This is a perfect pub. You've got your bar for drinks and your big-screen TVs for sports. There is ample space for a crowd, and there's a pool/game room around the corner. The wooden furnishings add some Anglican class to the place, and they serve enough fried food to compete with the Texas State Fair. Ok, that last is an exaggeration, but the four of us absolutely demolished the gigantic fried platter.
One of the chief joys of Woolf's wit are the absolutely accurate observations about the attitude differences between men and women. I would have rated this book higher if it weren't for how any semblance of plot seemed to dissolve at the end. That is, I'm told, a very Virginia Woolf thing to do, but I prefer more backbone in my stories. Additionally, in between the brilliant bits, there were boring stretches and poetic meanderings, which didn't amuse most of us.
“A woman knows very well that, though a wit sends her his poems, praises her judgment, solicits her criticism, and drinks her tea, this by no means signifies that he respects her opinions, admires her understanding, or will refuse, though the rapier is denied him, to run through the body with his pen.”
“The taste for books was an early one. As a child he was sometimes found at midnight by a page still reading. They took his taper away, and he bred glow-worms to serve his purpose. They took the glow-worms away and he almost burnt the house down with a tinder.”
“The man looks the world full in the face, as if it were made for his uses and fashioned to his liking. The woman takes a sidelong glance at it, full of subtlety, even of suspicion. Had they both worn the same clothes, it is possible that their outlook might have been the same.”
"In justice to her, it must be said that she would infinitely have preferred a rapier. Toads are clammy things to conceal about one’s person a whole morning. But if rapiers are forbidden; one must have recourse to toads."