Self-indulgent loquacious frippery

For some days now I've been pondering an entry concerning the marvellous layout of this house. It is built with a very small courtyard in the centre of the second floor, not a hair's breadth more than six feet square, so that every room, no matter how deeply buried, might have the luxury of windows or at least a skylight. Strangely, though, the incident which prompts me now to share this observation also forces me to add that this ingenious design would have proved more useful had last night's power cut taken place instead during the full glow of day.

...

I've also been reading a metric arse-tonne of Sherlock Holmes, so that actually came more naturally to me than modern speech patterns. WHOOPS.

The story with the hat and the goose and all may be the drunkest thing I have ever read, it was amazing. And my friend Rach (who is the undisputed lord of all things old-crime-story) has been showing me clips from the red-heads episode of the Jeremy Brett TV series, which can only be described as beautiful. I've only seen a couple of clips so far but Brett seems to make a fantastically animated Sherlock Holmes while still keeping him refined, so he doesn't play him as some humourless Victorian stereotype but also doesn't turn him into a complete ruffian. (Don't get me wrong, I like the RDJ movies or at least the second because I still haven't seen the first whoops, but he seems to play Captain Jack Sparrow more than he does Sherlock Holmes.)

And for those interested, the power cut knocked out the whole street and it was very exciting. We all went and chilled on the roof, and I read books, and my boss took the opportunity to take a bunch of photographs without the street-lights messing with the contrast.