Oh, alright, Pacadum then, whatever..
During the making of our last long-player, Corinne, Paul and I would often break to dine at a local pizza place round the corner from the studio in Hoxton. Our estimable producer Mr. O’Duffy is the youngest in a family of boys, while I on the other hand am the eldest. As a consequence, he is one of the fastest eaters in the world, while I am among the slowest. He never eats the crust on his pizza and, on the many occasions when he was forced to wait for me to finish, a habit began to form. He would fashion his leftover bits of crust into a likeness of Our Lord Jesus Christ in a ritual that we came to refer to as the making of the Turin Pizza. They were primitive attempts at first but, over time, he became so dexterous and the portraits so lifelike that eventually members of staff who came to collect the dishes would run in horror, while others would kneel reverently in silent prayer. This picture conjures up what might have happened had we regularly eaten at an Indian restaurant rather than an Italian one..