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.


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