Gail was, as usual, listening to BBC Radio 4 (American readers, think NPR but with less music).
Someone called Sarah Dunant, ruminating on the potentially enfeebling impact of inherited wealth, noted how in the stories of P.G.Wodehouse, an infantilised Bertie Wooster is "blissfully unaware that his life is entirely controlled by his butler Jeeves".
Now you may or may not be aware that I, Bouncing Bertie, was actually named after Wodehouse's comic creation.
But it strikes me, when considering the relationship between Gail and myself, surely she is the Bertie and I am the Jeeves?
