Heh. I need to ask Mrs N how many guests we're allowed to bring. There are quite a few of us already.

And I need to start Christmas shopping in a very serious way. What are you all getting your mums this year? Any ideas I can steal?

-

I'm not going to continue the poetry indefinitely, but I realised I didn't do any haiku at all. So here's this, by Issa.


In this world
we walk on the roof of hell
gazing at flowers. 

those winter sundays

When I was young, my father had a painting. It was of a very brown forest with some brownish grass, coppery leaves, dusty coloured sky. Generally brown. There was a brown stag in, standing between two trees, and through some mental oddity or lack of visual development, I could not see it. Harry could see it, and had always been able to, even when she was my age. I think I was about three or four then. It's one of my first memories. 

Harry got so angry with me over it. In looking back, I can see she thought I was pretending not to see it, presumably to annoy her, as younger brothers do. At the time, I had no idea why she was shouting. And I remember my father sending her out of the room, showing me right where the stag was, lifting me up so I could touch, but it was no good. Still invisible. He showed me again the next day and I don't even know how many times after that, until one day I could see it. 

I suppose my point is that the holidays always make me think of my family, and I'm trying to be more positive about it this year. Doesn't come naturally, but there you are. 

-

You can also listen to him read it here if you want to.

Those Winter Sundays
Robert Hayden

neither out far nor in deep

I saw Harry for lunch today while L was visiting his mum. She's still sober, and she got a promotion recently, so we were semi-celebrating. Which isn't to say we managed not to piss each other off at all, because we didn't, but even so, it was nice. 

She said she'd like Sherlock to stay with her overnight some time. If he wants to and his mum is all right with it, I think I would be too, at this point. It's funny, thinking about the two of them, Harry wasn't that different from him as a kid. Maybe more socially aware, less sure of herself, but I remember her being absolutely enraged when people (mostly our parents) told her the truth was inappropriate, just the way Sherlock is. I wonder if we might've got along better if she weren't my sister

-

Neither Out Far Nor In Deep
Robert Frost

greg the florist, part i have no idea

Previously on Greg the Florist...

The woman peering out of the window after them seemed to be clutching a wooden cross, holding it out at them, but as he squinted to see more clearly, she moved away into the shadows. He shook his head. It must have been some sort of optical illusion...

la belle dame sans merci

Mycroft rang this evening and told me off for never admitting I was ill and trying to carry on regardless even though I won't let anyone else do that. Probably tells you all you need to know about my day. I honestly don't feel that bad, just tired, scratchy throat, etc. I plan to be better tomorrow, but meanwhile Drs Holmes and Lestrade have made me promise to rest. 

And this still isn't Greg the Florist because I can't find the last bit of it on L's blog and search box won't load. I don't suppose anyone has a link to it? 

-

No laughing at 'her elfin grot', I know you people. 

La Belle Dame Sans Merci
John Keats

sneezles

I'd meant to write Greg the Florist today, but got a call from Mrs N instead, telling me to come and fetch Sherlock. He's not too ill - at least there's no vomiting (yet) - just quiet, cranky, and miserable, poor kid. And then L came home with a headache, and he and Sherlock napped on the couch in between demanding orange juice (Sherlock) and insisting he was fine (Lestrade). Mrs H came up and force fed everyone tea, and then I was putting Sherlock to bed, and...the day has gone very quickly. 

-

Sneezles

A.A. Milne

in a disused graveyard

View from the top of the monument. It was tall. There were a lot of stairs. I need to run more. I know I've said that already, but mostly likely doing it would be more beneficial than talking about it. I'll look into that. 

 The church, complete with real live blue sky, in as much as the sky is live:

DW asked me: "Doc, in all the time you had soldiers telling you things, did you ever once believe them when they started with "See, it was like this..."? Because if you did, I have a very nice bridge for sale..."

So, once upon a time, in the freezing remains of an abandoned and possibly haunted mental hospital, a soldier sidled up to me. We'll call him M.

M: See, it was like this [emphasis mine], we were just trying to have a little fun [also a phrase to be treated with deep suspicion], like a water slide, only with ice, and now Jameson's got his arse froze to it, so can you come and unfreeze him? I hear vodka's good for that.

The vodka should've been my tip off. In my defense, the rest of his story, given the people involved, was completely believable. Why he thought I had vodka, that's a mystery for the ages, but when I got back from talking to Jameson (unfrozen), I found M eyeing up a bottle of alcohol like he was wondering how it would taste. He'd also pocketed a number of tongue depressors.

