Tuesday, December 16, 2014

Is all information intestinally suspect?

 I know, I know. It must
 seem to be one sluggish
 day for wit, when Ox-
 ford dons take to imit-
 ating our darling Cen-
 tral Intelligence lads.
 Was Freud right? Is all
 interest in information
 inherently a barnyard
 occupation? Was Animal
 Farm satirical at all?
 Never let it be said,
 the Augean labors of
 research are for the
 squeamish, the tongue-
 tied, the twisted, or
 hamfisted of the pen,
 where smelly gents' in-
 telligence is laid out
 end to end, for type-
 setters to mend.

 The unredacted typo is
 the least of terrors,
 where rectitude's feuds
 are internecine. Hoist
 a glass to confusion of
 us all, our enemies are
 bound to know us by it. 

                  reading some of these pages one
                  immediately detects an affinity
                  between the savage intestine
                  feuds of Oxford (and 'the House'
                  in particular) and those of the
                  intelligence services.



Geoffrey Wheatcroft
The Spy as Historian ..
The Spectator
20 September 2014©

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