from Dr J Watson to Sherlock Holmes Esq:

From the diary of Doctor Watson

Day 2, Loch Ness
It is with some reluctance that I am forced to commit to my own dear diary how low I sank in my own estimations during the evening following our first meeting with Inspector McCoatup. I cannot say what possessed me to partake of such large amounts of strong liquor when surrounded by kilt-wearing strangers, but (as Holmes pointed out) I appear to have accepted some form of invitation to one of the local hostelries “The Monster’s Testes” (or “Beastie’s Bollocks”, as it’s known locally), and ended up in a rather embarrassing position.

However, I’m glad to say that everything was back to normal the following day and after breakfast I found Holmes and myself back on the trail of the woman, as we set out to track recent sightings of the aforementioned Monster (the actual monster, not the local gin bar). Down at the water’s edge, we met up with Inspector Angus McCoatup again who (while Holmes looked on, smirking), remonstrated me for wasting time with what he liked to term “a bunch of arse-badgers and willie-ticklers” and advised that in future I confine myself to drinking at the hotel.

Holmes had organised the preparation of soup and sandwiches and a flask of coffee before we left, so there was plenty to keep us going as we trudged along the shoreline speaking to various individuals about their ‘sightings o’ the beastie’ and related matters. As the sun disappeared behind the mountains, all three of us had entertained more than our fill of ridiculous stories and were about to head back to the hotel when Holmes spotted something on the Loch.

“Look there,” he shouted, startling both McCoatup and myself. As we turned to follow his eager gaze, I beheld the fearful vision of a monstrous, writhing creature creating a considerable disturbance on the surface of the Loch. But what took our breath away was the figure apparently riding on the beast’s back.

As we stood there watching, the beast seemed to twist in the water and began to move towards the shore. I reached out to grab Holmes’ arm, but the space where he had been standing was empty. I whirled round and saw both my companion and the Inspector running pell-mell towards the bushes like a pair of screaming schoolgirls.

“Run, Watson, you blithering idiot. Run!” Holmes bellowed over his shoulder. Needless to say, I wasted no more time and made good my escape while the beast crashed upon the shore behind me, its fiery breath hot and wet on my neck.

To be continued

Watson