PULLING TEETH WITH KEITH RICHARD

It’s a balmy monoxide breeze that blows off the Thames across from Cheyne Walk. There’s a yellow truck slewed up on the pavement across from Keefs front door with two guys in overalls making marathon work of stripping bits of wire with pliers.

Somewhere between there and here — Atlantic’s omni-carpeted West End smoked-glass labyrinths — the man is, you, might say, in transit. This, if one is to lend credence to the popularised Richard persona, being no mean feat. Your confidant, having arrived early, is dropping cubefc in anticipation. The Big K’s newest exploit, as relayed to him in" the cab coming over, having been the drawing of a knife during a recent altercation.