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Watson Cam
Dr Watson reviews his tab at the Hound and Ferret

Dr Watson reviews his tab at the Hound and Ferret

Posts Tagged ‘Mrs Hudson’

Stage Fright or Why I’m Barred from Live Events

I once caused a concert to be abandoned following a huge fracas at St. James’ Hall. ¬†I had hurled myself on top of musical maestro Dr Otto Neitzel after I’d heard a man at the interval saying that he “wanted to murder the pianist”. I went back the following night to offer a formal apology in front of the audience. ¬†It was very humbling but also an incredible thrill as I had always wanted to appear on the London stage.

I’d heard a man at the interval saying that he “wanted to murder the pianist”

However I have a suspicion that they were less keen on me taking the opportunity to play Little Pig Went to Market¬†on the spoons and I was disappointed not to receive an encore – or even get my coat and hat back. Nonetheless it hasn’t diminished my love of live music and I am still allowed to sample the array of exciting talent on display at St James’ even if this involves standing on Mrs Hudson’s shoulders¬†to peer in through the windows.

Show Off

Following a night out at Tchaikovsky’s new opera Queen of Spades it was back to Baker Street for drinks and my rendition of The Boy I Love is Up in the Gallery


Secrets of Belgium (or ‘How I lost my stethoscope’)

Watson - half man, half moustache - all doctorI am not speaking to Mrs Hudson.¬† In fact I haven’t uttered a word to her for four days. I can assure you that this isn’t an act of pure childishness [yes it is – Mrs H]¬†but rather an act of justified revenge.

On Saturday night we were enjoying our regular game of bridge along with some very regular top-ups of port when I made an informed remark about the situation in Belgium. At this point Mrs Hudson burst into a paroxysm of laughter and wheezing (which reminded me too readily of the Garroted Parson Adventure.)  I immediately brought her to her senses by throwing the remainder of her port in her face (mine was just out of reach) and asked her what was so funny.

It turns out that ‘We’ll always have Belgium’ was some sort of code for hilarity between Holmes and Mrs Hudson.¬† When I enquired more she began asking me about an old case – the Adventure of the Five Bristles.¬† Of course this was one of my favourites as I played a leading role in tracking down a rare broom in a two-week escapade across Europe. Mrs Hudson could no longer contain herself.¬† Picking the glass out of her face she claimed that there was never any such case and that Holmes had sent me away on a fool‚Äôs errand so he could work on one of his experiments in peace.

I was about to protest and dismiss the idea as a prank when I recalled returning to Baker Street after the event to discover the aftermath of an explosion and the smell of pickles.

Miss Dempsey Makepeace and her maid, Phyllis, moments before their treasured broom was stolen. The handle was recovered two years later. Unlike poor Phyllis who still weeps at the sight of dust.

Miss Dempsey Makepeace and her maid, Phyllis, moments before their treasured broom was stolen. The handle was recovered two years later. Unlike poor Phyllis who still weeps at the sight of dust.

I was suddenly enraged ‚Äď for I remembered that the incident¬†had claimed a rather fetching dressing gown with silk tassels – and in a temper I kicked our bridge game fully across the room.¬† This seemed to entertain Mrs Hudson further so I began kicking all manner of inanimate objects in a blind fury.¬† Unfortunately one of them was my half-open medical case and I watched in horror as my stethoscope flew out of the open window and landed on top of a brougham cab heading for Covent Garden.¬† I haven’t the mind or heart to advertise its loss and I have taken to miming it ever since in my surgeries in the hope that nobody notices.

Alas, what tangled webs we weave, to be deceived by those so close.  Now here’s someone knocking at the door.  I hope it’s Mrs H with a groveling apology but I suspect it might be a flower-girl wishing to sell my stethoscope back to me!!

Footnote Рit has caused me to question some disturbing elements of the old Five Bristles case Рnotably, who was the mysterious Dr Llewellyn, are their really three more bristles still unaccounted for Рand what if the man in the old theatre was not a hired assassin but the blind piano tuner he claimed to be?!  And more importantly, did anyone see me shoot him in the foot?


Mrs Hudson offers an Analysis

Psychoanalysis appears to be all the rage these days (my butcher¬†uses his cheese counter¬†to double as a couch) so I thought I’d save the good doctor some pennies and offer my own analysis of his recurring nightmare.


Recently I have been having a recurrent dream where I am on the Centre Court of the All England Club at Wimbledon. 

This may be linked to the night that you went for a quiet drink with your nephew and ended up breaking into the Club to have a rally with some mutton pies.  Lestrade tells me that when you were apprehended you claimed that you were the President of the Association.  When that didn’t wash you decided to lie on the grass and pretend you were invisible.


 I look around at the spectators who appear to all be holding opera glasses until it dawns on me that they are all using periscopes and bear a passing resemblance to King Edward.

