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.


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