Rating: 
Summary: Wish I Were English
Review: Well, Its like this. Not to long ago an old chump of mine decided to lay on me these televised versions of a previously unheard of cluster of books. With serious hindsight I should have just dismissed the dratted things, but you should know that the future happened to elude me just then, and I launched myself into them with all the gusto of an alley cat onto a fishbone. In fact the whole bally idea of it rather struck me. To be perfectly honest, I must say that it was hard to say no to after the pitch I was given. My sword swingin comrade said in no uncertain terms, and with a polite slowness that keeps me on the right level, that I would like them, that they were good, and that he would stand behind me with said sword and make sure I laughed. At first I gathered that he was laying it on a bit thick, but when I saw the fevered intensity that broke out into a sweat across his face, I knew that he was sure of himself. They were dashed nonsense really, but I couldn't help but take a liking to them. Seeing an English gent trying to fix situational problems when he seems to be missing a bit of grey matter is all well and good, but I felt nothing but relief each time his valet was brought onto the scene to take matters into his own hands. Wooster (the grey matter missing chap), is a likable fellow. Always willing to help out a friend in need, which usually lands him into a tight spot, while Jeeves (the aforementioned valet), has a mind that can tackle the toughest issues, and is willing to do so as long as Wooster can stay within Jeeves's fashion limits. Along the way I encountered an odd, but strangely refreshing cast. From jolly old fish-face, to the newt toting Finknottle. From a multitude of Brittish gals who have the wrong idea that Wooster is madly in love with them, to an array of aunts who can't wait to find something wrong with the poor chap. (...) And I can't forget to mention the mob of friends who flit from one romance to the next. After sitting through all four seasons in a short 3 or 4 week time, I realized that Wooster was a part of me and I couldn't very well give up the poor fellow. I have of late found myself reading a dashed good novel called "Life With Jeeves", also provided by my previous mentioned chum. Supposedly it was written by P.G. Woodhouse, but I know it was really Wooster himself just using a pen name, after getting the idea from his friend Bingo who once gave him the false name of Rosie M. Banks, a popular novelist of her time. I know this because he wrote it in first person, and someone calls him by his real name at least once every page.
I am so infatuated that I have taken to prowling on Amazon, watching all the Jeeves and Wooster pages (and there are a lot of them), waiting for any fresh reviews to satisfy my new needs.
Just remember, your review had better be a bally good one.
Rating:
Summary: Wish I Were English
Review: Well, Its like this. Not to long ago an old chump of mine decided to lay on me these televised versions of a previously unheard of cluster of books. With serious hindsight I should have just dismissed the dratted things, but you should know that the future happened to elude me just then, and I launched myself into them with all the gusto of an alley cat onto a fishbone. In fact the whole bally idea of it rather struck me. To be perfectly honest, I must say that it was hard to say no to after the pitch I was given. My sword swingin comrade said in no uncertain terms, and with a polite slowness that keeps me on the right level, that I would like them, that they were good, and that he would stand behind me with said sword and make sure I laughed. At first I gathered that he was laying it on a bit thick, but when I saw the fevered intensity that broke out into a sweat across his face, I knew that he was sure of himself. They were dashed nonsense really, but I couldn't help but take a liking to them. Seeing an English gent trying to fix situational problems when he seems to be missing a bit of grey matter is all well and good, but I felt nothing but relief each time his valet was brought onto the scene to take matters into his own hands. Wooster (the grey matter missing chap), is a likable fellow. Always willing to help out a friend in need, which usually lands him into a tight spot, while Jeeves (the aforementioned valet), has a mind that can tackle the toughest issues, and is willing to do so as long as Wooster can stay within Jeeves's fashion limits. Along the way I encountered an odd, but strangely refreshing cast. From jolly old fish-face, to the newt toting Finknottle. From a multitude of Brittish gals who have the wrong idea that Wooster is madly in love with them, to an array of aunts who can't wait to find something wrong with the poor chap. (...) And I can't forget to mention the mob of friends who flit from one romance to the next. After sitting through all four seasons in a short 3 or 4 week time, I realized that Wooster was a part of me and I couldn't very well give up the poor fellow. I have of late found myself reading a dashed good novel called "Life With Jeeves", also provided by my previous mentioned chum. Supposedly it was written by P.G. Woodhouse, but I know it was really Wooster himself just using a pen name, after getting the idea from his friend Bingo who once gave him the false name of Rosie M. Banks, a popular novelist of her time. I know this because he wrote it in first person, and someone calls him by his real name at least once every page.
I am so infatuated that I have taken to prowling on Amazon, watching all the Jeeves and Wooster pages (and there are a lot of them), waiting for any fresh reviews to satisfy my new needs.
Just remember, your review had better be a bally good one.
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