Paul Cezanne Still Life with Flowers and Fruit

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was noon. Holy Wood Hill glistened under the sun, like a champagne-flavoured wine gum that had been half-sucked. The handlemen turned their handles, the extras charged enthusiastically backwards and forwards, Dibbler ‘ ‘S a good name for this camel,’ said the handler fervently.
‘There’s nothin’ wrong with bein’ a son of a bitch,’ said a voice behind him. ‘I’m a son of a bitch. My father was a son of a bitch, you greasy nightshirt-wearin’ bastard.’
The handler grinned nervously at Victor and turned around. There was no-one behind him. He looked down.
‘Woof,’ said Gaspode, and wagged what was almost a tail. raged at everyone, and cinematographic history was made with a shot of three dwarfs, four men, two trolls and a dog all riding one camel and screaming in terror for it to stop. Victor was introduced to the camel. It blinked its long eyelashes at him and appeared to chew soap. It was kneeling down and it looked like a camel that had had a long morning and wasn’t about to take any shit from anyone. So far it had kicked three people. ‘What’s it called?’ he said cautiously. ‘We call it Evil-Minded Son of a Bitch,’ said the newly-appointed Vice-President in Charge of Camels. ‘That doesn’t sound like a name.’