I'll only buy a violin if i turn this part-time opium habit into an everyday way of life and allow it to interfere fully with my ingenious crimesolving escapades. Of course the BBC have used my character for a ne'er before seen drama series that involves the murderous types, and i am displeased that they dare use my sense of being for this throwaway series, but most of the time i just solve riddles of where Mrs Biggins' cat went missing to - sadly deceased, i have to add, with me following the bloodtrail to the back-right wheel of Mr Sissons' Ford Kuga - and clearing up mysteries concerning the secret identity of the fruit thief from Mrs Delbertson's mini-orchard - it was Professor Henderson who seems to think thanks to his PhD he can go around eating whatever he likes and get away with, which he did until he received my stern letter, written in the bloody urine of his pet hamster and found in its cage. Death hasn't shown its face to me and my desperation for privacy keeps me well-hidden from those who require vast and complicated problems to be deciphered.
Anyway, back to my old China Opium pipe and teasing the forlorn vet who is my sometimes sorry sidekick.