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

[tikay]

Well you chaps may well think it's funny, but One is not best pleased with this.......

Go to the viewing station behind the Rio kitchen and observe the freight trains passing through the railyard below. Write in "the Train diary of Tony K, 1949" any instances of freight being pulled by two engines.

The instance to which you refer did NOT have a freight train "pulled" by two engines. (and the terminology is "hauled", not "pulled"). The two Locomotives were "bank" Locos, i.e, they were at the rear. And, at the front, hauling it, were five Locos. I thought I made that very clear. Do I need to re-Post - in fuller detail - the whole scene?

And it is not a "railyard" which I view, it's a regular piece of Permanent Way (track). The "Railyard" is on the other side of town (I discovered it by chance when lost the other day), & I plan to visit it at length later this week. Don't worry, I'll take the camera.

You have missed the point utterly & totally, & I can see why Floppy dispensed with your dubious services.

Do pay attention.

[Jeeves]

Monday

It has been a tough morning. Mr tikay awoke in a bad mood and things have got worse. I am continually picked up in the most pedantic fashion for poor terminology, poor grammar, lack of attention and for double creases in the freshly laundered boxer shorts.

Apparently shortly before I joined mr tetchy's employ he got lost on the "wrong side of the tracks", or should that be on the "wrong side of the permanent way"? I'm so confused, it is the downside of working for someone so decrepit I suppose.

Anyway whilst lost mr tetchy discovered a whole rail yard and tomorrow he intends to take me to delve into its inner most secrets. Little does he know that I discovered it's inner most secrets in the back of his beat up flame red Dodge Charger the other night during his all too rare three hour sleep with Christina, a rather fetching Puerto Rican Waitress from the Tropicana. However we had to rush as the detritus on the back seat of mr tetchy's car took a good twenty mintuers to clear. Afterwards though it acted as suitable camoflage for the evidence of my worrying, at my age, repeated exertions.

Mr tetchy is now having a brief repose checking his messages. No doubt this afternoon we will explore the Crane topography of the downtown area, where much building work is afoot. The last time I was downtown I had a hard hat, but for different reasons than I shall be needing this afternoon.

Relations between I and my Master are I fear on a downward slope. Perhaps I will answer that voicemail from Mr Old Compton offering me freelance work at Newmarket.

All of a sudden, I am in turmoil...

Must rush, mr tetchy is complaining about my dubious cups of tea and is threatening to haul me over the coals again.

   

[Karabiner]

Boxer shorts ? I was sure he'd be a dyed-in-the-wool M&S Y-front man.

[tikay]

Boxer shorts ? I was sure he'd be a dyed-in-the-wool M&S Y-front man.

Tesco's these days actually, 5 pair for £7.

But you get what you pay for, &, rather curiously, & perhaps aptly, they do not have that little, err, "wee-hole" or slit that Gentlemans Underwear usually has to facilitate easier bladder evacuation. So visits to Gents Conveniences require an inordinate amount of fumbling around for a suitable exit orifice. In that respect, Jeeves is most handy.

[Claw75]

Boxer shorts ? I was sure he'd be a dyed-in-the-wool M&S Y-front man.

Tesco's these days actually, 5 pair for £7.

But you get what you pay for, &, rather curiously, & perhaps aptly, they do not have that little, err, "wee-hole" or slit that Gentlemans Underwear usually has to facilitate easier bladder evacuation. So visits to Gents Conveniences require an inordinate amount of fumbling around for a suitable exit orifice. In that respect, Jeeves is most handy.

thanks for that image.  No, really.

[sofa----king]

Boxer shorts ? I was sure he'd be a dyed-in-the-wool M&S Y-front man.

Tesco's these days actually, 5 pair for £7.

But you get what you pay for, &, rather curiously, & perhaps aptly, they do not have that little, err, "wee-hole" or slit that Gentlemans Underwear usually has to facilitate easier bladder evacuation. So visits to Gents Conveniences require an inordinate amount of fumbling around for a suitable exit orifice. In that respect, Jeeves is most handy.

i thought you had a bag fitted??.,.,??

