{"id":470,"date":"2006-03-03T16:01:50","date_gmt":"2006-03-03T16:01:50","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/ccgi.geraldyuen.plus.com\/?p=470"},"modified":"2007-03-05T20:34:54","modified_gmt":"2007-03-05T20:34:54","slug":"slough","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.geraldyuen.me.uk\/?p=470","title":{"rendered":"Slough"},"content":{"rendered":"

Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough!
\nIt isn’t fit for humans now,
\nThere isn’t grass to graze a cow.
\nSwarm over, Death!<\/p>\n

Come, bombs and blow to smithereens
\nThose air-conditioned, bright canteens,
\nTinned fruit, tinned meat, tinned milk, tinned beans,
\nTinned minds, tinned breath.<\/p>\n

Mess up the mess they call a town-
\nA house for ninety-seven down
\nAnd once a week a half a crown
\nFor twenty years.<\/p>\n

And get that man with double chin
\nWho’ll always cheat and always win,
\nWho washes his repulsive skin
\nIn women’s tears:<\/p>\n

And smash his desk of polished oak
\nAnd smash his hands so used to stroke
\nAnd stop his boring dirty joke
\nAnd make him yell.<\/p>\n

But spare the bald young clerks who add
\nThe profits of the stinking cad;
\nIt’s not their fault that they are mad,
\nThey’ve tasted Hell.<\/p>\n

It’s not their fault they do not know
\nThe birdsong from the radio,
\nIt’s not their fault they often go
\nTo Maidenhead<\/p>\n

And talk of sport and makes of cars
\nIn various bogus-Tudor bars
\nAnd daren’t look up and see the stars
\nBut belch instead.<\/p>\n

In labour-saving homes, with care
\nTheir wives frizz out peroxide hair
\nAnd dry it in synthetic air
\nAnd paint their nails.<\/p>\n

Come, friendly bombs and fall on Slough
\nTo get it ready for the plough.
\nThe cabbages are coming now;
\nThe earth exhales. <\/p>\n

Sir John Betjeman<\/cite><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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… <\/p>\n

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