All I’d like to do us be able to follow Texts From Dog on my iPhone.
WHY CAN’T I DO THAT?!
Yay! Katy. :)
Bedtime cuddles and giggly kisses with my Sherlock make me happy.
Yes/No? What do you think?
It was with little hesitation that I came to this pub in the middle of the countryside, and explained to the attractive bar lady that I would require three pints of her finest ale, and inquired whether anything strange had happened recently. My face stayed calm, as she mentioned that in days past, up to and including three foreigners had stopped in this very pub, mostly together although occasionally separately and had confined themselves to a far corner, spoke softly and quickly, and disappeared as quickly as they came.
That was all I needed to know, so I thanked the bar lady, passed her back the napkin she had helpfully written her number on the underside of, and took my own drinks to the same dark corners, using a carrying method I had perfected since I became old enough to drink.
It was as I took my phone out the third time, stared blankly at the locked screen and put it by my slowly disappearing pint glass that I noticed my friend, roommate and weaver of the strange had taken up a pew, and was eagerly drinking one of my pints. He smiled and nodded at my when he put the already half-drunk pint down, and looked about the pub.
“This seems like it, don’t you think? ‘The alehouse down the path least travelled, in a town never named’.” He was quoting a letter we had received two days ago, written in fancy cursive, with a faint tremor, as one would when they were scared to ask for help.
“Is this the spot?” He asked, looking over at the attractive bar lady and raising his nearly finished pint at her as a thank you.
“It was the darkest corner, even during the day. And she kept looking over here when she spoke.”
“Impressive, you’re picking it up quickly. All the wrong bits, but you’re getting there. You drinking that?” He motioned at a full pint, pushing the newly empty glass he had into the centre of the table, and casually sliding the aforementioned to his side of the table. I waved it off, and drank a little more of my own ale.
“Well, I know, as ever, that you like nothing more than to show off your impressive intellect.” I leant back in my chair, and gestured to him. “Go ahead.” As he spoke, of darker corners, harder seats, and foreigners, I nodded vaguely and pretended to understand. Usually with these feats of genius, he’d summarise his speeches into one bitesize chunk as a conclusion.
“… And I can always tell when you’re not listening, because you scratch the right side of your chin, and think about how lovely your beard feels.” I came to, and lowered my hand from my face, and saw that my pint had been commandeered (for the good of the Queen’s country!) leaving with nothing to casually sup.
“Sometimes I wonder what you bring, but you do have your moments. And you can run faster than me.” He finished my pint, and set it down. “To save the trouble, the men who have frequented this pub are the ones we are looking for. But we’re particularly interested in the fourth.”
“But she only said there were three.”
“That would be too convenient. Three men, three locations, three bodies. No, there is a fourth man.”
“And why are we interested in this fourth man?”
“Because he wrote the letter, of course. Please try and keep up, John, it makes it a lot easier in the long run.”
It was with this that I sighed deeply, and went back to the bar. The attractive bar lady was cleaning glasses, with a slightly surlier looking expression than before. She regarded me only slightly, and quickly drew two pints, took my money from my hand and went back to cleaning. On a better day I might have contested that I should have change, but you are no doubt aware of a woman scorned.
“You should have taken sweet Joanne’s number before, you need to get out of the house more,” did Desmond say as I brought him more drinks. It would have been nice to get out of the house (as he called it), but whenever I seemed to leave, something would happen and he’d call me back again.
“So, how do you think we should proceed, John?”
“With gusto, I imagine. Where is this fourth man?”
“Good thinking, he is waiting outside, in fact. I saw him smoking a fag when I came in.” And wanted me to speak to him, no doubt. “You go and speak with him, I’ll try and get you Joanne’s number. Again.” We departed from the darker corner, I to speak to a man about a letter, and him to speak to a woman about a number.
The man was outside, as Desmond had said, smoking the last of a roll up, staring out across the fields opposite,
I’m not sure where I’m going with this at all, but I’ve been sat in a hotel reception writing it and enjoying it. What are your thoughts?
I look forward to cuddling you all night long.
Something I drew for a girl this Valentines. I know the glaring mistake, she started it!
(I’m also really proud of this.)
There are times I look through pictures of the drama group I used to be a part of, and I just remember how horribly irritating some of them are.
Do I regret leaving in the middle of a production? No.
That place can be the most cliquey place ever. I suppose that’s what happens when you have a club full of teenagers, and young adults trying to hold on to their youth.
