Thursday, 26 August 2010

The memoirs of Sherlock Holmes – part 1.

Sunday: As is my custom, I enjoyed a leisurely breakfast whilst scouring The Times for interesting tidbits and occasionally closing my eyes the better to hear the melodious sound of church bells drifting through the windows which had been flung open to the London air. During the afternoon I smoked pipe after pipe of a delicate Chinese tobacco whilst perfecting the second movement of Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto in D Major. A light supper was swiftly followed by early retirement as the previous days had been somewhat taxing.

Monday: Nothing happened so by mid-afternoon I was bored to death and shot up a gram of Charlie.

Tuesday: Still nothing. Another gram of Charlie. Then another as the first didn't take. Then it got a bit out of hand so I did some skag to bring myself down again.

Thursday: Just woke up – must remember never to do the C&H dance again.

Friday: Watson came storming in and declared there was an intriguing mystery with which I could exercise my deductive skills and exorcise my boredom. Spent half an hour explaining the difference between deductive and inductive reasoning to the ignorant twat YET AGAIN. Got him to write it down this time. Jesus, you'd think a doctor would have more brains.

Saturday: A couple of hours training at the boxing club helped alleviate the tedium of the week and allowed some much-needed practice of the overhead lob punch – most useful when having ducked a blow from a powerful assailant. A relaxing afternoon at the Turkish baths ensued - thankfully they were populated only by the regulars who have by now learned that my lack of feminine company is due to being completely asexual and not a left-footer. In the evening I attended the theatre and then met Watson at the club for brandy and a cigar before a companionable stroll along the river during which I solved the 'mystery' he'd introduced on Friday. Jordan is a multi-millionaire because she does have a talent: she's incredibly adept at drawing attention to herself. Simple-minded men like her because she's a caricature of overt sexuality and therefore excellent spank-bank material. Simple-minded women like her for the same reason they like soap-operas – they're a distraction from the tedium and emptiness of their own lives. People of her ilk bloom in the sunshine of public attention so there's no escaping her, you just have to wait for her to become so boring everyone ignores her – then she'll wither away into grateful obscurity.

1 comment:

Auburnville said...

I say old bean I really enjoyed that... Write more, no pressure ;0)