I've just heard an unintentionally hilarious interview with the ever more preposterous Harold Pinter on Today. As soon as it's up on the BBC's site, I'll link to it.

Mr Pinter is to receive the Wilfred Owen award tonight for his poetry.

That gives me the perfect opportunity to elevate this site with three of Mr P's masterpieces:

There’s no escape.

The big pricks are out.

They’ll fuck everything in sight.

Watch your back.

If that's not to your taste, how about this:

Bush.

He is not evil.

Evil is as evil does.

He is not a tyrant.

Tyranny is evil.

But what is he?

Or this:

Here they go again,

The Yanks in their armoured parade

Chanting their ballads of joy

As they gallop across the big world

Praising America's God.

The gutters are clogged with the dead

The ones who couldn't join in

The others refusing to sing

The ones who are losing their voice

The ones who've forgotten the tune.

The riders have whips which cut.

Your head rolls onto the sand

Your head is a pool in the dirt

Your head is a stain in the dust

Your eyes have gone out and your nose

Sniffs only the pong of the dead

And all the dead air is alive

With the smell of America's God.

You know what's coming next; I made one of those up. Not that it matters which: they're all, to use the technical term, crap.

In which vein, do read a wonderful piece by Daniel Finkelstein, here.