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

[Laxie]

    Following you now too.   

[trafficjam]

genius 

+1   

[Tonji]

just brilliant

[Jeeves]

Sunday, early morning


I am shattered. It's early morning here in Nevada and I have been up all night. Panic began in Mr tikay's coterie when he lost his prescription sunglasses. Video film was immediately replayed, freeze-framed and analysed and I was sent back to re-trace each of his steps since he woke up yesterday morning. As you know by now, my life is spent three paces behind him and one step to the left so it was an easy enough task but nevertheless still involved visiting six card-rooms, fourteen hotel lobbys, three plazas, a brief detour past the Bellagio fountains and then back to the Rio suite. By the time I ended my fruitless search tikay was beside himself. Mother Hen was googling "Specsavers Las Vegas" and the camera crew were on all fours in the bushes. Presumably looking for the sunglasses too.

It was a long day yesterday. Endless filming of links, looking after Sky Poker ( where fish are fish and the talent is now half blind ) online qualifiers, listening to tikay battle with his conscience and into various meetings with bracelet winners and acquaintances of his from the other side of the pond.

My Master's battles with his conscience are quite interesting. They typically go as follows:

"Jeeves, can you find out what competitions are on today at Caesars, the Venetian, Binions and everywhere else please?

"Yes of course sir. Would you like Five or six spoons of sugar in your Latte?"

"Five please. When will you have the information Jeeves?"

"Within thirty minutes sir"

twenty minutes later....

"It doesn't matter Jeeves, I had better work today"

Jeeves puts down the phone, and stands down his contacts in each casino

ten minutes later

"on second thoughts Jeeves, I might be able to fit in the 7pm Caesars jobbie. What do you think?

"As you wish sir, would you like me to book ahead?"


and this continues ad infinitum all day. As it happened yesterday the conscience won, but the downside for me was that by 8pm I was searching the suite for these sunglasses in between proof reading sir's latest blog post, and writing his twitter posts.

Now, ten hours later, and with no sign of the glasses, a new day begins. Today we are promised no filming, but plenty of writing and definitely poker. However things rarely turn up like that.

Take yesterday again. I was introduced to a young man, albeit a rather effeminate young man, by the name of James "Cottonbud" Williams. His mother would be proud of him, impeccably polite, well dressed. Strangely blonde hair, almost as if in tribute to my Master. My master had insisted on wearing a white shirt and beige slacks. With his still pasty complexion I ventured that it might be best to wear darker clothes to provide a suitable contrast to his skin tone. It was a basic tenet of my manservant training that such thoughts were never far from my mind, especially when in the service of English gentlemen of a certain age in far off climes.

However Master would have nothing of it

"Nonsense Jeeves, I haven't had an accident for ages"

I hadn't actually mentioned an accident, but clearly I had struck a nerve.

Anyway back to Master Williams. tikay's instructions were firm but complicated

"Jeeves, Williams is cottonbud. However when I am on Sky Poker (where fish are fish and no there weren't any accidents) you must refer to him as LJAMESL. Only when I am off duty may you call him Cottonbud"

"Right sir" I drawled, unable to hide a lazy affectation in my voice in the middle of a long day  

"Jeeves I am serious. LJAMESL when on Sky Poker (where fish are fish and boy band members go to play). Corporate image is everything. he's an important player. Look after him with me"


At that moment Mother Hen arrived. I ventured a joke. I should not have ventured a joke.

"Oh look, Mother Hen. Well named isn't she tikay? Do you know Adult Hens don't have teeth? Quite apt really, as the presence of this Mother Hen is as rare as Hen's teeth. Hahahaha"

Tumbleweed swept the Rio corridor. tikay looked at the floor. Mother Hen gave me a look so fierce that I feared she might ring Rupert Murdoch himself and summon up the combined might of Fox News (Vegas Station) and Sky Sports News (Osterley station) to smite me from the earth. The ever failingly polite LJAMESL at least had the decency to give half a laugh before tikay shot him a look that said "Stop, and stop now"

Anyway, I will give you my leave.


More anon. If the glasses turn up, life will be much easier.

 

[tikay]

Brilliant, & uncannily perceptive. You know before me the plan for today, it seems. And you know of my never-ending battle with my consience.

I love you, Jeeves, I do.

[sofa----king]

Brilliant, & uncannily perceptive. You know before me the plan for today, it seems. And you know of my never-ending battle with my consience.

I love you, Jeeves, I do.

who is it?

[MereNovice]

Brilliant, & uncannily perceptive. You know before me the plan for today, it seems. And you know of my never-ending battle with my consience.

