Armed with amateur dramatics training (which my drama teacher once described as “spirited, if nothing else”), a media production degree from the era when editing involved actual scissors, and a voice that suggests I was raised in a home where one could be grounded for mispronouncing “scone,” I find myself oddly well‑suited to narrating Jeeves and Wooster.

My mother—who treated Hyacinth Bucket not as a sitcom character but as a personal mentor—ensured I grew up sounding like I’d swallowed a silver spoon and then apologised profusely for the inconvenience. Combine that with my lifelong talent for getting into mild social scrapes and you have someone practically engineered to guide listeners through Bertie’s misadventures, while wishing I had my own Jeeves to keep me from making a hash of things.