I hate to admit this, but the last time I was in London, I went way out of my way to visit Baker Street in the hope of seeing 221B, the home of Sherlock Holmes. Of course I knew that Holmes was a fictional character. I mean, I'm not stupid... I didn't really expect to see him... no, I just thought I'd hang out around there just in case I might get a chance to see him. Please don't try to reason that out. I feel bad enough.
I met a lot of other like-minded people and we all ended up in the Sherlock Holmes Museum, which had a facsimile living room, reconstructed from the information in the books.
I expected to see clutter (that's an average living room of the period above) because that was the fashion in Edwardian England. Someone said that the interior design of that time was meant to trap any dust particle that found its way inside, and prevent it from ever finding it's way outside.
What I didn't expect was the extreme clutter that poor Sherlock had to put up with. No wonder he looks so waxy. You'd look that way too if you had to sit in near darkness all day long, unable to take more than two steps in a straight line. Even with a full time cleaning lady, this was apparently the best he could do.
Here's (above) Sherlock's chemistry corner. The poor guy had to sit on his violin in order to use it.
The chair is ripped. Is that significant? Did one of the stories mention a ripped chair? Geez, poor, poor Sherlock! I feel like passing around a collection plate for him.
Lot's of people leave the museum with the resolve to make their own home as cluttered and interesting as Holmes'. Here's (above) one effort in that direction. I kinda like it. Note the
Buster Keaton death mask on the wall.