Benedict Cumberbatch back as the enigmatic Sherlock Holmes in the BBC's contemporary take on Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's most famous detective, with Martin Freeman as the solid and trustworthy Dr. Watson in 2012.
The first three episodes just made available on Netflix. . . .
Made me want to leap from my chair and yell "Hallellujah!" but I didn't think it appropriate while at work.
Even if it was a Friday afternoon.
4.45 am I'm awakened by flashing lights reminiscent of Speilberg's Close Encounters of the Third Kind.
My aliens, however, were of the four legged, furry kind.
And because Stephen went to bed early last evening (for him. . .normal for the rest of us mere mortals) he was awake when the patter of kitty feet and jingling of kitty bells alerted him to the entrance of Dibley and Jasper into our room.
Resulting in the flashing of lights as he turned his bedroom light on and off over a period of 45 minutes as he attempted to monitor the activities of Dibley and Goblet who have yet to accept each other's presence.
At least when each other is in each other's face.
Making another valiant attempt to outline all the reasons why Goblet and Dibley should get along was no more successful at 5.00 am than it was in the late evening.
After hiding under the pillows, burrowing under the blankets, covering my eyes, falling back to sleep when the lights were turned out, only to be awakened harshly when a flick of Stephen's wrist engaged the light.
Realizing that he was content to continue with his flashing light therapy meaning I wouldn't be sleeping in any more than 15 minute snatches of darkness, I decided to take things into my own hands.
I got up.
Removed Dibs from the room.
Went back to bed.
And informed Stephen of exactly where that light bulb was going if he turned that light on one. more. time.
Good f*****g morning to me.
When I woke up, again, to the dulcet tones of Trevor Doyle from Capital FM 106.9 coming through the air waves, I rolled out of bed.
Rolling as I was so close to the edge putting feet to floor was almost impossible.
Thanks Frankie.
Only to narrowly avoid stepping on Tikka, who has taken to laying so close to my side of the bed that getting up in the wee hours to pee is akin to walking through a midnight maze of broken glass.
All the while, Robbie Dupree's Steal Away is running through my head.
I don't even like the song.
Subconscious renderings of my heart's desire breaking consciousness when my defences are at their early morning weakest.
Simply for Life started the morning. . .only .2 pounds down because I am currently holding more water than the Titanic.
Afterwards, since I was in the area, I stopped into Jinglers.
One of the downsides of losing weight is losing clothes.
Not so much of an issue over the summer, as work clothes were not a necessity.
Just shorts, capris and t-shirts.
But it isn't summer anymore.
Into Jinglers I go looking for clothes that I can wear to work.
Clothes I don't have to spend a fortune on.
As I won't be wearing them for longer than this academic year.
Some trips are less successful than others.
The price you pay for shopping in thirft shops and used clothing stores.
But not this time.
4 button down shirts for Stephen
4 sweaters including a lovely, red cable knit cardy
4 shirts
2 pairs of pants
For $69.00.
Imagine.
Title Lyric: Steal Away by Robbie Dupree
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