Via BookSlut, a link to a poem by Clive James entitled “The Book of my Enemy Has Been Remaindered.” My favorite bit: “And (oh, this above all) his sensibility, / His sensibility and its hair-like filaments, / His delicate, quivering sensibility is now as one / With Barbara Windsor’s Book of Boobs, / A volume graced by the descriptive rubric / ‘My boobs will give everyone hours of fun.'”