The Wodehouse stories themselves are famously, and some would say fortunately, not illustrated. However, if someone were to do it my voice would ring out like that of the eternal bard in praise of Kevin Cornell, illustrator and designer extraordinaire. My attention is fixed on this bird's homepage waiting for further emanations. Below are some of my favourite qoutes concerning these foul young blots on the landscape, sullen octogenarians and scourges of the Western Civilisation, and as word and image adds up, God seems to be in his heaven and all right with the world.
"My Aunt Agatha, for instance, is tall and thin and looks rather like a vulture in the Gobi desert, while Aunt Dahlia is short and solid, like a scrum half in the game of Rugby football. In disposition, too, they differ widely. Aunt Agatha is cold and haughty, though presumably unbending a bit when conducting human sacrifices at the time of the full moon, as she is widely rumoured to do, and her attitude towards me has always been that of an austere governess, causing me to feel as if I were six years old and she had just caught me stealing jam from the jam cupboard: whereas Aunt Dahlia is as jovial and bonhomous as a dame in a Christmas pantomime"
"I hit Woollam Chersey at about four o'clock, and found Aunt Agatha in her lair, writing letters. And, from what I know of her, probably offensive letters, with nasty postscripts."
"London is not big enough to hold Aunt Agatha and anybody she happens to be blaming."
“I sauntered along the passage, whistling carelessly, and there on the mat was Aunt Agatha. Herself. Not a picture. A nasty jar. […] She legged it into the sitting-room and volplaned onto a chair.”
"'Bertie,' said Aunt Dahlia firmly, 'you will sing "Sonny Boy" on Tuesday, the third prox., and sing it like a lark at sunrise, or may an aunt's curse -'
'Think of Angela!'
'No, I mean, hang it all!'
'No, I won't.'
'That is your last word, is it?'
'It is. Once and for all, Aunt Dahlia, nothing will induce me to let out so much as a single note.'
And so that afternoon I sent a pre-paid wire to Beefy Bingham, offering my services in the cause, and by nightfall the thing was fixed up"
"'Stop me if you've heard it before. Chap goes up to a deaf chap outside the exibition and says, "Is this Wembley?" "Hey?" says the deaf chap. "Is this Wembley?" says chap. "Hey?" says the deaf chap. "Is this Wembley?" says chap. "No, Thursday," says the deaf chap. Ha, ha, I mean, what?'
The merry laughter froze on my lips. Sir Roderick sort of just waggled an eyebrow in my direction and I saw that it was back to the basket for Bertram."
"'The modern young man,' said Aunt Dahlia, 'is a congenital idiot and wants a nurse to lead him by the hand and some strong attendant to kick him regularly at intervals of a quarter of an hour.'"
"'Darling!' said Mrs Bingo, blowing him a kiss.
'Angel!' said Bingo, going on with the sausages."