Good grief. Had to stop after the third repetitive, soporific, and completely unfunny chapter. Imagine the most formulaic sit-com without the com, all sit. Flabbergasted at the amount of Wodehouse fans still around today, his vapid London club slang hasn't exactly aged well in a century:
“What ho!" I said.
"What ho!" said Motty.
"What ho! What ho!"
"What ho! What ho! What ho!"
After that it seemed rather difficult to go on with the conversation.”
And after that it seemed rather difficult to go on with the book, but I tried...