Sir Hearty Luncheon knew perfectly well that in certain circles he was derogated as the Pierpont Morgan of Anchor Road. Having always felt that he was better fitted to a wider stage, Sir Hearty was on account of this and other soubriquets a martyr to resentment, inasmuch as he never did bear the cant, and recoiled from the implications which such dubbings bore of pettifogging and provincialism. —
Anchor Road, Sir Hearty Luncheon
The object of Sir Hearty Luncheon’s choler was the much-repeated broadcast of the visit earlier that morning by the Mayor to the victims of the Little Mogadishu explosion. From the beginning, Mr Hawksmoor Perroquet had been made to look inept. The tone was set by the broadcast strapline, which was admittedly out of his control, and which in white capitals against a red background shrieked “AT LAST!” above, and below: “MAYOR FINALLY SHOWS HIS BEAK!” He was filmed arriving by Mayoral limousine outside the BRI, bodyguarded by the phalanx of shaven-headed Kosovars who spilt from the limousine’s open doors, and who shielded him as he ran the gauntlet of the worst kind of mob which Medusa the gorgon, turning hearts to stone, could assemble and marshall with her loudhailer - craque fumeurs and drinquers of fermented apple juice, blaque-clad fellow anarquistes, and members of the … er … squatting community. Several of these oxygen thieves were in questionable control of slavering dogues, these beasts no respecters of the Mayoral dignity, but rather giving all the indications of wishing to gobble him up. Mr Hawksmoor Perroquet reacted to this lèse majesté in a most unbecomingly seigneurial fashion, by commanding one of the Kosovars to pick him up; and compounded his initial error by attempting from this undignified vantage point to engage with two or three of the lunatics on some intellectual level; and had very predictably been shouted down by the charismatic eccentrics with big personalities who abound in the … er … squatting community. —
craque fumeurs, Little Mogadishu, Medusa, Hawksmoor Perroquet
The following segment displayed to his disadvantage Mr Hawksmoor Perroquet, perched on the rail at the end of the bed wherein reposed a creature of the night whom Sir Hearty Luncheon dimly as through a veil recalled as being the spouse of that dreadful rake Lord Snatch, who in some kind of mnemonic role was to be observed crouching at her bedside in a ghastly simulacrum of solicitude, which was of course utterly belied by the predatorial smirk imprinted on those thin lips of his. Mr Hawksmoor Perroquet was then to be observed avoiding the bed of the Infirmity Lady, who bestowed upon him a most significant look, before passing on to the bedside of a stout lady of the Somali persuasion. This personage turned her face to the wall and deigned not to know the Civic Parrot, who found himself instead berated by the stern Islamic husband of that matron, on account of his failure to prevent the colonisation of Little Mogadishu by the most depraved types of English infidels. —
Lord Snatch
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