In fond memory of Eduardo Garcia who handed in his dinner pail recently.
(Disclaimer : This composition is not by Ralston McTodd. But poets are, after all, also God’s creatures…)
I wish I could be Bertie, and let Jeeves do all the thinking
Whilst avoiding hard work – about it having no inkling,
I worship Ickenham’s horror of convention
And yet, often, am prevailed upon to avoid contention;
I yearn to saunter between tailor, bootmaker and hatter
Rather than dentist and supermarket – whilst enduring boring chatter,
I dream of living in Blandings, superbly waited on by Beach
Unconcerned about rules I daily feel inclined to breach;
But, alas, one cannot live other’s lives – that’s our lot
And however irksome one’s existence, of it one cannot be shot,
So one must find solace in laughter, fellowship and books
To escape – however briefly – boredom’s nasty hooks;
And there is a place to go, unlike any other one
Which uplifting powers are…
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ashokbhatia 
Thanks for sharing.
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On a more somber note in British society: Then WWII came, and all such careless young men who’d been uselessly whiling their time away during “the long weekend” came to the aid of king and country and entered the military. Their gentleman’s gentlemen became their batmen, and many now lie “In Flander’s Fields.”
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True, but Plum’s narratives kept them alive and kicking much after the clouds of WW2 had drifted away, followed by a long winter of cold wars.
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