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A while ago, I found myself in a seedy B&B performing acts which would make a Liberal Democrat MP blush*. When not otherwise engaged, I looked over the meagre selection of books on the shelf where to my delight I happened across the December 1939 edition of PG Wodehouses' Leave it to Jeeves and, after a quick chat with the proprietor, I was its owner.
It's slightly odd checking the date on a book and finding it to be that old, and what's more it seems to be an edition printed with the idea of soldiers taking something to read off to war with them as on the back it has this advert (click to enbiggen):
I love this advert. Got Post-traumatic Stress Disorder and Stress-induced psychosis? Have a fag! No time for any of that sissified counselling when there's Hitler to sort out! That's a full-sized mans job to do, and no mistake.
If I ever bother to use my qualifications in the manner for which they were intended, I'll be this sort of psychologist. Depression? Have a fag! Future Shock syndrome? Twenty Marlboro! Anxiety Attacks? A pack of Capstan extra-strength. That's proper psychiatric care, that is.
*Note for American readers: Liberal Democrat MPs are sort of a British equivalent of your televangelists. They pop up on television, all brilliantined hair and gleaming white teeth, promising a glorious future world at some unspecified date in return for your money right now. When the future finally arrives you discover that not only is it not as wonderful as they said, but they've gone off and spent all your money doing something unspeakable with a rentboy in a hotel room.
It's slightly odd checking the date on a book and finding it to be that old, and what's more it seems to be an edition printed with the idea of soldiers taking something to read off to war with them as on the back it has this advert (click to enbiggen):
I love this advert. Got Post-traumatic Stress Disorder and Stress-induced psychosis? Have a fag! No time for any of that sissified counselling when there's Hitler to sort out! That's a full-sized mans job to do, and no mistake.
If I ever bother to use my qualifications in the manner for which they were intended, I'll be this sort of psychologist. Depression? Have a fag! Future Shock syndrome? Twenty Marlboro! Anxiety Attacks? A pack of Capstan extra-strength. That's proper psychiatric care, that is.
*Note for American readers: Liberal Democrat MPs are sort of a British equivalent of your televangelists. They pop up on television, all brilliantined hair and gleaming white teeth, promising a glorious future world at some unspecified date in return for your money right now. When the future finally arrives you discover that not only is it not as wonderful as they said, but they've gone off and spent all your money doing something unspeakable with a rentboy in a hotel room.
