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

[byronkincaid]

Good Evening, tonight on London Tonight we have the strange story about a South London man found with a can of Iron Bru inserted into er how can I say this, a very delicate part of his anatomy. With more on this breaking news let me pass you over to Johnathon on scene at the Nelson Mandela Estate, Peckham

Thank you Sarah, yes earlier on this afternoon people heard screams coming from the bottom of a stair well here in the notorious Nelson Mandela Estate. 5 hours later policemen on a routine patrol found a young man bound, gagged and naked with the top of a can of Iron Bru just visible, the rest of it stuck in a very painful place indeed. The man was rushed to hospital where doctors with a large pair of pliers are attempting to remove the can as I speak. As with all crime on this estate this incident is assumed to be drugs related. I have spoken to some residents here who while wishing to remain anonymous have indicated to me that the victim was wealthy enough to have actually had his own butler. One clue that the police found at the scene which may turn out to be be a vital clue in this incident was a half eaten deep fried mars bar. It has already been sent away for DNA analysis and police are very hopeful of a quick resolution to the case.

This is Johnaton Manning in Peckham, South London, now back to Sarah in the studio...

[Jeeves]

Friday


It was a long and taxing night. I was safely ensconsed in my Nottingham Pied a terre with Raif ("Dont call me Ralph darling, it's Raif, like Raif Fiennes, only older") when he broke some news that I greeted with mixed views

"Jeeves, darling, I am going to Vegas with Red Tom, 15th October, and you will of course be accompanying me. Book us flights dear man, book us hotels dear fellow and enjoy your first experience of Las Vegas. Elton John, Penn and Teller, Siefried and Roy darling, it's going to be a blast!"

I didn't have the heart to tell him that many of life's recent vicissitudes had begun this Summer in Vegas. My fall out with Master Floppy (dear Master Floppy, how life would have been so much simpler if I had turned the other cheeks and stayed with my life's calling), my adventures with mr tikay and my subsequent return to the high rises of South London and fake Jamaican patois and smelly stair-wells.

Instead I played dumb, told Raif that I was happy to make all the necessary arrangements and went back to the task in hand. Cleaning a Bone of gristle to give to Raif's best friend, Kizzy the dog, whom he planned to visit for afternoon tea and stimulating conversation on the morrow.

At that point Raif's phone rang. The strains of Judy Garland wafted into the Kitchenette from the ring tone and I heard Raif answer

"No this is not Edward Jeeves latterly of Peckham via Las Vegas, Staffordshire and Sotuh Kensington. I am his employer Raif, not Raif Fiennes, but simply Raif. I'm not wearing a shirt at the moment you know. Bare to the torso I am. I shall go and establish if Jeeves has finished his tasks for the evening"

The softly slippered feet padded onto the linoleum  and enquired if I wished to take the call. I asked Raif for the identity of the caller

In a forboding tone Raif lowered his voice and whispered, seemingly afraid that Maud and Joyce his aged lesbian neighbours would hear through the thin walls

"It's Sergeant Dixon of Dock Green Police Station in Peckham. He would like an urgent word with you"

I cleaned my hands on the lingerie clad lady photographed apron and picked up the phone

"This is Jeeves"

"Edward Jeeves latterly in the service of Usain Bolt, formerly known as Timothy Bolt, of 132 Nelson Mandela House, Peckham, London?"

"Yes, that I am"

"Well we have detained Usain in our custody as he was found on Stairwell sixteen tonight with a metal can protruding from his orifice, a deep fried mars bar in his mouth, sellotaped firm, and holding a copy of Braveheart and with a face painted blue"

I tried to process the information

Sergeant Dixon continued

"Later we found two Scottish gentlemen face down in a skip in Tooting, clutching photographs of Olympic gold medallists and SNP flags. About their person were leaflets detailing Site traffic on Cryptologic, and Sharkscope log in details"

I was beginning to put two and two together

"Furthermore Usain had been tattoeed. His chest was emblazoned with the slogan ...

Stake me ya fker, I'm a winning player "

"Usain gave me this number, saying you were the one phone call he wished us to make"

"Would you please arrange to bail said person?"

A manservant's lot is really not like it was in more genteel times. I was becoming achingly aware of my poor career choices in recent times, but I felt a duty to help, mrbolt/Usain/Timothy in his hour of need

Sadly my funds were rather limted, as I had only that day paid for four Lee Evans tickets for my niece Benjamina Mayhew from a very kind man I met on a friendship site, so i was in the ignominious position of asking Raif for an advance on my wages

"Excuse me sir, my former employer is in a spot of bother. Bail is only £200 as the kind Sergeant says he'll be back soon enough. Could you tide me over until next week?"

Fortunately Raif was a kindly soul

"As long as I can accompany you to the Police station Jeeves. Will there be policemen there?"

"Yes sir" I said wearily

Another wrong career choice was looking the most probable outcome.

[Laxie]

LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!     

[Colchester Kev]

LMFAO best one yet imo.

[Tonji]

superb 

[booder]

superb 

[Karabiner]

Obv. an inside job if Jeeves knows about my Judy Garland ringtone...

[tikay]

Obv. an inside job if Jeeves knows about my Judy Garland ringtone...

Raif exposed.

[boldie]

This is truly top class...that was some post!

[turny]

absolute class!

the best thread ever on blonde FACT!

