bring me my whangee

Spring, spring, spring... so close yet so far. I've seen crocus and daffodils; you know tulips can't be far behind. The only wistful regret I have for the season thus far is that I can't replicate a morning from "Jeeves in the Springtime" by P.G. Wodehouse.

"It's a topping morning, Jeeves."

"Decidedly, sir."

"Spring and all that."

"Yes, sir."

"In the spring, Jeeves, a livelier iris gleams upon the burnished dove."

"So I have been in formed, sir."

"Right-o! Then bring me my whangee, my yellowest shoes, and the old green Homburg. I'm going into the park to do pastoral dances."

"Very good," sir

I don't want to go to work. I want to go to the park to do pastoral dances in my yellowest shoes. I'd even where a green Homburg, jauntily titled to the side. But methinks I'd leave the whangee behind as it would be a topping morning.

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