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Of Lockdowns, P G Wodehouse and the Milk of Human Kindness

Posted in What ho!, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on June 20, 2020| 12 Comments »

 

The 24th of March, 2020 dawned upon us as any other normal day. Denizens of India were going about their daily chores with as much zombiness as they could muster. Flowers were in bloom. Birds and bees were going about doing whatever they normally do. Trees were swaying in the gentle breeze coming in from the Bay of Bengal. In other words, God was in heaven and all was well with the world.

However, by 2030 hours in the evening, our world had turned upside down. The Indian government imposed a comprehensive lockdown across a country comprising 1.3 billion persons. The Prime Minister himself appeared on our TV screens and announced this decision. By the time he finished, a mere three and a half hours were remaining for the decision to take effect.

This sudden whammy left all of us twiddling our thumbs trying to figure out as to how to survive the depressing phase staring us in the face. This was one of the harsher slings and arrows of fate which had hit us. Initially, a sense of shock and awe prevailed. Gradually, reason started reoccupying its throne. Travel plans had to be junked. Medical issues came to the forefront. For the digitally illiterate, banking transactions went for a toss. Gadgets at home needing urgent repairs were left in a limbo. Some missed their daily dose of morning newspapers. Our hearts might have bled realizing the plight of migrants, but we took a jaundiced view of the humble house maid coming in to earn a living. Many other challenges tested our grey matter no end.

Even today, the virus continues to offer a unique experience to most of us, whether by way of making us fearful of its ferocity or by snatching away many of the degrees of freedom we have always taken for granted.

 

The Guardian Angels

It is not that yours truly has been very brave or wise in handling the depressing effect of virus-induced extended lockdowns so far. Much like the V-shaped and W-shaped depressions which plague many of our economies – developed or otherwise – these days, the dark forces of depressing thoughts have been frequently snapping at my heels.

As a loner whose cooking abilities are limited to boiling milk and eggs, and whose procurement related negotiation skills are outdated, life only got tougher in the post-lockdown phase. The horizon of mundane challenges expanded to include sourcing of fruits, vegetables, groceries and medicines. For someone like me who is battered by multiple health risks and is rather shy and diffident, especially in the presence of the members of the fairer sex, the challenge is even mightier.

Luckily, my Guardian Angels who, I am told, go around these days with their fancy i-Pads keeping a track of their favoured ones, noticed my name flashing in a deep red colour on their screens and decided to pitch in. Gradually, a host of characters straight out of the many narratives of P G Wodehouse started popping up around me, making me smile – even laugh occasionally – assisting me in keeping my body and soul together, besides keeping me emotionally afloat and cheerful. Thanks to the virus, a transient family came into existence, with the tantalizing possibility of lingering bonds of friendship which may survive the vagaries of time.

 

Some Supporting Characters

Here are some of the honourable mentions in this context:

Aunt Dahlia and Uncle Tom, my next door neighbours, who keep offering delicious lunches in a routine manner. Their large house is surely not a patch on Brinkley Court. Nor do they have Anatole around. The lavish spreads are an outcome of the culinary skills of Aunt Dahlia, who only calls me a blot on the landscape if she finds me not tucking in enough of the lavish spreads she whips up.

Uncle Tom, besides worrying about taxation blues, could share a great deal of spiritual knowledge. One of his tips to invite a state of happiness is to sing one of his favourite songs at least three times a day without worrying about the reaction of either the humans or the asses around.

At their doorstep, one is apt to find Augustus catching up on its beauty sleep. If awake, his supercilious body language does not encourage one to endeavour to tickle it behind the ears.

Piggy and Maudie, who take care of my pangs of hunger at dinner time, ensure that their dinner spreads are full of nutrients and soluble vitamins, a sentiment that would meet a hearty approval of Laura Pyke.

Piggy happens to share my passion for poetry, books, movies and general affairs, and a personal meeting with him never fails to uplift my spirits. Likewise, a brief session with Maudie on spiritual matters is invariably enriching.

When it comes to being woolly headed, I could offer competition to Lord Emsworth. But I have neither a big castle nor a large estate to take care of. Nor do I have the need to hire a bevy of supporting staff to take care of my affairs. However, someone cast in the mould of Beach the butler, my Man Friday, takes care of mundane upkeep of my modest abode. On this angel falls the burden of ferrying my dinner from Piggy and Maudie’s home every night. How he dodges the ‘oh’s and ‘ho’s of cops enroute in these locked up days and manages to bring home the bacon, so to say, is praiseworthy.

Emerald Stoker, a long time friend and a tough cookie on some days, is otherwise one of those soothing and sympathetic ladies you can take your troubles to, confident of having your hand held and your head patted. She keeps calling me up frequently, not only to check if I am still alive and kicking but also if I happen to be under the grip of any depressive thoughts and need to see Sir Roderick Glossop. I have reason to believe that she keeps a distant track on my emotional peaks and troughs, often directing Guardian Angels in my immediate vicinity to ensure that I remain in a cheerful state of mind.

An architect by profession, she also happens to be a passionate cook. On several occasions, she has shared with me the exotic vegan stuff whipped up by her for the day. All this support from her comes even as she battles severe problems in her personal life.

Jeeves in my life during this phase happens to be a movie maker. He also wears many other hats. His driving and networking skills are exemplary. A globe trotter, he, like all others on this list, suffers from an abundance of the Milk of Human Kindness.

He has the knack of ferreting out sensible movies from the many online streaming options which are in vogue these days. When he shimmers in with a cup of his spiced tea or lays out a lavish breakfast spread, one would need to have a ready supply of tissue papers handy so as to keep one’s drooling under control. Whenever the Guardian Angels are in a celebratory mood, he ensures a ready supply of tissue restoratives.

Angela and Tuppy Glossop

At the start of the lockdown, Jeeves introduced me to Angela, a sprightly spinster who popped up in Pondicherry to soak in its unique ambience, but got stuck due to severe mobility restrictions imposed then. The same fate befell Tuppy Glossop, a friend of hers and a space scientist to boot. My house was blessed by their presence.

Besides a sense of decency and an ample supply of the Milk of Human Kindness coursing through their veins, their sincere efforts at dishing out something which I would find to be palatable endeared my heart. They took over the procurement as well as the household management functions rapidly, the result being that one never had to miss one’s vitamins.

As someone who relishes the pleasures of the table and also aspires to be a sous-chef, Tuppy, in one of his finer culinary experiments, even succeeded in making a ‘perfect circle’ puffed-up chapatti.  Angela was quick on the uptake and sharpened her skills at cooking delicious lentils and kheer (a kind of pudding popular in India).

Both have been going out for beach walks together but I am not aware if any dispute concerning Angela having spotted a shark in the waters ever arose between them. Perhaps the credit goes to the sharks which avoid being in shallow sea waters around Pondicherry.

Pauline Stoker, a fashion designer, a marketer and a fitness enthusiast, keeps popping up with her home-cooked stuff on several days, brightening up the evenings with her effervescence and charm. Often accompanied by her well-mannered Kid Clementina who is sorely missing opportunities to put sherbet in ink pots these days and is invariably struggling to complete her home work online.

Captain Biggar and Galahad happen to be neighbours who pitch in occasionally to spice up the proceedings. One ensures a ready supply of several works of P G Wodehouse borrowed by him from a library nearby. Another offers a fresh perspective on current affairs over a steaming hot cup of tea. He has even ensured home delivery of farm fresh milk, duly sourced from contented cows.

All this is not to say that my immediate family, stationed about 8,000 kms away, does not bring in emotional succour by ardent enquiries made almost every other day. Each interaction with them is akin to a tiny drop of the elixir of inner bliss. Then there are relatives, friends and cousins who are keeping in touch, sharing their experiences during the lockdowns.

 

Meditation and Spiritual Upliftment

Twice a week, the group gathers for a spot of meditation at my place, thereby retaining the members’ sanity and equipoise.

The positive spin-offs of the virus are many. Lesser noise pollution. Minimal traffic. Greener environment. Virtual meetings. A unique time to relook at ourselves and our priorities in life closely. Better sharing and caring between neighbours. A hastening of the onset of Industrial Revolution 4.0.

On the flip side, at least three friends have so far handed in their dinner pails during the 90-day period under reference. For yours truly, some fresh challenges have popped up on the health front. I shall be deceiving the public if I were to say that such incidents do not dampen my spirits. However, help is at hand to pull me out of a deep emotional pit whenever necessary.

The eventual result is a kind of spiritual upliftment, perhaps of the kind that vicars experience when someone like Thos happens to be around.

An Abundance of the Milk of Human Kindness

To sum up, the Guardian Angels are keeping loneliness, depression and negativity at bay. An openness in making new friends, a tendency to help others nearby in whatever way one can and a positive frame of mind facilitate a healthy dose of laughter, mirth and joy. All efforts are being made to keep the body and soul together, so there is no shortage of feel-good hormones in one’s system.

As we gear ourselves to getting used to a long term presence of the virus, or its subsequent off-shoots which it plans to unleash upon us in the days to come, we would do well not to forget that it is here to teach us a rich lesson: that true happiness lies not in material comforts but in sharing a part of what we have with others who, at that point in time, may be in dire need of. Of being able to put ourselves into others’ shoes, anticipating their needs and trying to address the same. Adjusting to what is and not repenting what is not; accepting that life is never perfect. Cultivating a sense of gratitude.

To put it simply, keeping human values on the top of our dealings with those who deserve the same; being humane. As one of my professors would put it, by adopting the Spandan (heartbeat) approach to life.

(Allusions to characters from the works of Wodehouse are purely imaginary; depending upon some personality traits of the real persons alluded to here. No offence is meant to either of the two categories.)

