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I know this is a day early, but life is getting a bit hectic and Jonty will be blogging chez Charlie tomorrow and I'll never cope. Here he is...

Miss Mylodon has kindly agreed to me blogging for her today. If I’ve not had the pleasure if being introduced to you, may I say that I’m Archie Kennedy, aka Dr. Sorbus, writer of detective fiction. I know that at least one of you is a fan of my Inspector Hargreaves and that Miss Mylodon has posted some extracts from his stories in this journal.

I must start by mentioning the rugby match on Saturday, which seems to be customary here. I shall be shouting for London Irish, of course, and Old grumpy Guinness, better known as my civil (when he feels like being civil) partner Horatio will be supporting the conniving bunch of cheating swines. By which I mean Leicester Tigers. May the better team win, unless it’s Leicester, in which case may the Irish win.

Life has been busy these last few months. Death shops at Waitrose, the one with the exploding quails’ eggs, goes from strength to strength and there is a rumour of a TV adaptation starring someone called Gruffudd (never heard of him) as Hargreaves. I rather liked that young Sergeant in Law and order so will be rooting for the actor who played him to be given the part. If it gets off the ground. I do wish RTD would make up his mind. Death wears a scrumcap won an award for the best murder method – rugby boots with poison in the studs which could be dispensed by means of an electronic signal. I’m presently working on the follow up - Death drinks Pinot Grigio.

Hargreaves fanfiction abounds, particularly at the site wobbly_frame, where they specialise in what I understand is called ‘slash’. They will soon be having their annual competition, The Big Bell Pull Awards. I was thinking of entering but Horatio says I’ll only be cross when I come in fourth. I’m less happy about hargreavesgals, where they insist on pairing my Inspector off with every female in sight. It’s totally against character. I mean, Vince in his younger days indulged in the odd snog with girls, it was expected of him, but no more than a grope here or there. Hargreaves never got beyond spin the bottle.

It’s bad enough when they indulge in ‘Changreaves’, where they pair up my lovely lawyer with the Inspector – even if he were so inclined, he’d not indulge. Her fiancé, Viscount Bamber, would have his guts for garters. What’s really galling is when they have him falling in love – or into bed – with beautiful, talented, Cambridge double firsted, judo black belted females, each one ghastlier than the one before. Horatio says they’re called Mary Lous or Peggy Sues or something equally vile.

If you have any questions, please post them here. The old trout has his grumperella classes tonight so I’ll have some peace and quiet to answer them.

Our holiday inspired two stories. This is the happier one. Modern version H/A.

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You know the scene. Author Archie. First Hargreaves book. Another excerpt.

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Archie would like to thank you all for the kind words; he and Horatio are positively blushing at some of the offers they have received....

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Ever since modern-day-Archie turned out to be an author who wrote about a detective called Inspector Hargreaves, trusea has been dropping hints that we should see stories about him. Archie (or Mr Sorbus to give his pen name) has allowed me to leak a series of scenes from his forthcoming opus Death and the Wobbly Frame.

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This is my modern, civil partnered, double headed coin version of the boys, again. It’s dedicated to a friend of a friend, who shares both Horatio’s inclinations and opinions. Bless him/them.

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