He was far from being gruntled

I'm re-reading one of my Jeeves and Wooster books, The Code of the Woosters. (These Wodehouse books are about a young man-about-town of negligible intelligence but a kind nature, who's always getting into trouble when trying to help his friends out; and his genius valet who unravels all the problems.)

Here's an excerpt from the first scene in the book--I put in bold the stuff that makes me faint before the brilliance that is Wodehouse's writing.


'Well, Jeeves, what goes on in the great world? Is that the paper you have there?'

'No, sir. It is some literature from the Travel Bureau. I thought that you might care to glance at it.'

'Oh?' I said. 'You did, did you?'

And there was a brief and -- if that's the word I want -- pregnant silence.

I suppose that when two men of iron will live in close association with one another, there are bound to be occasional clashes, and one of these had recently popped up in the Wooster home. Jeeves was trying to get me to go on a Round-The-World cruise, and I would have none of it. But in spite of my firm statements to this effect, scarcely a day passed without him bringing me a sheaf or nosegay of those illustrated folders which the Ho-for-the-open-spaces birds send out in the hope of drumming up custom. His whole attitude recalled irresistibly to the mind that of some assiduous hound who will persist in laying a dead rat on the drawing-room carpet, though repeatedly apprised by word and gesture that the market for same is sluggish or even non-existent.

'Jeeves,' I said, 'this nuisance must now cease.'

'Travel is highly educational, sir.'

'I can't do with any more education. I was full up years ago. No, Jeeves, I know what's the matter with you. That old Viking strain of yours has come out again. You yearn for the tang of the salt breezes. You see yourself walking the deck in a yachting cap. Possibly someone has been telling you about the Dancing Girls of Bali. I understand, and I sympathize. But not for me. I refuse to be decanted into any blasted ocean-going liner and lugged off round the world.'

'Very good, sir.'

He spoke with a certain what-is-it in his voice, and I could see that, if not actually disgruntled, he was far from being gruntled, so I tactfully changed the subject.


Of course, they were also made into an excellent TV series, which is on youtube. If you've only ever seen Hugh Laurie in House, then you won't know how good he is at playing stupid. I've been cultivating his way of saying "Good Lord!"



The series loses a lot of Bertie's narration, but they make up for it by all the great scenes of him singing 1920s songs at his piano.