David Brent: This is the poem Slough, by Sir John Betjemen, probably never been here in his life. 'Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough, it isn't fit for humans now.' Right, I don't think you solve town planning problems by dropping bombs all over the place, he's embarrassed himself there. Next 'In labour saving homes with care, their wives frizz out peroxide hair, and dry it in synthetic air, and paint their nails-' they wanna look nice, what's the matter, doesn't he like girls? 'And talks of sports and makes of cars, and various bogus Tudor bars, and daren't look up and see the stars, but belch instead.' What's he on about? What, has he never burped? 'Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough, to get it ready for the plough. The cabbages are coming now, the earth exhales-' He's the only cabbage round here. And they made him a night of the realm. Overrated.

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