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- The King Of Camden Town 12:19pm Jan 10
- God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman.. 8:43am Dec 30
- Love Me, Love, My God! 2:44pm Dec 12
Major Meridew Musters proffers his glass with a lopsided grin; the rain drumming against the windows, the fire made up, the malt warming the veins. The talk flowing easily. I manoeuvre the decanter closer to the glass and deliver a generous smahan of Glendronach, before continuing my story...
A half ton of Bentley engineering traveling at seventy miles an hour is not generally considered to be fair game for a sheep. This sheep is an exception...
Ms. Lavinia Letitia Lamont, ‘Topsy’ to her friends. I roll the name around my tongue, savouring the hard consonants and flowing vowels. Never has a daughter so graceful, been born to a father so dull. Th...
The Bentley purrs through the Yorkshire Dales, devouring the miles, closer and closer to what? Closure? The anger burns brightly these last thirty years, driving me onwards. Slowing down to negotiate the hump back bridge, scattering sheep across the moor. The lowering sky, the stone chapel...
My rage gets the better of me at times, and as the Bugatti careens across the South Circular, attracting the attention of what transpires to be an unmarked police car, my temper twitches and churns...
“You’re looming again Perry, I will not tolerate being loomed at…” Great Aunt Augustine, as grimly determined to hang on to her vast fortune and crumbling estate as she is reluctant to see her only living heir prosper. One hu...
This splendidly chilly Autumn day, sun wearily lighting the cobbles, the mews ringing with the sound of a powerful engine spluttering into life. The type 35 Bugatti, painstakingly restored, coughs, chokes and dies...
The Stilton, pungent and creamy, melted into my palate like mist, crackers roughing up the tongue, a generous slug of Armagnac clearing the stage for a second, prolonged assault...
Stopping for a restorative brandy at the Turks Head in Marylebone High Street, I found myself ascending the stairs at Baker Street somewhat later than I had anticipated – the page boy had long since departed for bed. ...
I reached the Police station by way of Marylebone road in less than an hour, and announced myself to the desk sergeant, rubbing my hands in gleeful anticipation - if I could convince Lestrade of the merit of my findings, then we could apprehend the villain and perhaps even spare some unsuspecting...
The family’s connection to the famous Sherlock Holmes is something we usually keep under wraps, so to speak. ...
Mr. Gideon Gambit Gore leaned forward, conspiratorially. His long fingers steepled, the shaven dome, the tweeds, the ruddy windblasted cheekbones, still the schoolmaster, the unflinching disciplinarian...
The teacup rattled in its saucer. Earl Grey slopping over the rim as Colonel Meridew Musters roared delightedly, his mirth echoing through the house. The kitchen staff, plucking fowl in preparation for dinner smile to themselves, all’s well with the master. ...
Stretched between the pear trees lining the avenue, the nets were alive with birds...
A superlative feast of eggs, rashers and toast being dispatched, the Manchester Guardian freshly ironed in the pantry, the banter with Molly, a giggle and a promise of something hot for tea...
