seven p.m. on July
All pretty clear so far , what ? We stayed at Cannes about two months , and except for the fact that Aunt Dahlia lost her shirt at baccarat and Angela nearly got inhaled by a shark while aquaplaning , a pleasant time was had by all . On July the twenty-fifth , looking bronzed and fit , I accompanied aunt and child back to London . At seven p.m. on July the twenty-sixth we alighted at Victoria . And at seven-twenty or thereabouts we parted with mutual expressions of esteem -- they to shove off in Aunt Dahlia 's car to Brinkley Court , her place in Worcestershire , where they were expecting to entertain Tuppy in a day or two ; I to go to the flat , drop my luggage , clean up a bit , and put on the soup and fish preparatory to pushing round to the Drones for a bite of dinner . And it was while I was at the flat , towelling the torso after a much-needed rinse , that Jeeves , as we chatted of this and that -- picking up the threads , as it were -- suddenly brought the name of Gussie Fink-Nottle into the conversation . As I recall it , the dialogue ran something as follows : SELF : Well , Jeeves , here we are , what ?