A man + a horse = death from acute peritonitis. Use your imagination.
Saw Foul Play for the first time. I recall it being a big hit when it came out, but I'd never seen it. It's enjoyable, but very hit-or-miss. The best (and perhaps most interesting) thing in the movie is Dudley Moore in a minor role that clearly served as some partial inspiration to Austin Powers.
Speaking of sporadically brilliant humorous dead Englishmen, I've just finished Kyril Bonfiglioli's Mortdecai Trilogy. The books are highly uneven in quality, and though each novel is reasonably internally consistent, across the three books they do a fair amount of genre-bending. From morally lax art-dealer to unwilling James Bond to poor-man's Henry Armitage, the main character covers a fair amount of ground.
The books were initially described to me as a mix of P.G. Wodehouse and Raymond Chandler. The kind of book I imagine in my mind is very interesting indeed, but this description is only accurate insofar as the main character has a capable valet and the plots don't make any sense. It may be of some interest to britgeekgrrl that Mortdecai weds a highly sexed woman named Johanna.
My mention of Dr. Armitage may be surprising, but in the third book (but second to be written) "Something Nasty in the Woodshed" (nice reference to Cold Comfort Farm, whose mullocking boots the Mortdecai trilogy are not fit to kiss (which reminds me that Stella Gibbons is the aunt of Reggie Oliver (who is published by Chris Barker (who may have finally succeeded in creating a matter/antimatter explosion with Kevin L. O'Brien (who is a liar not fit for polite society.)))))
Ahem, I seem to have gone into a tangent feedback loop. As I was about to say, there are no really overt Lovecraftian references in Something Nasty in the Woodshed, but it would take very little to push it over into the Mythos (if one were inclined to do so). The book is set in Jersey (no, not Joisey -- Jersey) and a series of rapes cause Mortdecai to suspect that a bad bit of the old religion has lingered on in Jersey. He goes to visit an Oxford don who's an expert in these sorts of things and liable to roll off sentences such as the following:
"What I meant was that in the midst of all this bogus satanist revival that's going on, it's rather gratifying to a scholar that a serious recrudescence of the real tradition is taking place in just the sort of base and backward community where one had hoped the last embers of the Old Religion might, indeed, still be glowing."
From there the don goes on to blather about Jersey's fondness for the toad (or crapaud, which not only signifies 'toad' but also serves as a somewhat rude nickname for an inhabitant of Jersey) witches' riding-jollop, the Black Goatskin, Chorazin and the Black Mass of Saint Secaire.
Where is this all going? I don't know, but it really helped me extend my lunch hour.