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

We have landed in Vegas, and tales will no doubt follow

For now, I have been given one sole instruction by Master Ben.

It is simple. It is clear. Sadly, it is unlikely to be acceptable to his travelling companions

In a whispered aside from McCarran to hotel, Master said

"Whatever you do Jeeves, you must keep me out of any lapdancing bars. I've promised Ling. If she finds out I'll be Japanese rope tortured, she's even threatened the butt plug this time, and the last time she used ropes the welts lasted for weeks. Jeeves, promise me, no bars on this trip"

Sadly I neglected to inform the young Master that I have a track record of being weak in sight of the temptations of the fairer sex, that can be a conversation for the days to come.

Whilst Master recuperates from the long journey spent listening to his rotund mate snoring by his side, I must share with you one story from the weeks leading up to the trip

One of my roles for Master is as Chauffeur. I had not seen Master's car but turned up for work very early one Sunday morning to be met by an expectant Master.

"Jeeves, today we go and see the loves of my life in Oxford. You are driving, my mate Kev is in the passenger seat and Dad and I are kipping in the back"

Unaware that Master was acquainted with students in Oxford, but nevertheless familiar with the colleges there from my own youth, I was secretly looking forward to this assignation. Were we to visit the hallowed halls of Magdalen, or the librtary at Balliol or the common room at Corpus Christi where Jennifer Farqhaurson introduced me to the delights of illicit fumblings many decades ago?

My first shock was the car itself. Impeccably attired in morning suit and black Oxfords, together with regulation Chauffeur's black peaked cap I opened the garage, which young Master's father kept referring to as a "lock up for all the dodgy stuff" and there greeted me a vision in Lime Green, with what appeared to be a chess board pattern on the roof.

A Ford Fiesta I gathered. Ever the professional I stifled my surprise and settled into the driver's seat. Unfazed by the pictures of greyhounds on the dashboard, and the "Winalot dry" sack in the passenger seat Well I drove the car round to the front of the house, and in climbed the Master and Father and alongside me a balding man in a black "blondepoker" shirt, with the faint whiff of doner kebab and stale Mayfair cigarettes on his clothes, speaking estuary English last heard in "Oliver" the musical in 1963. This man handed me a black card and said

"awright mate, got any online poker accounts? do me a fava mate, open one 'ere. Triffic LOYALTY BONUS for yer play, great leagues, great community spirit. Even better fewer Jocks on the site these days too. Spolit the place they did with their songs and their youtube videos"

I must admit to being rather dumbstruck with this forward approach, until Master rather spolit the salesman's patter by saying

"Ignore him Jeeves, he's only here to give me amusement on the journey, and my camera's broken down and I want Kev to film when we get there"

Filming? What was this? A remake of Chariots of Fire running round the courtyard? A Brideshead like mini-series set at Jesus college?

As we sped up the M40, an incongruous sight no doubt in a lime green vehicle, my mind was agog with the possibilities.

Taking the Oxford turn off I headed for the Town Centre, my brain a mixture of excitedly crazed endorphins and unrequited longing for my student days so long ago.

Alongside me, the salesman awoke with a start. Trying to pass me another card I reminded him that I had already had the sign up speech. Forsaking the beseeching look for one of puzzlement

"Jeeves, you need to head for Headington, not town centre. Roooooooooooks" he shouted

and young Master awoke and directed me to some run down outbuildings down a track a few miles away

With a growing sense of dread I parked up and we disembarked.

We walked into what appeared to be an establishment containing kennels, at which point a ruddy faced gentleman beckoned us tomwards him.

Before I could blink two black greyhounds charged towards us, and the particularly frisky one first went to Master and then jumped on me, knocking me down in the process.

Unconcerned with my welfare Master and his two friends and the ruddy gentleman were making their way to an Oval track across a muddy field, two dogs jumping beside them and trying to lick the chilli sauce off the salesman's collar. I followed, my ears buring with the cacophony of barks and screeches from hundreds of greyhounds in the kennels.

At the track the staff set up some traps, and Master urgently instructed the salesman to set up his camera phone whilst the first of two dogs were loaded up.

On enquiring how this could possibly be a race with only one greyhound taking part I was informed that these were "trials" for young dogs.

At that point disaster struck as the mechanical hare did not appear to work. They needed to find a replacement. Furrowed brows ensued until Master seemed to have an idea.

"Someone will have to be the hare. Who is the fastest runner?".

His father did not look in a fit state to run, and anyway was busy arguing with a kennel hand about whether it was Sunday or not and what time the pub opened.

The salesman frankly had seen better athletic days, and anyway was too busy proferring black sign up cards to other kennel hands

Master looked at me. Looked me up and down. My impeccable attire had turned into a bedraggled mess, mud on my trousers, and paw prints on my white shirt.

He handed me the furry object, told me to fasten it around my waist, and get in position.

Once again a dream job had turned into a nightmare in a short space of time....

I could hear the traps being shut behind me, and I awaited my cue to run, being told to stick as close as possible to the running rail. I remembered my runs round the College Courtyard, but the potential similarity paled as it began to rain.

The traps opened, a guttural cry of "Go On Rodney!!!!!!!!!!!" filled the air from the Salesman, whilst the father had moved on to argue about whether tomorrow was Monday or not, this time with his own shadow, and was thus too busy to notice.

I began to run, and rounded the first bend before with a thump I fell face first into the dirt, a greyhound astride me, all four paws triumphantly ripping at the fur attached to my posterior.

Vegas could not come soon enough..................................