It is a commonly held opinion that Giuliano was born in 1721; however, such popular belief has never been substantiated, whereas recent evidence places his birth closer to August of 1732 during an outbreak of ereuthophobia among the local maids and the anticipated eclipse of the Pope - events these that cannot otherwise be sensibly explained.
    Early schooling proved to be a colourful experience. He is affectionately described in the annals as "often sporting a salivating expression of startled surprise." His teachers apparently couldn't see him very well (while Annie Hattllewaff, from 5th class, apparently couldn't see him at all).
    It is said that at age of 15 he buried his heart in Agrigento, picked up a guitar, counted his friends twice and sailed North-east. Of the years that were to follow much is unknown of his whereabouts and appointments, it is unlikely however that he was one-and-the-same person as Boldo the Gipsy King of Sulmona, as some maintain.
    Malicious critics at this juncture like to speculate - out of envy we might add - upon the purely coincidential disappearance of the manuscript of musical ideas belonging to renowned composer W.P.H. (yes, him), and a sudden blossoming of Giuliano’s composing skills who just so happened to live next door.
    Details are fuzzy on what happened next or why he decided to lurk around the capital wheeling himself on a maroon velour sofa until he was deported. The next we hear of him is on the 4th April 1862, draft-day for the war of Independence, where his name is penned on a roll-call ledger for the ill-fated 61st Regiment – a gunners unit which bore the rather idyllic if somewhat ominous field-name The Gladwell Moving Targets (an oversight of the commissariat by all accounts). He remained widely unnoticed on the battlefield if not for trying to run sideways, yet those very days proved a life-changing experience when he met in the trenches Chester ’Floorbound’ Tompkins who eventually taught him to play jerk-guitar, an all but forgotten technique developed in the deep South that would influence greatly his future songwriting and bring about remarkable tendonitis. His gunners unit was eventually dispatched to the front and never returned (retrospectively that was not so surprising). After an early discharge from his fighting duties on serious meteoropathic grounds, a passenger list, showing a one-way ticket back to mainland-Europe issued in the name of Walter Mellon - a poor disguise - allows us to place him in Antwerp’s docks at the very least by January 14th the following year where it is said he held two consecutive performances of his newly-written material and gained minor notoriety with a shared fourth-place in the all-county Wallonian mock-contest.
    His London years were soon to follow as he hid in a small room above Charrinton’s antique shop and divided his days at the beginning of the century between writing new lyrics and cutting newspaper confetti while recovering from a happy and fulfilling relationship. Claiming to be constantly observed by wall pictures, he wasn’t long before going off-radar once again only to be questioned about a Bombay shipping scandal which left his credibility and that of his one friend known only as Master D. in tatters. His credentials where however somewhat restored thanks to his winter tour of Rajastan where he performed the complete backlog of musical works by Jacque T - incredibly popular over there. A change of scenery was needed and, finally tracing a family lineage to the Clan of Oxmantowne, in 1985 he successfully staked his claim to the borough of Cabra where he is now said to work and reside. He is currently writing his book: 'The Exact Meaning of All of My Songs or, Better, The Exact Meaning of Each Word in All of My Songs'
    
     Some say he is still looking for his heart.

[ How about that? ]