So, by popular demand (you miserable lot.) (Okay, none of you demanded it, but my sister did!)
The poor guy with the vibrator stuck up his bum, livetweeting about it.
I don't suppose I can particularly comment, given I've blogged whilst under the influence of drugs and whilst kidnapped. But...well, good on the guy. He took it well. So to speak.
Today we were woken insanely early (6 - which actually isn't that early, for him) by Sherlock.
I say 'we'. John mumbled, rolled over, stole my pillow and jammed it over his head and mumbled.
I took Sherlock in to the sitting room and released him onto Harry. Which completely serves her right, for giving him to us on a sugar high last night. He bounced. And yelled. And offered her tea, repeatedly, then dropped toast crumbs on her head. Then left a banana skin in her duvet. Then made a dog lick her hand.
Oddly, in some familial trait, she also grabbed a cushion, shoved it over her head and mumbled.
I took pity and made her coffee.
We eventually made proper breakfast, for everyone and Harry escaped shortly after.
Then we went for a walk, and saw this - Sherlock now wants one:
It's an 'insect hotel' - it's about 5 feet tall, all those holes filled with different bits and bobs - old pots, twigs, logs, grasses, all sorts. I assume it's more a block of flats than a hotel, really, as I doubt the insects get charged by the night and have to book in advance etc.
John shouted at the rugby a bit, I fell asleep on him, Sherlock continued making a huge glittery card for his Mum. I was useless and realised I don't have Mum's address, and failed to get it in time to send anything...so have begged Nicky to sort out a card and fake my writing. I hope she does.
Mycroft is reading a book. I think it might be Latin, from the little I've seen. Which...well, I can often get the gist of, a little bit. Except I think it's about something complicated.
Have something simpler: