.002 [Video]

[helpmejeeves]

[FAIL!private to the Admiral. ie--not private at all]Excuse me, Admiral fellow, if you could do a chap a favour, I'd like to trade in my current Warden Item for a new one. I'd like my new Warden Item to be a valet, tall, dark-haired, goes by the name of "Reginald Jeeves." I'm sure he'd do a corking job keeping me informed of my inmate-to-be's

Comments

[helpmejeeves]

I'd be much obliged Mr. Braxiatel. This be-buttoned whatsits would drive Isaac Newton to despair and my kettle's having a spot of trouble. [ie--He has put water in it and put it on the stove, but he put it on the wrong burner and so is perpetually confused why it's not heating up.]

Not Private

[helpmejeeves]

[Bertie squints at the sign that Brax's message is PRIVATE, and gingerly presses a few buttons.]

P S +

[And gives up.]

That'd be awfully chummy of you. My room is...dash it all, I'm not sure where my room it.

[helpmejeeves]

Well, yes, that's worth a try. I was about to suggest that myself. [Really!]

[And he walks out the door...]

This bit doesn't look at all like Berkeley Mansions.

[...and points the communicator around. The room is Level 8 Cabin 3.]

Spam!

[helpmejeeves]

[Bertie is probably still aimlessly circling about the hallway in front of his room and is startled when Brax is SUDDENLY THERE.]

I say, that was fast. Your flat must be just a hop, skip, and a jump away.

Spam!

[helpmejeeves]

[Only if you joke about Wodehouse to Elphaba, too. Equal opportunity intertexuality.]

Right-o. [He opens the door, which, almost miraculously he managed *not* to lock behind him.] After you.

I'd have my valet make us a spot of tea but as lack of valet and subsequent lack of tea is the very conundrum that brings you here I'm afraid my capabilities as host are sadly limited, but I could mix you up a whisky and s if you like.

Spam!

[helpmejeeves]

[Being unsubtle is surely a great strain on Brax, but subtlety would surely be lost on Bertie.]

It's this bally useless book. [He helpfully holds it up. It looks like a cheap, hard boiled detective novel.] It looks corking on the outside, with an exciting picture on the front hinting of a weird and fabulous tale within, but upon opening it there are no bally words. Really, what kind of book is one without any words? I suppose Jeeves might be able to ascribe some deep meaning to it, like invisible words waiting in the wings or some such, but I just want a good read to while away an evening. Is that too much to ask?

[He thinks a book without a story in it is a giant tease.]

Spam!

[helpmejeeves]

[He brightens.]

Well, that's a relief. I was beginning to wonder what I'd do with my time except practice my putting and tinkle on the old ivories.

[He thoughtlessly tosses the book onto the sofa.]

Now, you were going to have a peep at the kettle, weren't you? Or was it the telegram-play-cinema thingummy?

Spam!

[helpmejeeves]

Jolly good! The kitchen is over yon. [He hands Brax the communicator and leads him towards the kitchen. Once there he gingerly touches the side of the kettle, as if maybe, just maybe, it's heated up. Then puts his palm flat against the side and says mournfully,]

Cold as the Thames in January.

[Somehow he does not notice that the gas is lit under the *other* burner. If narrative law didn't protect Bertie, he'd probably burn down his flat or gas himself within a month.]