What I Did On My Holidays – by John Watson
This summer, I travelled down to Essex with my friend, Mr Sherlock Holmes, for a camping excursion. We set up canvas just outside a small hamlet called Basildon. Following a rude meal of saveloy and chips – a local delicacy, I believe – we settled down for the night.
Later, I awakened to find the nineteenth century’s greatest consulting detective puffing on his pipe and gazing up at the stygian sky. “What is it, Holmes?” I enquired.
“You know, the sky can tell us many things,” he replied. “Astronomically, I calculate there are millions of galaxies, each of which contain millions of stars. Astrologically, I see that Saturn is in Leo. Horologically, I deduce that it is approximately a quarter to one. Theologically, I observe that Our Maker is all-powerful and that we are but minute and insignificant. And meteorologically, I suspect that it will rain tomorrow.”
It occurred to me that for once, my friend’s singular powers of deductive reasoning had failed him, as I replied, “Holmes, you blithering blockhead, some thieving bastard has stolen our tent!”