Word: gins
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...process was well under way two years ago when he died at 77-already muffled in a banner bearing the legend "Distinguished Man of Letters." But here, in The Twenties, Wilson's ghost puts in a timely appearance that should forestall too much veneration-breaking out the gin, putting a record on the Victrola and eagerly looking over every pretty flapper in the room...
...devotee of P.G. Wodehouse, may I say that of all the many failures to achieve a pastiche of the style of the Master, this effort of Mr. Kanfer's must take the jolly old biscuit. The idea of Jeeves as a club waiter serving "gin stengahs" (whatever they may be) is lamentable. For the rest, your reviewer has unfortunately let his anti-limey prejudices get the better of him, and his cliches and mixed metaphors are too dire for comment...
Your review wallah has gone and pulled a howler. When one has knocked about the federated Malay States for donkeys' years, as one has, one learns that "stengah" means a small whisky and water, nothing more, nothing less. Any chappie askin' for a "gin stengah" at the Yellow Dog in K.L. would be hooted off the verandah before you could say knife...
...nicely symbolic, too. It spanned a ravine that divided Pointe Noire into a city and a village. The city was where the seamen were, sitting in the wicker chairs and on the foam pads beside the Atlantic Palace Hotel's swimming pool, as obsequious white-coated waiters served them gin and tonics. All they needed were pith helmets and cigars to put the scene back 20 years, when paternal Europeans were prodding their adopted African children into the mummifying swathes of apron strings. But the apron strings have rotted in the heat and humidity. The people in the government come...
Jeeves, another gin stengah. A treasure, Jeeves is. Been with the club since the flood. Where was I? Ah, yes. Books. Haven't read but one since Oxbridge. Burke's Peerage. Breeders' guide to British nobility. Smashing heraldry: gules argent, lions rampant, bars sinister, all that drill. Snob's bible, they call it-the envious ones. For those of us who can trace our lineage back to Ethelred the Unready, it's-well, it's sort of a-er -bible. Meaning no disrespect, padre. Since the Empire's gone to the demnition bowwows...