He was a walking encyclopedia

He was a walking encyclopedia; he could count up to twelve, in Romany. His worst enemy was his looks, which he believed played a very important part in gay life. One evening, after a small argument, standing there in his cut-off Versace pajamas and pointed white Morocco slippers, he reached over to the coat rack, put on his black London Fog raincoat and pulled down on his head a black net cap (looking like Red Skelton) with his ears out. He screwed up his face like a squashed yam. He now takes center stage, house lights dim, the orchestra runs for cover. The gold curtain slowly open, Francis Bacon takes out his paints. There he is jumping up and down hysterically. “See how ugly I am! See how ugly I am!”