Well, hello. I am somewhat worried about one of my reviewers. In their
review, they said:
"I love Woosterkins"
I am a little worried by this. I mention no names. *Coughs name in background*
Anyway, you know the drill, I own nada, otherwise I'd be rich, and not writing fanfic. Like, duh?
Chapter Eleven
It was a tense moment. And then, my guardian angel suddenly popped out of a trap, and started to work like an editor of a small periodical, named "Wee Tots" that has just been told their pays been doubled.
In respective order, Emily gasped, giggled and Yes Of Course I Will-d.
This gave me a shock. A nice shock, I mean. We had been getting on rather well. I have squads of female pals, who I get on very well with, but not one could stand the thought of being married to me. A nice surprise really, you might call this.
Anyhow, we stayed on the bridge for a while, self-feeling happy with dreams coming true, and beautiful Emily giggling with girlish merriment.
It was then I remembered the mixed up letters. I asked my fiancé if she had received a chatty note, intended for somebody's aunt. She replied that she had received no letters. Then I did all the explaining about mixing them up.
"Oh, Bertie, you are a chump! Oh, I suppose it can't be helped. What did your aunt say?"
"She seemed happy."
"Oh, good." She checked her wristwatch. "Heavens! The time! You'd best walk me back to my house. You can meet my father."
We pondered along, until we reached the house. Emily opened the door, but there was no Mr Cooper. So, we kissed a fond goodbye, and I toddled off to the flat, a song on my lips and joy in my heart, and all that rot.
You may have heard me before use the term '. . . hit behind the ear with a blackjack.' I usually employ it to show unwanted or bad news. My aunt Agatha, for instance, hit me behind the ear with a blackjack, when telling me I was engaged to Olivia Georgehath.
But, as I entered the flat, feeling full of pep and ginger, I mean to use the term in another way.
I entered the good old flat, full of pep and ginger, when a dark clad feller popped out of a trap, and, quite literally, hit me on the back hair with a small, black cudgel. I crumpled to the floor, as if there were no bones in me. Out cold to the entire world.
It was some time later, that I awoke, still crumpled on the floor like a dishrag. I sat up, and peered about me. I heard Jeeves, tootling about in the sitting room, and wondered why the deuce he had not come to my aid.
I mean to say, when the young master is biffed by an un-known person, with an un-known blunt object, you might expect the valet in those parts, to come leaping to the rescue. But no, it seemed that for the first time, Jeeves had not rallied round. He had left me there, at the mercy of fate and fortune.
Rubbing my head, and feeling pretty un-nerved, I marched in.
The room suddenly turned before my eyes, and swinging into my field of vision, came a thin, gaunt face, apparently belonging to a male person. He looked dis-pleased.
"You, you, cad!"
I gurgled, he had me by the throat, and I found it difficult to communicate.
He seethed a bit.
"You whelp! My daughter, you seriously imagine that I'd let a blood sucking, useless aristocrat like you, even look at my daughter!"
He seemed to be verging on the personal, and I wasn't keen. He shook me about a bit, and in this brief interlude, I saw Jeeves in the corner of my eye. He was messing about with the cutlery in the next room, dash him. Here I was, being choked to death by a fellow who looked like a horse, and there Jeeves was, giving me the cold shoulder. Bally awkward, if you get my drift.
"I love Woosterkins"
I am a little worried by this. I mention no names. *Coughs name in background*
Anyway, you know the drill, I own nada, otherwise I'd be rich, and not writing fanfic. Like, duh?
Chapter Eleven
It was a tense moment. And then, my guardian angel suddenly popped out of a trap, and started to work like an editor of a small periodical, named "Wee Tots" that has just been told their pays been doubled.
In respective order, Emily gasped, giggled and Yes Of Course I Will-d.
This gave me a shock. A nice shock, I mean. We had been getting on rather well. I have squads of female pals, who I get on very well with, but not one could stand the thought of being married to me. A nice surprise really, you might call this.
Anyhow, we stayed on the bridge for a while, self-feeling happy with dreams coming true, and beautiful Emily giggling with girlish merriment.
It was then I remembered the mixed up letters. I asked my fiancé if she had received a chatty note, intended for somebody's aunt. She replied that she had received no letters. Then I did all the explaining about mixing them up.
"Oh, Bertie, you are a chump! Oh, I suppose it can't be helped. What did your aunt say?"
"She seemed happy."
"Oh, good." She checked her wristwatch. "Heavens! The time! You'd best walk me back to my house. You can meet my father."
We pondered along, until we reached the house. Emily opened the door, but there was no Mr Cooper. So, we kissed a fond goodbye, and I toddled off to the flat, a song on my lips and joy in my heart, and all that rot.
You may have heard me before use the term '. . . hit behind the ear with a blackjack.' I usually employ it to show unwanted or bad news. My aunt Agatha, for instance, hit me behind the ear with a blackjack, when telling me I was engaged to Olivia Georgehath.
But, as I entered the flat, feeling full of pep and ginger, I mean to use the term in another way.
I entered the good old flat, full of pep and ginger, when a dark clad feller popped out of a trap, and, quite literally, hit me on the back hair with a small, black cudgel. I crumpled to the floor, as if there were no bones in me. Out cold to the entire world.
It was some time later, that I awoke, still crumpled on the floor like a dishrag. I sat up, and peered about me. I heard Jeeves, tootling about in the sitting room, and wondered why the deuce he had not come to my aid.
I mean to say, when the young master is biffed by an un-known person, with an un-known blunt object, you might expect the valet in those parts, to come leaping to the rescue. But no, it seemed that for the first time, Jeeves had not rallied round. He had left me there, at the mercy of fate and fortune.
Rubbing my head, and feeling pretty un-nerved, I marched in.
The room suddenly turned before my eyes, and swinging into my field of vision, came a thin, gaunt face, apparently belonging to a male person. He looked dis-pleased.
"You, you, cad!"
I gurgled, he had me by the throat, and I found it difficult to communicate.
He seethed a bit.
"You whelp! My daughter, you seriously imagine that I'd let a blood sucking, useless aristocrat like you, even look at my daughter!"
He seemed to be verging on the personal, and I wasn't keen. He shook me about a bit, and in this brief interlude, I saw Jeeves in the corner of my eye. He was messing about with the cutlery in the next room, dash him. Here I was, being choked to death by a fellow who looked like a horse, and there Jeeves was, giving me the cold shoulder. Bally awkward, if you get my drift.