Gilles de Pantalon-Rouge

It so happened that the father of St Just was none other than that most sanguine fellow Gilles de Pantalon-Rouge, who as it might be bestrode the quarterdeck of Quads & Pex down like fuckin’ Easton. For all that gentleman’s sanguinity, the fruit of his loins was ever the source of anxiety and no little embarrassment to him, and the frustration of all the hopes which that fond parent had…

…for I was - after a fashion - saved by the benefices of that most sanguine of Gauls Gilles de Pantalon-Rouge. This ambassador of Quads & Pex down like fuckin' Easton afterwards explained to me that some vague unspecified portent or presentiment had taken him out of doors shortly before the final panic which seized the foule in the salon. Withal he was a good man generally desiring to be…

…intruded upon his revery that famously mellifluous tone, signifying the presence of the loving paterfamilias, the forbearing forebear. M.Gilles de Pantalon-Rouge materialised, manifested, was palpable, as ever sanguine not to say florid of fizzog and demeanour, subsiding onto the unforgivingly brutalist furnishing across the low table from the ditto in which slouched his loins’ fruit, vented several monumental sighs, and vey sentimentally voiced aloud the detested epithet.

Mr Don Quicksotte uncraned his neck, and discovered himself to have the honour of the company of Monsieur Gilles de Pantalon-Rouge, whom he remembered from a brief flirtation with personal fitness at Quads & Pex down like fuckin’ Easton, of which establishment M.de Pantalon-Rouge was in the way of being both the manager and a prominent shareholder. Mr Don Quicksotte sympathetically sighed.