Posts Tagged ‘Fans’

The day was mildly cold, so fair, so magically a thing of sunshine and greyish-blue skies and bird-song that anyone acquainted with Clarence, the ninth Earl of Emsworth, and aware of his liking for fine weather, would have pictured him pottering about his terraced garden on a December morning with a beaming smile and an uplifted heart.

Instead, prompted by the Countess of Emsworth, he was being the genial host, ensuring that all the guests and a sole imposter present could lay their hands on their favourite tissue restoratives, of which a wide range was available in abundant supply, Plum wine being only one of the many.

On the lavish lawns of Blandings Castle, around fifteen of Plum fans had assembled. Flowers were in full bloom. The birds had ceased twittering and were looking askance at the mirthful peals of uncontrollable laughter emanating from the group.

Once the introductions had been made, the proceedings were kicked off by recalling the Yeoman’s Wedding Song and then a playback of Sonny Boy.

A quiz followed, leaving many a brainy cove stumped and gasping for fresh air. A dumb charade came up next, regaling all those present.

Personal reminences were shared. Many of the characters created by Plum came in for a loving mention. The conversation in the group often touched a high level and feasts of Reason and flows of Soul occurred.

The eldest known fan, Mrs. Sushama Varma, was felicitated on the occasion. She rendered a soul-stirring ghazal in her sweet and melodius voice. She also released the hard copy version of ‘The Indian Curry Dished Out by P. G. Wodehouse.’

In the absence of Angus McAllister, flowers and plants were freely offered by the genial host. Regrettably, the Empress of Blandings was missing in action, having been whisked off to a secret location. Thus, pig-napping was ruled out.

With the assistance of Gerturde, Beach, Miss Twemlow and other maids, the Countess of Emsworth had organized a lavish spread which could well have been the envy of Anatole. Sweets and savouries were plentiful. Cakes beseeching the participants to tuck them in kept pouring in even after the gig was over.

Overall, a grand rollicking time was had by all those assembled. Fun-filled, blissful and overflowing with sublime joy. The Plum wine was intoxicating indeed. The true spirit of fan following was in evidence. Those who ventured to attend left beaming from ear to ear, carrying with them the sweet memories of the fun, warmth and laughter that normally gets uncorked when a bunch of Plum’s fans gets together.

Photographs courtesy The Imposter

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When fans of P G Wodehouse met up recently in Delhi, the collective cup of mirth simply flowed over. Here is a juicy report from Soumya Mukherjee which is bound to tickle your funny bone: via Pluminion.

Here is a recap of the last meeting which yours truly was fortunate enough to attend in flesh and blood.


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When The Egg, The Bean, The Crumpet and The W-and-Soda ended up meeting each other in Bangalore recently, they met at Koshy’s, an iconic hangout joint in the no-longer-as-green-a-city. Visited in the past by such illustrious figures as Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru, Queen Elizabeth II and Nikita Khrushchev, the place proved to be classy, sporting a stiff-upper-lip dispensation, generally brooking no nonsense.

The management of Koshy’s does not encourage guests to throw bread crumbs at each other. The reasons are not far to seek. One, they make their own bread, thereby looking askance at any attempts to denigrate the same in any way. Two, their clientele comprises the kind of intellectual coves who despise any show of what, in their jaundiced view, would amount to a dash of frivolity.

In order to ensure strict compliance with this code of theirs, they ensure that the sandwiches dished out by them are made up of bread which does not boast of a crisp crust at the edges. Also, the sandwiches are so very delicious that the mere thought of wasting even a residual scrap would not enter the minds of those who devour them.

The ambience at Koshy’s is otherwise vibrant. The decibel levels are on the higher side, thereby prompting all those who are there to engage in lively conversations with each other. This in turn ensures that smart phone addiction is kept under a strict check. Also, guests at nearby tables cannot hope to listen in when one of the residents of Plumsville decides to either sing Sonny Boy or replicate the Market Snodsbury speech of Gussie Fink Nottle.

Waiters of all hues, sizes and shapes hover in the background, serving the guests with alacrity and servitude. They also appear to be well-trained at thwarting any attempts at throwing boiled eggs at the ceiling fans merrily whirring above.

The Egg happened to be in the city on a business errand, discovered that a Plummy meet was in the offing on the day, and decided to walk in. The Crumpet was on his way from India to Norway and was keen to meet others in the fans club. Both of them arrived early and lost no time in discussing the reasons underlying the popularity of the works of P G Wodehouse.

The Bean and The W-and-S, both residents of the city, walked in soon enough, mopping their brows after having braved the challenging traffic conditions of the metropolis.

The Bean, a real estate magnate, regaled all others with his unique sense of humour. He regretted having missed out on a similar gig in the City of Joy some time back, owing to Fate having struck him with a lead pipe very close to the event.

