There was that time in Bournemouth. One of the summer holidays of guaranteed sunshine. I was about six years old and one afternoon I had my portrait done by a woman near to the beach. It was done in pastels, I think. It must have been pastels because they smudged, and if you rubbed a patch the colour came off on your finger. The artist signed it. I was very happy with the portrait. Go and show it to people, said Mum, said Dad. Show it around. In the guest house. I ran down to the kitchens. ‘Look at this,’ … Continue reading PASTEL