Or Jeeves and the Big Dumb Object.

'I've started to Twitter, Jeeves', said Bertie Wooster, gazing out over the slightly too French spectacle of Montreal from the rather too big window of his rather too high up hotel.

'It was, sir,' said Jeeves, 'only a matter of time.'

'Can't quite get the hang of one hundred and forty characters or less, and by the time you've added hash worldcon oh nine and anticipation SF to the thing you've so little room left you might as well pop round in person and crack open the sherry.'

'What are you twittering about, sir?' said Jeeves, with a stony look on his face that suggested he'd placed the emphasis exactly where he wanted to in that sentence but it had been a close run thing.

'Well, this Hugo Award thing I'm presenting. Semi Best Watchermacaulit. Great honour. Feel I should talk it up.'

'I have, sir,' said Jeeves, 'laid out your evening wear for the occasion, and have taken the liberty of writing a few notes that you might wish to puruse in the moments before stepping out on stage.'

Bertie peered at him suspiciously. Whenever he heard about Jeeves writing anything, he remembered the occasion when he'd had the fellows from Tor over, and while his own monograph Night of the Space Robots had somehow failed to materialise in any anthologies, Jeeves' half-hearted lunge at the same subject matter was now represented in many of the Year's Best collections. 'I shouldn't think I shall need cribs,' he said airily. 'I was chatting about this to that Father Christmas chap last night-'

'George R.R. Martin, sir.'

'That's the chap. Too many Rs. I said that to him too. As well as offering some very prescient critique on those books of his. Didn't drag the poor fellow through it, short and to the point.'

'What was your point, sir?'

'Just that a lot of time and trouble would have been saved if the giant eagles could have just taken the blinkin' ring to Sauron's abode in the first place. You could tell I'd touched a nerve. By the end of it he looked quite surprised. Anyhow, he said that Locust was going to win. I shall add that to the list for today's larks. Must find a copy.'

'I look forward to that, sir. Now, sir remembers that sir has a panel today?'

'Yes, something about reforming Worldcon.' Now this was more Bertie's subject. He was keen on the reform of almost everything, especially if doing said reforming involved say, light chatter over golf and entertainments in the evening with like-minded folk who got everything done and then wanted nothing more than to tell one about it. 'Did the rounds on that subject last night also, a Wooster is always prepared. Miss Morgan briefed me top to bottom. Basically: I'm all for it, as long as it doesn't involve young gels with the hots for him with the hair setting fire to things.'

'I believe I glimpse your meaning, sir.'

'It's all very well, letting the sex get involved in planning these Worldcon hoo hahs, and running the Science Fiction Writers of America, Jeeves, I discovered last night! I expressed me incredulity to the damsel on a number of occasions, popped back to check, but it seems she really does -'

'Indeed, sir.'

'- but what we don't need is a lot of them, a pile of them, an anime of them, as the Greeks would put it, cluttering up the corridors and stopping old chaps with beards down to their knees from hobbling over to 'Whither Elves' in Room C289. For that I will not stand.'

'I have taken the liberty of summarising sir's thoughts on that subject too, sir, on a piece of paper which I have similarly dared to slip into sir's cuff.'

Bertie, buoyed by the thought of breakfast, decided to indulge his man's aspirations for the moment. Best to let him think he was making a contribution. 'Top hole, Jeeves,' he said, 'top hole.'