Happy Christmas

Roberto is flummoxed by what to buy his wife, Angelina de Castiglione, for Christmas, a decision made more important by the fact that she is also his employer. His dilemma is complicated, as usual, by his fear of being caught in his serial infidelities and losing his position. Naively, he believes overwhelmingly extravagant presents will convince her of his undying devotion. The best, or worst, example of his stupidity was the Triumph Herald, wrapped in a huge pink bow. Her reaction confirmed his mistake: If I want to go anywhere you drive me there, and why on earth would I want to travel in a toy car? He excused himself by thinking, No one knows how hard it is being married to a bossy old cow; no wonder I need a bit on the side.

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Monsignori

Monsignori Abbatelli, sixty-seven, enjoys his honorific title bestowed by the Holy Father for his lifelong service he gives pilgrims to Rome and the poor. His sense of importance is shown by an immaculate tailored black suit, black braces, black shirt, clerical collar and patent leather black shoes. He carries a magnificent dark brown leather briefcase embossed with his title and name and wears a superb black Borsalino hat. But in the end, he believes his demeanour does the trick, as he struts like his idol, Marcello Mastroianni.

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Sound

Her studio is a place of alchemy. The room is large, the corniced ceiling high, the windows tall and the light benign. There are grand glass fronted cupboards containing the skulls of birds, rabbits, a long-horned chamois, a stuffed cockatoo, an enormous star fish, a conch, fossils, the hip bone of an ass, the jaw bone of a Scottish Blackface sheep and the skeletal head of a peacock as well as a black and white photograph of Lucien Freud shaving. She removes the peacock’s head.

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