De drikker for meget på NRK, Harold Pinter med KORT "I", please. And PIN-ter, it is: who in his plays uncovers the precipice under everyday prattle and forces entry into oppression's closed rooms. Derimod lyder et tidligt digt af Harold således:

Now here again she blows, landlady of lumping
Fellows between the boards,
Singing "O Celestial Light" while
Like a T-square on the Flood swings her wooden leg.
This is the shine, the powder and blood, and here am I
Straddled, exile always in one Whitbread Ale town, or such.