THIRTEEN
The flea-bitten Claudio swung airily on his perch, a gentle breeze from an open sash window offering just a little unaided momentum and, from his strategic parrot station above the Cutty Sark bar, this advantageous position, he kept a close eye on the Twink mob. It amused the Poncenbey patrons when Claudio spoke in fluent Italian. In truth Claudio’s English was not that brilliant, it was a sort of pigeon English, but he was able to convey the gisteo to this Council of Christ’s Hairdressers, which included of course, Lord Arsekins of Applecrumble. Not a main protagonist and, if the truth be known, he was just an amateur hairdresser, but he had influence in the right places and a penchant for bouffant ice cream. He could be used. There existed pictures, some with flakes in unmentio