(Illustrations courtesy Mr Sanjay Mohan and the world wide web)

 

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Why the Wren is a Patriot and not a Nationalist: Guest Post by Prof. Badri Raina

Posted in For India, With Love!, tagged , , , , on June 17, 2020| 2 Comments »

 

Here is how the sight of a wren, the smallest of birds in creation, fighting to protect her little nest from an intruding hawk taught me the difference between patriotism and nationalism.

As she unleashed the fury of her miniscule wings and beak, I heard the wren say the following to the overbearing hawk who had obvious contempt for the little bird seeking to defend so negligible a homestead:

“Dear predator, here is what you need to understand: the same god who made you a hawk made me a wren, gave me a tree into which I could build my nest.My nest is not the greatest of homes, but the only home I know and love, like every other wren in every other part of the earth. Like all other wrens everywhere, I love my nest, just as every hawk on every mountain peak everywhere feels proud of the peak upon which it keeps its offspring safe, regardless of which nation the mountain belongs to.

I make no claim that my nest is the greatest of all nests, or has any magical properties. I defend it because I am used to it and is the only nest I have. I labour in sunshine and sleet to keep it safe, just like wrens in other places value their little nests and defend the same with vigour. And god gives me the strength to fight for its preservation, as wrens in other countries fight for theirs.”

In not claiming that her little nest was anything but a little nest, but one dear to her and her fledglings, the wren was simply proclaiming herself a patriot. And in admitting that her nest was not the greatest abode in the wide world, the wren was disclaiming to be a nationalist.

Many years later, when I was in the United States of America, the memory of the wren became my political inspiration.

Persuaded to stay back and accept a tenure-track teaching job at a reputed university, I declined the kind offer.

Pressed to explain why I was foregoing so exclusive an opportunity, I found myself saying that I would miss home.

On being asked what it is I meant by the term “home,” I found myself pleading that home was something entirely different from a fine house equipped with all the comforts that material advancement makes available. Home evoked the memory of sights, sounds, smells, cadences of social interaction, attitudes to time, space, money, the deep oneness with the languages we wa are born into and in which our imaginations embellish our realities. I remember referring to the charms of the wayside oven (tandoor), now fast vanishing, alas, under press of sophisticated urbanization, where I often stop while traveling to savour a hot-baked bread—a pretty proletarian fetish, but one that filled some deep longing in me. I pleaded that this was a feeling akin to an ordinary American lapping up a bowl of clam showder or beans along an ordinary street; and that just as an ordinary American working man or woman made no claims for American “exceptionalism” on the strength of her quotidian repast, I loved my roadside baked bread without extending that sentiment to claiming that India was the greatest of nations.

Home was simply a cadence of un-self-conscious living that informs everything from our palate to the structure of our interactions with our weltanschuuang. Something that enables us to understand similar feelings in other peoples who live outside the territories that define our geographical nations.

Indeed, the current spectacle of hundreds of thousands of migrant workers trudging to their villages away from the metropolises teaches us that home may not always correspond even to the designated countries of which we are citizens, but recede into hinterland spaces. A migrant worker from Uttar Pradesh or Bihar may feel as alienated in Mumbai or Bengaluru as a rangy Texan in New York, unimpressed in either case by the superior claims to glitter of the megapolises they leave. In such episodes not only is nationalism a distant thought, but even our patriotism may shrink to pieces of land that speak to our souls.

Thus, were I to echo the sentiment “India first” I would not mean by that India above all, but to express the sentiment of the least inhabitant of my country who might wish her little hutment to be clean and attractive because, simply, it was a space closest to her existence.

I came to realize that such attachment to the concrete conditions of our grooming and lived being constitutes patriotism, whereas projecting that concrete into an unfelt abstraction that has never any basis in fact or reality comprises nationalism. My confluence with my given space and order of living did not, I made clear, in the least cloud my objective recognition that other peoples in other countries have notched up achievements that transcend what India may have to her credit. And, like the wren, I do not covet the mightier claims of the hawk, but simply seek to defend the nest I love.

Patriotism, or our love of our given clime, leaves us free to value a like sentiment among peoples in other climes and countries, and free to find fault with what we may be lacking without letting bravado or false claim distort those realities.

Nationalism, like religious faith, permits no such room. It asks of us that we propagate that we outshine all other peoples, cultures, climes, countries in every sphere of life because of some divine origin or exclusive right to perfection.

Where patriotism denotes love of our country and clime, nationalism denotes a politics of dominace, built on myths and legends that have no discernible or objective reference to who we are and how we subsist in our daily lives.

In that context, I recall a most instructive vignette to which I just happened to be witness.

A political pracharak (propagandist) working with people in a slum area was encouraging little slum children to say “Bharat Mata ki Jai” (Obeisance to Mother India). At which a little girl with disheveled and matted hair asked “where is she? Where can we meet her”? The pracharak, rather askance, said “She is everywhere.” The little rag picker then wondered why she never comes to meet them, and why, if she is such a caring mother, are they always hungry and destitute.

In that interaction, I saw a telling debate between the abstract and the concrete, and an innocent but searing refusal of reality to be fibbed off by a great nationalist idea. Clearly, the abstract idea of a supervening mother did not square with the little girl’s experience of motherhood as she experienced it.

It struck me that the same sentiment afflicts downtrodden peoples in all parts of the world, and nationalist slogans about their particular countries being “first” do not help alleviate the miseries of the marginalized.

The episode of the little slum girl brought to mind another. In my undergraduate class, there used to be an African-American student named Rufus. Over the semester, I found that he was not coming to class. One day along the university street I saw him, discovering to my astonishment that he had acquired a fair-skinned face, rather like the legendary Michael Jackson. When I expressed my astonishment, he simply said: “this country is great only for the whites, and I mean to be great.” Rufus had clearly decided to go over to a prevailing, even if covert, definition of nationalism. Even as his patriotism remained strong enough to disallow him from abandoning the country he was born and grown up in.

It should be obvious that our love of our countries bears no relation to the abstract constructions of their alleged greatness, but only to the concrete fact that we are born there, speak our own dialects, and commiserate with one another in specific forms of cadence. And, the fact that other climes and countries may have lesser or greater claims to national stature makes little difference to our love of our little nests.

Natonalism enjoins upon us to believe that our air is the most salubrious, our water magical, our sunsets and sunrises unique ly blessed, our accumulated histories and legends superior to those of all others, our culture the only worthwhile culture, our religious faiths nearest to god, and our stores of knowledge beyond compare.

Patriotism acknowledges that where I live is my beloved space, warts and all. It makes no claims to exceptionalisms that are thought to be god’s unique gift to us. It recognises that our streets are shabby, our lanes full of clutter, our habits shoddy, our resistance to rationality often grossly debilitating, our defiance of law a routine habit of mind, our male chauvinism shameful and violent, our casteism or racism or communalism deleterious to the most desirable ideals of human rights and human oneness. Patriotism recognizes that things may be better in other countries and, less so in yet others, and patriots seek to better such conditions and realities without covering them up in sham slogans born of abstraction that have no real existence, or impelled by a gnawing sense of inferiority.

Patriots understand and honour patriots in other nations. Nationalism constructs them as potential enemies.

Patriotism accepts the great reality of diversity; nationalism seeks to obliterate diversity and aims to create the world in its own abstract theology of supremacy.

 

(The author, who taught English literature at the University of Delhi for over four decades and is now retired, is a prominent writer and poet. A well-known commentator on politics, culture and society, he wrote the much acclaimed Dickens and the Dialectic of Growth. His book, The Underside of Things—India and the World: A Citizen’s Miscellany, 2006-2011, came out in August 2012. Thereafter he wrote two more books, Idea of India Hard to Beat: Republic Resilient and Kashmir: A Noble Tryst in Tatters.

Permission to publish this article is gratefully acknowledged.)

 

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A thank you note to Corona from a fan of P G Wodehouse

Posted in What ho!, tagged , , , on June 12, 2020| Leave a Comment »

 

You shimmered into our lives just as Jeeves would have done,

Carrying upon your silver salver tissue restoratives of a different kind;

Thanks to you, we relish a rare sense of solitude and a chance to go within,

As each sip goes down the hatch, reviewing our priorities in life we do not mind.

 

Sips of your restoratives have shown us to ourselves in our true colours,

The cruelty with which we neglect our loved ones who really care for us;

The callous disregard of life, nature and a sense of due proportion we practice,

Our dire need to demolish walls of all kinds around us without much fuss.  

 

By treating us all with equal respect sans any discrimination,

You have shown us the value of gifting some purple socks to a lay liftman;

A vast majority of us may not be as richly endowed as Bertie Wooster,

But care, empathy and concern for the have-nots around us do not deserve a ban.

 

When the master dreams of prattle of tiny feet around him to perk up things,

For a tactful person like Jeeves to get him to change his mind would simply be fun;

Lockdown rules out an encounter with a bunch of giggling and staring school girls,

But a webinar with Miss Tomlinson and her pupils could bring home the bacon.

 

Next time Angus McAllister wishes to spend some time with his folks back home,

We shall encourage Lord Emsworth to egg him on with a generous tip;

When Freddie starts marketing the anti-virus variety of his Dog-Joy biscuits,

We do not doubt his ability to have a big order from Lady Georgina in his grip.

 

Anatole is delighted at the novel range of dishes he has come up with recently,

A group led by him is now busy running community kitchens on major highways;

Providing succor to the needy, the hungry and the displaced poor travelling home,

Eager to hug their near and dear ones in far off places, awaiting happier days.

 

Rosie M Banks is dishing out scripts for romantic serials for social media barons,

While Bingo Little works from home and keeps busy with household chores;

Psmith and Eve are preoccupied as advisers to the United Nations,

Keeping a sharp eye on political leaders who prioritize wealth over the health of their crores.

 

Calamities have befallen us, mind-boggling challenges face us,

Civil protests we have suffered, economic ruin stares at us;

But we are persons of chilled steel, sporting a stiff upper lip,

Adjusting to your presence, walking along with our chins up.

