...his head emerged cautiously, like that of a snail taking a look around after a thunderstorm. - P. G. Wodehouse

She snorted with a sudden violence which twenty-four hours earlier would have unmanned me completely. Even in my present tolerably robust condition, it affected me like one of those gas explosions which slay six.

My Aunt Agatha, the curse of the Home Counties and a menace to one and all.

‘Alf Todd,’ said Ukridge, soaring to an impressive burst of imagery, ‘has about as much chance as a one-armed blind man in a dark room trying to shove a pound of melted butter into a wild-cat’s ear with a red-hot needle.’