4:00pm, 28th of January, 1891.

“NO, SPUNKLEFORD, please try to understand me…James Watt did NOT telephone you from beyond the grave, nor did he possess your receiver in an attempt to relay a message form the afterlife.”

Almost an hour had passed since I had contacted Inspector Spunkleford, and I was getting nowhere fast. Actually, it was far worse than that: I was getting nowhere excruciatingly SLOWLY.

“Look Spunkleford, can you just stop your mouth from flapping open and shut for a moment?” I snapped down the telephone.

“I…oh!” stammered the inspector.

“Thank you. Now listen, the only reason I rang your blasted self was to offer my services in helping you to solve this rather perplexing mystery of the poor chap who died after his hat exploded. Undoubtedly you and your inefficient officers are still floundering about in the dark, waiting for someone to come and illuminate proceedings – namely my GLORIOUS self. So why don’t you stop your blasted blatherings, and allow me to come and help you out of your rather prickly predicament, hmm?”

Silence greeted me once more.

“Um…well, since you put it like that, Likely…”

“I put it wherever and however I like, inspector!  I shall be with you within the hour!” I beamed, and slammed the receiver down. Finally, some ruddy progress in this ridiculous case. “BOTTER!” I bellowed, summoning my witless man-servant to my side once more.

“Yes, my lord?” said Botter, leaning around the door, clutching a wad of tissue to his head.

“Ah, Botter – I say, what are you doing with all that tissue?”

“I…I’m trying to stem the flow of blood from the wound caused by your battering me with the telephone earlier, my lord.”

“Ah, yes,” I chuckled. “I’d almost forgotten about that! Well, remind me to dock your pay for those tissues, Botter. Tissues do not grow on trees, you know!”

“Well..they..they sort of do, my lord..”

“And I shall dock more form your wages for your insolent back-chat, and for bloodying my lovely telephone with your common claret. Now come along – we are off into town, so I shall need you to prepare the horse and carriage right away!”

“Yes my lord…” Botter paused, puzzlement settling upon his face like a confused bee landing on a hideously deformed flower. “Um…which horse, my lord?”

I had to admit it, he had a point. I had three excellent horses to my name – but which should I use to get us to London quickly and safely?…

Captain Cloppington, the eldest horse and thus a bit slow and prone to soiling himself, but a fine, reliable creature nonetheless.

Hercules, the strongest of my horses, though a little slower, in both speed and speed of thought.

Or…The Bastard, the fastest if most mentally disturbed of all my steeds?

Heavens, which horse for the cause, dear readers?

- Lord Likely.

* What should Likely do? Should he choose Cloppington (Vote CLOP)? Hercules (Vote HERC)? Or The Bastard (Vote BASTARD)?! Leave a comment here, or make your suggestion on Twitter (using the #1score4 tag) and/or Facebook! Quick! Likely needs YOU!

I know what you’re probably thinking at this point: how many horses do I own, and what are they called?

Well, dear reader, I shall tell you.

I own five horses, and they are named as follows:

Sir Cloppington – my favourite horse, a proud, black stallion with hundreds of miles on the clock. Sir Cloppington is the very horse I chose to pull our carriage as we hastened to London Town on our adventure.

Reynolds – a fine, grey horse with an excellent top speed, but alas, a rather small penis.

Winchester – brown. Goes like a rocket, but only for a few seconds before tiring himself out. The poor old bastard is rather advanced in years, but I cannot abide to have him shot yet, as it will mean finding another horse.

The Cunt – a black horse with a ferocious temper. I rarely use The Cunt, preferring instead to lend him to people I do not like very much, in the hope they will break their necks on him.

Filthy Arab – my racehorse. Good at racing, unsurprisingly, but a terrible lover.

As you can see, I have a fine selection of horses indeed.

I’ve quite forgotten why I mentioned this. Ah well.

> Subscribe in a reader