Careening down Bucharest's Buzetis Street he caught the wife of one Major Georgescu neatly on his mudguard, tumbled her in the gutter.
Most of the angels were shabby, tired and obviously unhappya sort of bespattered mudguard of the lower middle class.
Peasants for miles around knew the peal of Monti's bicycle bell as he flashed by, a huge stack of papers thrown across the handlebars, a small red flag flying on his front mudguard.