‘You check my records, okay? You'll see. Always, every week, some bergie or skollies causing trouble for me. What are my customers supposed to do?’

The first time the medical officer looked at me, he said I was D, for death warmed over.

Now came the quid pro quo of patronage, and the first painting M did for his cardinal betrayed a panicky sense of claustrophobia as M was gently directed into a musical allegory slash paederotic fantasy that belonged to no time or place.

There was a tremendous outpouring of support.