All kinds of liberties taken with Smallville geography, I think. For all I know, things are where I put them for my convenience and the sake of Bertie's and Jeeves' feet.
I just picked one episode at random to Bertie-ize, you know how to communicate if you want more!
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Jeeves and I made the return trek to town and dropped in on a place where a gin and t. could be applied to restore the tired tissues. Jeeves said that according to Shakespeare, it's sleep that knits the raveled sleeve of care but I put it to him with great logic that his pal wasn't on the mark that time, though he still said a lot of bright and breezy things, I added encouragingly.
Jeeves picked his corner to nurse a drink in while I found myself engaged in conversation by a member of the f. sex who told me her name is Nell and that she's the local florist. She was definitely a hard-boiled egg and I found it hard to believe that she's Lana's aunt, but then my aunt Dahlia says much the same about me. Not that she finds it hard to believe that I'm Lana's aunt, because I'm not, of course, but that she finds it hard to believe that she's my aunt. Another g. and tonic slipped down the Wooster hatch and conversation continued.
I regaled, if that's the word I'm searching for, her with some of the chronicles of the Wooster existence and even admitted that part of the reason I came to the states was to avoid further confrontations with Esme Hetherington who interpreted normal friendliness as declaration of undying l. and necessitated escape. She looked a bit frost-bitten at that and I thought to myself that she probably thinks of solidarity in the gender and all that.
Since the camaraderie between self and Nell had dwindled and Jeeves finished knitting his raveled sleeve, we headed out into the night.
Perhaps the sense of direction was muddled by the consumption of beverages because despite my leadership, we found ourselves on what could be called the outskirts of the town. Another ostentatious car went by and we tried to flag it down to ask for directions, but even though it looked like the Luthor bean at the helm, it didn't stop.
I argued that it might be heading into the town and that we should follow its tracks. Jeeve demured but the Wooster spirit held strong and steadfast. I shouldn't be surprised if the Woosters were hot peppers in the Battle of Hastings.
It was like a meeting of old friends when we followed the car to a petrol station and saw the rugby chappie, the Luthor chappie, and two other chappies. The Luthor chappie invited the rugby chap and his pal into the car and I was just about to hail them and see if any of them had boy scout blood enough to point us in the right direction when the Luthor chap started spraying gasoline all over the outside of the car, then set it on fire.
I thought what a bad show that was as Jeeves and I started to run to render assistance, don't you know, but rugby chappie had the situation in h. and tore the car apart, then took other chappie into the station. Jeeves advised caution as we crept forward to observe. Unless it's police or aunts or girls with the light of determined romance in their eyes, we Woosters don't often creep but there are strange circs and Jeeves' pal Darwin whom he mentions often in the casual conversation says that it's important to adapt to said circs, or something along those lines. Adaptation comes into it, anyway.
The Luthor chappie got what looked like a gun from those gangster films and went inside, cautiously tracked by self and Jeeves. We were about to locate a phone to call the gendarmes when Luthor chappie starts shooting. Jeeves and I exchanged the worried glance and I felt pretty helpless, if you know what I mean, when the poor rugby fellow went down before we got to the phone.
I couldn't believe my eyes when the rugby chap got up and dealt firmly with the Luthor chappie, looking as though being shot like that was like a minor boxing match. When we saw other cars and police cars and such come along, under Jeeves' advice that as he put it, our incomplete understanding would complicate matters, we crept away.
Maybe Jeeves' Shakespeare pal is right after all, because that night, when I had a choice between another g. and t. and a good eight hours, I picked the eight hours.
Even Jeeves' mighty brain was puzzled when that next morning, the Luthor chappie called to say that his mechanic had gotten the part that the car needed, and he sounded all cheerio and as though God's in his heaven and all's right with the world, as Jeeves says his girlfriend Pippa puts it. It would take a while to get it installed and up and running again, he said, and Jeeves and I lingered in the town a bit longer, drinking tea and watching the people go by. Late afternoon, rugby chappie came into the Talon and looked remarkably full of beans, even when Luthor chappie came in a few minutes later. They even had a cup of coffee together, which caused some furrowing of the brow on the parts of Jeeves and self.
The mechanic bean came along with the mode of transportation and Jeeves loaded the luggage.
