Writing, Writing, Writing...

A little bit of sunshine, in just the right place

My first Blog

So this is my first Blog. I want to use it as a place, where I can write down my thoughts about Wicked fan fictions and my own writing.

Whether it be fanfiction, original stories, drabbles, songs, poems, books, or anything that has to do with creative words, then reblog. Let’s gather all the writers of Tumblr together.

Reblog if you love to write.

This damn cold muddled my brain. I’m sure that I missed half of the interesting things in the Sherlock fandom... Now I’m slowly getting out of my bed and try to do some housework. Ugh.

Martin Freeman at dwarf boot camp, preparing for the filming of The Hobbit.

“He probably didn’t have to be there but he told us that he wanted to be there”.  Tim Wong, dwarf (and hobbit) trainer.

The Times - Whats not to Love About Benedict Cumberbatch

He was an all-action Sherlock Holmes for TV and now he’s conquering Hollywood in Star Trek. Caitlin Moran joins the actor at his parents’ home for Sunday lunch

I don’t know if you remember, but some time last summer – between the end of the Olympics and the return of The X Factor – it briefly became the thing to have a go at Benedict Cumberbatch for being “a posho”.

However many times Cumberbatch tried to explain that he was “just middle class, really”, a sum kept being done, over and over: “Harrow education” + “called ‘Benedict Cumberbatch’ ” = “A man who wipes his bum on castles”. There was a series of catty columns about it, with headlines like “Posh off to America” and “Poor posh boy”.

The underlying presumption seemed to be that Cumberbatch was some dilettante princeling – stealing roles such as Sherlock Holmes in Sherlock, and the painfully repressed landowner Christopher Tietjens in Tom Stoppard’s Parade’s End, that would otherwise have gone to working-class actors such as Danny Dyer, or Shane Richie from EastEnders, and that this was all a great pity.

Of course, as with all these things, it blew over quite quickly – not least because it was superseded by the news that Cumberbatch had been cast in the new Star Trek movie, and was, therefore, about to become one of the most successful British actors of the past ten years. But I am reminded of it all today, in the back of a cab, leafing through a pile of cuttings on Cumberbatch.

“What a load of balls that was,” I muse. “The whole posh thing. What a load of old balls. What a funny old world.”

It’s a beautiful Sunday afternoon, and I have been invited to lunch with Cumberbatch at his parents’ house in Gloucestershire. Star Trek Into Darkness is now about to open and this is the only day he has free to talk. I have made the great sacrifice and taken a train to Swindon.

The cab driver drops me outside the house.

“Here you go,” he says.

I climb out of the car, and stare at a gigantic, honey-coloured mansion, with immaculately tended lawns. Parked in the driveway are a black London taxi and a vintage silver Rolls-Royce.

Last night, Benedict had offered to pick me up from the station, saying he has a “loooooooooovely car”.

“Yes – you have, haven’t you, Benedict?” I think to myself, staring. “You’ve got a lovely pair.”

I crunch up the drive, carrying a massive bunch of flowers and a bottle of wine, and shout through the letter box.

“Hello! I’m from London! I’ve come on holiday, to the countryside, by accident!”

Silence. I circle the house. The place is so big, I can’t work out where the front door is.

I decide to go to ask a neighbour for advice on how to penetrate the Cumberbatch estate.

I head towards a nearby crofter’s cottage.

Benedict Cumberbatch is standing in the doorway of the tiny cottage, in a pair of knackered navy corduroy slippers, watching my progress across the lawn – lavishly strewn with hyacinths – with some curiosity.

“What were you doing at Kate Moss’s house?” he asks, mildly.

Ah. Kate Moss. The working-class girl from Croydon made good. That mansion is her house.

The “posh” Cumberbatches, by way of contrast, live next door: three small rooms downstairs, three small rooms upstairs. Every available surface is covered in books, family photographs or owls.

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Ladies and gentlemen, Detective Don Flack

Flack: "Her classmate, Alexa Holdman, found her when she was practicing one of those 'twirly' things."

Mac: "A pirouette?"

Flack: "Like I said, 'twirly thing'."

Hawkes: "COD is most likely asphyxiation."

Flack: "You need an exam for that? She was hung up by a rope...!"

Flack: "Alright, I might not be the owner of a wonderful white lab coat, but it sounds to me that you're saying someone strangled her and then strung her up."

Flack: "Mac Taylor in the lounge with a Glock."

(9.07 - Clue: SI)

What would we do without Don Flack?

This is awesome!

You’ve been SHEZZA-BOMBED :B

I miss her!

Roberta  Valentini

but...but...but Sherlock LIVES! You are mean :P Happy 1st of April!

We would like to inform our fans that, after much careful soul-searching, we regretfully are leaving the Sherlock fandom.

This decision was not made lightly—we’ve had so much love from, and for, our friends and followers. But we recently discovered the Old Spice Guy commercials starring Isaiah Mustafa, and we find that we can no longer appreciate Sherlock Holmes as we once did.  I mean, just look at the guy.

We hope to gain many new followers thanks to this difficult but heartfelt change.  All content will be Old Spice Guy-related from here on out.

Look forward to our first podcast with Isaiah Mustafa this April!

Much love,

The Old Spice Babes