[cia260895]

Boxer shorts ? I was sure he'd be a dyed-in-the-wool M&S Y-front man.

Tesco's these days actually, 5 pair for £7.

But you get what you pay for, &, rather curiously, & perhaps aptly, they do not have that little, err, "wee-hole" or slit that Gentlemans Underwear usually has to facilitate easier bladder evacuation. So visits to Gents Conveniences require an inordinate amount of fumbling around for a suitable exit orifice. In that respect, Jeeves is most handy.

i thought you had a bag fitted??.,.,??

 

[Jeeves]

Tuesday


"Jeeves" said Mr tikay "I don't feel quite right"

"No sir" I said, as it was quite obvious that Mr tikay had been over-extending himself in the days previously

"I feel like a good rest, no poker, proper food and a chance to recharge my batteries. Today I will have a day off"

"Yes sir" said I "and a very wise decision if I may say so sir"

"You may" said mr tikay "as long as you tell those excellent big suits as Sky Poker (expert analysis by fish, for fish) that I will be back on form tomorrow for a full day of hanging around poker tables while people are trying to play"

"I shall sir" I said, and went off to inform one particular suit from Miami called Victoria at once.

To my mind one particular incident encapsulated the lengths to which mr tikay has gone to fulfill his obligations to his late-in-life employer.

Yesterday as previously described mr tikay awoke in a foul mood. The reason for this became clear. Helicopters.

He did not confide in my of course but from my respectful distance behind I heard him describe his abject terror on the mobile telephone to a confidant in the Hinckley area.

"Helicopters Tom! They want me to go up in a helicopter! They operate against the laws of engineering and nature that I live my life by Tom. How do I get them to film on a train instead, or on a bridge, or a boat, or....."

and my tikay's voice tailed off as what I assume was soothing advice made it's way down the line.

After the phone call mr tikay's back seemed stiffened. He was prepared to do his duty for his qualifiers, his employers and his confidant.

As we arrived at the Helipad, me as usual in the limosine behind with assorted make up artists, cameramen and off-duty croupiers, he took me to one side

"Jeeves" he said, hand trembling and colostomy bag quivering through the creases of his mongrammed shirt "I do not like helicopters. Will you accompany me on this journey, and be by my side in case of severe wind?"

"Yes sir" I replied "my wish is your command. Here are your pills for the flatulence"

He looked at me and his mouth opened as if to admonish, but he thought better of it and merely handed me a parachute which he insisted on us both wearing.

There were six seats in the rear of the helicopter. Mr tikay sat in the middle of a row of three, flanked by me on one side and a cameraman on the other. On the row in front two excited qualifiers whooped and hollered flanking the sound man. The grey hair qualifier began to shout "We're going to need a new Hot-O-Meter after this one eh tikay? tikay.....tikay" but he got no response.

Mr tikay was already eyes shut, his hand gripped on my knee, the other hand gripped on the cameraman's equipment. He stayed that way the entire flight intermittently humming a tune gently to himself, a sort of meditative chant of long lost innocence, and of times gone by

"up up and away in my beautiful my beautiful balloon" he sang gently, followed by "Time flies by when you're the driver of the train,and you ride on the footplate there and back again" a ditty I recognised from my days when Master Floppy was but a babe in arms, watching Chigley on BBC Television.

When we landed, mr tikay's eyes re-opened and he sprung back into life, ever the professional.

Later that evening, after mr tikay had departed his usual Caesars Palace competition, only this time uncharacteristically early, he retired to his room to work off his frustrations in his online diary. From the next room I heard at one moment the sounds of Pearl Jam from the television followed by plaintive cries to himself

"Bette Midler? Cher? How would I know who they are you silly boy!?" and

"Solve that maths puzzle Jocko" and a cackle that comforted me that mr tikay was once more on form, our dysfunction long behind us.

Today we encamp in the Rio card-room again. Hopefully we avoid interviewing people mr tikay knows nothing about like Mr Hevad Rainman Khan. It was a trifle embarrassing to see Mr Khan have to set mr tikay right when he was being asked questions about Dustin Hoffman, Tom Cruise and their roles as Raymond and Charlie Babbit and what it was like being a savant playing Poker.

