Should be dipped
into occasionally, not read cover to cover, as what should be a delightful little slice of humour becomes a heavy meal
of fat uncles, bets gone wrong and failed pursuits of eligible young gels. I didn't do that though, I slogged on and on.
Not sure it was Wodehouse's best efforts, I certainly didn’t get the same
delight as Wooster or Blandings; I remember how much I loved Mr Mulliner as a
teenager, maybe I should try them again. They were more like Psmith, which left
me cold.
I had to stop and
think at one point, when a passing reference to events in the '50s made me
realise that the events were supposedly set in post-war England, despite the
ambience and references being of Wodehouse's mixture of Edwardian England in
the long summertime and an England of the '20s and '30s where the First World
War hadn't happened.
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