are they still slash goggles if even the guardian has them? (or, petty validation)
Hullo hullo. I bring no fic, but I stumbled across this enjoyably fruity take on 'Right Ho, Jeeves', from The Guardian. Text is under the cut.
Digested Classics: Right Ho, Jeeves by PG Wodehouse
John Crace, The Guardian, Saturday 1 November 2008
Source: The Guardian.
--
"Jeeves," I said, "may I speak frankly?"
Hold on a minute, I seem to have gone off the rails here.
I don't know about you but I often find it dashed hard to know where to begin. Perhaps I should have started with Cousin Angela's encounter with a shark and our holiday with La Bassett.
"I don't think it really matters," said Jeeves, "because all your stories are pretty much the same."
I thought I detected a slight edge to Jeeves's last remark, but Bertram Wooster isn't the sort of chap to bear a grudge, especially when he's just had a few snifters. So I might as well start with the arrival of Gussie Fink-Nottle.
"I'm in a terrible pickle," Gussie said. "I've developed a pash for Miss Madeline Bassett but I am unable to talk to her about anything other than newts. Jeeves suggested I dress up as Mephistopheles, but after a side-splittingly unfunny adventure with a London cabby I never got to the fancy dress party where I planned to declare myself."
Having spent some time with the hound-like Bassett in France, I couldn't quite understand Gussie's attraction. But a pash is a pash and Gussie was no oil painting himself, so I thought I should help him out.
"You can't rely on Jeeves for les affaires de coeur," I said. "Miss Bassett is staying with my Aunt Dahlia and it just so happens she has asked me to give the prizes to the oiks at her local grammar school. I told her we got the PM at Eton, but she insisted the riff-raff would be thrilled to get an idiot in spats. So you'll do nicely instead."
I convinced Gussie that prolonged proximity to La Bassett would do the trick and he departed happily, leaving me to admire my new white mess jacket in the mirror.
"It is rather exuberant, sir," said Jeeves.
I was used to this kind of rebuff from him, but Bertram Wooster isn't the kind of man to mistake a servant's repressed sexual passion for sartorial authority.
"I think you'll find that the chaps at Drones reckon it's quite the thing."
"Precisely, sir. A telegram, sir."
"Good God, Jeeves!" I cried. "My cousin Angela and Tuppy Glossop have called off their engagement. Aunt Dahlia has summoned us both to Brinkley Court to resolve this emergency."
"It was Jeeves I wanted, actually," Aunt Dahlia said, "but sadly you come as a pair. He's a whizz at everything."
"What ho, Aunt Dahlia, that's a bit of a chizz. And how's Uncle Tom?"
"Don't call him that, it reminds me of a black fellow with a banjo."
"But you love all that casual racism."
"I know, but I'd still rather talk about that nice Mr Hitler."
"It's been ghastly," said Tuppy. "I told Angela it was a log and not a shark that chased her and she called me a fat bore and one thing led to another."
I was debating whether to mention that my dear friend Tuppy was a fat bore, but Jeeves saved me from that embarrassment. "Perhaps if you were to engage Miss Angela in conversation, sir," he said. "She would realise that Mr Glossop was not quite as fat and boring as she thought."
"Don't be ridiculous, Jeeves," I replied, "You have no feeling for the highly-strung female temperament. All Tuppy needs to do is refuse his dinner and show he is pining for her."
"You complete fool, Bertram," Aunt Dahlia shouted. "Our marvellous chef, Anatole, has given in his notice because Tuppy wouldn't eat his dinner."
Even by my own trivial standards it felt as if the plot was scraping the barrel but in for a penny in for a pound, so I started gassing to Gussie.
"I still can't talk about anything other than newts," he said.
"Perhaps it might be a good idea to give Gussie a nip of gin before the prize-giving," I suggested to Jeeves.
"If you say so, sir."
"Gosh, Jeeves, we are in a pickle now," I said, scratching my noddle. "It was all going so swimmingly. Gussie had proposed to La Bassett, but then she called it off, Angela is now Gussie's paramour and La Bassett proposes to marry me instead."
"You're right, sir. A confirmed bachelor never marries."
"But what shall I do?" I wept, admiring my white mess jacket.
"We've nothing to lose any more, sir," Jeeves sighed. "As this book's holed beneath the waterline. But you could try something ridiculous such as ringing the fire alarm and watch everyone try to save the one they love. Gussie will run to Madeline and Tuppy to Angela . . ."
"And will you run to me?"
"No, sir."
We were all gathered outside Brinkley Court and Jeeves's plan appeared to have backfired as the unhappy couples were still not talking to one another.
"Perhaps if you were to cycle nine miles to the village that might help, sir?" Jeeves said.
"Jolly good," said Aunt Dahlia. "The couples are reunited and Anatole is staying."
"It seemed that what was required was for you to absent yourself for a while so that everyone could focus their hatred on you while you were away," Jeeves explained later.
"Would you kiss me if I never wear the white jacket again?"
