Kane & Wooster

Britain has recently been blessed with a new Budget which, excitingly, proposes similar financial incentives for computer game development as the UK film industry currently enjoys.  How’s that for a stern goosing Messers K. Vaz and A. Titchmarsh? etc.  In order to qualify:  “video games would need to pass a cultural test, scoring against criteria of European heritage and game locations.”

So, will we see a sudden glut of culturally British offerings from developers desperate to secure the new funding?  If so, what can we possibly expect from these creations?  To offer a suggestion, I’ve rubbed the tea from my eyes, filled my pipe with some fresh tea and engaged my tea-sodden brain to present to you:

Kane and Wooster in:

God No, Kane!

Wherein foppish socialite and gentleman of leisure Bertram Wooster is rescued from another sequence of light disasters by his faithful, ever ingenious, yet dangerous and irascible, butler Kane.

It was the morning of the day I was due to rumble off and visit Aunt Agatha at her place in Wyncham Sodfoster.  The bleak prospect of a slow weekend spent with dearest Aunt. A has left the usually chirpy Wooster constitution a little down in the old dumps.  It was to this sulky demeanour that Kane entered bearing a spot of breakfast.  He lurched awkwardly into the room, stuck himself to the wall for a moment, then approached the table and deposited a tray of beans and spilled whisky.

‘Kane, as you know, we repair to Wyncham shortly; you will see about bunging the necessaries together?  Plenty of white ties, man, also a few hearty country suits for use in the daytime.’

‘The only feeling I have left is regret’

‘Excellent, thank you.  I’ll just finish filling the old Wooster face to fortify me for the journey, and then we’ll depart’

‘We can still make this fucking work.  Just do as I fucking say.’

‘Quite so.’

I would never admit to his face, lest it provoke ideas above his station, but Kane really is a shining intellectual paragon – of the highest order!

–

Arriving to meet Aunt Agatha lead to further disappointment with the sight of Tuppy Featheringlycastle-Butterslot, a ‘chum’ of some years, but really an individual who delights in extorting the best from the Wooster good nature by habitually playing the most beastly of practical jokes at the expense of yours truly.  I glowered at him as Kane emptied the two-seater; dragging a large, black hold-all which for reasons unknown spilled occasional clumps of bloodied bank-notes.

‘Fuck you, I’m not a traitor.’

‘Yes, if you would Kane – straight to the guest room.’

Tuppy’s presence, however detestable, would at least provide some kind of entertainment on this otherwise dull sojourn.  I was determined to pay him back for all those years of abuse with a prank of grand ingenuity that would leave the sneak utterly humiliated.  I said as much to Kane as we arranged my things within my temporary chamber; that is to say, I put away my spare suits and Kane spent several minutes pinned to the edge of the dresser, clumsily crouching and standing over and over again.

As the prospect of hard thinking, the kind needed to concoct and exact a successful retributive exercise of the sort I intended for Tuppy, was not among Bertram Wooster’s strengths, I decided to put Kane’s not unsubstantial mind to the job.

‘Fuck you’

‘Good man – do give it some thought.  We’ll look to act tonight!’

–

Well, bally well close my mouth and no mistake!  Having put my best man (Kane) on the job, I’ve only gone and invented the perfect scheme from the top of my very own head.

After a quick post-supper stroll about the grounds, it appears Tuppy’s room is situated directly by a tree of some considerable size.  This intelligence, coupled with the fact that Tuppy always keeps his windows ajar when sleeping, has triggered in me the perfect scheme.  At the dead of night, and armed with a stick to which will be securely fastened a needle, I will scale said tree and deftly, with said stick and needle, puncture Tuppy’s hot water bottle through the window as he sleeps.  The blighter will be drenched and I’ll have hastened back to bed before anyone is any the wiser.

With the house asleep, and the night dark, I snuck from my room trembling with anticipation and suitably equipped for the evening’s cunning venture.  I made it to the tree and scaled her with all the dexterity of a young leopard; all the while stifling giggles inspired by my apprehension of the coming mischief.  I was about to apply the needle to its task when a voice came from below.

‘Ho!  What’s all this then?  Come down from there, you.’

It was none other than a stout policemen.  I descended.  I’d been in scrapes before, usually after a night of merry making and daft wagering at the Drones; however, on Aunt Agatha’s home turf, it was surely the high jump for old BW.

‘Um, good evening officer – fine weather we’re having tonight, what?’

‘What are you playing at, who are you?’

Not being a man used to bluffing his way around the long arm of the law, I was nothing if not stumped for words.

‘Listen, there’s this fellow Tuppy.  I was just off to…’

‘What’s a Tuppy?  What are you on…  Argh!  Get off m…!

Fortunately, before the situation could get any the stickier, faithful Kane appeared as if from nowhere and displayed his astonishing presence of mind by clamping a hand over the officer’s mouth, wrestling him to the ground and forcing a concealed blade into the side of his head.  ‘Well, bravo Kane!’  I hissed so as not to awaken anyone.  ‘Well played, but I suppose we’d best retreat to our rooms.  Shame the chance to show up old Tuppy has passed.’

‘Fuck.’

–

We snuck back inside but before we’d a chance to return to our beds a shriek erupted from across the hall and the sleeping quarters of no one other than the rascal Tuppy.

‘Come along Kane, let’s see what further dramas this evening has in store.’

Hastening to the source of the howl revealed a sight to cheer my soul.  Tuppy, surrounded by several housekeepers, was bound and gagged in a chair, suited in nothing more than a gentleman’s chemise, briefs and his sock garters.  It appeared as though, prior to his foisting, he had been ruffed up considerably; his bonce displayed several bashes and a little of the old gentleman’s relish trickled from the chap’s poor hooter.  His room too, was a shambles; as if old Tups had been thrown about within.  The shriek had come when Tuppy’s escape attempt lead to his falling through the door and into the hall, where now he lay, startling a passing maid in the process.

It appeared as though Tuppy received his comeuppance after all!  I looked fondly over at Kane who was rooted to the spot, spinning in circles in an attempt to extract himself from a door-frame.  He returned a knowing stare:

‘I don’t owe them shit!  They all knew the risks.’

‘Kane,’ I said – and I am not ashamed to confess that there was a spot of chokiness in the voice – ‘there is none like you, none.’