We had a talk. Evidently it did't stick, because two weeks later...

M: See it was like this, Doc. I got bit by a bat and now I think I'm turning into a vampire and I don't have any garlic. Do you have some garlic?

The next week...

M, face covered in god knows what: Doc, I'll be honest, sometimes a man just needs to exfoliate.

I still don't know what it was, but the resulting rash was surprisingly difficult to get rid of.

-

In a Disused Graveyard
Robert Frost

see it was like this

The weather's miserable. Sherlock said someone should find a way to make it colder out and then the rain would be snow and snow isn't as cold. Which...is not true, but I do see what he meant. You're not as cold when you're out in it. Although I can tell you that if you're standing in the snow and some bastard throws a bucket of cold water over you, you will be colder than if you were standing in the rain.

L made curry last night, and I had the leftovers for breakfast and lunch. He wouldn't kiss me for ages, even after I brushed my teeth. He told me to go and gargle with milk at one point, which led to some interesting discussion.

I like this sort of weather, really. It makes the inside seem warmer. Even the colours are warmer, all yellows and oranges, while everything outside is grey and blue.

-

You get a picture for this one, because I'm not going to try to reproduce the line breaks and indents. Blogger always does funny things to my formatting.

See it was like this
Lawrence Ferlinghetti

stopping by woods

So, the Christmas show. I talked to Mrs N today, and I'm reporting the following bit of conversation so that L can see that the result was not my fault. 

Me: Has Sherlock said anything to you about Lestrade playing guitar in the show? 

Her: I didn't know he played! Oh, that would be lovely. I was going to play piano, but it'll be easier to organise everyone back stage this way. Thanks so much for offering. 

...Clearly not my fault, right? L, I can probably still get you out of it if you really don't want to. 

As for the actual content of the show, she said it started with the kids thinking that the most interesting part of the nativity story was the three wise men trekking across the desert and ended as some sort of desert survival story...with science...and dancing. And, she says, possibly a live goat. 

I, for one, cannot wait. 

-

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Robert Frost

loveliest of trees

I did the poem part of this post earlier and then never wrote the post part because Sherlock read the poem and started declaiming it from atop the sofa. Between that and L following me around singing Slade songs and making a tinfoil wig, I laughed so hard my face hurt. 

Tomorrow I will do my best to interrogate Mrs N as to the exact nature of this Christmas show before anyone starts building animatronic camels or shooting stars that really shoot. 

-

Loveliest of Trees

A.E. Housman

when i watch the living meet

I completely forgot about posting today...yesterday, really. I'm up though, and everyone else is asleep, so I'll just do this before I go back to being L's foot warmer. I'm so very glad to have him home. Tried not to fuss at him when he came home and failed completely, I think. He was cold and wet generally miserable looking. Much better by the time we got to bed. 

Sherlock said something about interpretive dance for the school Christmas show... I don't know whether that's actually what his teacher said, or if he's just heard the phrase from L and picked it up. Should be interesting either way. 

Yeah. Sleep. 

-

When I watch the living meet
A. E. Housman

low tide

Well. I imagine you've read L's post so you know his mum is in hospital after a stroke. He's staying with Nicky. I've answered all of Sherlock's and Mycroft's questions that I could. And now I'm really just sitting here staring out the window and failing to think of things to type. So I'd better go and try to sleep. Good night, everyone. Thank you for all the support today. 

Low Tide
Edna St Vincent Millay

second coming

I had lunch with Spence today - he's one of the friends I saw for the first time in a while at Red's funeral. The one who told L every story about me he could remember in the five minutes I left them alone together. To be fair, it was probably a joint effort, but I'm sure he was the instigator. 

We talked, about a lot of things. People and things we remember. Strange times. He said he didn't really talk to anyone when he got back either, including his wife. I gather they're doing a little better now. 

He came along with me to pick up Sherlock, but ditched me when he saw the tidal wave of children coming toward us...heh. Something about having to do the shopping. Excuses, excuses. I took Sherlock to kung fu. He's learning to do this jump kick where you turn all the way around in mid-air and then inflict grievous bodily harm on the foam pad someone's holding for you. They're encouraged to yell while doing it. Quite an impressive sight.

On the way home, he asked me why I was sad. I told him I'd been thinking about people I miss. "Like I miss Grand-mère?" he said. Yes, like that. "People shouldn't die," he said. "It's not right." Leaving aside the difficulties of overpopulation, sometimes I agree. Sometimes not.

