I was walking down a cobbled street once and there was an
old woman sat outside a café with a coffee and cigarette. Some people went buy
jogging and one waved a finger at her disapprovingly.
She hollered,
“It’s my only pleasure!” I used to hear my grandmother say the very same words.
I can still picture her swigging Benolin from the
bottle in the evenings.
One weekend I
had a compulsion to paint something quickly; I wanted to start and finish
swiftly. I was stroking the cat and having a coffee and put the mug on the
coaster which showed a cup of coffee. That was all I needed.