Diary – 28 June 2003

The word ‘traitor’ seems to be bandied about a good deal at present. ‘So you’re a traitor, then,’ said the complacently smiling lady sitting next to my husband Harold Pinter at the British Library literary dinner – rather a surprising venue for such an accusation, I thought at the time. They were discussing our recent stay in Paris. Harold explained his approval of French foreign policy over the Iraq war, coupled with his disapproval of the British action. Then I was alerted by John Guare to the possibilities of www.probush.com. Clicking on the word ‘Traitor’ produced a rather more sinister result. This voice was male as well as soft and low. ‘You’re a traitor!’ it hissed at me from my hitherto friendly screen. What, me? What is it with us Pinters? However, the text rather contradictorily urged me to ‘get to know your traitor’, and then gave a very long list of possible candidates, with helpful identifying photographs.