 

Harsh slings and arrows of Life we have long since known how to face,

But you have highlighted to us the value of breathing in fresh air;

The air which would contain the fragrance of Liberty, Equality and Fraternity

Thank you for helping us to evolve spiritually, for showing that you care.

 

(Related Posts:

https://ashokbhatia.wordpress.com/2020/05/01/residents-of-plumsville-support-extension-of-corona-related-lockdowns

https://ashokbhatia.wordpress.com/2020/04/11/who-ropes-in-doctors-and-paramedics-from-plumsville-to-counter-corona-virus-part-1-of-2)

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Residents of Plumsville support extension of Corona-related Lockdowns

Posted in What ho!, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on May 1, 2020| 2 Comments »

 

Even though the dark clouds of a virus envelop us and Life makes us glum,

Many of us bask in the brilliant rays of humour which greet us in the form of a narrative Plum;

Our suggestion to all clueless politicians and caregivers is never to despair,

We support all your lockdowns, we write this merely to make you aware.

 

With his head bulging at the back, many a problem Jeeves can still solve,

Ordering stuff online and keeping scheming aunts away with a goofy resolve;

Keeping at bay girl friends who wish to improve Bertie’s grey cells,

Arming him with some quotes from Spinoza which he uses over phone, casting transient spells.

 

Jeeves keeps shimmering in with one of his pick-me-ups on a tray,

While the master sharpens his skills at sock-darning, forgetting all shades of grey;

An article on ‘What the Well-dressed Dictators are Wearing’ is being whipped up by him,

Alas, the chances of the next issue of Milady’s Boudoir coming up soon are rather slim.

 

The pride of the Wooster clan is close to his heart, the feudal spirit intact,

For the sake of an aunt, restoring a stolen cat to its owner is part of a pact;

For the happiness of an uncle, thirty days without the option is no big deal,

At the end of which he merely aspires for a delectable Anatole meal.

 

Uncle Tom is not amused by the sudden downturn in his earnings,

His solace lies in keeping a tighter leash on the tax wolves’ yearnings;

Aunt Dahlia continues to ensure that Anatole keeps them both in good humour,

Relishing a unique phase of togetherness where the silver collection is safe from any intruder.

 

 Lord Emsworth potters about his gardens in a state of bliss,

Thanks to Gladys, he no longer hesitates to tell McAllister to call it quits;

The sanctity of the moss-covered yew alley is being maintained,

The Empress is in the pink of health, thanks to the advice of Augustus Whiffle being entertained.

 

The Bingeese love enjoying their quite life, sans the fear of a

Laura Pyke popping up at home,

Bingo Little ensures a cup of afternoon tea while Rosie works on her next tome;

Rosie keeps a sharp eye on the internet banking transactions of her dear hubby,

Lest he be attempting to fund one of his sporting impulses with the support of a buddy.

 

Florence Cray is delighted at the prospect of finishing Spindrift-2,

Edwin the Scout plays fire fighting games on his tablet new;

Madeline is delighted at seeing the stars shine so very brilliantly,

Pauline plays tennis on the roof top of her high rise diligently.

 

Unless you speculate, you do not accumulate, is what Ukridge keeps doing online,

Many of the doctors we know in Plumsville are already co-opted by WHO on the front line;

Mr Schnellenhamer whips up the script of his next medical thriller, extending his range,

Nodders having been persuaded to go on leave without pay, surviving only on the juice of an orange.

 

Gussie is delighted that his newts no longer complain about the quality of water,

Of another notebook with juicy comments on Pop Bassett he claims to be an author;

To deliver speeches at schools only in the video conferencing mode he is braced,

Non-availability of tissue restoratives ensures he faces no risk of feasting on orange juice duly laced.

 

Ashe Marson provides online tips to all those wanting to remain fit,

Larsen exercises, brisk walks and cold baths form a part of his wellness kit;

Troubles of the lining of the stomach unite those who are young at heart,

Forsaking the pleasures of the table and allowing Prudence to win over Greed being a worthy art.

 

Rozzers keep a ceaseless vigil on ‘criminals’ who move around freely without a mask,

 Their sinister ‘Ho’s and ‘Ha’s and investigative techniques make easier their task;

The risk of getting their helmets pinched has all but vanished,

But the practice of getting pushed into water bodies is yet to get banished.

 

Indoor and online games of all kinds have risen to the kids’ defences,

Would-be step-fathers not coughing up protection money face consequences;

Rogue ones, when in love with Hollywood divas, start behaving angelically,

Priests need them around so as to be hotter on their jobs and to evolve spiritually.

 

Entrepreneurs and business honchos await the new normal to unfold,

Psmith helping them to recast operations into the Industrial Revolution 4.0 mould;

Sally and Joan Valentine inspire them online to worry more about sustainability,

Scaling up their efforts to contribute towards creating an inclusive society.

 

To put it simply, God is in Heaven and all is well with many amongst us,

While providing succour, our Guardian Angels are not missing the bus;

The elements are in a better shape, flora and fauna lead a contented life,

With males wearing skirts, spouses are delighted, families missing many a strife.

 

  The challenge we face now is an opportunity to evaluate our priorities anew,

The value of interrelationships, quality time with loved ones who may be few;

Realizing that Mother Earth needs to be treated with greater respect,

That all of us play a role in maintaining civility by way of a public debt.

 

The virus has thrown many V-and-W shaped depressions our way,

Teaching us never to allow the dismal forces of despondency to make us sway;

Having a chin up attitude, no matter how dark the skies may look,

The sun is surely shining somewhere, smiling benevolently above a babbling brook.

 

The victory of Homo sapiens shall need an analytical frame of mind,

Besides empathy, compassion and gestures kind;

Many of our delicately nurtured leaders across the world have already set the bar high,

The so-called sterner ones may now reveal their milk of human kindness and refrain from making us sigh.

 

 Plum’s works carry life lessons which we continue to pick up and apply,

Many of us are surviving the lockdowns so far on his works’ supply;

Upcoming ones would afford us an opportunity to keep devouring more,

Soon, we may look back at this phase of mirth and make it a part of our family folklore.

 

(Related Posts:

https://ashokbhatia.wordpress.com/2020/04/11/who-ropes-in-doctors-and-paramedics-from-plumsville-to-counter-corona-virus-part-1-of-2

https://ashokbhatia.wordpress.com/2020/04/14/who-ropes-in-doctors-and-paramedics-from-plumsville-to-counter-corona-virus-part-2-of-2

https://ashokbhatia.wordpress.com/2020/03/23/psmith-shares-with-lord-emsworth-a-smart-marriage-plan-to-ward-off-corona-virus)

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WHO ropes in Doctors and Paramedics from Plumsville to counter Corona Virus (Part 2 of 2)

Posted in What ho!, tagged , , , , , , , , , on April 14, 2020| 1 Comment »

 

 

An Anonymous Doctor

Yet another medical practitioner who wishes to remain anonymous specializes in the realm of diet and nutrition. Like all good doctors, he advises those who have been disappointed in love to eat frugally. Fail to do this, and the result is as inevitable as the climax of a Greek tragedy. No man, however gifted his gastric juices, can go on indefinitely brooding over a lost love and sailing into the starchy foods simultaneously. If so, indigestion grips him soon enough, making him consult a physician like the one alluded to here.

His solutions to cure a soul in torment may sound drastic, but are invariably effective. He is apt to put one on a diet comprising nothing else but the juice of an orange.

He may advise the patient thus: ‘Precisely. Take your orange. Divide it into two equal parts. Squeeze on a squeezer. Pour into a glass … or cup,’ he added, for he was not the man to be finicky about small details, ‘and drink.’

(The Juice Of An Orange; Blandings Castle… and elsewhere)

Laura Pyke

When it comes to maintaining your digestive system in the pink of its health, yet another dietary expert, Laura Pyke, could assist you. Some may consider her to be a food crank but she is a professional who thinks most of us not only eat too much but also too quickly. She recommends a diet comprising only parsnips and other greens. Alcohol, she maintains, corrodes the stomach tissues.

She is apt to gaze at you like a high priestess imparting instructions to her favourite, though erring, disciple, while describing the manner in which you are ruining the lining of your stomach when you keep eating stuff lacking in fat-soluble vitamins. She would speak freely of proteins, carbohydrates, and the physiological requirements of the average individual.

When you shift to any of her diet plans, your immunity levels are bound to go up, thereby reducing the probability of getting afflicted with viruses of any kind.

It is always wiser to consult her either online or by physically popping up at her clinic, if you have the permission of the concerned authorities. Inviting her to your home, even if she happens to be an old school chum of your spouse, is best avoided.

(Jeeves and the Old School Chum; Very Good, Jeeves)

 

Buck-u-Uppo

Wilfred Mulliner, a brother of Mr Mulliner, is a chemist and is the inventor of various creams, lotions, and tonics, known in the trade as Mulliner’s Magic Marvels.

Many of you may recall the following creams, lotions, and tonics invented by Wilfred Mulliner which are specifically mentioned in various narratives dished out by P G Wodehouse.

  1. Mulliner’s Raven Gypsy Face Cream.
  2. Snow of the Mountains Lotion
  3. Mulliner’s Buck-U-Uppo
  4. Mulliner’s Reduc-o, the recognized specific for obesity. Available in the form of tablets (3d the tin) or liquid (5s6p a flask).
  5. Mulliner’s Ease-o, cures the most stubborn case of lumbago in six days.

Of these, Buck-u-Uppo is a tonic invented ‘primarily with the object of providing Indian Rajahs with a specific (concoction) which would encourage their elephants to face a tiger of the jungle with a jaunty sang-froid.’ It works directly on the corpuscles. The dose for an adult elephant is a teaspoonful mixed with the elephant’s morning mash. If consumed by Home sapiens in glassfuls, it makes them far more confident and assertive, making them succeed in life, whether personally or professionally.

