I’m not entirely certain of my facts, but I do believe it was a poet – or maybe a sculptor, or a professor of something or other, or perhaps a priest – who said that something good is always to be extracted from even the most distressing situations. I have discovered this to be true in the aftermath of a particularly embarrassing incident.
It was early summer and I was leaving London to spend a few days in the country with Jeeves. He drove, I sang, and after ten minutes of this he spoke of the merits of silence – to which I said ‘pish-tosh, I will sing another jolly tune until we arrive’. He heaved a mighty sigh and said, ‘very good, sir’.
Upon arriving I immediately pestered Jeeves into accompanying me on a walk by the river. He followed me on the unique condition that I should cease my singing and stick to ordinary conversation. I frowned and pouted and wagged my finger at him, but he was unyielding. So, naturally, I gave in. Jeeves’ company is worth a hundred songs.
We walked by the river, discussing this and that, until something very odd happened. I was telling Jeeves what rummy things clouds are, in the hope that he might explain them to me, and then suddenly all I knew was that the world was very cold and very wet. Jeeves later explained that I had been standing too close to the bally riverbank and that the bally earth had quite ruthlessly disappeared beneath my bally feet, melting into the water and taking me with it.
Now usually, a Wooster is quite the resistant chap, but this brutal cunning of nature, combined with the element of surprise, left me feeling powerless. This side of the river was deep. Panic and cold water seeped into me for a minute and I cried out in not an entirely manly voice.
Within seconds, however, two strong arms were wrapped around my chest and I was pulled out of the water and pushed up onto dry land.
The sun warmed me in mere seconds. I took a steadying breath and tried to shake the embarrassment away. There was no need for anyone to think that I had fallen into the river by accident. I was ready to turn around and say something along the lines of ‘ah, quite the enjoyable swim, what?’ but the words froze on my lips.
FILL: Wet Clothes | Part 1
It was early summer and I was leaving London to spend a few days in the country with Jeeves. He drove, I sang, and after ten minutes of this he spoke of the merits of silence – to which I said ‘pish-tosh, I will sing another jolly tune until we arrive’. He heaved a mighty sigh and said, ‘very good, sir’.
Upon arriving I immediately pestered Jeeves into accompanying me on a walk by the river. He followed me on the unique condition that I should cease my singing and stick to ordinary conversation. I frowned and pouted and wagged my finger at him, but he was unyielding. So, naturally, I gave in. Jeeves’ company is worth a hundred songs.
We walked by the river, discussing this and that, until something very odd happened. I was telling Jeeves what rummy things clouds are, in the hope that he might explain them to me, and then suddenly all I knew was that the world was very cold and very wet. Jeeves later explained that I had been standing too close to the bally riverbank and that the bally earth had quite ruthlessly disappeared beneath my bally feet, melting into the water and taking me with it.
Now usually, a Wooster is quite the resistant chap, but this brutal cunning of nature, combined with the element of surprise, left me feeling powerless. This side of the river was deep. Panic and cold water seeped into me for a minute and I cried out in not an entirely manly voice.
Within seconds, however, two strong arms were wrapped around my chest and I was pulled out of the water and pushed up onto dry land.
The sun warmed me in mere seconds. I took a steadying breath and tried to shake the embarrassment away. There was no need for anyone to think that I had fallen into the river by accident. I was ready to turn around and say something along the lines of ‘ah, quite the enjoyable swim, what?’ but the words froze on my lips.