The Great Explorers: James May's fun, informative new series is the TV equivalent of a Ladybird history book

Not because the show is bad, but because it explodes some of those myths we have to come to accept as part of the rich tapestry of our history.

Take this week's episode on Sir Walter Raleigh, for example.

In my mind's eye, he was the rakishly-bearded, pearl-earringed adventurer and romantic poet – exploring undiscovered lands and returning with ships groaning with plunder – gold, jewels and potatoes.

Not to mention sparking centuries of phlegmy coughing by bringing tobacco back to the old country from the new world.

Au contraire, said James, as he cantered through a biography of Raleigh, along the way taking in Elizabethan munitions, Tudor recipes and celestial navigation.

This entertaining 90 minutes was packed with facts and entertaining digressions, including James strolling through the rose garden at Hampton Court Palace reciting some of Raleigh's poetry - which he said made Raleigh look like “a lovestruck teenager”.

Meanwhile, he heads to the Inns of Court in London, where Raleigh learned the oratorical skills which would serve him well in later life.

There he learns about the techniques of rhetoric from lawyer Benet Brandreth – who has not fallen far from dad Gyles's tree – and tries, but fails, to use them in argument.

All the while, May casually tosses out truth bombs like the fact Raleigh barely went on any of his expeditions to the New World, as Queen Elizabeth I was so taken with him she demanded he remain at home – although he did name Virginia after her.

Meanwhile, it seems Raleigh almost certainly didn't bring home any potatoes – they come from South America and, according to May, were probably brought to England by the Spanish.

Most damagingly to the primary school history buff in me, May also revealed that Raleigh didn't put his cloak over a puddle to avoid muddying the Queen's shoes.

And he doesn't give us the sanitised version of this particular history, either. Raleigh's settlers in what is now North Carolina were noticeably brutal in their treatment of the indigenous Americans, massacring many in a dispute over food and supplies.

He quotes a contemporary account of the colonists: “'There were more of our generation yet to come, to kill theirs and take their place',” adding “that was the fear of the locals, and they were right, weren't they?”

So it's a much-needed corrective to the rose-tinted view of the Elizabethan explorers – “the line between exploration and piracy was rather blurred” – but it was also entertaining, informative, and even funny.

May made the most of his bumbling persona, breaking the rules of conventional history documentary-making by pointing out the absurdity of presenters doing their piece to camera before marching away towards a misty landmark, or being filmed entering a building they've just told us they were going to enter.

And the demos sprinkled throughout – which you suspect a tinkerer like May is absolutely delighted with – are genuinely fun.

Cannons blast targets, matchlocks fail to go off and and they even do a bit of at-sea navigation.

The programme, in fact, is moulded in the image of its presenter – slightly frayed at the edges, irreverent but with a puppyish desire to pass on knowledge. Knowledge that May clearly thinks we all should know, as part of our shared heritage.

Knowledge, in fact, that would make a fantastic new Ladybird book.