Well, allow me to introduce myself to you as an advocate of Ornamental Knowledge. You like the mind to be a neat machine, equipped to work efficiently, if narrowly, and with no extra bits or useless parts. I like the mind to be a dustbin of scraps of brilliant fabric, odd gems, worthless but fascinating curiosities, tinsel, quaint bits of carving, and a reasonable amount of healthy dirt. Shake the machine and it goes out of order; shake the dustbin and it adjusts itself beautifully to its new position.
-Robertson Davies, Tempest-Tost
Just the usual fangirl geekery, with quite a high level of ridiculousness. You know, Doctor Who, Sherlock Holmes, Cabin Pressure, Frankenstein, science stuff, about a million books, a slightly high level of curiosity, and a Cheshire cat for good measure. I have no control over my enthusiasm. Oh, and sometimes I inflict my art on you. Sorry.
In the words of Neil Gaiman in Sandman: The weirdness has been getting worse.
Oh, and anyone who guesses who the writing lady in the sidebar image gets nothing in particular, but tell me if you know...
Currently sojourning in England, questing after the wild hedgehog. (Not really but sort of.)
Previously grinningcheshire
My (rather stupidly lit and odd) contribution to the Sherlock Community Montage, in aid of the Undershaw Preservation Trust, co-staring a paper Sherlock and my neighbour’s sheds. For more information, I’d recommend going here.
I also thought I’d add a few sentences on Undershaw from Graham Moore’s bookThe Sherlockian. The whole chapter which takes place there is lovely, but I particularly like this bit:
Harold stood in the spot where Conan Doyle’s desk had been. Where his chair had been set back. Where the stories had been composed, where they had been written down in longhand. Where Sherlock Holmes was resurrected.
The old centuries had, and have, powers of their own, which mere modernity cannot kill. Stoker had been right. So had Alex Cale. There was something alive in this house. Not even modernity, not even the horrible rinse of history, could kill what had been born here.
Hi. I’m curious. Where did we all come from all of a sudden?
(Oh, and please note that while I’ve addressed this specifically to the female portion of the fandom, I’m interested in anyone’s response to/opinions about this. Somebody! Help! I have this desperate need to understand!)
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Girlfriend? No, not really my division…
Has someone already made this joke? I feel like it has probably been done better before…