In these times, when work-from-home is the norm, spouses who get persuaded to try a small dose of this concoction may not venture out to paint statues pink. Bishops may refrain from frequenting nightclubs dressed in Sinbad the Sailor costumes.

But long term pending projects at home, such as mowing a lawn, clearing snow off the driveway, garage cleaning, painting a room blue while awaiting the arrival of the stork to deliver the next baby, spending quality time with family members, wearing skirts for a change, tidying up the fridge, doing dishes and mopping the floor, would get attended to with much enthusiasm and aplomb; much to the delight of the party of the other part which had since long given up nagging of the party of the first part on such issues and had instead decided to take a spiritual view of things.

(Buck-U-Uppo features in three Mulliner stories: ‘Mulliner’s Buck-U-Uppo’, ‘The Bishop’s Move’ and ‘Gala Night’.)

Dentists I. J. Zizzbaum, B K Burwash and the like

Merry laughs and gay quips make Doctor I. J. Zizzbaum the life and soul of the party at the annual dentists’ convention. But this does not guarantee his behavior when approached in his white-coat-upholstered professional role.

If his trade rival B K Burwash, who is also in the business of teeth management, has landed a prize catch in the form of a celebrity client like Joey Cooley, the 12-year-old movie star and darling of all American mothers, you could find him to be a gloomy cove, appearing like a dentist with a secret sorrow. This could leave you shuddering even more while seated in his pin-cushioned dentists’ chair.

Dr B K Burwash has a reassuring smile and is rather used to handling celebrity clients who could amount to free advertisement worth about a thousand dollars in the olden days, besides the heavy fee he pockets even otherwise.

Then we have the dentist in Shrewsury who wishes to render his services anonymously.

(Laughing Gas, Leave it to Psmith)

 

Some of the Veterenians

Dr Smithers is a veterinary surgeon who gets called in to investigate the sudden onset of asceticism upon the Empress of Blandings after her keeper Cyril Wellbeloved goes out of action, so much so that she, a hearty feeder, starts refusing any form of nourishment. Somehow, he is baffled by this sudden change in her dietary habits.

 (Blandings Castle, elsewhere)

Banks is yet another vet who gives a clean bill of health to the Empress even when she refuses to accept a potato offered by Lord Emsworth.

(Pelican at Blandings)

 

Webber is another vet who gets called in when the Empress ends up gobbling Gally’s memoirs.

(Heavy Weather) 

Lord Emsworth may have a poor opinion of all these gentlemen. However, we learn from reliable sources that they are capable persons who can bring relief and succor to many of the species known to mankind.

Augustus Whiffle

Residents of Plumsville would fondly recall the dietary requirements of the Empress of Blandings, as prescribed by Whiffle, an authority on all matters porcine. According to him, her daily nourishment should not be less than fifty-seven thousand eight hundred calories, these calories consisting of barley meal, maize meal, linseed mail, potatoes and separated buttermilk.

In order to assist vets and pet owners of all kinds, Augustus Whiffle (or Whipple), the well-known author of Lord Emsworth’s favourite book, The Care of the Pig, has been roped in to promptly dish out his advice on handling pets of other species as well, covering dogs, cats, horses, cows, lions and the like. This, it is hoped, will cheer up pet owners and exert a soothing influence on them when they suspect their pets to be suffering physically in any way. Moreover, the communication gap between a white hunter and a lion which has just been shot, as to whether the latter is dead or alive, could become a thing of the past.

An elderly man with a thin, reedy voice, Mr Whipple is a member of the Athenaeum club and is so impressed by what he hears of the Empress of Blandings. Our office has already contacted Lord Emsworth to request his permission to enable his wish to be fulfilled. We hope a gesture of this kind would enthuse Mr Whipple to churn out his advice in respect of other species without much delay.

(Blandings Castle, elsewhere)

It is hoped that the steps taken by us would assist humans as well as members of other species to attain the highest possible level of health. WHO would keep making its unique contribution towards promoting health, keeping the world safe from pandemics and serving the vulnerable, with measurable impact for people at country level. As always, we are individually and collectively committed to put these values into practice.

Notes

Illustrations of some of the characters have been dished out by Suvarna Sanyal, a retired (but not at all tired) banker who has a flair for dealing with figures. Illustration of the E of B courtesy the www.

 

Inputs from the following fans of PGW are gratefully acknowledged:

Abhik Majumdar

Arun Krish

Bommireddipalli RamaKrishna

Devadas Mallya

Mahesh Sankaran

Morten Arnesen

Gopalakrishna Annavarapu

Pradeep Swaminathan

Ryk Westwood

Satish Pande

Sudhakar Ravindranath

Sudheer Tambe

Ted Fontenot

 

Related Posts:

https://ashokbhatia.wordpress.com/2020/04/11/who-ropes-in-doctors-and-paramedics-from-plumsville-to-counter-corona-virus-part-1-of-2

https://ashokbhatia.wordpress.com/2020/03/30/some-bollywood-songs-and-the-corona-virus

https://ashokbhatia.wordpress.com/2020/03/29/cedric-mulliner-defeats-quarantine-guest-post-by-eduardo-garcia/

https://ashokbhatia.wordpress.com/2020/03/23/psmith-shares-with-lord-emsworth-a-smart-marriage-plan-to-ward-off-corona-virus

https://ashokbhatia.wordpress.com/2020/03/20/jeeves-deals-with-croronavirus-guest-post-by-eduardo-garcia

https://ashokbhatia.wordpress.com/2019/01/05/the-droitgate-spa-now-offers-net-detoxification-programs

 

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WHO ropes in Doctors and Paramedics from Plumsville to counter Corona Virus (Part 1 of 2)

Posted in What ho!, tagged , , , , , , on April 11, 2020| 3 Comments »

 

 

The World Health Organisation, as the directing and coordinating authority on international health within the United Nations system, adheres to the UN values of integrity, professionalism and respect for diversity. It upholds such values as human rights, universality and equity established not only in WHO’s Constitution but also in its ethical standards.

In order to further strengthen the team of medical as well as paramedical professionals associated with us, we are hereby pleased to announce the immediate empanelment of the following experts drawn from Plumsville.

Sir Roderick Glossop

The high-priced loony doctor, with a bald head resembling the dome of St. Paul’s cathedral and two ferocious eyebrows which give his eyes a piercing look, has a pleasant baritone voice. He is expected to counsel all those who happen to be in quarantine to make creative use of their time while curbing their tendency to indulge in gambling, getting otherwise sloshed by liberal doses of their favourite tissue restoratives and consuming tobacco in any form whatsoever. He would advise all and sundry to refrain from drinking coffee as he feels that it is the root cause for half the nervous troubles of the world. He has already issued a forceful appeal to governments all over the world to ban the item at least during the time humanity is fighting the dreaded Corona virus.

Given his serious-mindedness in all matters professional, he could be often found surreptitiously observing people under stress in the garb of a butler. Those who have already fixed an appointment with him are best advised not to carry any musical instruments with themselves. Nor does he tolerate pets of any kind, specifically cats.

(Thank You, Jeeves; Very Good, Jeeves; elsewhere)

Sir Hugo Drake

He is yet another famous nerve specialist, assisting those suffering from acute stress generated by country-wide lockdowns which are the norm these days. He is said to be tall but stout.

His passion for the game of golf is well known. He has a deep respect for transatlantic golf. He is never a man who pays much attention to women’s looks. What matters to him is the professional merit of the party of the other part, whether medical or otherwise. He also dishes out books which are found wonderful by such general practitioners as Doctor Sally Smith.

(Doctor Sally)

Doctor Sally Smith

She is a general practitioner from USA. While handling medical emergencies, she is always calm, empathic and fair. She places a premium on understanding the psychology of the patient.

She detests the fact that the male mind does not appear to be able to grasp immediately the fact that a woman doctor need not of necessity be a gargoyle with steel-rimmed spectacles and a wash-leather complexion.

She is averse to getting proposed to by potential suitors while being on duty. She takes a dim view of men who have simply inherited their wealth, preferring instead those who work hard for eking out a living.

(Doctor Sally)

Doctor E. Jimpson Murgatroyd

Your first sight of this capable doctor may not put you at ease. He happens to be a gloomy old buster. He has sad, brooding eyes and long whiskers, and his resemblance to a frog which has been looking on the dark side since it was a slip of a tadpole is apt to send your spirits right down into the basement. He has bushy eyebrows which accentuate the effect of his sounding like a minor prophet about to rebuke the sins of the people. He has this habit of scratching his nose with his stethoscope at frequent intervals.

However, his check ups are thorough. He would weigh you first. He would then proceed to check your blood pressure and pulse. Thereafter, he would tap you all over like a whiskered woodpecker.

His diagnosis is invariably accurate, especially when it comes to red spots popping up in any region of your physical body. His advice to you could be frank and honest but brutal, barring you from such stimulants as alcohol and tobacco. Your irregular hours may get criticized. Your not getting enough exercise may get commented upon. Once the lock down gets relaxed, you may be advised to give up your unwholesome metropolitan life, move to the country, breathe fresh air, go to bed early and also to get plenty of exercise.

(Aunts Aren’t Gentlemen)

The Anonymous Speech Therapist

Those who have fallen in love and are unable to articulate their tender feelings to the party of the other part due to their terrible stammer and overcome their shyness in these virus-ridden times may consider consulting the specialist on Harley Street. He is a kindly man with moth-eaten whiskers and an eye like a meditative cod-fish. He may benevolently advise you to speak to three complete strangers a day.

‘Many people,’ he may explain, ‘who are unable to articulate clearly in ordinary speech find themselves lucid and bell-like when they burst into song….stammering,’ he may add, ‘is mainly mental and is caused by shyness, which is caused by the inferiority complex, which in its turn is caused by suppressed desires or introverted inhibitions or something. The advice I give to all young men who come in here behaving like soda-water siphons is to go out and make a point of speaking to at least three perfect strangers every day. Engage these strangers in conversation, persevering no matter how priceless a chump you may feel, and before many weeks are out you will find that the little daily dose has had its effect. Shyness will wear off, and with it the stammer.’

