MEMORY BOX

I was lucky enough to be on my own in Paris with no distractions and glorious sunny weather. Sitting in the Jardins de Luxembourg with a brand new watercolour set. Each lozenge of colour was still in it's wrapper looking like little chocolates. I sat in the dusty sunshine seeking out people to paint, however after the unwrapping and preparation of water and necessary arrangements the potential sitters had disappeared. Blanche de Castille was serene and posing adjacent to where I sat, it seemed like an opportunity. My work was interrupted for the first time by a local drinker who fancied himself as a bit of an artist and was fairly keen to pass on his advice. This included some criticism of my execution of the hands. He was also horrified that I was unaware of who Blanche de Castille was, I protested that I was in fact English but this was no excuse. He rolled off in disgust muttering about Saint Louis.
Whilst painting the second nymph I was joined by a more perky, youthful inebriate wearing tracksuit bottoms one leg of which was rolled up to the thigh. He was most keen for me to watch his stretching exercises which if carried out correctly could lead one to experience the sensation of flying. Since I was trying to paint and not paying sufficient attention he became rather irritated and kept shouting to me "Madame! You're not watching!"
When this clearly was not getting the required reaction he got out a rather archaic looking mobile phone and started to have an imaginary conversation with "my love, whats that my love? You are not loving me, my love.But my love,my love. I was too far into the painting to move on so we shared the bench for some time until he was distracted by a passing gendarme to whom he became attached with the introductory gambit "hey Monsieur, vous etes un gendarme" (this was a statement not a question). I love Paris.