There comes a time in a chap's life when a chap feels so deeply immersed in the soup as to see no possible way to emerge that would seem preferable to quiet extinction. I mean to say, there are those times that go beyond trying and into the realms of Greek tragedy, and if one doesn't end up with eyes torn out or chained to a cliff somewhere while crows make a luncheon of one's liver, one can count oneself lucky.
I have for some years now been blessed by the existence of a shining knight to my damsel in distress. You've likely heard me sing the praises of Jeeves before. Jeeves is my man-servant, a modern Prometheus, a man of such vast intellect as to humble the greatest thinkers of our time. If it hadn't been for Jeeves I would by now be a wreck of a man, chained to some unlucky girl chosen by my Junian Aunt Agatha, pining my days away in the country and, no doubt, writing my memoirs, like a man whose best days are behind him - that is, if I wasn't locked up in prison or even a madhouse.
With stalwart Jeeves by my side, you would think there was no predicament which should daunt me, but one day I found myself facing the terrifying prospect of losing Jeeves. If that isn't the soupiest of soups, then I confess I don't know soup from an Austrian thoroughbred.
I had just escaped marriage, prison and madhouse, all, thanks to this wonder of nature, this noble-browed creature, in an adventure I won't go into now, save to mention it involved missing pearls, three cockerspaniels, a cockatoo and a millionaire's daughter. Suffice it to say Jeeves had worked another miracle at the very last moment, and I was shaken to the core. When a chap is fully prepared to accept the worst that Fate can throw at him, and a hand suddenly snatches him away from Fate's jaws, a chap gets a curious woozy feeling. I felt dizzy. I felt awash with awe. My knees felt weak, and one thing leading to another I found myself quite suddenly with my arms, and I regret to say legs as well, around my man Jeeves.
Now, Woosters are not your average rakes. Nothing could be further from the truth, despite whatever rumours may have been circulating. Nowhere in the Code of the Woosters does it say that getting familiar with the help is remotely acceptable. These sudden passions are not the Wooster way. Stiff upper lip, proud English carriage and dignity at all times are more like it. However I may cling to these principles in general, they were washed away in one mad moment of gratitude and affection.
You may remember I alluded to a certain terrifying prospect. As my senses returned to me and I found myself wrapped around my rather frozen servitor, mouth, I regret to say, to mouth, reality returned to me like a shower of ice-cold water such as are recommended by progressive health experts and never by members of the Drones' Club. It occurred to me that to release my hold would likely mean to lose my prince forever, so I clung on tighter, prolonging the coming anguish.
Imagine my surprise when Jeeves, that immoveable mountain, that fortress of propriety, instead of breaking off our indiscreet connection, wrapped his arms around me, moving his mouth on mine. If my knees had been weak before, they were now positively gelatinous.
Fill: One Mad Moment
I have for some years now been blessed by the existence of a shining knight to my damsel in distress. You've likely heard me sing the praises of Jeeves before. Jeeves is my man-servant, a modern Prometheus, a man of such vast intellect as to humble the greatest thinkers of our time. If it hadn't been for Jeeves I would by now be a wreck of a man, chained to some unlucky girl chosen by my Junian Aunt Agatha, pining my days away in the country and, no doubt, writing my memoirs, like a man whose best days are behind him - that is, if I wasn't locked up in prison or even a madhouse.
With stalwart Jeeves by my side, you would think there was no predicament which should daunt me, but one day I found myself facing the terrifying prospect of losing Jeeves. If that isn't the soupiest of soups, then I confess I don't know soup from an Austrian thoroughbred.
I had just escaped marriage, prison and madhouse, all, thanks to this wonder of nature, this noble-browed creature, in an adventure I won't go into now, save to mention it involved missing pearls, three cockerspaniels, a cockatoo and a millionaire's daughter. Suffice it to say Jeeves had worked another miracle at the very last moment, and I was shaken to the core. When a chap is fully prepared to accept the worst that Fate can throw at him, and a hand suddenly snatches him away from Fate's jaws, a chap gets a curious woozy feeling. I felt dizzy. I felt awash with awe. My knees felt weak, and one thing leading to another I found myself quite suddenly with my arms, and I regret to say legs as well, around my man Jeeves.
Now, Woosters are not your average rakes. Nothing could be further from the truth, despite whatever rumours may have been circulating. Nowhere in the Code of the Woosters does it say that getting familiar with the help is remotely acceptable. These sudden passions are not the Wooster way. Stiff upper lip, proud English carriage and dignity at all times are more like it. However I may cling to these principles in general, they were washed away in one mad moment of gratitude and affection.
You may remember I alluded to a certain terrifying prospect. As my senses returned to me and I found myself wrapped around my rather frozen servitor, mouth, I regret to say, to mouth, reality returned to me like a shower of ice-cold water such as are recommended by progressive health experts and never by members of the Drones' Club. It occurred to me that to release my hold would likely mean to lose my prince forever, so I clung on tighter, prolonging the coming anguish.
Imagine my surprise when Jeeves, that immoveable mountain, that fortress of propriety, instead of breaking off our indiscreet connection, wrapped his arms around me, moving his mouth on mine. If my knees had been weak before, they were now positively gelatinous.
Jeeves had rescued me once again.