I never know, when I’m telling a story, whether to cut the thing down to plain facts or whether to drool on and shove in a lot of atmosphere, and all that. I mean, many a cove would no doubt edge into the final spasm of this narrative with a long description of Goodwood, featuring the blue sky, the rolling prospect, the joyous crowds of pick-pockets, and the parties of the second who were having their pockets picked, and – in a word, what not. But better to give it a miss, I think.

P.G. Wodehouse, The Inimitable Jeeves