TWENTY-SIX
The Downing Street steward greeted the Grand Numpti and let him pass through the shiny black portal into the grand entrance hall of the British seat of power. He wiped his plimsoles on the mat that said “welcome” in English and “f**k off” in Russian, and immediately hop-scotched on the black and white chequered tiling, demonstrating to anyone who was anyone, and especially those in the know, that he was not to be messed with. After he had got to ten, he spun and made to set off on the return leg, so to speak. Azzer kept his fez on as was his right, he did adjust it after he had got back to the start as it had become a little unbalanced and he tipped his head to acknowledge a rather formal man.
‘You are the Numpti of Cairo?’ The gent asked, in a clipped military and rather patr
