The Canonical Scale of Drunkenness

First, a disclaimer:

With New Year's Eve and Sherlock Holmes's birthday just behind us, there are undoubtedly those who will consider this month's column inspired by this writer's celebration of those festivities. To this, I have but one reply: I was as drunk as Jefferson Hope, on both occasions.

Let me refresh your memory about Hope, in the words of constable John Rance:

"I've seen many a drunk chap in my time, but never anyone so cryin' drunk as that cove. He was at the gate when I came out, a-leanin' up ag'in the railings, and a-singin' at the pitch o' his lungs about Columbine's New-fangled Banner, or some such stuff. He couldn't stand, far less help."

Before stalwart Editor Burr is deluged with letters decrying the advocacy of public intoxication in his publication, let me remind those of you who need it of one important fact: Jefferson Hope was faking. He was as sober as the next killer on a vendetta.

Which is why, despite John Ranee's words to the contrary, Hope is at the bottom of the Canonical Scale of Drunkenness. What scale is that, you ask? As a public service to our readers. Plugs & Dottles is happy to present a new method for pointing out those who might need their keys withheld at Sherlockian functions where alcohol is served. Instead of the direct "Is he/she drunk?" discussion, which the more timid Sherlockian may hesitate to start, you can now ask, "Does he seem more like Baron Gruner or Toller to you?"

The Canonical Scale of Drunkenness goes like this:

1--Jefferson Hope. Having a good time, yet perfectly sober. Hopefully, has not killed any Mormons, but we're not judging homicidal tendencies here.

2--Baron Adelbert Gruner.  A little bit drunk. Just tipsy enough to show Kitty Winter his diary. Personally, I'd show Kitty my diary after a glass of milk, but you get the idea.

3--Sir Eustace Brackenstall. Half drunk. Eustace stayed just sober enough to be able to enjoy how mean he was when drinking. Not to be confused with ....

4--Enoch Drebber. Drunk half the time. Entirely different from being half-drunk.   Probably needs counselling.

5--Captain Peter Carey. Three parts drunk. Possibly in a vile temper. Slowed down enough by drink to make an easy target for a harpoon.

6--Ronder the showman. Murderously drunk. Needs to be locked up.

7--Toller the groom. Insensibly drunk. You don't have to take his keys, because he forgot them anyway.

8--Hudson the seaman. Dead drunk. Probably don't need to use the scale on this fellow, he's not going anywhere.

Those in the latter half of the list are particularly nasty, and I hope you won't ever have to point out a Ronder at any upcoming Sherlockian functions. You'll note, however, that of all the preceding list, only Jefferson Hope could drive. Having done our bit for the public service, let's get on to the latest challenge to the reader.

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Title The Column Contest:   London is dull and uninteresting since the demise of Moriarty, and this columnist needs a challenge.   I'm therefore announcing a contest to come up with the title of April's column. All you have to do is come up with a title and send it to Bob Burr, at the address on the cover. "Neuroptera and Dr. Watson." "Yankee Pot Roast On The Gloria Scott." "Sherlockian Siamese Twins." If you can title it, I can write it. Editor Burr and a select committee of two others will pick the most far-out, funny, or favorite title from those sent in by March 1st, and the winner will get an inscribed copy of my upcoming book the minute the finished product is in my hands. Enter as much as you like, there may even wind up being a second or third prize -- as well as a column from it.