It's not that i enjoy solitude so much that that's the situation i find myself in most often...

I pity Wodehouse. Can an author ever really enjoy his own books?? If not, imagine his plight, having grown up, or rather having lived without having enjoyed a single Blandings or Jeeves book or felt the supreme satisfaction of having milk gush out through your nose when you explode in laughter over a Psmith novel... Poor soul