Sausages are like modern-day sirens. Their call cannot be ignored, and they lure a poor man’s waistline to its death. Or at least that was what Judas thought as he made his way across town. He was hungry, and he was confused. The new Super was a pain, and he’d only been in post five minutes. Lucifer was twisting his melon with lies or possibly truths about God’s intentions for him and the fact that the Big Man himself had fobbed Judas off again – things couldn’t get any worse. Judas crossed Soho Square, the little white hut on stilts that sat at the centre of the park was still there, and so were the warrior pigeons, dropping white, caustic bombs on all and sundry. Judas made it across without getting tagged, and then he kept to the back streets and side roads as he headed towards Bloomsbu
