This morning began one of those days that you know is going to be a little different. Wake up slightly disoriented in a hotel bed, look at the usual social media suspects to find that spiritualist churches such as Conan Doyle championed still exist. Then see a commercial for The Baker Street Journal where a woman is typing her important Sherlockian paper on a manual typewriter. Manual! Not even an IBM Selectric!
And as it's the last day of August, I know the annual John H. Watson Society Treasure Hunt is winding up and think, "Did I stray into this oddly retro dimension because I didn't take that test this year?"
Waking-up brain is always a little more free-flowing than fully-awake brain. And it thinks about Mycroft Holmes's hands a lot.
Watson wrote that Mycroft had "a broad, flat hand, like the flipper of a seal." How does a person get a hand like that? We are to presume it is somehow tied to Mycroft's obesity, but it's flat, not fat. Was it that way Mycroft held it, with all the fingers tightly closed together? Is it more of a psychological indicator than a physiological one? Did Mycroft clap his hands together and make a honking bark before proffering it to Watson for a shake, mocking John as Sherlock's trained seal?
The Sherlockian mind is trained by Sherlock himself to go deep on the details, and that seal hand of Mycroft's is a detail one could definitely go deep on. (And then type it up on a manual typewriter to send to The Baker Street Journal.)
But I am just waking up and things still have yet to settle in my morning brain. It's also the last day of August, which makes me feel like I should make a reference to Brittany Cavallaro's The Last of August. Such a good title, and a reference to a character who gets a bit of two different Canonical villains in his name.
If all this is a bit rambling, it is probably because I'm on the road to a place whose blog-post is being held back a little longer, as it's a place Conan Doyle did no favors for as a tourist destination. But more to come . . . .
The ongoing investigation of Sherlock Holmes, reported from the Peoria, Illinois outpost of Baker Street's dirtiest half a dozen.
Once, on a bit of rambling, searched to see if those spiritualist churches still existed. Not only did they exist - there is one about ten minutes drive from me - a building that I've passed numerous times - a possible gathering for some Sherlockians (not me)
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