I love you, Jeeves, I do.

Surely a prerequisite for any manservant as able as Jeeves?

[Jeeves]

I think I have just about recovered

The night before last tikay succumbed the devil on his right shoulder, ignorring the Angell on his left and played the 7pm "jobbie" at Caesars. Several hours later, and much to my chagrin as I was hoping for a late night sortie to Peppermints once tikay had been securely tucked up with the Freddie Foreman biography, a mug of Horlicks and the soothing sounds of a RED-DOG audio book on his I-Pod, and tikay was approaching a final table.

At that point a rather exhausted Mother Hen appeared after a work packed day by the Swimming Pool, with television cameras in tow to "record the final for our viewers". tikay had the good grace to look suitably embarrassed, and his co-finalists from Wyoming, Nebraska, Alabama and Utah began to charm said Hen with tales of how "we are lumberjacks just like that Darvin Moon who was so unlucky to finish second last year". Hen looked suitably impressed, but not as impressed as if they were Spanish and called Carlos.

I was sent packing, with spurious instructions to write a blog for the next day. Also to find a dark shirt and dark trouser combination, preferably in cotton twill, for the morrow as instructions had been received from the female Gok Wan in England to that effect. I must admit I was disappointed to be thrust out of the potential limelight as victory beckoned, but remembered quickly that my role is one for the background, to oil the wheels and smooth the trip, and not overtly glory in the all too rare successes of one's Master.

I retired to my slumbers and awoke the next morning to find tikay already one fingered tap tap tapping at his laptop.

I gently enquired as to the result of last evening's tournament and was told

"No Jeeves, 9th I am afraid. Still I had a good night."

"Commiserations sir" I said with sincerity and continued my morning chores.

Yesterday was a big day of course with the start of what they call the "Main Event". My role for the day was a vital one. Sustain tikay's spirits through the long punishing hours of sitting down and then watching poker. Followed by uploading photographs, writing blogs and being there further when required.

For hour upon hour we watched the 1,125 participants play. For me, not being from poker circles, it was as exciting as a day's Angling in Chernobyl, but for my Master, it was Nirvana. Constantly interrupted by friends and acquaintances and giving him his usual regal few minutes it was quite clear that by mid afternoon he was exhuasted.

I enquired of the ubiquitous Mother Hen as to why this might be and received an all too revealing hesitant response

"well,er, you know, er, jet lag maybe, long schedule, er, late night?"

I decided to press the point so unconvincing was she

"Not that late a night Miss Hen, surely? he finished 9th"

A worried look shot across the Hen's face. She knew she was on dangerous ground

"er, well, 9th, er, yes, well, 9th."

Immersed as I now was in Poker culture, and having studied numerous Mike Caro videos starring Joe Strummer and Trade King in preparation for my trip I could see Miss Hen was giving off what we Poker people like to call "tells". In this case the chewing of the lip, the unsteady breathing, the eyes looking downward. She had, and she knew it, been rumbled.

Not wanting to cause I scene I strode across to the media area where I found a newly refreshed tikay eating a doughnut, kindly provided to him by Tony G, Lithuania's biggest doughnut (exporter).

"Sir?" I said

tikay looked across wistfully, the biscuit clearly transporting him to a long forgotten time in Ealing

"Sir?" I said more forcefully

"What happened at the end of your Poker Tournament last night?"

"well,um, yes, well, um, yes Jeeves. I went to bed"

"Forgive me sir, but it would be far easier to tell me the truth now, and for me to smooth over any issues at this point"

"well, um, well...." his voice trailed off, knowing no doubt that he was about to impart news that would knock himself off my lofty pedestal.

I waited, unwilling to avert my gaze, for tikay to spill his non-dieting beans

"Jeeves, I won the poker tournament. I won $5,000"

"Marvellous news sir. Now that wasn't difficult was it?

"Jeeves, that is not all"

A few seconds pause seemed like an interminable wait

"Well then it only seemed polite to accept a cup of tea from one of one of my vanquished foes and Oh Jeeves, I'm sorry"

My mind was racing. What on earth was he inferring?

He cleared his throat and a sorry tale emerged.

"We went for a cup of tea and then, I don't know how, but I was walking back to the Rio and all of a sudden I was distracted by the most fantastic 18-wheeler on the empty highway. Before I knew it my Man bag was gone and the 18-wheeler driver was hooting and three youths were climbing into his cab and and Oh Jeeves!"

