I pause to blink, just to check which continent I’m on. The beach huts would indicate England, that at least must be a certainty, but really, who’d have thought you’d find such a jewel on these shores? She’s rare example of womanly beauty, voluptuous and on display for all the world to see. Strangely, the world doesn’t appear to be looking. I look. I’m probably staring. How could anyone miss her swathed in azure gauze, glittering in the feeble sunlight. I’d probably have missed her myself as I so rarely have the opportunity to look past my own sunburnt peeling nose. Her skin glistens and ripples in a shade of slick nut butter. I’m tempted to ask but I lack the gall, “could you sit completely still for another 20 minutes whilst I sketch you please?” From this angle she is flawless, although I’d go for natural grey rather than dyed jet black. Not for the first time, I wonder why women of my mother’s age are so rarely appreciated?
6 hours ago