Instead lets hope for interviews in mr tikay's comfort zone, and a happier gentleman all round

I bid you farewell, more anon. 

 

 

   

[Chompy]

Some outstanding work here Jeeves, you should write a sitcom or something.

[Jeeves]

Thursday


I was most surprised to receive an evening off on Tuesday. mr tikay was meeting up with friends at the Red Rock for dinner and decided that my presence was not required.

I however was most perturbed at this turn of events. Although my service of mr tikay has been short to date I have quite taken to his eccentricities and looked forward to polishing his silver at the table before his meal. So, trying extremely hard to avoid the temptations of flesh that had got me into such trouble earlier in the trip I decided to follow mr tikay's red Dodge charger from a respectful three cars' length behind on the eight mile journey from the Rio to the Red Rock.

This took rather longer than I expected. mr tikay appeared hunched up over the steering wheel, rarely deviating from 48 miles per hour. On repeated occasions large American vehicles would pull up alongside mr tikay's vehicle in the middle lane on the freeway. The window would wind down and I would see gesticulation and waved fists and unintelligible shouting. mr tikay would drive on undisturbed.

On arrival at the Red Rock I donned my "hispanic" look of a dark moustache and long black haired wig and sunglasses. I observed events. A sour faced tanned gentleman in a loud blue Hawaiian shirt shook Mr tikay's hand followed by two thin young gentlemen carrying ladies handbags. Finally a couple, the gentleman looking like he was just out of bed wearing a Mickey Mouse T-Shirt, arrived and the party went to the bar.

I took my position at the far end and heard general hilarity as mr tikay ordered a cup of English tea. I avoided the hordes of American tourists convinced I was a waiter and then headed to the restaurant and took the table for one by the kitchen. mr tikay's party was soon in full flow. Red wine was being ordered by the bottle and even the gentleman in the loud blue shirt was seen smiling, which led mr tikay to whip out his digital camera and take at least thirty photographs of what seemed to be a cause for celebration.

After several hours, an event lengthened by a robust debate between mr tikay and the maitre d'omo about the presence of green food on mr tikay's plate, the evening appeared over.

All Six diners piled into mr tikay's car and they left for the freeway, the strip and the card-rooms. Only slowly. I jettisoned my disguise and sprinted in through the back passage to be present in the reception of the Rio for mr tikay's arrival.

"A good evening sir?" I enquired

"Yes Jeeves, very good. Julian and Kevin had five bottles of wine between them, Garfield smiled and Jim lives here now you know"

"Yes sir, very good sir" I said and awaited instructions.

"To Caesar's Jeeves. Caesar's. For blighty and glory!"

and he strode off, brushing off autograph hunters and hanger's on in his wake, only pausing to snap a particularly attractive bendy bus in Poker Stars livery in the car park.

It was a long night. I kept my now all too familiar foot watch but there was a marked shortage of open toed sandal paraphenalia to show mr tikay, much to his obvious disappointment.

Wednesday and mr tikay was back on Sky Poker (expert analysis by fish for fish) duty. His shirt freshly pressed he was once again to be found in the Rio, interviewing poker legends and looking after his qualifiers. Playful in temperament (though inwardly I cringed at his insistence that the security guard checked JP Kelly's ID for proof of age and homework outstanding) and joyful in voice mr tikay was in his element.

In mid afternoon I was sent back to mr tikay's suite with firm instructions

"Tidy it Jeeves tidy it!"

"Yes sir"

" I need it to be spotless for when I take photographs of it later to include in my diary"

and off I went. This was not an easy a task as you might have imagined. I had to hide the following items from camera-shot:

- Hornby train set, narrow gauge
- Heated blanket
- Hot water bottle
- Stannah Stair Lift brochure
- Sachets of Horlicks
- Vehicle Log Book (It has been staring at him for days, but I intend to delay "finding" it until arrival at Gatwick)
- Photograph of RED-DOG
- Independent Newspaper, open at careers page, with unintelligible red jottings in the margin

Some two hours later the room was once again fit for viewing by mr tikay's adoring public. He bounded in like Laurence Llewellyn's Grandfather and order me to shift some furniture around before he snapped with carefree abandon.

