Ring For Jeeves

We find ourselves in the austerity of the 1950s, when England’s aristocracy was feeling the pinch. Bertie Wooster has gone to a residential self-help school to learn how to darn his socks. Until he re-emerges, Jeeves has signed up with Bill Rowcester (pronounced Roaster), an earl who is failing to make ends meet in trade, and yearning to sell his stately home, which has charm and damp in equal measure. In his new environment Jeeves is required to exert his mammoth brain to what would be breaking point for any normal intellect. Apart from the current economic crisis and his employer’s complete ignorance of digging and delving, Jeeves has to duck and weave to preserve his temporary master from grievous injury at the hands of a) a very angry White Hunter, and b) a small but feisty fiancée. If that wasn’t enough, we also meet a rich American lady with addictions to a) psychic phenomena, and b) White Hunters, which have to be humoured by night as well as by day. Believe it or not, Jeeves flits across this minefield with all the grace and agility of an adagio dancer and makes it look easy, which is yet another indication of his truly Olympian stature.