The man of the house is very much a Wodehouse fan but I've resisted reading his books. I think it was the particular shade of obnoxious construction-cone orange glaring at me from my barrister bookshelves that put me off.
I finally assented to start to read Indiscretions of Archie when nothing else was quick to hand and I had some spare time. I suppose I was also influenced by knowing and liking Stephen Fry so well in his portrayal of Jeeves in the BBC series Jeeves and Wooster. It took me a bit to like the main chap of the tome, Archie, but after a bit I started enjoying his serendipitous rending of his father-in-law's carefully groomed world and Archie's proclivity for turning an unlucky happenstance into good fortune through no effort of his own. My own life tends to have snowballing misfortunes of a minor nature; a burnt-out lightbulb cannot be replaced easily but must snap off in the socket, requiring me to throw the breakers, get a flashlight to see by, and pliers to get the annoying lightbulb collar out. And then it turns out I have no bulbs of the right size to replace it with anyway. If Archie had a burnt lightbulb to deal with, I think it would probably come out easily then reveal the secret hiding place of a complete set of Spanish dubloons.