Those Foreign Office mavens are becoming rather pressing in the matter of employing Bertram Wooster as an ornament of the diplomatic corps.
I have been meeting this question of my gainful e. with a firm nolle prosequi on the excuse that, while nattily dressed to the most exacting standard, I lack the nouse to handle foreign affairs and all that dashed sort of thing. But now that Rehoboam is running the show over in Poland, which Jeeves tells me is a country of some standing, known to everybody, I mean, and received in all the best circles–and given the general trend of world events–I am told that my prize-winning Old Testament knowledge makes me in high demand as a jolly old expert. Well I’ll be blowed, what, what?
One faces the prospect of trundling around in morning coat and topper to esconce oneself in the bowels of the bureaucracy with a distinct lack of sangfroid. But I fear that if Aunt Agatha gets wind of this, my fate will be sealed like billy-o.
My first act of office will be to advise the Israelis to withdraw their funds from the West Bank and store their shekels in a strong box. I shall take a firm line.