[Sunday8pm]

Lol. Nice style

[Jeeves]

Monday


A most taxing weekend has just passed, but first I must update you on the events following my last post. I did indeed travel to London at short notice and did indeed bail my erstwhile employer out of his predicament. I expected some thanks but instead there has been no comment since. I have yet to break the news to Mr Raif that his £200 is up the swannee, presumed missing.

That conversation awaits happier times.

On Friday Mr Raif appeared restless, pacing his flat from one corner to the next, seemingly wrestling with a huge conundrum. I busied myself with my Friday chorse, making sure the place was spick and span for the weekend ahead. In truth in this new employ Friday's are not my favourite day. For one the scheduled rota of tasks includes polishing Mr Raif's prized collection of solid silver dog bones, and secondly it heralds the weekends when Mr Raif goes out to play, with my presence required to the rear of his right shoulder.

When I had finished my tasks I dared venture a question to the pensive Raif.

"Excuse me sir, but I cannot help but notice you are a little pre-occupied this fine Friday. May I enquire the source of your dudgeon?"

Raif sighed and it began to pour out

"Its DTD 3-2-1 Weekend Jeeves and I so want to play. However I only want to play if Tom's there, and Tom hasn't rung. If he doesn't ring soon I will have to go on my own Jeeves and I so want Tom to be there and its...."

and with that his voice trailed away, perhaps cognisant of the futility of his anguish, the anguish that only a man waiting for portentous news outside his control can feel

I suggested a short term solution

"Perhaps a round of golf sir at Wollaton Park? take the frustration out on some rough and some trees and possibly the occasional green and fairway?"

This did not go down well as Raif immediately reached into his nearby Jacobean Bureau and literally flung a batch of golf scorecards, banded together held by a bright yellow scrunchie hair tie, in my direction

"Look Jeeves, my scoring average is up 2.65 shots per round over the summer, I'm hitting less than 54% of greens in regulation! And all because I'm looking out for finches and hedgehogs and ferrets and terriers to photograph and send to Tom and no matter where on the course I go I can't see any. I bet Tom is so disappointed in my lack of wildlife observation skills. Maybe that is why he hasn't rung?"   

I left the question hanging, a pregnant pause only interrupted by the Arsenal cuckoo clock striking the hour of 3 o'clock in its distinctive tone "Wenger, Wenger, Wenger" cried the feather clad Ian Wright figurine as it leapt out of the clock metronomically.

A few minutes later the telephone rang. From the next room  I could hear the most alwful commotion. Raif had evidently fallen asleep reading his "1971 Double Winners" top trumps cards and in his excitement to find his mobile he had knocked over his Dame Margot Fonteyn signed tutu, mounted on his nest of tables.

Eventually he answered

"Raif Karabiner here"

and I could see a warm glow settle across his face as the call was, indeed, from his chum.

"Yes Tom, going to DTD tonight? You are? You need to play live poker? Well yes...of course........join you for a breakfast....let me just check.......yes I think I am free, see you there at 7pm"

He put the phone down and danced around his living room, twirling with the abandon of a youth re-discovered

The next few hours were spent in  joyful preparation. Shoes polished, Corby trouser presses on full bore, shirt ironed, Brylcreem tenderly applied and soon we were out of the door and down through Lenton to the QMC roundabout and thence on to DTD, nestling snugly behind the Showcase cinema and next to the lapdancing club that I shall never attend.

The night flew by, Raif in a joyous mood. Flirting not too convincingly with waitresses, fluttering his eyelids at Tom's extra portion of fried bread and bemoaning a seat draw that left him eight tables away from his mucker.

I spent the evening sitting on the sole sofa by the entrance like a spare part, secretly willing my charge to exit the torunament and not be in the mood to spend six hours on cash losing £5.50 overall, highlighting typographical errors in the UK's leading Poker magazine for nothing more than my own morbid fascination with grammar and punctuation.

Sadly it was 4am when Raif decided to leave, with a promise to Tom that he would "play the £300 tomorrow but only if you do"

I inwardly sighed, and prepared for a Saturday of thinly veiled expectation, and the intermittent humming of the two trouser presses, one for each leg.       

Saturday evening was quite the whirlygig! Raif needed medical attention by Simon Trumper and his ruler when it was announced over the tannoy that "Tom is all-in first hand". Raif's heart nearly leapt out of his light blue, short-sleeved linen effect teryline shirt! However it was a false alarm and to his credit Raif managed to survive to Day 2, and all with Lady Mason of Hampstead and Lord Feline of Sussex unable to witness him play a single hand. Rumour has it they were too busy with other endeavours.

Sadly Raif's charge to the title was haltedearly on the second day, and he retired to his home chastened temporarily.

As his spirits returned he pondered, unaware of my presence behind the sofa trying to retrieve his Betamax Video Collection of episodes of Magnum PI

"It doesn't get any better than that. Seventeen hours over three days in the presence of Tom and his breakfasts. I wonder when I can next pop round with a big bone for Kizzy?....."

and with that he fell into a deep slumber, the silence only interrupted by deep breathing and the Ian Wright Cuckoo calling out its Gunner beat.

[mondatoo]

LOL These just get better and better.

[booder]

LOL These just get better and better.

 

[Colchester Kev]

I left the question hanging, a pregnant pause only interrupted by the Arsenal cuckoo clock striking the hour of 3 o'clock in its distinctive tone "Wenger, Wenger, Wenger" cried the feather clad Ian Wright figurine as it leapt out of the clock metronomically.


sheer genius