This reminds me of the hilarious Bloomsbury sketch in Alan Bennett's play Forty Years On.
"Of all the honours that fell on Virginia Woolf's head, none, I think pleased her more than the Evening Standard Award for the Tallest Woman Writer of 1927. . . and rightly, I think, for she was in a real sense the tallest writer I have ever known. Which is not to say that her stories were tall. They were not. They were short. But she did stand head and shoulders above her contemporaries, and sometimes more so. Dylan Thomas for instance, a man of great literary stature, only came up to her waist. And sometimes not even to there".
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