(The Truth About George; Meet Mr Mulliner)

Doctor Hailsham

Many of you may have a tendency to overeat when stressed out due to prolonged confinement in isolation wards or when quarantined at home. You may have recently put on extra layers of fat on your persona. Comely girl-friends who have a marked distaste for bulging eyes, triple chins and a pear-shaped body may already be registering protest, threatening to put you in cold store and redirecting their affections elsewhere. The cane chairs you normally sit upon might already be creaking and complaining about the harsh treatment being received at your hands.

If so, you may choose to spend some time at the place run by Doctor Hailsham. By way of tissue restoratives, it offers parsnip juice, followed by either stewed lettuce or an orange. On special days, you could be lucky enough to find some exotic items to be put down your hatch, like potassium broth and grated carrots, followed by a refreshing cup of dandelion coffee. You can also go in for seaweed soup, if you prefer.

Doctor Hailsham guarantees to take a pound a day off you, if you follow his regimen faithfully. He also cautions you to make proper arrangements for your travel to his camp, perhaps hiding in a cargo van ferrying fresh fruits and vegetables.

(The Fat of the Land; A Few Quick Ones)

Dr Ambrose Gussett

If you are twiddling your thumbs trying to figure out how to have your rival-in-love returned to store, leaving the field clear for you and your beloved, Doctor Ambrose Gussett would be the right person to consult. He happens to be a thorough professional and a person with deep reserves of tact and resource.

He is a well-liked young doctor, and a golfer with a handicap of two. Some of you may recall that he had once fallen in love with Evangeline Tewkesbury, who had come to the community visiting her aunt. The Oldest Member had then entertained doubts if Ambrose should consider proposing to Evangeline, since she played tennis and not golf, but Ambrose felt that he loved her anyway.

When his tormentor and rival-in-love, Dwight, had fallen sick after an overdose of alcoholic stimulants, Ambrose had lost no time and had acted like a true medico. Dwight had then also got annoyed by a parrot which had been delivered to his house, though he did not remember having ordered one. Ambrose had advised him to rest.

At Evangeline’s place, her aunt had told Ambrose that the former was upset, because nobody had remembered her birthday, though Dwight had promised to buy a parrot for her. Convincing Dwight to let go of the parrot, gifting it to her lady love and then proposing to her had come easy to him. She was hesitant but had eventually agreed.

This is the kind of professional attitude, tact and resource medicos need to handle the multitude of patients afflicted by the dreaded virus these days.

(Up From the Depths; Nothing Serious)

Doctor George Mulliner

He is a caring and compassionate doctor whose brow is often furrowed worrying about the likes of Nurse Wilks, an old nanny of the family. Senior citizens of all hues, sizes and shapes are hereby advised to turn to him for palliative and geriatric care.

The fact that he asks his brother, Frederick, to visit their 85-year old Nurse Wilks, despite knowing that she is as autocratic now as she was during their childhood when she used to shut them up in cupboards for stealing jam, goes on to establish his credentials even in the field of community medicine. Since her heart is weak, Frederick is advised to do whatever she wants him to, including partaking boiled eggs and taking off his shoes; in short, getting treated by her as a school going kid.

Eventual reward for Frederick is a happy reunion with the object of his affections.

(The Portrait of a Disciplinarian; Meet Mr Mulliner)

(Continued…)

Notes

Illustration courtesy Suvarna Sanyal, a retired (but not at all tired) banker who has a flair for dealing with and drawing up figures.

Inputs from the following fans of PGW are gratefully acknowledged:

Abhik Majumdar

Arun Krish

Bommireddipalli RamaKrishna

Devadas Mallya

Mahesh Sankaran

Morten Arnesen

Gopalakrishna Annavarapu

Pradeep Swaminathan

Ryk Westwood

Satish Pande

Sudhakar Ravindranath

Sudheer Tambe

Ted Fontenot

 

Related Posts:

https://ashokbhatia.wordpress.com/2020/04/14/who-ropes-in-doctors-and-paramedics-from-plumsville-to-counter-corona-virus-part-2-of-2

https://ashokbhatia.wordpress.com/2020/03/30/some-bollywood-songs-and-the-corona-virus

https://ashokbhatia.wordpress.com/2020/03/29/cedric-mulliner-defeats-quarantine-guest-post-by-eduardo-garcia/

https://ashokbhatia.wordpress.com/2020/03/23/psmith-shares-with-lord-emsworth-a-smart-marriage-plan-to-ward-off-corona-virus

https://ashokbhatia.wordpress.com/2020/03/20/jeeves-deals-with-croronavirus-guest-post-by-eduardo-garcia/

 

 

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Some Bollywood songs and the Corona Virus

Posted in The Magic of Movies!, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 30, 2020| Leave a Comment »

The world can now be said to be inhabited by at least three kinds of Bollywood fans. These are newer communities emerging the world over, irrespective of their age, sex, religion, caste, wealth, political leanings and nationality. This is one of the several boons being granted to a despondent humanity by the dreaded Corona virus. A macro-level restructuring of the entire planet is already on its way.

One tribe is that of those who are blissfully unaware of the consequences of suffering from this virus. Members of this tribe keep going around in a carefree manner, possibly believing themselves to be far different than the hoi polloi, a cut above the rest and invincible. Experts would label members of this tribe as Covidiots. They pose a serious threat to most of us.

Another kind are the ones who are clueless, suffering a deep sense of anxiety and dreading its arrival on their doorsteps. They keep twiddling their thumbs trying to figure out as to when it would strike them. Either out of fear or a desire to keep themselves and their near and dear ones safe and healthy, they try to follow as many do’s and dont’s which keep popping up on their smart screens with a frequency which could put an atomic clock to shame. One may call such obedient persons as Covidients.

Yet another tribe comprises die-hard optimists who believe they are watching a horror film, tucking into their favourite snack and occasionally sipping some atrociously-priced coffee, waiting for the last reel to unfold, hoping for a happy ending. Had they been watching it at home, they would have preferred to watch the same in a fast forward mode. They might be labelled as Covimists.

For succour, members of all these tribes can readily turn to some songs dished out by our Bollywood flicks over the decades. Here is a random sample of the same.

 

Songs which are best avoided by Covidients

 

Abhi na jao chhod kar

(Hum Dono, 1961)

 

Mujh ko apne gale laga lo

(Hamrahi, 1963)

 

Lag jaa gale

(Woh Kaun Thi, 1964)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TFr6G5zveS8

 

Choo lene do

(Kaajal, 1965)

 

Rut hai milan ki

(Mela, 1971)

 

Baahon mein chale aao

(Anamika, 1973)

 

Jaane do na

(Sagar, 1985)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6AWm00bSHiM

 

Jumma chumma de de 

(Hum, 1991)

 

Ang se ang lagana

(Darr, 1993)

 

Dhiktana

(Hum Aapke Hain Kaun…!, 1994)

 

Maiyya Yashoda

(Hum Saath Saath Hain, 1999)

 

Chupke se lag ja gale 

(Saathiya, 2002)

 

M bole to

(Munna Bhai MBBS, 2003)

 

Yeh tara woh tara 

(Swades, 2004)

 

Tere haath mein mera haath ho

(Fanaa, 2006)

 

Songs which might motivate Covidiots to mend their ways

 

Mere piya gaye rangoon

Patanga, 1949

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cbErQRZZNKY

 

Jalte hain jiske liye

(Sujata, 1959)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o-2RkKdLoDY

 

Chalo ek baar phir se 

(Gumrah, 1963)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zwx6a_dPoOM

 

Songs which may suit the Covimists

 

Saathi haath badhana

Naya Daur, 1957

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ExpUfE89trk

 

Hum honge kamyab

(Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron, 1983)

 

Aye mere humsafar

(Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak, 1988)

 

Human ingenuity knows no bounds. Fashionistas are devising women’s headgear incorporating a noise and mouth, keeping viruses and those with amorous intentions at bay, cheering up the Covidients.

Behavioural Scientists are burning the proverbial midnight oil to come up with therapeutic packages which can help the Covidiots improve their ability to realize the limits of their own – rather limited – abilities. Human resource consultants are busy dishing out programs which would assist managements to instill a better sense of equanimity and resilience among their employees, something which was recommended by Lord Krishna more than 5,000 years back.

Covimists, delighted at the environment bouncing back to the pink of its health and noticing a trend towards better sustainability, await the day when many of the perks of the pandemic would truly get appreciated and acted upon so the human race can continue its relentless journey towards evolution.

And here is a tribute to Mother Nature:

Yeh kaun chitrakaar hai

(Boond Jo Ban Gayi Moti, 1967)

 

 

(The following inputs are gratefully appreciated:

  1. Suggestions for some of the songs listed here, courtesy Sanjana Bhatia.
  2. Terms like Covidiots and Covedients courtesy The Economic Times).

 

 

 

 

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CEDRIC MULLINER DEFEATS QUARANTINE: Guest Post by Eduardo Garcia

Posted in What ho!, tagged , , , , , on March 29, 2020| 3 Comments »

 

The conversation at the bar-parlour of the Angler’s Rest revolved around cinema and, and, as often happens, Miss Postlethwaite, our erudite barmaid and avid cinema goer, was at the centre of it.

‘”Bouncy Borgias” is now one my favourite films of all time’ said she to a Stout and Bitter. ‘And Lorna Laverne was marvellous as Lucrezia Borgia. Fancy being at the heart of all that poisoning, stabbing and strangling and be able to sing, dance and keep those wily Cardinals in line into the bargain.‘

‘I beg to differ’, uttered a Scotch and Soda. ‘Her role as Agustina Domenech in “Pirouetting Peninsulars” took historical facts to a new dimension. I never thought that the balletic and vocal efforts of women could deal such tremendous blows to Napoleon’s troops. The Duke of Wellington surely learned a thing or two from them.’

