As part of the flat-clearing....
Sep. 12th, 2008 11:22 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
johnny9fingersI found some old bits of writing amongst which was this piece of fan-fiction which I read and was surprised by its capacity to amuse me. So I'll share it if anyone wants.
The very last Jeeves story of all.
There are times when one feels as if one had been sandwiched between the irresistible thingummy and the immovable whatsit.
Still ensconced, if that's the word I want, between the sheets, I prised open a baleful e. and gazed about the room in a melancholy way. It was one of those mornings which, though appearing on the surface at least, full of the best and brightest, are really sent to try the troubled soul with, as the poet Shakespeare said; "All the ills that man is prone to" or somesuch.
Jeeves whispered up and deposited the tray.
"What-ho Jeeves" I ventured, with a poor imitation of my normal joie de vivre, "how goes the day, et cetera: is it full of birds doing their bit, singing in full-throated ease, and all that, what?"
"Such would seem to be the case, my lord."
"Weather tippity-top?"
"It would not be injudicious to say it appears more than usually clement, m'lord."
I reached for the bedside table and lit a gasper with a trembling hand. "Right-ho." Jeeves shimmered out leaving me to my morning's doom and the restorative powers of his patented pick-me-up.
Now some may wonder what all this m'lording is all about. The simple fact is since uncle George shuffled off his mortal c. Bertram Wilberforce Wooster has occupied the space and title of Yaxley: earl thereof. In fact since the blighter handed in his dinner pail to roam the great clubland in the sky things have been, well, not to put too fine a point on it...sticky.
Things became even stickier when Jeeves reappeared.
"Lady Worplesdon is without, m'lord."
"Aunt Agatha?" I queried.
"Yes m'lord."
"Without what?" I jested, but my jests turned to ashes as the f. in human shape herself strode through the door and gave me a basilisk like one of the ripest sort.
"Bertie" she cackled.
"Um...ah...Hullo aunt Agatha."
"Bertie," she repeated, giving my name a sort of scaly inference, as if she'd inadvertently stepped on me and was now thinking of turning the remains into a handbag, "I have something for you to do."
I recognised that imperative of old.
"Er, well, actually aunt Agatha..." and then Jeeves came to the rescue like Tonto undoing the bonds of the Lone Ranger after he'd been captured by an excitable group of chaps with feathered headbands.
"I'm afraid, Lady Worplesdon, that Lord Yaxley's itinerary is somewhat full at present."
"Nonsense Jeeves: family matters come first."
"I'm afraid, m'lady, that his lordship would experience some difficulty in attempting to extricate himself from his schedule as today most appointments are official, including his introduction to the house."
At this the flinty narrow-eyed-concentrated glare designed to burn heart-of-oak like kindling was turned on Jeeves, but the man was pure iron, and it registered upon him not at all: where Joe Louis would have quailed, Jeeves stood firm.
"Very well, tomorrow then. I'll see myself out." And wyvern-like she turned on her heel and stalked out.
"Jeeves," I said, "Awesome," I continued. "Of all your nolle prosequis that was the pip, the top, the...the...the...dash it all Jeeves, what's the word I want?"
"May I suggest zenith, m'lord, or as an alternative, apogee."
"Not quite, but either will do Jeeves, either will do."
"One endeavours to be of assistance, m'lord. Your bath is drawn"
"Thank you Jeeves."
While I was playing with the yellow rubber duck, singing softly to myself, I tried straining the old bean. Whatever it was that the aged relative wanted, and it could be anything, it was bound to rear it's gargoyle-like again. The word no is not in aunt Agatha's vocab. It didn't take much mental effort to picture her plotting nefarious deeds specifically designed to pull Bertram down deep into the soup, with the usual results: i.e. half of London imagining I'm for the padded cell; the other half seeing me as a Napoleon of crime.
I set the case squarely before Jeeves.
"Jeeves..." I said, adjusting a particularly reprobate collar stud, "Rum sort of business."
"Lady Worplesdon, m'lord?"
"Precisely Jeeves. Whatever it is she wanted me to do, she'll persevere like Robert the Bruce's spider until I end up doing it."
"I understand m'lord."
"Well I think the eh, pertinent questions are: one, what is it she wants me to do? Two, how can I get out of it? And three, why didn't she stay and argue a bit longer?"
"I think, my lord, that the first two questions come into that category which Wittgenstein regards as things of which we cannot speak; that is m'lord they are essentially unknowable, being outside our experience as yet; but perhaps more evidence will be forthcoming. The latter question is somewhat more mundane: I believe that Lady Worplesdon regarded an attempt to persuade you at this juncture as being fruitless and needlessly time consuming."
"But Jeeves," I said aghast, "that goes against the psychology of the individual."
"I know my lord; most disturbing. I'll bring the car around."
