That’s the title of a long poem, which didn’t exist before this weekend, and is now a chunky first draft of 144 lines, in octosyllabic rhymed couplets. Worse still, it’s about the way in which the West has encouraged the rise of Islamic state, and it works its way through the recent campaigns in Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya and Syria. Not everyone’s cup of tea, but for me it’s the glory of retirement – if I want to devote a whole weekend to an ambitious intellectual project that I’ve set myself, then I can do that. It’s been simmering a while, encouraged by reading Patrick Cockburn’s book, and a Guardian interview with Jon Snow, but this weekend was the moment when it seemed right to sit down and scribble flat out. I’ve had a ball.