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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 ‘Tennis’

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 – Watson]

 

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 – that web of international intrigue and espionage – or it may be connected to your being caught peeking through the side of the bathing machines. [I keep telling you – I 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 – a small nugget of recognition.  That walk, those arms, those hundreds of bees.  Of course it must be – Holmes! I am about to wave and shout ‘Aloa’ 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.

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I Dream of Tennis

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

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.

There is something in his stance that triggers a memory – a small nugget of recognition.  That walk, those arms, those hundreds of bees.  Of course it must be – Holmes! I am about to wave and shout ‘Aloa’ 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.

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

King Edward - took his name from the humble potato

King Edward – took his name from the humble potato

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