I don't believe they've given the Nobel Bloody Prize for Literature to Harold Pinter.

The jumped up, pretentious, blithering example of everything that is wrong with contemporary lit? The writer whose single contribution to literature was to invent dialogue featuring -lo-o-o-o-o-ng - periods of no dialogue? Is that the one?

The twit who imagines himself a voice for the working class, virtually none of whom would bother to read, much less see, his appalling output? That Harold Pinter? The one who writes idealised fantasy scripts about wot the workers are rully loike?

The Harold Pinter who is always complaining about the decline of modern standards?

The welfare-bludger in a silly cap who has never* had a commercially successful play without a subsidy, despite being staged by every company in decline? The same one? The one who should have stopped writing thirty bloody years ago?

The one who isn't funny?

Blimey.

Excuse me while we silently brood for a bit, okay chum?



* Certain facts altered to suit my mood.