retro ... who besides Tree would still have one of those?What if they do it on a shag carpet?
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All at Sea with Jeeves
- Thread starter Wragg
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So, this is all about being caught in Soho? What is the world coming to, when a chap is damn near thrown out of the old bosom of the "thicker than water" just for being outside Mayfair for a moment?
I mean we didn't even get up to anything wrong. Those girls asked us to lay on with the whips. Chap has to be civil.
We didn't even nick a policeman's helmet. One chafes at the injustice! 
So, this is all about being caught in Soho? What is the world coming to, when a chap is damn near thrown out of the old bosom of the "thicker than water" just for being outside Mayfair for a moment?
Time to call in Inspector Morse!
oh, and guys don’t shag women over here. There are other words for that
Barb, I’m try to decide if you’re going to show up as a flighty American heiress or a muckraking reporter a la Nellie Bly.
Yep. Pennsylvania originally. Went around the world in less than 80 days.
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nellie_Bly
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Yep. Pennsylvania originally. Went around the world in less than 80 days.
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nellie_Bly
Barbie Bly, her sister?
messaline
Crucified Amazon
What are you implying there ?! I do admit that " Mademoiselle Messaline " is a special house ...
... for a part ...but she's able to prepare for you some wonderful dishes coming from this wonderful "Traditional French Cooking" ...
... on request ... 
A necessary explanation. As is customary in Scotland, I am named after my grandmother,
who was considered a great beauty in the Northern Forest in her younger years,
But the distress caused by her spendthrift brother Hector marrying into the hard-up English aristocracy
took its toll - still, here's grannie Eulalia in one of her happier moods
(having just disinherited another of numerous grandchildren - me)
Fact is, Old Boy, Mlle Messaline's is a club where one can enjoy a bit ofSo, this is all about being caught in Soho? What is the world coming to, when a chap is damn near thrown out of the old bosom of the "thicker than water" just for being outside Mayfair for a moment?
Readers will understand the requirement to take ship. Strong genes, don't you know?
I say, that Wragg cove is at it again with one of his yarns. Jolly interesting, I should say. I wonder what manner of pickle he will find himself in this time?
A woman not to be trifled with. I hope she read the fine print on her ticket, what?
Let me see that menu . . . . . .
A woman not to be trifled with. I hope she read the fine print on her ticket, what?
Let me see that menu . . . . . .
Good lord, Bertie! You've got an Aunt Eulalia and a Cousin Eulalia.
Oh, in the English aristocracy, the old girl's probably both, there's so much inbreeding...
(I'm a few times removed. Well, I try to be
)Where English milords do their duty and show the flag!Fact is, Old Boy, Mlle Messaline's is a club where one can enjoy a bit offlallegationflaggellationwhipping.
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Next time, Gentlemen, hire a room in The Dorchester, invite your ladies for a diner, and then take them up to your suite. You'll pay a little bit more than in Madame Messaline's, but a real Gentleman would not make a point of that. A good tip for the hotel porter guarantees there will be no tabloid journalists around.
Wow! Thus speaks the voice of experience?
2.
“What ho, Bertie!” Jollyrei seemed contented enough with a life on the ocean wave. For my part, I couldn’t wait to get off this rustbucket and get dry land under my feet again, but I greeted him cordially enough. “Hello, Jolly. I do wish this blasted ship would stop rolling about!”
He looked at me sympathetically. “I say, yes, you are looking a bit green about the gills. Have you not found your sea legs yet, Bertie?”
“I think I lost them overboard. And Jeeves isn’t being much help.”
“I see. Still narked about heading for the Big Apple rather than la sud de la France, is he?”
“Frosty, Jolly. That’s the word. Frosty.”
The waiter appeared and I ordered a brandy and soda, in the interests of science, to determine whether or not it had a positive effect on the mal de mer, while Jollyrei, with his iron constitution, appeared to feel equal to a gin and tonic.
For a few moments we sat in silence, Jollyrei being all too acutely aware of the disadvantageous effects of a frosty manservant. The SS Cruxton Abbey bore on through the chilly North Atlantic, Uncle Sam ahead and Blighty astern.
