[Bertie's mouth pulls down in an expression of sympathetic horror.]

Bleh, all Spodes and no Jeeveses. No wonder you think ill of your common man. I daresay I would too if the common man were nothing but Spodes as far as the eye could see.

[He shudders dramatically at the thought, imagining an army of Spodes in black shorts goose-stepping down the streets of Totleigh-in-the-Wold.]

May you find your Jeeves, Nikkie, to thwart and flummox the Spode army.