‘You may well have a point, there’, said a Tankard of Ale.

‘Not to mention “Gengis, the Graceful Khan”’, said a Brandy and Ginger Ale.

This was when Mr. Mulliner, with his usual sense of timing and courtesy, stepped in. ‘I am so glad you enjoy Miss Laverne’s terpsichorean performances. But credit must be given where it is due, and, in her present case, it must be laid at my nephew Cedric’s door.’

‘You mean your nephew discovered her?’ asked Miss Postlethwaite, in wonder.

‘Discovered would be going too far. By the time they first met she already was a star in the Hollywood firmament’, replied Mr. Mulliner. ‘What Cedric did was to point in the right direction. Or stumble. Or fall, if one wants to be precise.’

‘It must have been quite a feat’, added a Gin Gimlet.

It was not without its trials and tribulations’ (said Mr. Mulliner), since it happened almost at the end of that Coronavirus scare, when Cedric was working for the Medulla-Oblongata Studios as a humble Nodder, a position far below that of a Yesser (of which there are Senior Yessers, Yessers and Junior Yessers) at cinema script and treatment conferences where the studio boss is present. And it was one of those conferences – where tempers where already strained, given that the boss of the Medulla-Oblongata Studios had, months before, decided to quarantine all the staff and artistes in the studio lot to keep things going – that presented Cedric with the opportunity to further his and Miss Laverne’s careers.

‘Next item on the agenda: I need to find a way to keep that Lorna Laverne here and cease from pestering me’, said the boss of the Medulla-Oblongata Studios. ‘She demands that I take her career to a new level, or else she will leave and sign a deal with the Colossal-Exquisite people and sue me for “artistic damages” or something like that.’

‘But isn’t she happy with what she’s got here?’ asked a casting director. ‘If I recall correctly, she was plain Miss Lulubelle McCracker, winner of a beauty pageant in Wyoming involving wrestling bisons, juggling loaded and cocked Winchester rifles whilst hoofing and felling trees by shouting before we took her in. And now she is up there on the screen, bejewelled, coiffed and dressed in silks and furs as the favourite moll of top-drawer gangsters and ruffians – and being handsomely paid for it, too. What more can a dame want at this day and age?’

‘All this is true, my friend, but this particular dame wants more’, said the boss. ‘She wants to “venture abroad”, “enlighten the masses” or something like that. I can deal with any lawsuits she may throw at us, but her physical strength, voice and dexterity with a loaded and cocked firearm can be extremely unsettling.’

‘This is as huge a lulu as I’ve ever seen’, interjected a director. ‘Her acting capabilities beyond her present roles are negligible, and her knowledge of history extends only as far as last year’s Big League baseball results’.

‘That’s as may be’, retorted the boss, ‘but we must find a way out of this. Go away, think about it and let’s meet again here in two hours. I want solutions, gentlemen, and urgently. Bring me ideas. Find a way to give that harpy the ”enlightenment” she wants to give the masses and I will not forget the one who does it – nor those who don’t’, he ended, menacingly.

On that note, Cedric nodded and left the conference room in a sombre mood. He desperately wanted to get on in life so as to be able to marry his affianced and, for the past months, had been practising his “Yesses” in the privacy of his studio bunk in the hope that, once he had proved beyond doubt that his nodding was as good as any, he could get a leg up to Junior Yesser – and getting the sack now would put paid to all his plans. But he knew that the task ahead was gigantic and time was short: beyond the statuesque figure, alabaster skin, sultry eyes, cascading hair and dazzling smile that had propelled her to the silver screen, Lorna Laverne was, literally, a slab of granite – and one thoroughly refractory to being interfered with by any hammer and chisel at that. Besides, the enforced confinement in the studio had taken its toll on him, sapping his mental faculties and setting his nerves on edge.

But we, Mulliners, do not run away from the battlefield, however large the odds against us may be. Thus, Cedric decided to fortify himself with a hamburger and a frosted malted milk at the commissary before entering the fray, and duly made his way there, where he found himself seated next to a stuntman of unmistakeable Latin extraction and inquisitive stare.

‘You look troubled, amigo’, said the stuntman, in a demonstration of unexpected sympathy and insight. ‘Whatever your problems are, you will not solve them with malted milk. What you want is a good, chilled bottle of Corona beer. It will help you think straight, believe me. By the way, my name is Garcia and I work as a stuntman here’.

Cedric was surprised by such a friendly intrusion and alarmed at the mention of the name Garcia, but – unlike the unshaven, unkempt, uneducated, uncouth and untrustworthy desperados, gunslingers, cattle-rustlers and corrupt colonial despots that ancient family supplies in astonishingly large numbers (matched only, and occasionally, by the Gonzales) to Hollywood’s films – that particular Garcia seemed capable of passing muster in polite society.

‘That’s very civil of you’, said Cedric, ‘but I fear that alcohol will impair my judgement. I have an important meeting in two hours’ time, and must keep all my wits about me so as to be able to have some ideas and, maybe, land a promotion. And does this beer have anything at all to do with that virus that has been doing the rounds? Oh, and my name is Mulliner, by the way’.

‘There’s nothing to it, Mulliner. Corona is known for its soothing, refreshing action and is also a heck of a guaranteed virus-killer. I usually have a couple before being chucked down some flights of stairs or hurled off the back of a bull and trampled by the rest of the herd. If anything, it helps dull the ensuing pain’, said the genial stuntman in an encouraging way.

That did it. Cedric needed to refresh his brain, soothe his nerves and take insurance against the probable pain of the sack later on, and ordered a bottle. It came chilled and with a wedge of lemon stuck down its neck, something that did not prevent him from downing it in one go and gave it an extremely pleasant lemonade-like taste. But now the table he was sitting at began to fill with a dozen or more friends of the stuntman: fellow stuntmen, gofers, assistant directors, a wardrobe assistant and suchlike, and the arrival of every newcomer had to be marked and celebrated with bottles of Corona beer, again downed in one.

‘This is Cedric, a Limey who nods at board meetings’, was the way he was introduced to every newcomer. Cedric took a thorough liking to that jolly group of stalwarts of the film industry who made him forget his troubles (most particularly Lorna Laverne and what to do for her) and emulated their drinking to the point of first getting utterly yet unwittingly sozzled and, then, engaging in jovial and earthy banter with them – which climaxed in a food fight that brought a whole, freshly baked and expertly thrown apple pie to land on his midriff, liberally spreading its contents over his trousers, coat, shirt, tie, socks and shoes.

The impact of the apple pie, as well as the damage its shrapnel did to his clothes, put a stop to Cedric’s revelries and brought down to earth with a thud. Apart from looking like a casualty of a botched up heist on a pastry shop, being unable to say “British Constitution” properly and stand up without swaying, he had not had a single thought about how to give Lorna Laverne what she wanted. The situation suddenly turned from festive to funereal and his face showed it, whereupon the amiable lady wardrobe assistant asked: ‘What’s the matter, Limey? You look like you have to face a firing squad next’.

‘I will schertainly have to feish one’, Cedric replied, leaning forward with arms planted on the table for support. ‘I have to be at the boardroom in fifteen minitssh and look at the schhhtate of me… The bosshhhh will not like it. I will get the shack‘.

‘Then we have to do something about it’, said the resourceful wardrobe assistant. ‘First let’s get you some clothes and then some of the boys can carry you to the boardroom’.

‘Jolly deeeshent of you’, replied Cedric, now lying in a heap on the floor. ‘Muttsh appressshiated’.

Following that, four of the stuntmen whisked Cedric away to the wardrobe cupboard in an adjoining sound studio and the wardrobe mistress rummaged inside it to see what could fit him, having found a pair of Arabic slippers with curled toes, riding breeches, a Napoleonic army tunic and a Mongolian pointed hat – and that would have to do. Cedric was quickly decanted into that potpourri of clothes whilst forced to ingest half a gallon of black coffee and have cold water thrown on his face in the process. Then the four stuntmen carried him to the boardroom whilst trying to give instructions as to how to behave once there:

‘Walk towards your chair whilst having your back pressed hard against the wall’, said one.

‘Do what you do best: say nothing, look at the boss and just nod – but not so hard as to bang your head on the table’, said another.

Presently, they arrived at the conference room’s door, where, from within, the sounds of a most serious altercation could be heard, since Miss Lorna Laverne had decided to give the boss of the Medulla-Oblongata Studios an ultimatum in person and stormed into the conference room full of executives, Yessers and Nodders before Cedric could arrive there.

‘Come now, Lorna. There’s no need to break things or point that gun at me. I have my best people working on ideas to give you what you want’, the boss was heard to say, sounding clearly afraid for his life.

‘Really, sweetie? Do you? And what have your so called best people done, so far?’ Lorna retorted, in a voice dripping with scorn, as she sent a china ornament smashing against a wall. ‘Nothing. Zilch. Bupkes. That’s what. This collection of idiots can´t think of anything original for me. Look at them: afraid to pitch a single good idea and incapable to say a word about it out of fear. I will have to take steps! I have my reputation to protect! I have an artistic name to consider! I have warned you! I have the Colossal-Exquisite people right outside, despite the quarantine, with a big fat contract awaiting my signature, a lawyer ready to file a major suit against you and a press-agent rubbing his hands in anticipation of a juicy story about how you have been hampering my career on purpose!’

‘But Lorna. Lulubelle, dear…’ croaked the studio boss, pleadingly. ‘Please understand…’

‘Don’t you Lulubelle me, you insect! It’s Miss Laverne to you from now on. And good-bye forever!’ shouted Lorna as she threw her Colt 45 revolver up in the air before catching it in her handbag and jerked open the door to leave the conference room and the premises of the Medulla-Oblongata Studios forever. And this is when the tables were turned, both in the figurative and the literal sense.