"Why didn't you tell me earlier Sir?" I asked with the kindly manner of a provincial Doctor

"I was embarrassed Jeeves, I have been such a fool. It was a nice 18-wheeler though"

"Don't worry sir" I said "you'll always have me"

and with that, he tucked into another doughnut, perusing this website

http://www.shamozzle.com/WorldWEBCAMwatchTRUCKINGwebcamWatch.html

 life returning to "normal" once again

[tikay]

Jeeves, you are unreal. But it was 2nd, not 1st. I don't do "win", you should know that.  And I've been nipped for most of it already, fml.

Unbelievable writing, sir, so inisightful.

[Jeeves]

Saturday, 2am

He's finally asleep. Finally.

We are five days into tikay's mammoth stint railing his qualifiers and taking numerous blurry photographs. Five long days. It must be said my Master takes these days in his stride but I must say I find it all rather like "GroundHog Day". Four Day Ones, Two day Two's and that is just for starters. It has become so repetitive that when My master gives that repetitive refrain

"Jeeves, what are the blinds now? I can't see the screens, I've lost my glasses and I am going blind you know?"

Yes I do bloody well know, how could I forget? However I am now attuned to give one of my few standard answers raning from

"50-100" to "150-300" or, if it is late "300-600".

These seem to suffice.

I did offer to take over photography duties a few days ago upon noticing that my Master could not take a good photograph for, frankly, toffee. I also offered to take Mother Hen and her Gold Plated Rupert Murdoch Amex card to a local camera superstore to upgrade his equipment, but neither Mother Hen or tikay took that well.

The trick with both, you see, is to make them both think that the idea you have placed in their mind is theirs and theirs alone. That way progress will be made. Both are too stubborn to readily accept advice from a menial servant though. My success with this tactic has been limited as a result. Probably because Mother Hen walks round the Amazon all day muttering "Nachos, mmmmmmmm" to herself repeatedly and tikay seems to have other matters on his mind.

One of these matters soon appeared in the Media Room at the Rio. A lady called "Chili" had arrived in Las Vegas fresh from Grantham, Lincolnshire. It must have been a rushed journey as she was dressed most inappropriately given the temperatures head to toe in black, with a "Maria's Steak Pies" apron on top. They left me for a moment and went into a hushed huddle. When the lady departed to play a $10 STT at the Golden Nugget, tikay revealed to me that he had bought

"300% of Maria in the Bellagio $340, 200% of Maria in the Caesars $108 and 115% of Maria in the WSOP Main"

I cleared my throat, and wondered if this did not make the greatest financial sense in the world?

His reply revealed much about the man

"Jeeves, I stand by my friends. She's helped me with my phone, my laptop, she's come out here with nothing but an apron and her Gothic clothing, I am there for her. After all, one day I might need my camera repairing"

I chose to demur on this occasion, such was tikay's steely glare. Either that or he had fallen asleep with his eyes open, again.

For the remainder of my time I have watched my Master take photographs.

"This will make a good one Jeeves" as he alights upon some cleavage or another as long as there is a Sky Poker, where fish are fish and Nachos are aphrodisiacs, player within three tables of said cleavage. Off he trots, snapping away, flashing his Sky Poker, where fish are fish and private photo collections are now extensive, accreditation when said damsels look slightly sceptical at the intentions of the doddery Peroxide geezer staring in their direction.

After one such interlude he decided to upload said photgraphs onto his laptop

"Look Jeeves, its Dan Brown" he said, rather too excitedly. As much as Mr Brown merits excitement, he having a belly with which my Master is much taken, I could not help noticing the lady also in shot. I could not quite place her, and asked tikay who it was

"No idea, Jeeves, I was photographing Sky Poker's (where fish are fish and Hi Lo Omaha is an experience) own Dan Brown"

I let a silence hang. I knew he would not be able to contain himself for too long because I had spied a collapsed tab on the screen "Jennifer Tilly, NSFW".

At that moment the silence was broken as in strode a man, festooning Sytner BMW business cards at baffled dealers, live updaters and valets

"Any time you want a Beemer lads, talk to me" every few seconds like Terry Tibbs with a Midlands accent.  

"Alright tikay. Regards. Oh mate, great photograph of Jennifer Tilly's tits. You reckon she'd want a Beemer off me? Do you? Do you? talk to me! Regards."

tikay, to his eternal shame, kept up the pretence

"Who?" but betraying himself by a sneaky glance in my direction and a quick click on the "x" to remove the Tilly Tab.

