Even to the uninformed, the idea of a modern-day Sherlock Holmes raises the hackles and stinks of literary blasphemy and of selling out, so I was unsure what to expect. Yet from the outset, an introduction to Dr Watson, I was engaged and completely engrossed in the story line. Only after I watched it did I discover it was written by my favourite television writer, Steven Moffat, current head writer of Doctor Who, and this shines through in the dialogue, there is more than a hint of the Eleventh Doctor in the way Sherlock speaks and acts, his eccentricity and tendency to ramble, for example. Sherlock Holmes, a young and vibrant character, a self proclaimed ‘high functioning sociopath’ is played by Benedict Cumberbatch, recognisable from his role in one of my favourite movies Starter For Ten, in an oh-it’s-him! moment. Watson is played by Martin Freeman, and is a warm yet damaged character, meshing perfectly with Holmes’ flightiness and bringing him down to earth, and in the first episode, potentially saving his life.

The episode starts with a series of unexplained deaths, they appear to be suicides yet in a police briefing, Sherlock Holmes makes it clear he disagrees (texting all the journalists in the meeting at once with one word – ’wrong’). We see Watson meet up with an old friend, Watson has a problem, he can’t find a flat, a problem his friend solves by introducing him to Holmes who is suffering from much the same condition. And so they move in together, to 221B Baker Street, and get to work solving the case. Sherlock Holmes instantly becomes the detective I’d always imagined him to be, as they visit a crime scene and he pieces together seemingly disparate pieces of information (displayed rather brilliantly as captions on screen) and leaving the police standing in the dust behind his high speed conclusions.

All seems to come to a halt as the clues dry up, a phone supposedly planted on the perpetrator with GPS appears to be on Baker Street, leading to a dead end whilst an unexpected taxi has arrived for Holmes. Holmes slips away whilst the police search for the phone, and it’s only Watson who questions his absence. However, the taxi driver is the murderer, as he explains to Holmes during the cab journey to an empty building. Well, he is and he isn’t, as it turns out. He offers each victim a choice, a 50/50 chance at taking a harmless sugar pill, or a lethal tablet, stating he will take whichever one they don’t. He uses a very Derren Brown move, pushing one tablet towards the victim, in this case, Holmes himself, whilst threatening him with a gun, in other words, take the chance or have your head blown off. Holmes points out that this ’gun’ is actually not so, and the cabbie agrees, showing it to be a harmless cigarette lighter. But the choice still stands, the cabbie taunts Holmes, is Holmes clever enough to make the right decision? It doesn’t matter to the cabbie, he explains, he’s dying of an aneurysm, every life he takes is a life he outlives and every breath could be his last.

Meanwhile Watson is rechecking the GPS and realises with a start that it’s moved. He hails a cab and follows the phone to it’s location, and to Holmes. Watson runs through the building (his psychosomatic limp completely forgotten) calling out for Holmes only to look out of the window and see Holmes and his captor in the next building. Holmes has chosen his tablet and is about to take it when – bang, Watson shoots through the window and hits the cabbie square in the shoulder. In a last ditch attempt to find answers, Holmes pushes to discover, who set the cabbie up for this, and receives only a name, Moriarty, a mystery to him. Outside, Holmes spots Watson and puts the last piece of one puzzle together, who was his mystery gunman. And so they leave together joking and enjoying each others’ company and it seems Holmes has made his first real friend.

I have to say I really enjoyed this episode. As a complete outsider to the Sherlock Holmes ’franchise’ I didn’t know what to expect, but it was a brilliantly crafted ninety minutes and I was on the edge of my seat the entire time. There was humour, tension and a rather splendid amount of rather splendid deduction. The modernisation worked and despite not having read any of the books (something I will now try to remedy) the characters felt accessible, a real credit to the writers. The acting was superb, Benedict Cumberbatch was incredible, really living the part and Martin Freeman played a very sympathetic Watson. I can hardly wait for the next episode, a week suddenly seems a very long time indeed.

But BT kinda suck, you know? I don’t think any of the customer support people know what the hell they’re on about. Obviously they’re a world removed, working blind from a completely different country, so I have complete sympathy for them, but at the same time it’s very frustrating.

I need to buy season three and four of The 4400, because I just watched season two again on DVD and remembered how absolutely amazing a programme it was. Gets a bit weird before the end, but you take what you can. What programme doesn’t suffer from awesome-decay (answering my own question: Doctor Who, which has gotten infinitely better and less misogynistic under Moffat’s guidance)?

My legs are less stable now too, so it’s not just my arms that are lethargic anymore, so at least I’m more inclusive. I have to sort of sit in a heap until I have the energy to stand up, which is irritating but with my head between my knees at least the shocks are lessened.

It’s getting to me now because it stops me from living the little life I have. I can’t focus on anything, the shocks interrupt my thoughts too much and I can’t pick up where I left off. And the lack of energy leaves me staring listlessly at the screen for hours on end. I could happily sleep all the time, except laying down allows me more time to think and the shocks are more noticeable without distractions.

I’m so scared. It’s so silly, but this has me on the verge of tears and I just want to stop. I’m frightened frightened frightened but there’s nothing anyone can do. So I’ll wait for it to stop I suppose.

On an unrelated note, I went through my clothes, getting rid of all the stupid things I’ll never wear, party dresses and their ilk. Now I just need to get rid of my shoes which have needlessly followed me to my new room. I don’t even wear shoes, so having them take up space is such a waste. Also I pawned off my mirror, I am a mirror free zone now! No more need for the weird sense of ‘that’s not me’ I always used to get. Small victories.

Chin up.

Pair of fox tails

I bought them so that I could use one to complete my red fox pelt, unfortunately their colouring is wrong, they’re quite a lot darker than I needed (also smaller, which is odd. My arctic fox has a massively fluffy tail comparatively, so I don’t know) so I guess I’ll probably sell them or alter them so they can be hung up and look pretty.

Deer skull

I need to check which type of deer this is, while I’m thinking about it actually. It was only cheap, which is why I bought it. I’ll probably sell this too, because I’m really only interested in having a Chinese Water Deer (which are about £200, so I can keep dreaming),  and whilst the placement of the teeth is quite fascinating, it takes up a lot of room on my book shelf.

On a slightly different topic, the BBC aired the pilot for ‘Pulse’, which you can watch on iPlayer here, a surprisingly gory and visceral production by all accounts. It has the-guy-from-History-Boys and an actress I vaguely recognise in, plus Being-Human-and-Nearly-Famous-guy. I don’t really know if it’s that good, it tries to be all mysterious, and the addition of zombies was a pleasant surprise, but I think I was a tad underwhelmed. Good for 53 minutes of escapism though.

It’s Seppi’s birthday today, which is really hard to believe, my little brother is sixteen. I remember when he came home from the hospital the day he was born, and how he didn’t have a name for two weeks after. I remember the tiny short kid he used to be… and now, he’s this lanky teenager and about to go to college and SO much smarter and better at art than I’ll ever be. It’s enough to drive you mad.

I got sent something to sign to allow the psychologist to see all my old records, I don’t know why they bother with patient confidentially, it’s all the same stuff I have to repeat over and over, at least this time something might come of it. I’ve been googling and youtubing what she said, and yeah, it all fits, but at the same time it screws me for a normal life, I’ll probably never have a relationship or a family outside of what I have now, which makes me sad beyond belief.

Keep calm and carry on though, chin up old chap.