Finally a break in the weather allowed us to swim. 2C❄️Lots of dead sheep floating though 🐑

2 weeks since we were last in the water. Great to be back in despite the snow melt. 4C

Tantivy [tan-TIV-ee] (n.) - A fast ride. A rapid gallop on horseback. Used in a sentence: “What began as a gentlemanly trot soon became a tantivy, driven by the sobering realization that delay meant either an undignified encounter with a ditch or the ignominy of imbulbitation.”

Had not factored in the chill factor of the snow under bare feet! water 4C

We thought the weather forecast would curtail our traditional NYD swim, but we were lucky. Nice to have a group of us swimming in the same place at the same time. Here is to plenty of group swims in 2026

Beautiful day for a swim after the freezing fog cleared. Air temp -4.5C, water 4C

no big suns as promised but no wind so flat calm. A big turnout from the east swimmers, Helen, Jennifer, Laura and Mark. Air 2.5C, water 5C

Verdi was feeling sad, so we went on a ride

Boxing day swim 5C

Winter Solstice swim, very choppy from East 5C

Zugzwang [TSOOK-tsvahng] (n.) - A disagreeable position in which a chess player must make a move but cannot do so without considerable disadvantage.

Tree is up 🎄

Finally made an appointment with the opticians, to be told that if he had the same vision when he is my age then he would be very happy 😁

Sun trying to break through the clouds when we went in and then succeeded when we got out. Easterly breeze 5C

Water levels high, water temp higher than the air 5C

Great to be back in the water. Air 3C, water 5C

Flooded river trent

Driech day but had to get a swim in. 5C with a push from the east.

Here ends Octavius Guy's daily journals for now. Thank you to everyone who read and responded so enthusiastically to our boy detective's posts over the years. Have a great life. 🙏

2/2 "Because Mr Peterson was much smaller than Sir John. He was bound to lose if it came to a fight. The only way to better him would have been to take him by surprise." "And his motive?" "Is it not obvious?" George shrugged. "Read my many treatises. Tomorrow I shall test you."

Wednesday December 6, 1854. George scratched his head. "So you think Mr Peterson scarpered from the Diorama of his own accord then met up with Sir John...to do what? Blackmail him?" "That may have been the excuse. But I think he was already planning to murder him." "Why?" 1/2

2/2 "I thought you would like to know," the sergeant began, refusing the seat that George tried to offer him, "our bird Peterson has flown the coop." "He will no doubt resurface at some point, sir. He must if he wishes to inherit." "Ah." Sergeant Gray nodded in appreciation.

Tuesday December 5, 1854. The wit of a clerk who led Sergeant Gray to my office poked his head round the door before opening it fully. "They've come to take you away," he jested, though no one laughed, not even the good sergeant, who seemed ready to cuff the fool's ear. 1/2

2/2 We both agreed that Mr Peterson was now a man to be watched very closely. I gave him his address, which seemed to placate him somewhat. The big question was how Sergeant Gray had been able to find me on a Sunday? Had he been watching me???

Monday December 4, 1854. Directly after yesterday's service I'd told Sergeant Gray all about the plan I'd hatched to unmask Sir John. He could hardly refuse to believe me since two officers of the court (Mr Death and my own employer) had been present. He didn't take it well. 1/2

Sunday December 3, 1854. The commotion occurred just as we were sitting after mumbling the Lord's Prayer. No less than the good Inspector Gray was forcing his way along the pew towards me. "A body was fished out of the Thames last night," he whispered as he sat down next to me. 1/2

2/2 "Let me guess. That of a young man?" "No." The way he said it so bluntly made my blood run cold. "It was the body of Sir John Geeson." "Sir John?" I gasped. Sergeant Gray's eyes drilled through me as the vicar droned on. "Who wanted him dead?" he asked. Me, not that I said so.

Saturday December 2, 1854. As I worked my way through my breakfast kipper I wondered how many days it would be before Mr Peterson's body turned up. That he was complicit in his own disappearance seemed obvious. What had Sir John offered him? Money?

Friday December 1, 1854. It's my seventeenth birthday, so I thought I'd be forgiven for doing very little to trace the unfortunate Mr Peterson. I was wrong. Both George and Mr Bruff had words with me. Telling them he'd signed his own death warrant would not have gone down well!