The W-and-S, a business strategy expert, occasionally butted in with his intellectual comments, thereby spicing up the proceedings. He also narrated personal experiences from his life which keep him connected to Plum.

The Egg described in detail as to how a stern lion tamer built along the lines of Miss Mapleton was responsible for his discovery of the blissful world of Plum in his earlier school days.

The Crumpet expressed his desire to enable more of the younger lot to get introduced to the joys of reading Plum. He and The Egg recounted their Plummy encounter in New Delhi during November 2017.

Regrettably, attempts at any display of chivalrous tendencies by those present were rendered impossible, since two of those of the so-called delicately nurtured tribe, who were expected to show up, decided to accord higher importance to their familial responsibilities. The Gin-and-Tonic was busy elsewhere, fussing over her ailing mother. The Watermelon Vodka was attempting to strike a finer balance between her work and home life. The feudal spirit reigned supreme on the day.

The future offers far richer possibilities. The Jayamahal Palace Hotel is another favourite haunt of the Bangalore Plummies. Often, other residents of Plumsville keep trooping in from the City of Joy and elsewhere, thereby providing an excuse to Plum’s fans in the city to take some time off from their mundane chores and wade in Plummy waters, uplifting the spirits dulled by a relentless pounding by the harsh slings and arrows of Life.

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Fans of P G Wodehouse can be found all over the world. When they decide to meet up once in a while, bread crumbs get thrown. Different versions of Sonny Boy get rendered. The Gussie Fink Nottle speech at Market Snodsbury School gets recreated.

Characters and situations get discussed gleefully. The milk of human kindness flows unabated. Flowers bloom. Sanity regains its throne in one’s mental framework. God takes some time off his onerous responsibilities and relaxes in heaven. All is well with the world.

During 2017, yours truly was fortunate to have had some such Plummy encounters. The video here recapitulates the same.



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P G Wodehouse was born on the 15th of October, 1881. Every year, his fans celebrate his birth anniversary with traditional fervour and gaiety. This year was no exception.

Some went out and rummaged through book stores, virtual or otherwise, to buy yet another book of his. The idea was to try to fill in the gaping holes in their priceless collections. In keeping with the current trends, shelfies got clicked and shared over social media. Others simply curled up in bed and re-read for the n-th time a work of his, a tissue restorative on their side.

Some burrowed deep into his works and came up with some lesser known compositions of his. Some paid rich tributes by sharing other details about the author and his life. Yet others came up with juicy posts on the occasion.

Here are some of the posts the residents of Plumsville may relish, arranged in an alphabetic manner, as per their names.

Arunabha Sengupta

Honoria Glossop

Morten Arnesen

Ragini Sgh

Ancestors,forefathers, the whole clan
Woven into an exquisite web with élan,

Romantic exploits or schemes absurd
Beautifully penned, enriched by each word,

Mundane chatter or complicated plots
Skillfully tied in bouquets of forget me nots,

Whether it’s Gussie or Lord Emsworth
Their anecdotes bring warmth like a crackling hearth,

Aunt Dahlia’s exuberance or Uncle Tom’s generosity
Can be matched by Gally’s wit or Jeeves’s spontaneity,

The maudlin soppy Madeline often a pain
Her tear drops beautifully knitted in God’s Daisy chain,

Bertie’s simplicity and sheer goofiness
Always landing him in an inextricable mess,

But the master wields his pen with panache and ease
Sailing along like a will O wisp in the breeze,

A belated Happy Birthday to the inimitable P.G.W !

Shiva Kumar

I got a book, it came as a gift,
It picked me up, gave me a lift.

I’ll immerse myself in every page,
Go back in time, to a happier age.

I find myself a cosy nook,
Sit back, open my book.

Page one produces a broad smile,
I move on to two, and ponder awhile;

Page three draws from me a snort,
Someone’s already plotting a plot!

They are scheming like the dickens;
As I turn the pages, the plot thickens.

This devious planning is making me laugh,
I shake in my chair and almost fall off.

There’s a chap and there’s his butler,
There’s a planner and a plan scuttler.

Aunts pop in, here and there
Embellishing the story, as it were.

Telegrams fly, to and fro, thick and fast
I am thinking this is too good, will it last?

Page fifty, and I’m wiping the tears,
I haven’t laughed so much in years.

Is it me, rumbling with mirth,
Or just a tremor in the earth?

The book’s a riot, too funny to handle,
It’s become dark, I will need a candle

Night has fallen; I too fell, many times
Picked myself up, ignored the chimes

I’ll finish the book, come what may
I’ll try not to fall off again, I’ll stay.

I’m chuckling away into the night
When I finish the book it’s first light

Ah! I can happily get back to the old grind
After all I had a Plum to elevate the mind!

As a part of the global celebrations, two Wodehousean fans, hailing from two different continents, decided to meet up for a cosy chat over high tea in a British style quaint little restaurant in Norway. But more about that later.

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