Generally in life, and specifically in Wodehouse, golfing and cricket-based books act upon me like a Mashie Niblick to the back of the head - I get the distinct urge to lie down and dream improving dreams whenever they are deployed in my vicinity.
That said, Doctor Sally was an enormously positive surprise. It's a standard, but an above-average Wodehouse tale of thwarted romance and the disapproval of older folk at the romantic choices of their younger relatives, with a what-ho, a toodle-pip and even here, somewhat delightfully, a tinkerty-tonk. No, really, it's in there. But what drives the whole thing along in its interest is, somewhat perversely for Wodehouse (who tends to draw women as either hounds of hell, driven bossyboots or simpering bunnikins), the above-average quality of the female characters in this story.
The eponymous Doctor Sally is a no-nonsense General Practitioner from America, with a forthright nature, a London practice, an apparently impressive golf handicap, and no earthly interest in the soppy bean who keeps declaring his undying love for her. Meanwhile Lottie Higginbotham, another centre of romantic interest for a couple of chaps, is relatively self-determining too, though she's rather more in the traditional Wodehouse bossyboots-cum-hellhound mould. There are of course three men in the mainstay of the thing - one who has been going out with Lottie but has now fallen in at least lust with Sally, one who used to be married to Lottie, is bosom pals with the one who has been going out with her, and rediscovers a flame for his ex while breaking the couple up on request, and the uncle of the first chap, who's mortified at the idea of his going out with Lottie, but who beams on the idea of introducing a female GP with a heroic drive off the fairway into the family. Anyhow, Wodehouse gives the characters a stir and enjoyable, brisk romantic mayhem ensues over the course of what is, it's probably important to note, quite a short book, devoid of sudden complications from stage left. The result is a book that bounds along and makes you giggle here and there, but certainly leaves you feeling well-disposed towards it.
It's absolutely true that the conversion of Doctor Sally from hard-headed, reasonable unromantic to heart-pounding would-be wife is fairly rapidly delivered at the end, though there's a certain logic to it even then, as the wannabe-red hot lover is seen increasingly in ways that she can respect, allowing for more primitive passions to make their way to the surface of her mind once that initial barrier is overcome. It's also true that probably nowhere else in literature will you find a woman who gets so entirely 'When Harry met Sally' as Doctor Sally does when she meets a patented milk separating apparatus (I'm not kidding, you can practically hear the gasps and squeaks), but overall, this feels like an enjoyable Wodehouse romp, rather than an overly drawn-out affair, and its tinkerty-tonking characters are pleasingly harmless, rather than gruffly irritable, as they had a tendency to be in some later Wodehouse one-shots. So absolutely, for a quick bit of fun with one of Wodehouse's better female leads, play a round with Doctor Sally.