Life is a rum little thing. Sometimes, it happens with me, that when a bolt of the blues strikes, it is like Hurricane Ivan: it is unwelcome, annoying and takes a painfully long time to blow over. And here I sit, thinking of all the misfortunes that life has visited upon me (some real and some, I confess, imagined. But it so happens that while in the Blues, you have the poetic license to imagine whatever you want!), all the people who have hurt me, everyone that I would like to bang on the head with a bat etc, etc, etc... And suddenly you start reading Wodehouse and start laughing like a lunatic out of an asylum. It certainly makes you think of life in a less serious vein. And after reading Bertie Wooster's misadventures in Chuffnell Regis, my life started seeming rather tranquil and good. What with valets getting paid to run around their employers with carving knives, millionaires who love to shut their guests up in their yachts, a hero with a penchant for sleeping in potting sheds, garages and roaming around with his face painted with shoe polish and his ever faithful man, Jeeves, cooking up schemes and holding forth on all dead poets...my god, if ever there was something to make people laugh!! Thank You, Jeeves.
No comments:
Post a Comment