Luciano here. Yes, THE Luciano. La Belle Dame Fiona is much too busy to scribble anything for the likes of you so it falls to me to perform this small service for her. Besotted as I am I can only hope that my words impress her.
Well, as you must know, Fiona is absolutely the most drop-dead gorgeous kick-ass babe on the planet, a world-famous opera singer (mezzo-soprano) to boot and still finds time to make exquisite jewellery that the cogniscenti pay huge sums to charity for. A pretty impressive resume, I think you’ll agree.
I think I was first introduced to Fiona by the up and coming English tenor, Philip Greedy, around 1982. I remember he looked up from the jacuzzi we were sharing at the time as a lovely pair of fishnet clad legs approached us. With a wicked leer he suggested something quite obscene only to be told that hot towels were all that was on offer. I smiled shyly and was rewarded with the most beautifuly radiant grin I have ever seen. Her eyes shone through the steamy atmosphere and I was instantly smitten. Oddly I felt much the same way when I aquired my pet St Bernard, Genevieve. But that’s another story. Lovely glossy coat, that dog. Bitch, rather .. but I digress.
Not many months later Fiona got her first big break with the Bristols Opera (an all-girl exotic dancing and comedy group touring the pub circuit and playing to largely lesbian crowds). It was her left leg and it was while she was disabled by the thigh length plaster that I was able to spend more time with her.
The plaster got in the way and my dreams of fatherhood were not realised. My relationship with Fiona cooled a little (understandably I suppose; we’re all older and wiser now). She took up with a twin sister synchronised swimming team and for several years the three of them all shared a love nest in Fulham. I pleaded and begged but they had the judge slap a restraining order on me.
Many years passed in which I could only watch Fiona from a distance and yearn for what might have been. Fiona went from strength to strength, consorted with rock stars and statesmen and was loved and admired by everyone. That was before the drink took hold.
Fiona is now a bespectacled librarian in Ditchling. She lives on a council estate with her two kittens, smokes continually and suffers from raging hormone attacks that come without warning. She sometimes manages to rise before midday if she can’t afford drink the night before. A ceaseless parade of men marches through her shabby existence as she searches for something she can never find. The Truth.
Whatever happened to Fiona ?