"You know, Jeeves," I mused, "Americans are decidedly odd. No wonder they threw away all that perfectly good tea in Boston."
I just picked one episode at random to Bertie-ize, you know how to communicate if you want more!
********************************
Jeeves and I made the return trek to town and dropped in on a place where a gin and t. could be applied to restore the tired tissues. Jeeves said that according to Shakespeare, it's sleep that knits the raveled sleeve of care but I put it to him with great logic that his pal wasn't on the mark that time, though he still said a lot of bright and breezy things, I added encouragingly.
Jeeves picked his corner to nurse a drink in while I found myself engaged in conversation by a member of the f. sex who told me her name is Nell and that she's the local florist. She was definitely a hard-boiled egg and I found it hard to believe that she's Lana's aunt, but then my aunt Dahlia says much the same about me. Not that she finds it hard to believe that I'm Lana's aunt, because I'm not, of course, but that she finds it hard to believe that she's my aunt. Another g. and tonic slipped down the Wooster hatch and conversation continued.
I regaled, if that's the word I'm searching for, her with some of the chronicles of the Wooster existence and even admitted that part of the reason I came to the states was to avoid further confrontations with Esme Hetherington who interpreted normal friendliness as declaration of undying l. and necessitated escape. She looked a bit frost-bitten at that and I thought to myself that she probably thinks of solidarity in the gender and all that.
Since the camaraderie between self and Nell had dwindled and Jeeves finished knitting his raveled sleeve, we headed out into the night.
Perhaps the sense of direction was muddled by the consumption of beverages because despite my leadership, we found ourselves on what could be called the outskirts of the town. Another ostentatious car went by and we tried to flag it down to ask for directions, but even though it looked like the Luthor bean at the helm, it didn't stop.
I argued that it might be heading into the town and that we should follow its tracks. Jeeve demured but the Wooster spirit held strong and steadfast. I shouldn't be surprised if the Woosters were hot peppers in the Battle of Hastings.
It was like a meeting of old friends when we followed the car to a petrol station and saw the rugby chappie, the Luthor chappie, and two other chappies. The Luthor chappie invited the rugby chap and his pal into the car and I was just about to hail them and see if any of them had boy scout blood enough to point us in the right direction when the Luthor chap started spraying gasoline all over the outside of the car, then set it on fire.
I thought what a bad show that was as Jeeves and I started to run to render assistance, don't you know, but rugby chappie had the situation in h. and tore the car apart, then took other chappie into the station. Jeeves advised caution as we crept forward to observe. Unless it's police or aunts or girls with the light of determined romance in their eyes, we Woosters don't often creep but there are strange circs and Jeeves' pal Darwin whom he mentions often in the casual conversation says that it's important to adapt to said circs, or something along those lines. Adaptation comes into it, anyway.
The Luthor chappie got what looked like a gun from those gangster films and went inside, cautiously tracked by self and Jeeves. We were about to locate a phone to call the gendarmes when Luthor chappie starts shooting. Jeeves and I exchanged the worried glance and I felt pretty helpless, if you know what I mean, when the poor rugby fellow went down before we got to the phone.
I couldn't believe my eyes when the rugby chap got up and dealt firmly with the Luthor chappie, looking as though being shot like that was like a minor boxing match. When we saw other cars and police cars and such come along, under Jeeves' advice that as he put it, our incomplete understanding would complicate matters, we crept away.
Maybe Jeeves' Shakespeare pal is right after all, because that night, when I had a choice between another g. and t. and a good eight hours, I picked the eight hours.
Even Jeeves' mighty brain was puzzled when that next morning, the Luthor chappie called to say that his mechanic had gotten the part that the car needed, and he sounded all cheerio and as though God's in his heaven and all's right with the world, as Jeeves says his girlfriend Pippa puts it. It would take a while to get it installed and up and running again, he said, and Jeeves and I lingered in the town a bit longer, drinking tea and watching the people go by. Late afternoon, rugby chappie came into the Talon and looked remarkably full of beans, even when Luthor chappie came in a few minutes later. They even had a cup of coffee together, which caused some furrowing of the brow on the parts of Jeeves and self.
The mechanic bean came along with the mode of transportation and Jeeves loaded the luggage.
"You know, Jeeves," I mused, "Americans are decidedly odd. No wonder they threw away all that perfectly good tea in Boston."