I was picked up in a 1968 Lancia Flaminia [the saloon, not the coupé] and driven to the venue in silence. Morse drove 'a Lancia' in the early books, the MkII Jag is a bit of a cliché in classic car circles and not as good a car as the contemporary 'S-Type' with independent rear suspension and John Thaw would have seen plenty of those on 'The Sweeney' and should have known betterANYWAY I got there. We were shown into a huge room with book-shelved walls, everything dark wood and a huge roaring fire at one end. Those book shelves had a tiny rail track, criss-crossing the various subjects and on it a little steam train toot-tootling along, stopping at 'Geography' and [with a minute robot hand] taking a book and passing it forward to our lecturer. The man himself [not his real name] sat in a huuuge wine red Chesterfield holding a giant stick. I guessed the stick was for pointing at the large tv screen perched high above the nooky ingle, I was right about that but wasn't going to find out just how right until later.
On my table [round, holding 7 others, nice & shiny] everyone else had notepads, calculators and thesauri [no red line under that, could be my lucky day] open and ready.
"Did they not tell you about lunch?"
"No." said I, truthfully.
"The menu is cryptic, like the crosswords that the great detective used to solve during his cases. You're given clues to each dish and have to work them out to ensure you eat what you want."
"I'll just pick a number, I'm sure everything on the menu will be nice."
*ascanced face*, *snooty face*, *what have I trodden in? face*, *another ascanced face*, *derision face*, *Kevin Whately having been denied a day off face* and *wanker face* [there's always one]
"But what if you're a vegetarian and you choose the lamb medallions? Or get the nut roast and, well you can guess the rest..."
"I'm not, I'll be fine, when do we eat?"
"After we've solved the menu."
*slightly pissed-off hungry face*
All that taken care of [goats cheese starter, baked halibut in a lobster bisque, banana pancakes, since you ask] the lights dimmed and our honcho rose to introduce today's episode. He pointed his big stick at the screen [told you!] and the titles began. I like watching old episodes of Morse and this was a good'n, it had Frances Barber in it playing a sexy opera singer, Morse fancies her and uses the term 'diva' to describe her [possibly the last time this happened properly, now any female who sings or refuses to use stairs gets labelled the same way]. When our heroes entered a pub a waitress appeared at our table to take our orders. Everyone said either "Morse" [pint of best bitter] or "Lewis" ['Florida orange' or pint of best bitter if off duty]. Luckily they visited three pubs in this episode so the drinks kept on coming, I was asleep just before the end.
Woken by the undimmed lights and slight shuffle of seven people scribbling I did a big stretch and started gathering my things [a coat] together.
"Where are you off to?"
[looking at watch] "Erm, I thought that might be it, I've a long journey home."
"Did you guess who did it?"
"They told you at the end, they always do, I'd feel cheated if they didn't."
"But did you guess who did it?"
"I thought it would be Frances because she's the love interest and they're always wrong'uns, why? Was it her? I fell asleep."
"You are supposed to record the moment you realise who the culprit is and put a case for you being the first to do so."
"Well I'm not on the podium this time, sorry. I noticed a couple of continuity errors though...
*seven startled meerkat faces*
...Morse's collar is tucked into his jumper as he leans towards that witness and almost flat to his shoulder as he withdraws, there's no way he moves with enough force for that to occur naturally...."
The seven gathered round, one gave me a little hug, one gently massaged my shoulders from behind.
"You're with us now, put your coat down and have another pint of best bitter."
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