The Ickenham system

Lord Ickenham was silent for some moments, sipping his port and turning this revelation over in his mind...His heart went out to Albert Peasemarch. Dashed unpleasant it must be, he was feeling, for a butler to fall in love with the chatelaine of the establishment. Having to say "Yes madam," "Very good, madam," "The carriage waits, madam" and all that sort of thing, when every fibre of his being was urging him to tell her that she was the tree on which the fruit of life hung and that for her sake he would pluck the stars from the sky, or whatever it is that butlers say when moved by the fire within. A state of affairs, Lord Ickenham thought, which would give him personally the pip. He resolved to do all that in him lay--and on these occassions there was quite a lot that in him lay--to push the thing along and bring sweetness and light into these present sundered lives.

"Taken any steps about it?" he asked.

"Oh no, m'lord, I mean Mr. I. It wouldn't be proper."

"This is no time to mess about, being proper," said Lord Ickenham bluffly. "Can't get anywhere if you don't take steps."

"What do you advise, Mr. I?"

"That's more the tone. I don't suppose there's a man alive better equipped to advise you than I am. I'm a specialist at this sort of thing. The couples I've brought together in my time, if placed end to end, not that I suppose one could do it, of course, would reach from Picadilly Circus to well beyong Hyde Park Corner. You don't know Bill Oakshott, do you? He was one of my clients, my nephew Pongo another. And there was that pink chap down at Mitching Hill, I've forgotten his name, and Polly Pott and Horace Davenport and Elsie Bean the housemaid, oh, and dozens more. With me behind him, the most diffident wooer can get the proudest beauty to sign on the dotted line. In your case, the relationship between you and the adored object being somewhat unusual, one will have to go rather carefully. The Ickenham system, for instance, might seem a little abrupt."

"The Ickenham system, Mr. I?"

"I call it that. Just giving you the bare outlines, you stride up to the subject, grab her by the wrist, clasp her to your bosom and shower burning kisses on her upturned face. You don't have to say much--just 'My mate!' or something of that sort, and, of course, in grabbing by the wrist, don't behave as if you were handling a delicate piece of china. Grip firmly and waggle her about a bit. It seldom fails...

-P. G. Wodehouse, Cocktail Time

Happy Valentine's Day /Buon San Valentino!