From Fitzroy's Private Diary (Extract 27)

A New Year is always a good time for reflection on one’s achievements, one’s failings and what one might realistically expect to accomplish during the next twelve months. I weighed up the pros and cons of the past year of my life, and on the whole, I find the outcome acceptable. However, in certain ways, I have begun to question if I should stretch myself. I know it is said that a gentleman, or indeed a gentlewoman, should have at least one hobby to round out their character. I am of an age when most of my contemporaries are marrying and thinking of establishing their families. As this recourse is not open to me, I came to realise that between missions, in my leisure hours, such as they are, I may begin to find myself at a loss. Thus, the adoption of a hobby may be in order. Many hobbies are social in nature but as I am quite content with my own company, I have no need or desire to involve others.  

My skill sets are of an active variety. Languages have always been a strength of mine, so I generally find it necessary to peruse languages books only when a mission demands it. When it comes to reading, naturally, I have read the classics. Unlike Euphemia, who, in my opinion, indulges far too much in modern fiction, I find no need to fill my mind with idle twaddle. My own life has proved, to my satisfaction, to be far more entertaining and exciting than the turgid expulsions of modern authors.

I do enjoy non-fiction, mostly philosophy, morality, history and culture. But can this really be considered a hobby when much of it informs my work? I contemplated philately, but I found I was far more travelled than what lay between the covers of most albums. Numismatics is a grubby habit and leaves one’s hands smelling unpleasant. I could don tweeds and boots and hike in the countryside, but I would rather admire such breath-taking views from the vantage point of a comfortable seat, and with a decent brandy in my hand. I also enjoy cooking, but I consider that a basic life skill. All those I have known who have branched into epicurism have, as they increased their expertise, also substantially expanded their girth.

I was quite without hope of ever finding a hobby. Then, while on the way to visit an acquaintance in the country, I passed a farm. As my acquaintance had the habit of not keeping fresh milk to hand, I decided, on impulse, to enquire if the farmer had any for sale. The farmer’s wife welcomed me into her kitchen, and as she did so, I was almost overrun by a sea of white fur. One of their bitches, a white Pitbull Terrier, had whelped two months previously and they were yet to home all of her offspring. So, instead of milk, I came away with Jack, my dog. Jack is a living creature, not a hobby, but he is an interest that will stay with me for some years. We have been enjoying getting to know one other. He is intelligent and more responsive to training than many of the new recruits I have been asked to initiate.

When war eventually comes, I will have to send him out of London. I think Bertram can be encouraged to be a dog sitter. After all, in the cold light of day, one might consider Bertram to be Euphemia’s hobby. This will fit well as, when Euphemia and I are away on missions together, they can console each other until our return.

Jack first appears in A Death at the Races (a double-length Euphemia Mystery), released March 2020, available for pre-order now