Then mr tikay returned to his blog, his diary and his forum. Happy, content and no doubt thinking of an evening's poker ahead. On the rail, where he belongs.


 

[boldie]

top stuff. This diary is the best thing to come out of Vegas since....well..Elvis' dead body, I guess.

[tikay]

Pure genius!

[mondatoo]

Pure genius!

+1 Quality 

[Jeeves]

Saturday


It was my own fault. I thought it would be a nice surprise for mr tikay. Permanently he has been moaning that his last Sky Poker (expert railbirding by pensioners, for youngsters) qualifier has refused to bust from the WSOP main event, thus preventing mr tikay from playing the game of his calling for several nights in a row.

In the middle of all this moaning, mr tikay has been moving from table to table, taking pictures of unsuspecting men with such carefree abandon that one might think this was an art to which he first became accumstomed some years ago. Whenever he alights on one particular table he pauses, as if in reflective contemplation, and then turns to me. He appears to mouth the words

"I love Jaffa Cakes and chips"

and I nod, as if I have an earthly clue to what he is referring in the middle of the competition

For four days straight now mr tikay has laboured tirelessly for the cause, using his frankly years-out-of-date mobile phone to ring the studio in Feltham with the progress of the qualifier who refuses to bust (QWRB as the cameraman refers to him, sotto voce) and all the time maintaining the sprightly air of a man half his age, with half the Vodafone bill.

So last night the surprise was sprung. I had been down to the local convenience store and purchased the items I needed for the task. I excused myself half an hour early as the "de-bagging" procedure as mr tikay calls it began and went up to mr tikay's suite. Stepping over the Hornby train track, the photgraph of Mr RED-DOG and the universal adaptor I placed a trail of the items from the lift, up the corridor and into mr tikay's room. All leading to a plate on the desk, next to the lap-top, ashtray and the picture of the colonic irrigation hose.

I waited for mr tikay's arrival. I lit a candle, put on some Johnny Cash and felt I thought justly proud of the relaxing moments my master was about to experience.

Then the moment came. The door burst open.

"Jeeves, call housekeeping. Some idiot has left a trail of Jaffa Cakes in the corridor and what the hell they're here in my room, and Jeeves what's the candle doing on and where are the lights and JEEVES......."

and he stopped, mouth agape. He tried to speak, but no words came out. Clearly awestruck with my effort his eyes had alighted on my masterpiece.

There on the plate was a carefully arranged tower of Jaffa Cakes, surrounded by French Fries drizzled in Marmalade.

Some moments passed. mr tikay looked at me. I looked back at him, chest out, back ram-rod straight and preparing to make him his nightly Horlicks to accompany his feast.

"Jeeves" he eventually mustered his voice "what is this?"

"Well sir" I said, preeening alittle against my better judgement "I couldn't help but hear you say repeatedly today how much you liked Jaffa Cakes with chips. I know you are a man of eccentric culinary tastes so I decided to reward you for your unselfish dedication to QWRB and Sky Poker (railbirding by pensioners, for QWRB) and make you a meal"

"but, but,but,bu....." mr tikay's voice trailed off. I had seemingly achieved the impossible. He leaned wearily against the back of the desk chair and shook his head   

"thank you Jeeves, most kind, that will be all"

and I thanked him back. As I left the room, curtseying gently as is my norm, I heard the gentle sound of the Hornby train track and the barely perceptible sounds of mr tikay talking to the Station Master on the model platform, the Station Master's cocked right arm permanently unfurling the green flag in a pose I had seen, but never forgotten, mr tikay do himself in moments of maximum stress.

mr tikay seemed to be saying "When will this end Station Master? When can I return to my Angell, my Compo and my RED-DOG? When? When?...."

and as I shut the door, I realised that for mr tikay, that day could not come soon enough.

QWRB had a lot to answer for.

[mondatoo]

LMAO Best one yet for me.