What no-one inside the room knew was that such a magnificent altercation, carrying with it the exciting possibilities of furniture being smashed, glass broken and shots fired, had galvanised the attention of Cedric and the four stuntmen, with bets on who would come out of that room unscathed, slightly injured or in need of an ambulance placed. And also that Cedric, due to his inebriated state and to better hear how events were unfolding inside, together with the stuntmen, had been leaning sideways with one ear pressed against the door. So, when Lorna Laverne yanked the door open from the inside, she caused Cedric and the stuntmen to enter the room from the outside in a most spectacular, unusual and, in her eyes, entrancing manner.

Cedric, in his melange of an attire and inebriated state, unused to breaking falls and caught unawares by the sudden lack of support to his body, came first. He took five sideways, uneven and twirling steps into the conference room whilst rotating his outstretched arms like a dervish whose gyroscope had been damaged and plunged sidelong on to the floor, upsetting, in the process, an occasional table, a coffee table and a hat-stand. Two of the stuntmen closest to Cedric at the door came into the room almost at the same time as he did, but managed to avoid the debris on the floor, somersaulted over his falling body and landed neatly on their knees on top of the conference table with their backs arched backwards and arms extending upwards as if to indicate that their performance had been completed. The other two stuntmen entered the room a second later in judo-like, downward and sideways movements, rolled noiselessly on the floor and stood up in one single motion as if that was their usual way of entering rooms. For a moment, nobody else in the conference room could do anything but to stare in utter disbelief at what had just happened, and it fell upon Lorna Laverne, looking fixedly at Cedric’s collapsed form on the floor, to break the silence.

‘That’s it! That’s what I was looking for! You’ve done it!’ she said in a voice that shattered an ashtray next to one of the “Yessers”.

‘Who did what, Lorna? What do you mean?’ asked the boss, now trying to nurse a perforated eardrum.

‘He did it! The one who came in first! The one who performed that wonderfully exotic dance whilst dressed like one of those French sultans who served in the Colombian-Russo-Manchurian cavalry, as we read about in history books! That’s what I mean: this is culture! This is history told in a way anyone can like! This is foreign!’ Lorna said, clearly enraptured.

‘He is a foreigner, Lorna. He’s a Limey’, painfully retorted the studio boss.

‘So much the better’, replied Lorna. ‘I’ll bet his family is as old as New York City Hall and he has been to a university founded some years before Wrigley Field was built. And what is the name of that genius, that hero, and what does he do here?’

‘His name is Cedric Mulliner, and he is a Nodder’, said the boss, now realising that, for some reason still unclear to him, his problems with Lorna Laverne seemed to be disappearing.

‘Not anymore, buster’, said Lorna decisively. From now on, not only he is a Senior Yesser at ten times his present salary but also – and on a separate, special contract at that, at two thousand dollars a week, plus an extra five hundred apiece for his four assistants here who will ensure the historical integrity of every plot – my sole advisor and script developer for singing and dancing historical movies in which I will star! Ah, yes! And you will lift this dreadful quarantine that you have imposed on us! That’s what I demand. And if you don’t like it, I’ll take myself, Cedric the Limey and whomever he wants from this two-bit outfit and go to Colossal-Exquisite. It’s entirely up to you, mister!’

‘Let me see if I am getting this right, Lorna’, said the boss, now with some of his composure regained. ‘If I give you Cedric Mulliner, lift the quarantine, agree to all your terms and conditions and let you create and be the star in what you call “historical movies to enlighten the masses” you will remain with us, stop harassing me and no longer pose a threat to my life?’

‘Attaboy!’, replied Lorna. That’s exactly what I mean’.

‘And you, Mr. Mulliner? Do you agree to be promoted from Nodder to Senior Yesser and also become Miss Laverne’s chief scenario developer, all that under the terms and financial conditions she has just put to me? If not, is there anything more you want?’ asked the boss.

Apart from medical attention to deal with his bruises and the inevitably ensuing hangover, there was nothing more that Cedric could even contemplate wanting. And given his still inebriated condition and also by force of old habit, he could but nod in agreement.

(Eduardo Garcia introduces himself thus:

Eduardo “Duca” Garcia is quite probably the most un-trendy and least technologically-savvy person involved with Trends Studies. He is also a human salad, having been born in Rio, received an anglicised education and lived in the UK, Spain, Central Asia and Portugal. To complicate matters further, he is married to a woman of Brazilian, English, U.S. and Greek extraction – whose stepfather was a Dutchman – and his son lives and works in Denmark.

His career was mostly devoted to Marketing and Advertising, something that forced him to look at the consumer, society and mentalities in more detail – if only to avoid sending the wrong message to the wrong people at the wrong time and being rightly sacked for doing so – and his start in Trends Studies began when he was in Kazakhstan and Carl Rohde was unwise enough to invite him to contribute to Science of the Time.

He can be contacted at eduardo.garcia@40maislab.pt or through Facebook.)

 

(Permission to publish this piece on this blog site is gratefully acknowledged!)

 

(Illustration courtesy Wikipedia)

(Related Posts: 

https://ashokbhatia.wordpress.com/2020/03/20/jeeves-deals-with-croronavirus-guest-post-by-eduardo-garcia

https://ashokbhatia.wordpress.com/2020/07/25/the-corona-gladiators-proposal-for-a-plummy-movie

https://ashokbhatia.wordpress.com/2020/03/23/psmith-shares-with-lord-emsworth-a-smart-marriage-plan-to-ward-off-corona-virus)

 
 

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Psmith shares with Lord Emsworth a Smart Marriage plan to ward off Corona Virus

Posted in What ho!, tagged , , , , , , , , , on March 23, 2020| 2 Comments »

 

Lord Emsworth went to the window and looked out. The sun was shining brightly, the birds were chirping along merrily, the hollyhocks, carnations and Canterbury bells were swaying in a gentle breeze and bees, ants and butterflies were going about their business with vigour and vim. In short, God appeared to be in heaven.

But Lord Emsworth was in one of his melancholic moods. What weighed on his conscience was not the loss of his glasses, which were perched firmly on his nose and he could see all things clearly. Baxter, the world’s most efficient secretary, had just parted company with him owing to a difference of opinion in respect of the former hurling flower pots at the window of the latter. He suspected he will have a tough time finding another secretary as capable as Baxter.

However, this melancholy was short-lived. Psmith had just joined him and had successfully managed to secure for himself the vacancy that had arisen. Even though Psmith had confessed to having no prior experience of being a secretary, what went in his favour was the self-confidence with which he proposed his candidature, the fact that he was a member of the Senior Conservative Club and that he was the son of Smith, the owner of the Corfby Hall, who had won a prize for tulips at the Shrewsbury Flower Show the year Lord Emsworth had won the prize for roses.

Psmith announced that he was about to be married to Ms Eve Halliday, probably the finest library-cataloguist in the United Kingdom.

‘She is a nice girl,’ said Lord Emsworth.

‘I quite agree with you.’

‘Congratulations are in order, my dear fellow, to both of you.’

‘I am extremely obliged,’ said Psmith. ‘But we are planning to go in for a slimmer, trimmer and smarter marriage, unlike one of those bigger and fatter marriages which take place elsewhere, like in Greece or India.’

‘Eh?’ said his lordship. ‘Is there anything which is causing any problem?’

Psmith patted the shoulder of his employer reassuringly. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You might have heard of the Corona Virus which is catching up like wild fire across our planet these days.’

‘Cyrus….do you refer to George Cyrill Wellbeloved?’, enquired his lordship, shaking like an aspen. A dark cloud appeared to be casting a shadow on his visage.

‘No. I allude to a deadly virus which kicked off its journey in China and has rapidly spread across very many countries,’ responded Psmith. ‘It causes fever, cough and breathing difficulties. Human contact must be kept to a minimum to avoid its further spread.’

‘Do you think the Empress could contract this as well,’ cried his lordship, starting like a war horse at the sound of the bugle.

‘I would not venture a guess. Perhaps we need to consult a vet immediately.’

‘Let us do this right away,’ responded his lordship, peering sharply through his glasses. ‘The next Shropshire Show is not too far off, and we need to provide her all the protection she deserves.’

‘Absolutely’, said Psmith. ‘But allow me first to update you on the marriage plans without further delay.’

‘Marriage, eh? But who is marrying whom?’, queried his lordship.

‘Eve and I have plans of walking down the aisle pretty soon.’

‘Oh, yes, yes….quite, quite. Capital. Capital.’

‘As I said, we plan this to be a slimmer, trimmer and smarter affair. If you permit me, I wish to share some details with you.’

‘My dear fellow, you may do so quickly and then rush to arrange my meeting with an eminent vet.’

‘Obliged. We are working on a short video invite which would get delivered on the smart phones of our relatives and close friends. The invitation will request them to be available on their phones at the prescribed time. The marriage will take place only in the presence of our parents. The ceremony will be shown live to all invitees on their phones, thereby minimizing the chances of the virus becoming a contagion of sorts.’

Lord Emsworth drew himself up. But beneath the solemn friendliness of Psmith’s gaze hauteur was not easy to sustain. He sagged again, resigning to the situation.

‘So no wedding cake for all those invited?’ he commented dryly.

‘Far from it. To all those who are virtually present, we plan to send them return gifts comprising yoga manuals, some delectable chocolate figurines showing a marked likeness to the bride and the groom striking a Charleston pose and, of course,  hand sanitizer tissues with which they might wipe all the contents before touching the same. If the epidemic is already under control by then, we would send them gift coupons from famous restaurants located in their city of residence. This way, the carbon footprint of our marriage would be minimal and we shall make a modest contribution towards protecting our near and dear ones from the kind of exotic viruses which Nature keeps unleashing upon us at frequent intervals. Nature is calling upon humanity to change its polluting lifestyles and we need to heed the same. When Nature starts healing itself, all of us shall benefit. Roses, hollyhocks and others of their ilk would be happier. Birds would chirp more merrily. Bees and butterflies would go about doing whatever they do with renewed enthusiasm. Blandings Castle would thus be a happier place.’

