Larkin About

An interlude to the emotional turmoil. There was a big review article in one of last week's Evening Standards about a new book of Philip Larkin's letters. I don't know his poetry but there was an excerpt as something he'd written in a letter to Monica on 27 Nov 1968. I rather like it.

Morning, noon & bloody night,
Seven sodding days a week,
I slave at filthy work, that might
Be done by any book-drunk freak.
This goes on til I kick the bucket:
FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT