A Touch of Paradise at the End of Nowhere.

Portobello Road London/Dec27 2019

She had a small canvas bag with three cans of paint in it. She was unemployed but she wanted to be a graffitist.

So she stopped by the Church wall and started spraying.

She was young, single, beautiful, not very religious but with a good sense of business.

A week later she was on a fashion shoot displaying more style than talent, but wooing the crowd.

Then she went to Spain.

In Spain she stayed first at the house of the Chilean. Later in a tent and even later on a bench by the sea.

You know how they say that if you go out to the crossroads at midnight …. ?

Spain was her crossroads. When she returned home in the Spring nothing was the same.

Stronger, braver, more skilful.

Then she smashed her arm.

It was a freak accident.

Unnecessary.

Avoidable.

Critical.

It plagued her for the rest of time.

But she ignored it as much as she could.

After Spain she went to America.

At first she stayed at the home of a writer of comics, thousands were stored under the bed.

Later with a man.

There was often a man.

Two in Spain.

Several in London.

One in San Francisco.

When she came back this time she made some big changes.

The man, unfortunately for him.

Her flat.

And she started painting and toured the galleries of the world.

Then she moved to Scotland.

Not Edinburgh, not Glasgow.

But a touch of paradise at the very end of nowhere.

An Island

And she bought a boat..

And made a family.

And her arm gave her pain.

And other things started to hurt.

Her man left.

She sold the boat.

And her children grew and moved away.

And sometimes she sat in her kitchen.

Thinking of Spain.