Lord Emsworth perked up. ‘A novel idea, my dear fellow,’ he said.

‘We do believe so. It would be a win-win situation because all would get a bird’s eye view of the ceremony, avoiding travel, free of security bottlenecks due to VVIP attendees, no fat charges for hiring large venues, minimizing catering and other incidental costs.’

‘But the warmth of personal contact would be missing, don’t you think?’ commented his lordship.

‘Yes. Many of us would be missing the back-slapping, bonhomie and networking which entails at a traditional wedding. But social distancing is the key idea these days. One has to make tough choices in tougher times.’

Eve passed by on the terrace below. Psmith waved at her. She waved back at both of them and continued with her stroll.

Psmith continued with his tirade.

‘There are many other benefits of a smarter marriage of this kind. One, parents are spared the trauma of plastic smiles they have to put on so they may appear to be fair and polite to all those who land up in flesh and blood. Two, one does not need to hire detectives so as to ensure that all valuables remain safe. Three, with lesser number of those who keep firing instructions at the bride and the groom, both breathe easy and enjoy the proceedings better. Four, elaborate arrangements invariably make our income tax sleuths sit up and take notice. Such obnoxious occurrences are best avoided.’

‘Income tax!’ cried Lord Emsworth. Income tax and pigs were the only two subjects which really stirred him. ‘Let me tell you that the more you speak of a marriage of this kind, better sense you appear to make. Do please go ahead with your commendable plans. I hope you have drawn these up in consultation with Ms Halliday!’

‘Yes, indeed. Many of these happen to be her ideas,’ said Psmith graciously.

‘God bless you both.’

‘Permit me also to point out that under such circumstances when close encounters with others are best avoided, you could even exercise the option of cancelling the August Bank Holiday this year.’

‘Oh, that would be nice, indeed. The invaders would then not be able to trample over my flower beds, and I do not have to wear stiff collars and make infernal speeches!’

‘I thought you might like the idea,’ said Psmith.

‘Er, now about that vet…..’

‘Yes. I am just rushing off to enable a meeting of the kind desired by you. Meanwhile, may I suggest that you persuade Ms Monica Simmons to keep a strict watch on the Empress’ diet? Any large deviation therein could indicate her indisposition. If you consider it proper, you may even spread a rumour about her having attracted a contagious disease. This would keep pig-stealers of all hues, sizes and shapes under check for some time.’

‘Splendid. I shall attend to it right away’, said his lordship.

With a slight bow, Psmith withdrew.

(With due apologies to Plum; Inspired by https://ashokbhatia.wordpress.com/2020/03/20/jeeves-deals-with-croronavirus-guest-post-by-eduardo-garcia)

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Jeeves Deals With Coronavirus: Guest Post by Eduardo Garcia

Posted in What ho!, tagged , , , , on March 20, 2020| 14 Comments »

 

As ever, Jeeves entered the room at the exact time. Neither too soon or too late, but just when I was about to begin to open my eyes, the honest man shimmered into view holding the salver with the invigorating cup of morning tea.

‘Good morning, Jeeves’, I said.

‘Good morning, sir’, said Jeeves.

‘What’s the weather like, outside?’

‘Extremely clement, sir. A balmy afternoon can be expected.’

‘Just the thing to encourage a chap to go for a constitutional around the park after breakfast, preparatory for a good lunch at Simpson’s, eh, Jeeves?’

‘Under usual circumstances, most definitely, sir.’

There was a clearly unhappy undertone in that. Almost imperceptible to the untrained ear, but definitely there. I decided to probe further into the matter.

‘Is anything the matter, Jeeves? Is the park being drilled for oil? Is the Serpentine being converted into some sort of dam to generate electricity for the Metropolis?’ I inquired.

‘Not exactly, sir. But circumstances have arisen that will prevent our leaving the flat for some time.’

‘Surely not, Jeeves. An Englishman’s right to roam the land of his birth is sacred. Am I being stalked by some malevolent aunt wanting to use me as an instrument of her devilments? Are we surrounded by bailiffs clamouring for the settlement of unpaid bills or some such nonsense?’

‘No, sir. No aunts have presented themselves at the door, and neither have any bailiffs. And all the bills have been satisfactorily settled.’

‘What’s the snag, then? Why can’t we leave the flat? Have our basic liberties been rescinded?’

‘Rescinded is not the right word for the present situation, sir. Suspended would be a more apt choice of word, if I may say so. And only in the case of venturing outside, sir. For one’s own health, sir.’

‘Come, come, Jeeves. I think that this massive brain of yours has sprung a leak. There’s nothing healthier than the bracing air of the Metropolis on a fine day. It has been proven time and again, eh?’

‘The metropolitan air is now filled with a new strain of virus, sir. It is called Coronavirus, and hails from China. Its effects are most unpleasant and human contact must be kept to a minimum to avoid its dissemination and contagion.’

I was jolted by that. I sat up in bed as if my spine had become a switchblade and the steaming cup was nearly flung across the bedroom in the process. But I composed myself and pressed on with the questioning.

‘Are you trying to tell me that we are facing some kind of Spanish Flu, Jeeves?’, I asked, clearly alarmed.

‘Of a kind, sir. But I have been reassured by an article which appeared in The Lancet that if all the proper precautions are taken, there is not much to be concerned about.’

‘Dash it, Jeeves! Confound it! Of all the bally things that could have been sprung upon is, this is one of the balliest, eh?’

‘It certainly disrupts one’s normal life, sir. But one must also look upon it as bringing some measure of not unimportant rewards.’

‘And beyond remaining in proper form to take part in the 02:30 Sweepstake at Kempton Park on Saturday, what rewards might those be, Jeeves?’

‘Well, sir, you will remember telling me that you urgently needed respite from Mrs. Gregson’s constant campaigns to affiance you to a suitable young lady.’

‘I do’, I replied pensively.

‘Also, the chances of encountering Miss Honoria Glossop will be most slender’.

‘They will’ said I cheering up considerably.

‘Not to mention Lord Sidcup. And Miss Madeline Basset…’

‘And her blasted father, Sir Watkyn Basset!’ I added, now positively positive about the whole thing.

‘Indeed, sir.’

There was definitely a hopeful, even cheerful note about the whole thing ringing in the air. The dark gloom lifted from the atmosphere, which became instantly light and suffused by golden hues. I could gladly face a bit of domestic incarceration if I could be protected from that oriental virus and the aforementioned human pests.

‘Well, Jeeves. There certainly are some compensations in all this, eh? Besides, I have recently stoked up on records and music sheets, as well as a dozen or so of the ripest detective stories available. And I am sure that you have made arrangements for a decent supply of victuals for the flat and books for you, also, eh? Spinoza’s latest and all that, what?’

‘Precisely, sir. And I have been fortunate enough to secure on loan from Lord Yaxleys’ wife her book of recipes for cocktails, a memento she kept from her days at the Criterion.’

‘Have you now, Jeeves? I have heard that some of them are legendary and have never been tasted ever since she retired’.

‘And there is one more thing, sir. I fear I have been remiss about not having advised you sooner about it.’

I knew it. Just as I had cheered up in the face of such news, Fate was there, about to wield the stuffed eel skin once more. But we Woosters are made of stern stuff. I braced myself for the blow.

‘What is it, Jeeves?’

You will remember, sir, that yesterday the Junior Ganymede Club hosted a dinner for Monsieur Anatole, for his services to culinary excellence.’

‘I seem to remember you mentioning it before you left to go there, Jeeves’.

‘When the ceremony ended, I offered to escort M. Anatole to Paddington, to catch the last train to Brinkley Court. But, alas, the taxicab developed a mechanical problem and we were unable to reach the station in time, so I took the liberty of offering M. Anatole a bed in the spare room.’

‘You mean to say, Jeeves, that Anatole is here for the duration?’

‘Yes, sir. And he is so grateful for our hospitality in the face of this virus that he has committed to cook for us on a daily basis for as long as he is prevented from returning to Brinkley Court.’

‘You mean to say, Jeeves, that on top of being free from pests of all imaginable sorts, having more than enough reading and musical material and being able to taste once more cocktails that have gone into legend we will be having Anatole’s culinary wonders for breakfast, lunch and dinner’?

‘Not to mention tea, sir.’

The beauty of the plot dawned on me. Jeeves had done it again. That gigantic brain had found the perfect solution for a tricky problem once more.

‘Jeeves’, I said, ‘Did you know about this Coronation virus, or whatever it is called, before the curfew was announced?’

‘My copy of the Lancet arrived here, as ever, three days ago, sir.’

‘So can one also take it that the problem with the taxicab was not altogether due to chance?’

‘The fact that the driver is married to one of my cousin Albert’s nieces cannot be wholly discarded from the equation, sir.’

‘Jeeves, you’re a wonder.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

 

(Eduardo Garcia introduces himself thus:

Eduardo “Duca” Garcia is quite probably the most un-trendy and least technologically-savvy person involved with Trends Studies. He is also a human salad, having been born in Rio, received an anglicised education and lived in the UK, Spain, Central Asia and Portugal. To complicate matters further, he is married to a woman of Brazilian, English, U.S. and Greek extraction – whose stepfather was a Dutchman – and his son lives and works in Denmark.

His career was mostly devoted to Marketing and Advertising, something that forced him to look at the consumer, society and mentalities in more detail – if only to avoid sending the wrong message to the wrong people at the wrong time and being rightly sacked for doing so – and his start in Trends Studies began when he was in Kazakhstan and Carl Rohde was unwise enough to invite him to contribute to Science of the Time.

He can be contacted at eduardo.garcia@40maislab.pt or through Facebook.)

 

(Permission to publish this piece on this blog site is gratefully acknowledged!)

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