"It's a possibility, sir."
• John Crace's Digested Reads appear in G2 on Tuesdays.
Digested Classics: Right Ho, Jeeves by PG Wodehouse
John Crace, The Guardian, Saturday 1 November 2008
Source: The Guardian.
--
"Jeeves," I said, "may I speak frankly?"
Hold on a minute, I seem to have gone off the rails here.
I don't know about you but I often find it dashed hard to know where to begin. Perhaps I should have started with Cousin Angela's encounter with a shark and our holiday with La Bassett.
"I don't think it really matters," said Jeeves, "because all your stories are pretty much the same."
I thought I detected a slight edge to Jeeves's last remark, but Bertram Wooster isn't the sort of chap to bear a grudge, especially when he's just had a few snifters. So I might as well start with the arrival of Gussie Fink-Nottle.
"I'm in a terrible pickle," Gussie said. "I've developed a pash for Miss Madeline Bassett but I am unable to talk to her about anything other than newts. Jeeves suggested I dress up as Mephistopheles, but after a side-splittingly unfunny adventure with a London cabby I never got to the fancy dress party where I planned to declare myself."
Having spent some time with the hound-like Bassett in France, I couldn't quite understand Gussie's attraction. But a pash is a pash and Gussie was no oil painting himself, so I thought I should help him out.
"You can't rely on Jeeves for les affaires de coeur," I said. "Miss Bassett is staying with my Aunt Dahlia and it just so happens she has asked me to give the prizes to the oiks at her local grammar school. I told her we got the PM at Eton, but she insisted the riff-raff would be thrilled to get an idiot in spats. So you'll do nicely instead."
I convinced Gussie that prolonged proximity to La Bassett would do the trick and he departed happily, leaving me to admire my new white mess jacket in the mirror.
"It is rather exuberant, sir," said Jeeves.
I was used to this kind of rebuff from him, but Bertram Wooster isn't the kind of man to mistake a servant's repressed sexual passion for sartorial authority.
"I think you'll find that the chaps at Drones reckon it's quite the thing."
"Precisely, sir. A telegram, sir."
"Good God, Jeeves!" I cried. "My cousin Angela and Tuppy Glossop have called off their engagement. Aunt Dahlia has summoned us both to Brinkley Court to resolve this emergency."
"It was Jeeves I wanted, actually," Aunt Dahlia said, "but sadly you come as a pair. He's a whizz at everything."
"What ho, Aunt Dahlia, that's a bit of a chizz. And how's Uncle Tom?"
"Don't call him that, it reminds me of a black fellow with a banjo."
"But you love all that casual racism."
"I know, but I'd still rather talk about that nice Mr Hitler."
"It's been ghastly," said Tuppy. "I told Angela it was a log and not a shark that chased her and she called me a fat bore and one thing led to another."
I was debating whether to mention that my dear friend Tuppy was a fat bore, but Jeeves saved me from that embarrassment. "Perhaps if you were to engage Miss Angela in conversation, sir," he said. "She would realise that Mr Glossop was not quite as fat and boring as she thought."
"Don't be ridiculous, Jeeves," I replied, "You have no feeling for the highly-strung female temperament. All Tuppy needs to do is refuse his dinner and show he is pining for her."
"You complete fool, Bertram," Aunt Dahlia shouted. "Our marvellous chef, Anatole, has given in his notice because Tuppy wouldn't eat his dinner."
Even by my own trivial standards it felt as if the plot was scraping the barrel but in for a penny in for a pound, so I started gassing to Gussie.
"I still can't talk about anything other than newts," he said.
"Perhaps it might be a good idea to give Gussie a nip of gin before the prize-giving," I suggested to Jeeves.
"If you say so, sir."
"Gosh, Jeeves, we are in a pickle now," I said, scratching my noddle. "It was all going so swimmingly. Gussie had proposed to La Bassett, but then she called it off, Angela is now Gussie's paramour and La Bassett proposes to marry me instead."
"You're right, sir. A confirmed bachelor never marries."
"But what shall I do?" I wept, admiring my white mess jacket.
"We've nothing to lose any more, sir," Jeeves sighed. "As this book's holed beneath the waterline. But you could try something ridiculous such as ringing the fire alarm and watch everyone try to save the one they love. Gussie will run to Madeline and Tuppy to Angela . . ."
"And will you run to me?"
"No, sir."
We were all gathered outside Brinkley Court and Jeeves's plan appeared to have backfired as the unhappy couples were still not talking to one another.
"Perhaps if you were to cycle nine miles to the village that might help, sir?" Jeeves said.
"Jolly good," said Aunt Dahlia. "The couples are reunited and Anatole is staying."
"It seemed that what was required was for you to absent yourself for a while so that everyone could focus their hatred on you while you were away," Jeeves explained later.
"Would you kiss me if I never wear the white jacket again?"
"It's a possibility, sir."
• John Crace's Digested Reads appear in G2 on Tuesdays.