Round Lump Feasting On Round Rump

 

 

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 couldnít even do my daily stretching exercises without hitting the wardrobe.)

 

On the final day I didnít 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 Voscene 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 Hitchcockís. I doubt he noticed me but I noticed how his eyes clasped on the womanís moving rump. As the top half of her body was in the room she couldnít have known what ardent admiration her lower half was receiving. Here is the scene.

 

I canít 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 canít 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.