"Watson," said Holmes, "bring me my violin. I feel a need for melancholia. And a small glass of claret."
"Ah."
"Ah? A simple request, I believe, Watson. My violin. Nothing to shake Baker Street's foundation, my friend."
"The claret, Holmes. Why not concentrate on the claret?"
"That will not do at all, Watson. Prior to claret, I must have melancholia. I need high, mournful notes, minor keys, the distant wail of a child in distress..."
"No can do, Holmes."
"What sort of futuristic language is that? And do I sense a mystery? has my violin gone missing? Never fear. We shall examine every square inch of the house, leave no corner unsearched..."
"No, not your violin, Holmes. Your books. The entire library... and the drinks cabinet..."
"Not the claret?"
I'm afraid so, and you recall I have no doubt that your pipe rack was on the cabinet..."
"What! Gone, my pipes? Call a bloody detective!"
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Which is, in a roundabout way, saying that yesterday, my books were delivered to Jen In Great Wilbraham, and somewhere between Great Wilbraham and Ringmer, there is a lorry parked up with the driver deep in a book.
It's THAT good folks!
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2 comments:
Must have been something in the air yesterday. My publisher sent me a box of Arc's yesterday, 1 day service, because the Royal Mail never delivered them, and they went walkabout too. But they just came, and I'm sure yours will arrive too. Deep breaths! Sue x
Is Great Wilbraham a real place??!!
Hope they turn up soon, Vanessa. Go to your calm place...
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