Saturday, July 31, 2010

From Eustace

Dear Mr. Blog,

I hope this electronic letter finds you well. We are halfway through our "rehearsal process," and it is going splendid. Although I must admit, some nights I leave the rehearsal hall with my brains more scrambled than my morning eggs. Our director tells us that we must not only say our "lines" but do so in a way that furthers the "plot" to the "audience." This sometimes involves saying something that means the opposite of what it appears to mean. I have been informed that this is called "irony," and that it can be quite funny...even "comedic." I think you and Mrs. Blog will appreciate it.
We are having a ripping time and much anticipate your attendance. We are apparently going to perform the skit more that once. So you will have many chances to join us and possibly view variances between each night's performances. (Although, I'm sure it will work out exactly the same every night.) My best to the Mrs. and your possible children.


Eustace Bassington-Bassington

Thursday, July 29, 2010

Freddy Widgeon would be proud.

Yesterday, during a twenty minute resting period between rehearsal blocks, I found myself coming up with a cunning way to pass the time. Being here in the United States of America, I have been educated with the ways of their American "football" - although the "foot" is hardly ever utilized in the game. Using the rules that I have become familiar with, I simply folded up a piece of paper into a perfect equilateral triangle. Bassy sat across the table from me, and held up his fingers to form "field goal posts." We then spent the next twenty-odd minutes trying to finger flip the triangular football through our own hand-made posts. (Secretively, I was actually trying to knock Eustace on the nose with it) Quite the jolly way to spend the interval.

-- Bertie

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Hidey Hidey Hidey Ho, sir.

Last night, after our rehearsal, I accompanied Mr. Wooster and Mr. Bassington-Bassington to the pub. This particular establishment had been converted for the evening into a makeshift music hall of a sort. Patrons were encouraged to choose a popular song and sing it to those assembled, while the wireless pumped out the accompaniment.

Mr. Bassington-Bassington and Mr. Wooster are both accomplished vocalists, and had the pub cheering with every selection. Their decorum, on the other hand, left something to be desired.

After a libation, the gentlemen convinced me to try my hand at what the Japanese have taken to calling Kerry-Okey, or "Empty Orchestra." I chose a song, informed the young miss operating the wireless, and proceeded to deliver. Even in my school days I was loath to take the stage, but the liquid encouragement allowed a modicum of esprit de corps, and I led those assembled in a rousing sing-along.

Mr. Wooster seems to be feeling the ill effects of last night's endeavors. I don't imagine he'll stir much before noon; I shall be sure to mix him a dram of my patented Gentlemen's Relief upon his awakening.


Tuesday, July 27, 2010

With remarkable frequency

Over the past week, Mr. Wooster, Mr. Bassington-Bassington, Mrs. Spencer-Gregson, Sir Rupert, Miss Winklesworth-Bode, and I have been running through the first half of our little skit, working out what seems to be called stage business along the way. We have run through the first half now a number of times, each time adding a small bit of action here or removing a bit there.

This afternoon we will embark on part two, wherein all manner of things go wrong before I am able to right them. I do hope at the end of all this I will be able to have a bit of rest and relaxation, though I suppose the only way to ensure that would be to find my way out of Mr. Wooster's service. Even on holiday, he has an incredible knack for finding himself in a scrape.


Sunday, July 25, 2010


Right. Bertie said I should write a few words to you. We have never met, but my name is Eustace Bassington-Bassington. I live in London. I enjoy rugby and dogs. What do you enjoy?

This past week I have been participating in what is called a "theatrical endeavor." It is where we all tell a story out-loud and move around as well. It is very difficult to remember what to say and when. Lucky for me, the story we are telling is about me. So, I know a lot about it.

I am quite looking forward to the day we shall perform our endeavor on a real live stage, and you and I will meet. I promise to do my very best for you. My best to Mrs. Blog and your children, if you have any.


Eustace Bassington-Bassington


What, ho! What, ho! What, ho!

Bertie Wooster, here! And I am so very pleased to be able to punch out a few tid bits into this little machine and share them with the entire planet.

One full week of hard work is behind us and I cannot stress more how tired this whole process has made me. I am currently sipping on a new whiskey concoction that Jeeves whipped up of his own making. The only thing left to do today is take my nightly bath, which Jeeves no doubt is drawing this very moment.

I wonder how Bassy is coping with the so very close proximity of his Uncle Rupert. My Aunt Agatha is a fire-breathing dragon, but ever since Sir Watlington-Pips found out that we would be performing a theatrical, he has been quite the handful. He seems to think, that in the process, Bassy will manage to disgrace his family name. He no doubt will, but after filling Sir Rupert up chock full of lies, he seems to be warming up to the idea.

