Come Friendly Bombs, and Fall on Slough...

Another British terror arrest, in the home of the British version of The Office.

I’ve been to Slough, and it’s kind of a depressing, dumpy little town. But John Betjeman’s pissy little poem doesn’t seem quite so clever today, does it?

Come, friendly bombs, and fall on Slough

It isn’t fit for humans now,

There isn’t grass to graze a cow

Swarm over, Death!

Come, bombs, and blow to smithereens

Those air-conditioned, bright canteens,

Tinned fruit, tinned meat, tinned milk, tinned beans

Tinned minds, tinned breath.

Mess up the mess they call a town —

A house for ninety-seven down

And once a week for half-a-crown

For twenty years…

(the rest at the link above)

(PS Drudge links to these Sky News pages all the time and the formatting is always fargled up for me—there’s what is supposed to be a sidebar pasted right over the middle of the article text. Anyone else have that problem?)