His arms beseeching infinity, His chiselled jaw set to stun. His acid green jump-suit fresh out of the box. He is the carwash Christ, perpetually poised with Holy Loofah in hand, ready to wash away the cares of the world. He's also a terrifying sight when you've been up all night and have just passed Him by as you stumble down the road towards King's Cross. I beg Him to wash away my demonic head-pain, but His is a higher calling and I have been judged and found wanting. Also, I don't have a car and obviously look a bit of a knob genuflecting before a day-glo mannequin. Humbled by his ascetic vigilance, and the stream of abuse from the fat gaffer inside who objects to my picture, I walk on.B
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