And then, perhaps inevitably, we talked about zombies.

-

The Second Coming

William Butler Yeats

the lady of shalott

I'm tired, and extremely full of pie - still - so this will be short, apart from the poem, which is long. 

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, we had to pick something to memorise and recite in class, and I did Resume, by Dorothy Parker, which you can look up  or find in the comments of the previous post. It was...not well received. It deals with methods of suicide in a more lighthearted manner than my teacher felt was appropriate. My parents were called, I had to see the headmaster, etc etc... Despite the fact that Parker was, as I insisted repeatedly, a 'real, famous poet'. 

I'd got it out of one of my mother's books, and my parents were, for once, on my side, and the only punishment I got in the end was to pick a different poem. I picked this one, primarily because it was the longest one in our book. I recited it as slowly as humanly possible. It took up nearly half the class. I also completely alienated that teacher completely, which made the rest of the year rather unpleasant. Still, no regrets. And I do like the poem. It's very peaceful. 

-

The Lady of Shalott 
Tennyson

bee-scuits

Sherlock and Lestrade's creation of the day, bee biscuits. Or, as Lestrade insists, bee-scuits:

With chocolate wings, legs, and stinger, of course. Unlike actual bees, they are delicious. 

The off road place was good. I definitely still have mud in unexpected places, but if that and a few bruises are the worst price we pay for getting to act like complete lunatics for a few hours, I'd say it's more than worth it. 

Sherlock had a ride on the back of L's bike again...he's almost there. Just a touch unstable still. Not quite enough length in his legs, but since he's growing like kudzu, I don't think it'll be too much longer. 

I watched Mycroft go around the track by himself and thought about my father's reaction when I asked him to teach me how to drive: an aghast look, accompanied by a demand to know how old I thought I was. He knew, of course, so I can only assume it was the shock talking. I can sort of understand it now, when I realise that Mycroft will be old enough to have his own bike in a very few years. 

I'm getting into an odd place with the poetry, where the only ones that leap to mind are ones that I suspect will seem vaguely depressing to everyone else and inappropriate for happy posts involving bee-scuits, but that I personally find amusing or hopeful. I'm also trying hard not to make this Millay Month, but nevertheless... 

Spring

Edna St Vincent Millay

departure

Today Sherlock and I worked on his bee innards and looked at a lot of pictures of bee wings, close up. I also answered the question 'When is Mycroft coming home?' roughly 5000 times. He is home, at last. He and Sherlock spent a little time on the bees before Sherlock decided to make off with L's Murder Investigation Manual, and he also showed us all this:

More about it here: http://calebcharland.com/energy-from-a-single-orange/

Which is pretty amazing, I think you'll agree. The orange is powering the LED that's lighting it up from inside. Sherlock wants to make one. 

-

Departure

Edna St Vincent Millay

hope is the thing with feathers

I went to see Lestrade play his guitar at a very small pub tonight. Last night, technically. I was under strict instructions to not do anything whatsoever - applaud wildly? Fling various items of clothing at the stage? Not sure what he had in mind. I behaved with perfect decorum but was still accused of looking 'soppy'... Well, he might've had a point. Couldn't help it. I really do think he's amazing and was so pleased and proud to be there with him. 

Sometimes I wonder how things would've gone if we'd met years and years ago, when I was in med school and he was still in his band. Really poorly, probably, when I think back on most of my relationships. And that's assuming I got up the nerve to talk to him at all; also unlikely back then. 

On nights like this, it's possible to believe that sometimes things really do turn out for the best. 

-

Hope is the thing with feathers

Emily Dickinson

purple bougainvillea vine

Our day was, as L said, lovely. We were awakened at a semi-godly hour, and I got to stay in bed a bit longer while L and Sherlock did ill advised things with cheese on toast and calculated the speed of light, all before breakfast. Took Sherlock to school. He likes L going with us because he'll let Sherlock ride on his shoulders. It gives Sherlock a chance to see over garden walls and mimic L's hand gestures while L can't see. It's a good show. 

Got home, had a semi-healthy breakfast, by which I mean that although it contained bacon, it didn't contain pancakes, and lay about on the couch for about an hour saying we should do something. Nice to have the time for that, for once. 

Then a slightly chilly bike ride with random pub lunch - just pulled over and took a chance, as people did before the days of the internet. The food was good, but there were some people talking about Arsenal...in ways that L did not approve of. Thought we might have to leave early for a few minutes there... 

-

Purple Bougainvillea Vine

Don Blanding