I have finished my beverage, and Jeeves has just informed me that my bath is at the proper temperature. Somehow, he always times it out perfectly. I had better go.


-- Bertie

Thursday, July 22, 2010

As you say, sir.

Yester-eve we commenced to staging our theatrical. Even in the service of Mr. Wooster, I have never been involved with such an undertaking. The sheer amount of information one must retain is staggering: one must remember the words coming out of one's mouth, recall where one is to stand or walk, imagine different furnishings and properties from the ones at hand, and, perhaps most importantly, attempt to prevent one's master from diving headlong into the soup. I haven't the slightest notion how professional actors do such a thing year in and year out.

We started, as one does, at the beginning, with page one of our our playscript. Sir and I begin our skit together with a rather elaborate routine of cat and mouse, which one might mistake for farce if it weren't so very grounded in the reality of our past. After an hour and a half we had covered a grand total of five pages (out of 91). Things were looking a bit grim. However, we had a lovely turnabout when Mr. Bassington-Bassington arrived to begin work upon his section of the play. Although he and Mr. Wooster often needed separating, I am very pleased to report that due to the pacifying effects of Mr. Bassington-Bassington's need to perch on the sofa, the next section progressed swimmingly, and we were back on schedule by the time Mrs. Spencer-Gregson and Miss Winklesworth-Bode arrived. Here things took a slight turn for the worst, again, as Mr. Bassington-Bassington's tongue-tied, stumbling antics created quite the obstacle to our forward progress. After numerous suggestions by those assembled, and a great deal of rehearsal, and re-rehearsal, we were finally able to solve a number of questions. (Or, at the least, have them solved "-ish", as our fearless leader, Ms. Tami Workentin-Snoose so quaintly puts it.)

Fortunately, although I was often required to do a sort of juggling act one rarely sees outside of the Variety Theater or Picadilly Circus, no China was broken and no furniture needed to be sent out for repair. Of course, one should never be so thoughtless as to presume a streak of one day will extend the six and one-half weeks stretched out before one, but I shall endeavour to do my very best.


Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Good afternoon, sir

Allow me to introduce myself: I am Reginald Jeeves, personal valet to Bertram Wooster, esq. It is my distinct pleasure to write in this electric journal for the next several weeks to share with you the trials and tribulations of the Wooster household as we prepare for a little theatrical representation of our lives.

Yesterday, at tea-time, I had the rare (mis)fortune to meet Mr. Wooster's school-chum Mr. Eustace Bassington-Bassington, along with Mr. Bassington-Bassington's uncle, Sir Rupert Watlington-Pipps, Mr. Wooster's aunt, Mrs. Agatha Spencer-Gregson, and her god-daughter, Miss Gertrude Winklesworth-Bode, as everyone gathered at the new flat to discuss preparations for our little adventure. Also invited were a number of sir's friends, including (but certainly not limited to) Mr. C. Michael Orville-Wright, Ms. Tami Workentin-Snoose, and Ms. Judith Farnsworth-Martel, whose birthday was also being celebrated. I had set out a lovely luncheon of fruits, cakes, and cucumber sandwiches, which were summarily snapped up by all present.

We commenced to bat around a few ideas for our presentation, including how to dress up the flat to show it in its best light, which suits would be most preferable for sir to wear, and which furnishings should be used. We then set to re├źnacting a particularly engaging account of one of sir's misadventures with his friends and relations. This particular story almost kept us from enjoying a scheduled holiday in the Riviera, but it (once again) fell to me to keep Mr. Wooster's head above water, and in the end, all survived and went on swimming as if nothing had ever chanced.

After we concluded the skit, most of the guests returned to their homes, and the remaining few fell to relating stories of how and when we met, and what has happened in the intervening years. Sir Rupert regaled us with tales of the Jute business, Mrs. Spencer-Gregson took great pains to mold Mr. Wooster, Mr. Bassington-Bassington told of his life of leisure on the golf course, Miss Winkleswoth-Bode waxed rhapsodically on German philosophy, and Mr. Wooster sat, as usual, stunned. I, of course, took copious mental notes of all that was said so as to better explain it to Mr. Wooster in the morning, after the effects of his Martini had worn off.

We agreed our little tale of mistaken betrothal and false ownership would be a fanciful one for American audiences, and decided to meet again this afternoon to begin work in earnest. I will be sure to keep you up to date with all the goings on at the flat, as I am sure there will be plenty upon which to ruminate.