I’ve just been fishing with your mate from Mexico, Nat Tarn. He’s probably a great bloke and I’ve learned a few tricks from him. He taught me how to sew the tiny head of a preying mantis to a hair belt woven with strands of devil’s tails. Evidently they make these belts in Burnie, Tasmania, where a man called Tim Thorne ships them to a supplier in the Blue Mountains. We are chanting now. We’re in my room at the Angler’s Rest using Nat’s laptop, the chant goes something like this: :Leti, Leti, Leti, sing, sing. You know what, you fucking idiots and your yankee poet-friends have sent me around the twist. I’m going down into the backyard at Ian’s Squid Shop to pull a plank off his fence. I’ll introduce Mr Tarn to one of my customs.