"As long as Sidcup isn't in the house I'll be reasonably chipper. Whenever we meet he glares at me so."
There is more if anyone wants.
The very last Jeeves story of all.
There are times when one feels as if one had been sandwiched between the irresistible thingummy and the immovable whatsit.
Still ensconced, if that's the word I want, between the sheets, I prised open a baleful e. and gazed about the room in a melancholy way. It was one of those mornings which, though appearing on the surface at least, full of the best and brightest, are really sent to try the troubled soul with, as the poet Shakespeare said; "All the ills that man is prone to" or somesuch.
Jeeves whispered up and deposited the tray.
"What-ho Jeeves" I ventured, with a poor imitation of my normal joie de vivre, "how goes the day, et cetera: is it full of birds doing their bit, singing in full-throated ease, and all that, what?"
"Such would seem to be the case, my lord."
"Weather tippity-top?"
"It would not be injudicious to say it appears more than usually clement, m'lord."
I reached for the bedside table and lit a gasper with a trembling hand. "Right-ho." Jeeves shimmered out leaving me to my morning's doom and the restorative powers of his patented pick-me-up.
Now some may wonder what all this m'lording is all about. The simple fact is since uncle George shuffled off his mortal c. Bertram Wilberforce Wooster has occupied the space and title of Yaxley: earl thereof. In fact since the blighter handed in his dinner pail to roam the great clubland in the sky things have been, well, not to put too fine a point on it...sticky.
Things became even stickier when Jeeves reappeared.
"Lady Worplesdon is without, m'lord."
"Aunt Agatha?" I queried.
"Yes m'lord."
"Without what?" I jested, but my jests turned to ashes as the f. in human shape herself strode through the door and gave me a basilisk like one of the ripest sort.
"Bertie" she cackled.
"Um...ah...Hullo aunt Agatha."
"Bertie," she repeated, giving my name a sort of scaly inference, as if she'd inadvertently stepped on me and was now thinking of turning the remains into a handbag, "I have something for you to do."
I recognised that imperative of old.
"Er, well, actually aunt Agatha..." and then Jeeves came to the rescue like Tonto undoing the bonds of the Lone Ranger after he'd been captured by an excitable group of chaps with feathered headbands.
"I'm afraid, Lady Worplesdon, that Lord Yaxley's itinerary is somewhat full at present."
"Nonsense Jeeves: family matters come first."
"I'm afraid, m'lady, that his lordship would experience some difficulty in attempting to extricate himself from his schedule as today most appointments are official, including his introduction to the house."
At this the flinty narrow-eyed-concentrated glare designed to burn heart-of-oak like kindling was turned on Jeeves, but the man was pure iron, and it registered upon him not at all: where Joe Louis would have quailed, Jeeves stood firm.
"Very well, tomorrow then. I'll see myself out." And wyvern-like she turned on her heel and stalked out.
"Jeeves," I said, "Awesome," I continued. "Of all your nolle prosequis that was the pip, the top, the...the...the...dash it all Jeeves, what's the word I want?"
"May I suggest zenith, m'lord, or as an alternative, apogee."
"Not quite, but either will do Jeeves, either will do."
"One endeavours to be of assistance, m'lord. Your bath is drawn"
"Thank you Jeeves."
While I was playing with the yellow rubber duck, singing softly to myself, I tried straining the old bean. Whatever it was that the aged relative wanted, and it could be anything, it was bound to rear it's gargoyle-like again. The word no is not in aunt Agatha's vocab. It didn't take much mental effort to picture her plotting nefarious deeds specifically designed to pull Bertram down deep into the soup, with the usual results: i.e. half of London imagining I'm for the padded cell; the other half seeing me as a Napoleon of crime.
I set the case squarely before Jeeves.
"Jeeves..." I said, adjusting a particularly reprobate collar stud, "Rum sort of business."
"Lady Worplesdon, m'lord?"
"Precisely Jeeves. Whatever it is she wanted me to do, she'll persevere like Robert the Bruce's spider until I end up doing it."
"I understand m'lord."
"Well I think the eh, pertinent questions are: one, what is it she wants me to do? Two, how can I get out of it? And three, why didn't she stay and argue a bit longer?"
"I think, my lord, that the first two questions come into that category which Wittgenstein regards as things of which we cannot speak; that is m'lord they are essentially unknowable, being outside our experience as yet; but perhaps more evidence will be forthcoming. The latter question is somewhat more mundane: I believe that Lady Worplesdon regarded an attempt to persuade you at this juncture as being fruitless and needlessly time consuming."
"But Jeeves," I said aghast, "that goes against the psychology of the individual."
"I know my lord; most disturbing. I'll bring the car around."
"As long as Sidcup isn't in the house I'll be reasonably chipper. Whenever we meet he glares at me so."
There is more if anyone wants.
