When news had reached me through well-informed channels that my Aunt Agatha for many years a widow, or derelict, as I believed it is called, was about to take another pop at matrimony, my first emotion, as was natural in the circumstances, had been a gentle pity for the unfortunate goop slated to step up the aisle with her - she, as you are aware, being my tough aunt, the one who eats broken bottles and conducts human sacrifices by the light of the full moon.

We exchanged a meaning glance. Or, rather, two meaning glances, I giving him one and he giving me the other.

Breakfast had been prepared by the kitchen maid, an indifferent performer who had used the scorched earth policy on the bacon again.

There was a sound in the background like a distant sheep coughing gently on a mountainside. Jeeves sailing into action.

My wife Mary and I have been married for forty-seven years and not once have we had an argument serious enough to consider divorce; murder, yes, but divorce, n…

I have good-looking kids. Thank goodness my wife cheats on me.

I got a wife who likes expensive things, so she takes all the cash.