Oh, Bertie, if I ever called you a brainless poop who ought to be given a scholarship at some lunatic asylum… — P.G. Wodehouse

I agreed the situation was sticky. Indeed, offhand it was difficult to see how it could have been more glutinous.

And as he, too, seemed disinclined for chit-chat, we stood for some moments like a couple of Trappist monks who have run into each other at the dog races.

Before my eyes he wilted like a wet sock.