2/2 It seemed impossible. Every time I thought about it, it came back to that. If it seemed impossible, then it probably was impossible. My brain began ticking over with the two theories that presented themselves...both disastrous to the young Mr Peterson.

Thursday November 30, 1854. Frankly I considered my failure a slap in the face, a challenge to a duel that might as well have been delivered by Sir John himself. How could he have whisked Mr Peterson away before six pairs of watching eyes, choosing the perfect moment to do so? 1/2

Early morning swim . Air 2C water 5C #iceswimming

4/4 It was in that very moment that Sir John must have struck for, when I next looked, Mr Peterson was gone! Even then I had hope, as I had stationed George and Bertha's young henchmen at the building's entrance. And yet, when I reached them, they claimed they'd seen nothing.

3/4 It seemed to be about chopping off heads and an old women's knitting circle. So how did cake manage to feature in the title? A sudden flurry of activity as people made way for the cadaverous figure lurching towards us. "Mr de Ath, so good of you to join us!" said my employer. Mr Death nodded.

2/4 The Diorama, across from the Zoological Gardens, was surprisingly busy for a Wednesday afternoon. Mr Peterson stood in front of a tableau of the pyramids at Giza, stiff and ill at ease. Mr Bruff and I lingered at the side of the next exhibit, entitled, "Let Them Eat Cake."

Wednesday November 29, 1854. I calmed the timid Mr Peterson as best I could; Mr Bruff patted his shoulder. "We will be nearby and we will be listening," he reassured him. "You will be safe." "And I just have to pretend I'll keep quiet if he shares his inheritance with me?" "That's the plan." 1/4

My kitchen Diary observer.co.uk/style/food/a...

Tuesday November 28, 1854. Mr Peterson, Sir John's third cousin once removed, looked astonished to hear my revelations. "So he murdered his wife?" he gasped. "I believe so." "And he can't be brought to book?" "My close contacts in the Metropolitan Police say not." "Oh. Oh, my..."

3/3 After revealing it was her own husband who was the culprit, Mr Bruff became thorny. "All this on the say-so of criminals?" "On the say-so of the same criminals you have relied on in the past," I countered. "I cannot prove it, but I know it for a fact." "Then what are we to do?"

2/3 "Who do you represent, sir?" I asked. "The late Lady Geeson or her husband?" Mr Bruff's brow furrowed. "Adelaide Geeson, of course. Her parents were clients of mine before they passed." "Then you would want to know who it was who struck her down? Who eventually murdered her?"

Monday November 27, 1854. I removed my bowler hat and knocked respectfully at my employer's office door. "Come!" came the immediate response. "Sir," I said upon entering, "I have a pressing question to ask." Though I saw him roll his eyes, I was determined to stay the course. 1/3

Sunday November 26, 1854. The service was over. "I have a question," I said. "You do?" Annie looked at me expectantly. "Is there a difference in biblical terms between killing someone yourself, or asking a friend to do it?" When she frowned, I immediately regretted my words.

Sunny winter swim 6C

Saturday November 25, 1854. "If you knew who attacked me, what would you do to them?" Bertha took a sip of her sherry, readjusted the black veil to hide her face, then sat back to speculate. "I'd bleedin' get 'em alone on a moonless night," she chortled. Well, at least I had a last resort!

Friday November 24 1854. "I wasn't expecting another visit." Mr Death looked surprised to see me. I steeled myself to broach what promised to be a thorny conversation. "Good sir," I began, "you must be aware that for some time now I've suspected you of being something...*more*." 1/2

2/2 "More?" The man peered down his cadaverous nose at me. "If I am correct in my thinking, I beg you to help me put an end to Sir John Geeson." A moment of perfect understanding seemed to pass between us. Then Mr Death raised his hands and smiled. "Young man, I am but a humble clerk."

Laleston 5k #RunningKind

From the cold tub this morning. Water temperature 8°c

Quanked [kwangkt] (adj.) - Overpowered by fatigue. - Exhausted or reduced in strength, as by labor or exertion; fatigued; sleepy. Origin uncertain Used in a sentence: “After sprunting all weekend, then frooncing to get to work on time, I’m well quanked.”

Thursday November 23, 1854. "He what?" asked George. "He outright refused to believe me," I repeated. "And after all we've done for him!" I might have taken solace in George's vehemence but, honestly, I feared Sir John would go free. Mr Tibbles sensed my mood and gave my calf a butt.