I took a late minute deal on a long weekend at The
Grand Hotel in Scarborough. The low price was reflected in the room - a tiny
affair right at the top of the building. Judging by the tiny proportions they
had been the preserve of the staff in past times (I couldn’t even do my daily
stretching exercises without hitting the wardrobe.)
On the final day I didn’t know you had to check out
by 10:30am so after a morning spent walking around the bays I came back to
housekeeping telling me I needed to vacate the room immediately. I quickly
packed, left a tip and a bottle of Vosene and left
the room. There are miles or corridors in that huge hotel and as I walked down
one I passed trolleys, piles of bedding and maids servicing the rooms. One maid
was on her knees scrubbing the carpet. She was straddling the threshold of a
doorway. Beyond her, down the tapering corridor, stood a barrel-bellied man who
cast a shadow not unlike Alfred Hitchcock’s. I doubt he noticed me but I noticed
how his eyes clasped on the woman’s moving rump. As the top half of her body
was in the room she couldn’t have known what ardent admiration her lower half
was receiving. Here is the scene.
I can’t just remember if the man was passing
through a door to the stairs or his room but one arm was attached to a door. If
Elvis had walked passed him singing The
Wonder Of You he might just have surfaced from his reverie.
I can’t say I enjoyed painting this one; doorways
mean lines and lines are almost impossible to get straight without a ruler. I
was about to finish it.