You once told Mr Holmes that you found opera oppressive although we always assumed that was because you were jilted by that awful woman playing Brunhilde.  [Actually I wasn’t jilted, I was assaulted, then married, then jilted РWatson]


Lost love - Brunhilde as played by Miss Connie Eckhart.  Miss Eckhart appears courtesy of a legal error.

Lost love – Brunhilde as played by Miss Connie Eckhart. Miss Eckhart appears courtesy of a legal oversight.


The periscopes reference may have something to do with the Bruce Partington plans affair Рthat web of international intrigue and espionage Рor it may be connected to your being caught peeking through the side of the bathing machines. [I keep telling you РI thought I’d left my gloves]. You have such a man-crush on King Edward and are forever quoting him to the boys in buttons.  I even saw you pretend to knight one of them with the gas lighter.


All England Tennis Club circa 1888 - Mr R J Pinkerton (top left) had a terrific forearm while Miss A Abrams (bottom centre) had an amazing forehead

All England Tennis Club circa 1888 – Mr R J Pinkerton (top left) had a terrific forearm while Miss A Abrams (bottom centre) had an amazing forehead


 I look back to the court and over at my opponent.  He is a tall, lean man, athletic without being overburdened with muscle and I’d imagine quite handsome although it is hard to tell as he wears a large bee-keeper’s hood over his head.

I have no idea on this one except to say you are very fond of honey.  And equally fond of unusual head furniture.  Do you remember that you spent all of 1879 wearing a pith helmet?  [I was in Afghanistan!]


There is something in his stance that triggers a memory ‚Äď a small nugget of recognition.¬† That walk, those arms, those hundreds of bees.¬† Of course it must be ‚Äď Holmes! I am about to wave and shout ‚ÄėAloa‚Äô when my opponent smashes a perfect ace down the Centre Line and in to my face, fracturing my nose.¬† This is most shocking, especially as we had agreed to only serve underarm.

Hmmm I did once fracture your nose with a coal scuttle. Or was it a turnip?  Could it be related?


I wake instantly and reach for my bedside brandy.  What could this all mean?

It means you are an alcoholic. Love, Mrs H.


The Lost Diaries – Deaf on the Moor

I’ve been struggling with an ear infection recently, most likely caused by Mrs Hudson’s attempts to retrieve a sequin with one of her knitting needles [well he will wear my frocks! – Mrs H]. ¬†This has prevented me from enjoying some of my usual pleasures such as attending a Brahms recital or listening to the tinker’s wife opposite accuse him of tinkering with the flower lady. ¬†Therefore I have returned to some of my old notes and scrapbooks and came across this apt tale from my adventures with Holmes down on the moors.

Holmes had uncovered a rotten blackmail plot amongst the Farquhars of  Bodmin and things had turned nasty resulting in a pistol stand-off outside of a local public house [splendid ale pie!]

The villain was about to do for Holmes with a well-aimed shot but I was on him in a flash. The bullet whistled past my ear, ricocheted off the pub sign, bounced off a fencepost and landed next to the same ear. Temporarily deafened I staggered to my feet to find that Holmes had the fellow on the ground and had subdued him with his hat and some spare sock garters.

The next day my hearing had mostly returned  Рalthough I did manage to walk through a local pheasant-shoot and set up a picnic  Рbut my ordeal was far from over.  In honour of our efforts  the regional mayor organised a celebration party on the village green and invited a photographer. Holmes was happily posing for a photograph when I stepped a little too near the magnesium flash and deafened myself in the other ear.  There then followed two weeks of near-silence Рa time of wretchedness and frustration  Рbut possibly my fondest memories of my third marriage.

Flash Git

Flash Git



Holmes Under the Hammer

In the ten years since Holmes’ disappearance I have had hundreds of requests from his fan-base for many of his personal effects, ranging from the mundane to the downright peculiar. For example last year I was contacted by an elderly widow in Liphook who wanted one of Holmes’ magnifying glasses as it reminded her of her late husband, while a young couple in Kent are keen to purchase one of Holmes’ test-tube sets to make an attractive window feature in their end-of-terrace.

Then to top it all ¬†just yesterday Inspector Lestrade called on me to ask for one of Holmes’ priest disguises as he thinks he may have left his house keys in the cassock during that grisly episode of the Untreated Navel. ¬†[For five years Lestrade had to live with his sister in Wapping – Mrs H] ¬†And so it is with a heavy heart that I have decided to put some of my good friend’s clothes and personal items up for auction.

I would particularly draw your attention to lots #25 and #38 at Sotheby’s which contain respectively a monograph on the subject of rural accents and shotgun preferences, and a garden ornament in the shape of a giant toenail which was presented to Holmes by the Earl of Leatherhead for solving the Weeping¬†Fungus¬†affair.

It is a sad loss although I might have felt it more keenly had we actually owned a garden. ¬†O Holmes, please forgive me…

Bridport Strangler - Actual Size

Lot #252 – A full-size replica of the Bridport Strangler which I commissioned for Holmes as a Christmas present . For jokes we often placed his torso in the window and his head in Mrs Hudson’s pantry. Curtains and tie-backs not included.


