Saturday, 2 October 1999, Kensal Green Cemetery, London
- words by Darren Coffield
Orchestra link for a Precocious Peacock Strut
Ainsworth's signature tune as he takes his place at the table, only to be upstaged by Joshua Compston, who makes an entrance in three dramatic chords whistling Dr. Christopher Dresser whilst striking a 'Whistler' pose.
Cruickshank tugs the pink bow flopping on his forelock commiserating with the starter and hankering for the sweet meat.
Lady Blessington offers to oblige. A Tympanny Roll held under, desperate to hold court, socially striking and flaring. Ainsworth retaliates reaching for his Lucifer match and striking to the whoosh of a combustible Paper Aesthete.
Joshua fires a volley flaring a chord against style over substance. He throws himself over the table and grabs Ainsworth by the throat sickened by a Japonisme without the philosophy of Zen.
Lady Blessington socially climaxes over the table. Thackery passes the salt and passes out. Cruickshank hears the clunk of a passing Gin Juggernaut, a sorrowful march with wails. Nothing has to be said since all is transparent. Peacocks abound. E.W. Godwin strips down the ornament, modernity starts to glow. Disraeli holds his mask whilst Wilde is used as a scapegoat and Thackery's mind waltzes over.
Ainsworth chords and Joshua Compston applauds. Cruickshank satirises in his seminal Almanac glowing in the praise of Baudillaire, pronounced as the greatest etcher since Rembrandt. Joshua publicly pronounces synchronicity with the ethos of Monsieur Guy but abstains from Ainsworth's aesthetic.
He strives for love to triumphant themes. Hearts and flowers are professed by all around the darkening damask table.
Three large gravel bangs and it will all be over. Three mere conclusive chords awaken Thackery's theme.
Interlude as lady Blessington pisses whilst singing praise over a peacock's crown.
Servants enter the stage left to dish up Dr. Christopher Dresser's raspberry dessert. Everyone is ready to consume when suddenly the room becomes saturated in the stench of the rotting white Irish lily that shall soon decay in Reading gaol.
A polite cough and a nod. Disraeli gives a wry smile to himself, smug and secure in the safety of his scapegoat. Thackery strikes from his drunken stupor and eyes Ainsworth and Joshua with a vanity most unfair.