Read a poem by another poet written
on the same day:

Out among brambles and thistles we go
at first reluctant, then more eager
to lead police to a spot
which might after all be the seat of the crime
yet as far from our hunting yard as possible

We remain lords of the manor
remain the sly foxes nobody trusts
but for perjury embezzlement and publicity
and while there's a body buried round here
somewhere, we're not giving away a thing
till all the right media have visited
and taken their photos and our Swiss bank account

Now you don't mess about  
with the British legal system
you, Mr Man-in-the-Street may well think
but if you're a Tory every single minute
of lost time counts for a pound
the papers and TV are a godsend
for image advertisement
and the truth—well, the truth's just a bitch
that follows you round on a hunt
for a fox that need never even have been there

East Finchley