The Resident Ironing Board

Watson - half man, half moustache - all doctor

Dr Watson – skirmished with a pigeon

Mrs Hudson is visiting her sister down in St. Ives and I have been left in sole charge of Baker Street. I imagined I would use the enforced solitude to focus on attempting the first chapter of a great novel or even tackling a life-long ambition of mine to learn the bassoon.

Unfortunately the offer of a free bassoon lesson from one of my club chums has been withdrawn after I inadvertently chloroformed his wife during a routine check-up. The inspiration for my novel has also evaporated in the face of an insurmountable amount of laundry which I have accumulated over the past few months. There are piles of shirts, trousers, handkerchiefs and even curtains filling up Holmes’s old room.

As such all I’ve been wearing for the last few days is ¬†a top hat and some golfing plus-fours – the latter of which now has a rip in the seat due to an early morning skirmish with a pigeon.

Mrs Hudson’s absence has definitely taught me three things:

1. I should take more responsibility in managing my own affairs.
2. Ironing in just a top hat is a dangerous pursuit and…
3. This is particularly inadvisable to do in front of a bay window without curtains.


Mrs Hudson’s Guide to Entertaining 2

Crackers are also an opportunity to surprise your guests with innovative gifts. ¬† Last year I used evidence from Mr Holmes’ investigations into the Crusty Doorman Affair which was a wonderful surprise for Mrs Watson (IV) who took home a severed ear.
The cracker pull should be an event in itself. ¬†To confidently avoid a damp squib I like to liven up the cracker with powder from some of the doctor’s bullet cartridges. ¬†This will ensure your party will go with a bang although make sure you experiment to get the right proportion – the sitting-room was once two rooms before a particularly spectacular cracker-pull back in ’88.
Mrs Hudson's custom crackers are talk of the town

Mrs Hudson’s custom crackers are talk of the town


Mrs Hudson’s Guide to Entertaining 1

A few notes torn from my home and kitchen bible… ¬†Mrs H.

It is traditional for young ladies to find small favours at their place setting for dinner. The most expensive ones are made out of small muslin bags containing almonds however I prefer to save on the pennies and use up all those brazil nuts which are left over after Doctor Watson has sucked off all of the chocolate.

And mind you don’t spend out on expensive materials to wrap up your favours – instead I use some old socks or one of the Doctor’s monogrammed handkerchiefs which are a looking a bit raggy. I always like to think that our guests take a little piece of us with them when they leave.

Party games are also a big favourite – the good doctor was very fond of bringing Inspector Lestrade round to falsely accuse someone of murder – always went down a storm – although we are still to retrieve Lady Bassett from the Clink Vaults after an administrative error.

Lady Lansbury - never invited to 221B again after midget joke faux pas

Lady Lansbury – never invited to 221B again after midget joke faux pas


Happy New Year 1913

M.D - moderately drunk

A little drinkie for each of the 12 days of Christmas – consumed before 9am on Christmas Day

Happy New Year to you all. ¬†I trust you all had a fine Christmas. For my part I’ve decided that all future meals will be taken at my club following Mrs Hudson’s decision to experiment with the traditional Yuletide roast. ¬†I shall check with my good friend Lestrade but instinct tells me that pickled herring with walnut stuffing is grounds for an arrest – criminal as well as cardiac.

Mrs Hudson has taken this in her usual calm manner and I have just recovered my socks and collars from her now-customary Mystery Buns served on Boxing Day. Oh how I love tradition.


Mrs Hudson’s Recipe Book – Olympic Pie (AKA The Athlete’s Foot)

Queenie Newall - archer and former pie-eater

Queenie Newall – Olympic archer and former pie-eater

To celebrate the end of the 1912 Olympics I would like to share the recipe for my Olympic Pie. ¬†I have worked on it tirelessly since the London ’08 games and have made some minor improvements (although sadly too late for Major and Mrs Prendergast) and I hope many of you will take the plunge and try it for yourself.

I would like to dedicate this recipe to to our very own British archer, Miss Queenie Newall, who upon an invite from Dr Watson, declared that the eating of my pies was truly an Olympian feat.


1. Shred meat into strips – for quickness I use the doctor’s service revolver at point-blank range

2. Boil the meat until the house is barely habitable

3. Add in stock, thyme and a swig of half-and-half.  Some of you might want to add a quarter of half-and-half or even a half of half-and-half but there should definitely be a half in there somewhere.

4. Pour the slop into a large dish and pop in the oven until bored

5. Twenty minutes before serving roll out the pastry into the shape of the Olympic rings or other novelties – for this Olympics I created a discus motif but sadly we didn’t get to eat it as it was actually thrown in the men’s decathlon [shortest distance ever – Watson]

6. Take out of the oven and leave to cool in a dry place – Dorset is recommended.

7. Serve with vegetables or a pineapple stuffed with bread – whichever is more convenient.

More next time, Mrs H xx