I’ve failed to bring one of the bins down from the front lawn. It’s sitting there, lid open, all but abandoned now that its contents have been collected. It’s a windy night. The lid knocks constantly against the side of the bin … th-thump-th-thump-thump … I don’t notice it at first … th-thump-th-thump-thump … eventually I turn my light off to go to sleep … th-thump-th-thump-thump … when I finally identify the distant noise, it’s all I hear … th-thump-th-thump-thump …

The noise provides a haunting, fascinating, frustrating accompaniment as I lie there, too asleep to get up and move the bin, but not asleep enough to be oblivious to it. I drift in and out. Sometimes the bin is still there. Sometimes it’s silent.

Despite this–and the Kinderbeast awakening briefly at 4:30am asking to be tucked in again–I get up for my morning shift feeling none the worse for wear. I even feel better than I did yesterday. I don’t write as many words, but I’m happier with what I’ve written today than I have been since I started this particular story.

Of course, I start the day feeling fine, but gradually descend into barely functioning consciousness by the evening. A combination of sickness and broken sleep.

Nevertheless, we finally complete our Sherlock marathon with the Christmas episode, The Abominable Bride. The Victorian setting is a treat, but I still feel it’s a shame they had to tie it in so explicitly to the present-day continuity. I will forever admire Sherlock for its ambition, the fact that it’s never content to merely repeat the successes of its past and will always push that little bit further. Far more admirable than the critics who routinely proclaim that the show has gone off the rails. I imagine the same critics would lambast the show for being boring and derivative were it actually to stay on the rails …

I’m also impressed that the show has kept the Elderbeast’s interest throughout. We will now have to come up with something else equally worthy for him to binge on …