DIY Sheep versus Doctor Who and everybody else

The Complete Kiddies' Guide to Having Fun With Your Hoo Hoo by Uncle Greg

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House hissed angrily "I don’t care how much you love me. You are not, I repeat not coming to the poker game," he said as he kept one eye out for Wilson and tried to fix his bow tie at the same time.


“And stop watching me when I sleep. It is bad enough you follow me around the flat. Do you know how disconcerting it is to wake up and find you in my bedroom? I thought Wilson was going to wake up the other night when I crashed into your lower octaves on the way for a pee. You are just lucky that man sleeps the sleep of the dead. So just stay where you are meant to be.”


He angrily tugged at his tie. “Don’t go walkies.” Everyone else gets kittens and puppies, he thought to himself. Why me, he sighed as he eyed the cause of his distress.


But after a few moments silence House gave in. “Oh come on… I’m sorry.” House relented. “I’ll play with you when I get back.”


But the piano just continued to look a bit mournful.


"But as for tonight - No!" he emphasized.


"No what,” said Wilson as he walked into the living room.


"Er, I said: ‘Oh no - for once your tie isn't ugly’," replied House quickly.


Wilson looked at him strangely. House was strange, but this was slightly more strange than usual.


“House, you weren’t just talking to your piano were you?”


House practically jumped. “My piano? Why would I be talking to my piano?” He said stupidly. “It’s a piano, after all.”


Wilson eyed him suspiciously. “Riight.”


House took a deep breath. “Good, now that we have got all this talk about talking to your overly possessive piano out of the way, lets go."


He cast the piano one more warning look and the two men left for the fundraiser.






"Why Doctor Cuddy, what a revealing dress you have on tonight. All part of your poker strategy?" Said House with a leer.


But he was disappointed when Cuddy just eyerolled at him and went back to her conversation with the fundraiser organiser. Cuddy too busy to engage in verbal fencing with him? Something was wrong.


House listened in and caught snippets of their conversation.


"What do you mean you don't know where it came from? It's a piano for god's sake. It doesn't just magically appear... I only ordered a quartet... oh well someone might be able to play it."


As he listened House got a sinking feeling. That little bastard, he thought. What was worse than having a piano that loved you, but one who disobeyed direct orders? Didn’t they teach them anything in piano school these days? Well, it was a baby grand, so it wasn’t properly trained yet, but still: he had told it in no uncertain terms to stay at home tonight.


As casually as he could he loitered off to find it. When he found it he would give it some good Beethoven – something thumpy, like the Ninth. That would teach it a lesson.


Yes, there it was, sitting in the lobby of all places and the damn thing looked smug.


He sauntered over to it and hissed out of the corner of his mouth. "I'll deal with you later - and you better be back home before Wilson or you are firewood." With that he turned his back on it and went to enjoy the party.





Wilson was jazzed. He had won the tournament. He sat down at the keyboard and bashed the middle C for all he was worth, until the string squeaked.


“I know, I’m sorry,” he said. “But I won tonight and I am all excited.” He pulled down the cover and stood up. “I’m off to tell Greg.”


He ran his fingers over the black surface of the piano and looked around furtively. “And you need to get home soon,” He leant down. “You know how he gets.”