An account of Jeeves' trip to Las Vegas latterly in the service of Mr tikay.

Monday

This will be one of a few occasional posts as by request I have been asked to update my diary readers of my progress since my return

You will re-collect that I had three potential employment opportunities in hand when I landed. This is how it went.

First I travelled to Brighton, and the fresh sea air whipping around my face as I strolled along the promenade immediately restored my spirits. My appointment was with The Honourable James Dempsey, Royal Equerry to the Mayoress of Brighton. I knocked on the door of a Pied a terre towards Hove. The door opened and there stood a tanned, blonde but ever so slightly portly gentleman in a Pink tu-tu. I took this to be the Honourable James.

"Dah-ling, how good of you to come, Mwah, Mwah" he said as he hugged me ferociously and kissed me on both cheeks.

He beckoned me into a spacious living room area where sat a quiet man with dark hair called PJ Kelly Le Brock playing, and I counted, 16 tables on something called "Full Tilt" on two monitors whillst simultaneously playing something called "Halo" on his left foot toes.

The Hon James did not appear interested in my references, or my deportment but merely asked me to sit beside him and gave me a list of my potential duties.

They seemed unusual, so much so that I asked him to clarify.

"Yes Dah-ling, all you have to do is photo-shop naked photographs onto facebook profiles, set up prop bets, make sure I get to the Brigton cash game, polish the Jag and pretend to post as me on the Poker Hand Analysis board. Each post there has to contain a minimum of two expletives, three insults and two LOL's"

To be frank, this slightly worried me. The pied a terre was a frightful mess, the pictures of Judy Garland on the wall were covered in dust and yet my duties were not to include cleaning and tidying? Were my years of faithful servitude to be spent on childish japes and faux-practical jokes?

I made my excuses and left for my next appointment the following morning.

Bishops Stortford. Lavish suburban piles and the faint murmur of planes at Stanstead airport disturbing the genteel peace of the area. I arrived at the gates, on which were adorned figurines of racehorses, and pressed the intercom. Silently the gates opened. It appeared crowded as in the driveway were three white vans advertising the services of plumbers, and a John Lewis van delivering an Ironing board.

A dark haired tall gentleman in an unironed shirt and sandals, smoking a large humidor, greeted me. In the background I heard racing commentary.

"Come in Jeeves, nice to see you"

He introduced himself as Compo, which I never established was his real name or because of his sartorial resemblance to the character in the magnificent "Last of the Summer Wine".

"Jeeves, I'll be with you in a minute I just have to bluff off a stack on Laddies with bottom pair, no kicker. Make yourself at home"

The place was spotless, a testament to the no doubt long suffering Mrs Compo, and I wondered what tasks the gentleman of the house had in mind for me. It was not, clearly, to be cleaning and cooking. Ironing maybe.

When Mr Compo had concluded he gave me a list.

"I've worked this out carefully Jeeves. Easy enough. Just research the form of the American racing over the past month at Churchill Downs, Aqueduct and Belmont, and give it to me each Monday morning. Drive me to At the Races, Feltham and Luton. Job done"

"No cleaning sir? No sartorial grooming? No polishing?"

"No Jeeves, just do my research for me, make me look like I know what I'm talking about. Leaves me more time for playing poker see?"

My spirits sank, was I really to spend my years of faithful servitude to study far off horse-racing form and negotiating the M25? I thought not, and explained this to Mr Compo

His reply rather startled me

"That's ok Jeeves, just fix the power shower before you go would you?"

So I travelled to my final appointment, the back streets of Peckham. A land of housing estates, high rise tower blocks and people with their trousers half way round their knees.

I travelled to the 23rd floor of Free Nelson Mandela House and knocked at number 236.

"Innit?" said a young lady as she opened the door

"Excuse me madam but I am here to see Mr Boltpp. Is he at home?"

The young lady roared with laughter, and I knew not why

"Oi Bolty, some posh old sod here to see ya, innit"

A young man in a baseball cap, tracksuit bottoms, betting shop pen in his mouth and six cans of stella adorning a seemingly home made belt around his middle sidled up to the front door.

"Awright Jeevo?"

"take a pew son" he said as he let me past the assorted detritus of urban dwelling in the hallway to the living area

"back in a few minutes, few deliveries to make son" and he grasped some small bags and left the room

I took in the ambience. Empty cans, full ashtrays, Jeremy Kyle Show on full volume on the 73" HDTV flatscreen in the corner. Yes, there certainly appeared to be a job to do here more in the manner of my traditional keeping.

I heard faint voices in another room and listened closely

" I nikked dis 'ello mag from da doc's....it's got Jordan and Peter pics innnit!" was met by the reply

"wikked innit....didja get ya tablets sorted for dat smell cumming from ya minge?"

"nah, I was too busy sorting the 20 inchers on Bolty's Nova, it's well phat innit! Bling Bling!"

none of which I readily understood, but they seemed happy enough.

At this point Mr boltpp returned

"is simple Jeevo. This place is a dump. I need it tidied, kept spik and span for me and me homies. Up to it matey?"

Manna from Heaven. I knew it would be a challenge but it was familiar territory.

At that point a man called Dean, I later learnt, burst in

"ere wats that nigga lookin at-ee is ganna get a beatin-dere be blood on da floor man. oi faggot you startin or wha? yo mumma got banged up by ma dog hoe" he said quickly towards my new Master, who seemed as confused as I was.

As I accepted the position and moved my belonging's into Tiffany's room, I began my duties.

mrboltpp spent the rest of the day trying to balance empty cans of Stella Artois on his head, whilst Dean made arrangements to have a meeting eith his friends later at McDonalds for supper, in the car park, in assorted Vauxhall Novas I gathered

It was an unusual scene, but readily better than all the alternatives

to be continued...................