Mr. & Mrs. Psmith

If one visits Blandings Castle on a weekend char-a-banc or picnic( half a crown a head), when the premises of that great stately home of England are thrown open to the public, one is generally shown around the house, the portrait gallery and the rest of the general premises by one of the two footmen, or if the group is especially lucky, by none other a celebrity than Beach the butler himself. Certain parts of the house are such as the private living quarters are, of course, cordoned off by means of velvet ropes, while only the bravest and most daring souls, such as those who once populated the Round Table, may venture into the famed gardens at their own peril, whilst running the risk of encountering that hard headed Scotsman, Angus McAllister, who guarded his gardens more fiercely than any dragon ever guarded its treasure. Yet unmentioned by most guide books and tours, in the midst of once of the fine gardens some distance away from the house, one comes upon a large red brick structure, the home of none other than the famed Empress of Blandings, the Earl of Emsworth's prize sow. The proprietor of these grounds would have been shocked to hear someone refer to the Empress or her residence as unimportant, although as an architectural wonder, the sty is singularly unimaginative.

However, this weekend, as the public wandered throughout the hallowed halls of Blandings, there stood a figure on the railing of the sty, drooping like a wet sock and resembling a scarecrow in clothes that it should have been ashamed of. This then was Clarence, the ninth Earl of Emsworth, that amiable peer, trying to hide the latest secretary his sister Hermione had foisted upon him, for despite having moved out of Blandings, she nonetheless continued to interfere in his life, seemingly eager to make him miserable, and long distance at that.