Page 22 - The Gluckman Occasonal Number Nine

Brexit in Bed

by P.G. Woodlouse

Bertie: Oh, bother! What is that terrible light shining in my face,
Jeeves? It’s blinding!

Jeeves: It’s the sun, sir. I took the liberty of allowing it ingress by
opening the window shade.

Bertie: Ingress? Isn’t that one of those Frog artist johnnies? Is he
here, in my bedroom?

Jeeves: No, sir. Only me. Until noon, that is.

Bertie: Noon? Is that happening today?

Jeeves: Yes, sir. I’ve already checked the calendar and consulted the
Greenwich Observatory. You may depend on it.

Bertie: But why until noon? Are we going out to visit Aunt Agatha at
her country house?

Jeeves: No, sir. I do not know your schedule beyond that time. I,
however, am leaving for my native land.

Bertie: What? Are you pulling my leg, Jeeves? This is your native land:
aren’t we all natives here?

Jeeves: No, sir. I am a citizen of Klopstokia. Under your new law, my
visa has been revoked and I must depart today.

Bertie: Laws, laws! It’s my loss, dammit. Who gains? Klopstokia?

Jeeves: I cannot say, sir. I am not as knowledgeable about
international trade and finance as the average British citizen.

Bertie: Ah, well. I guess it can’t be helped. But we’ll muddle through,
Jeeves—eh, what? Mend and make do. All that rot about stiff upper
lip and so forth.

Jeeves: I believe that is your only alternative, sir.