In 1991 I was working in a pooh-brown building in Hillgate in Stockport. The next building along was St Christopher House, an office tower block. Sometimes if it was sunny I’d sit on a low wall between the two buildings. Free parking spaces around St Christopher House were rare and visitor’s cars would be clamped occasionally. One day I saw a cream-coloured car driving round office block two or three times, the driver obviously looking for a free space. The car park appeared in the car park of the building where I worked. A woman in her forties of average looks wound her window down, said she an interview in the office block and could she park her car there. Yes.
She parked up and alighted from the car in silken blouse and floaty skirt. In a hurried manner she said she had about five minutes to before the interview started. As she straddled the low wall in a sideways crab-like manner her skirt’s shortness fleetingly disadvantaged her modesty. There appeared to be no underwear. I assume the job she was pursuing was a painter and decorator as there seemed to be a sort of black paintbrush thing where her legs met. I think it might have been the best day I worked in Stockport.
On future walks I scanned the car park for the cream car but never saw it. The Sharon-Stone-leg-crossing technique mustn’t have worked.
Here is a painting in the vein of the above done in few colours on a small canvas. The paint flowed, nothing went wrong (assuming you like paintings of low 6th-form-student quality.) The name came from the owner of a cat I stroked on a wall once in Torquay. A black fluffy cat was dawdling up and down on the wall of a front garden, its colour in contrast to the white haired buxom lass working in the narrow garden. As I stroked the cat she said told me the cat was aptly called Fluffy and this was in keeping with the mound of fluffy hairs sprouting from her face. It wasn’t enough to constitute a moustache but may set on fire had she leaned too close to a lit candle.