"Laddie...write my biography. Bung it down on paper...at a conservative estimate, we should clean up at least fifty thousand pounds apiece."

Thus spake Stanley Feather-Stonehaugh Ukridge to his long-suffering friend Corky Corcoran. Corky, whose literary efforts to date have consisted of weekly newspaper articles of the type, "Should Curates Kiss?", and a single music hall song, "Mother, She's Pinching My Leg," is reluctant. Nonetheless he grudgingly admits that if the leading incidents of S.F. Ukridge's disreputable career are to be given to the public and not, as some might suggest, decently hushed up, then he is the man to do it. Ukridge, we learn, has flitted about the world like a snipe, leaving a trail of havoc and disaster in his wake. His efforts to make money are all inspired, and all mysteriously doomed.

Ukridge is P.G. Wodehouse's own favorite character and, although he appears in other anthologies, this is the only book devoted solely to his exploits.