The car dealer was insistent "Tilly tikay, talk to me. Regards"

"I am sorry I do not know Tilly, Terry" said tikay  

At which point I took it upon myself in a moment in which I frankly let myself down badly. I took control of the laptop mouse and collapsed the Firefox browser. There, on the screensaver, was a still photograph that gave the game away. Tilly, folding Jacks full on television because she thought "he might have Kings". I then restored the Tilly tab. There, breasts heaving in the clip, was the Tilly Tell during the same hand.

tikay had the good grace to blush, his red cheeks now a marked contrast to his pale complexion. He should have known though that the car dealer would not think any less of him

"Talllllllllllllllllllllllk to me you old Dog. Never heard of her tikay, talllllllllllllllllllllllllllllk to me. Regards" he drawled, chuckling away, and with that strode off in search of a punter happy to export a BMW from Leicester to Vegas, via Shanghai.

For the rest of the day, my Master shot me looks of complete derision.

Once again, I began to fear for my position. Before he retired to his slumbers tonight his parting shot was

"Jeeves, we'll speak in the morning"

and now it is time too for my bed.

Goodnight    

[booder]

              First Class Jeeves old boy, first class.

[MereNovice]

Any news of your master's fascination with "EPT Winner" Sandra Naujoks?

[boldie]

the best yet....Top stuff.

[tikay]

I am SO owned.

But I still have some hidden Vegas secrets which Jeeves would die for. Can't tell him everything, that would not do at all.

[Jeeves]

Tuesday


"JESUS CHRIST Jeeves, three our our bloody qualifiers have got through to Day Four, my chest is hurting, I got a time penalty at Caesars and now to cap it all off the people in Harrogate tell me that the click-throughs from blonde FLIPPING Poker exceed those I get from facebook and Twitter combined. JESUS CHRIST Jeeves"

It had been another long day. Eight hours criss-crossing the Rio tournament floor had clearly taken its toll and here, sitting in his ante room sipping a late night latte only a few hours ago, all the frustration came flooding out.

At that moment the new mobile phone buzzed. tikay asked me to check the incoming text message.

"Please Jeeves, I just can't handle pushing all those buttons" he sighed

I opened the inbox and looked at the header. "Maria" was the ominous sender. Only the twenty-seventh text from her today, and this was the same as the last several.

"tikay. Have got £5.75 left. Found it in back of suitcase. Change it to dollars for me? Now, please"

I quickly opened up a Currency conversion tool on my IPhone, did my sums and arranged to meet Maria in the lobby to pass over the dollars. Maria quickly skipped off in the direction of Larry the Lobster, with dreams of the Bellagio Cup side event emanating out of every pore.

I rode the life back up to the suites to the accompaniment of the ever-present "Nouvelle Vague", lift music of choice in Las Vegas this Summer. I opened the door to the Suite quietly as already I could hear the faint rumblings of a snoozing master.  

There in the ante-room , his Sky Poker (where fish are fish and click-throughs come mainly from blonde Poker, perhaps they should be charging for it) polo shirt hanging unkempt outside his chinos, lay slumped a very tired tikay muttering in his sleep some jumbled words amongst which I could pick out "Duffy" "Murdoch" and "Contract, mmmmmmm".

I busied myself getting his outfit for Day Four later today together. I cleaned his black shoes, ironed the Marks and Spencer ("always Marks and Spencer, Jeeves, British Institution Jeeves, bought my shares in 1966 Jeeves. Calvin Klein Jeeves? never Jeeves, very disappointing support Jeeves") boxer shorts and socks and then myself settled down to a few hours repose before reveille at 6.30am sharp, as per normal.

Our trip has but a few days to go. My own future is uncertain, as tikay has given no indication of our arrangements once we arrive at Gatwick. Perhaps a little support on this diary from my loyal readers might help persuade him to persist with our uneasy alliance? I have received a few approaches for employment. One, from a "Colonic Clinic, Milton Keynes and Northampton" sounds intriguing. Another, from the Paperestis family of Dulwich, frankly less so. Though possibly more lucrative if the destructive tendencies of the younger members of the family can be handled. A third, from a newly knighted entrepreneur called Sir Dean Donksalot promises much, but also promises repeated ironing duties of Hanah Montana T-Shirts. Soon, I will have to decide which is for me so my current master to use the modern vernacular needs to get "his arse into gear".  

Until then though, Sky Poker (where fish are fish and the blonde Poker invoice is being prepared) has three qualifiers nearing the cash in the major poker tournament worldwide, and tomorrow looks set to be busier still. Beneath the public mask, where nothing fazes him, I know my master is struggling. I hope one of these three plucky players can make his whole trip worthwhile.