I broke the silence. “Still, not to worry. Another few nautical miles between ourselves and our irate relatives. All to the good, what?”
“Absolutely, old boy. How exceptionally bracing it is to know that they are safely in Blighty while we can look forward to the dear old Big Apple!”
“The one thing I really didn’t need was a deep and meaningful discussion with my Aunt Eulalia. I’m dashed if I can see what the fuss is about, anyway. She loves to make free use of her riding crop on errant nephews. She’d rather enjoy a soiree at Mademoiselle Messalines, I think. Anyway, let her do what she will, there’s nothing like having an ocean between one and a disapproving Aunt. Did I tell you about the time when…”
I tailed off, as it dawned on me that Jollyrei wasn’t listening. Instead, he was goggling, eyes wide open, mouth opening and closing like a stranded fish.
“I say, Jolly, what’s up, old man? Has your G&T gone down the wrong way?”
“BERTIE!!!!!” A familiar voice behind struck me amidships. I whirled around to see what had rattled Jollyrei.
Bearing down upon us, like battleships under full steam, were my Aunt Eulalia and the Honorable Lady Deborah, Dowager Countess of High Groaning. And, like battleships, they were fully armed, both carrying formidable looking horsewhips!
Jollyrei and I didn’t even stop to discuss strategies for dealing with this appalling development. We were up and out of the door like startled foxes, with the hunt in hot pursuit.
“What ho, Bertie!” Jollyrei seemed contented enough with a life on the ocean wave. For my part, I couldn’t wait to get off this rustbucket and get dry land under my feet again, but I greeted him cordially enough. “Hello, Jolly. I do wish this blasted ship would stop rolling about!”
He looked at me sympathetically. “I say, yes, you are looking a bit green about the gills. Have you not found your sea legs yet, Bertie?”
“I think I lost them overboard. And Jeeves isn’t being much help.”
“I see. Still narked about heading for the Big Apple rather than la sud de la France, is he?”
“Frosty, Jolly. That’s the word. Frosty.”
The waiter appeared and I ordered a brandy and soda, in the interests of science, to determine whether or not it had a positive effect on the mal de mer, while Jollyrei, with his iron constitution, appeared to feel equal to a gin and tonic.
For a few moments we sat in silence, Jollyrei being all too acutely aware of the disadvantageous effects of a frosty manservant. The SS Cruxton Abbey bore on through the chilly North Atlantic, Uncle Sam ahead and Blighty astern.
I broke the silence. “Still, not to worry. Another few nautical miles between ourselves and our irate relatives. All to the good, what?”
“Absolutely, old boy. How exceptionally bracing it is to know that they are safely in Blighty while we can look forward to the dear old Big Apple!”
“The one thing I really didn’t need was a deep and meaningful discussion with my Aunt Eulalia. I’m dashed if I can see what the fuss is about, anyway. She loves to make free use of her riding crop on errant nephews. She’d rather enjoy a soiree at Mademoiselle Messalines, I think. Anyway, let her do what she will, there’s nothing like having an ocean between one and a disapproving Aunt. Did I tell you about the time when…”
I tailed off, as it dawned on me that Jollyrei wasn’t listening. Instead, he was goggling, eyes wide open, mouth opening and closing like a stranded fish.
“I say, Jolly, what’s up, old man? Has your G&T gone down the wrong way?”
“BERTIE!!!!!” A familiar voice behind struck me amidships. I whirled around to see what had rattled Jollyrei.
Bearing down upon us, like battleships under full steam, were my Aunt Eulalia and the Honorable Lady Deborah, Dowager Countess of High Groaning. And, like battleships, they were fully armed, both carrying formidable looking horsewhips!
Jollyrei and I didn’t even stop to discuss strategies for dealing with this appalling development. We were up and out of the door like startled foxes, with the hunt in hot pursuit.
windar
Teller of Tales
Horsewhips? Wouldn't a cat o' nine tails be more appropriate for the nautical setting? Don't traditions mean anything anymore?
Each to his (or her) weapon of choice... and don't read ahead!