A gay, light-hearted bastard, Ken Bolton cuts a moodily romantic figure within the dun Australian literary landscape, his name inevitably conjuring perhaps that best known image of him, bow-tie askew, grinning cheerfully, at the wheel of El Cid, his 1955 Jaguar D-type. It is this image that also carries in its train the stories of later suffering -- the affairs, the court appearances, the bad teeth -- and, speaking of teeth, the beautiful poems wrenched from the teeth of despair & written on the wrist of happiness ' where happiness happens to like its poems written best' (in his inordinate phrase).