Sculpture watching the sea at Sitges.
Sitting outside the cafe opposite the station in Mount Pleasant, I watch people passing. It brings to mind the way old men used to sit in a row outside bars in Spain when I first went there, 50 years ago. They would lean on their sticks, their eyes following anything of interest. When a woman walked past, they would often turn their heads as well as move their eyes. The expression on their faces never changed.
Why is it that I seem nowadays to recognise complete strangers in my own age group?
Is it possible that I knew them when they and I were younger, and have forgotten their names? Or is it simply that we share the imprint of a generation? It is as though we belonged to the same club.
I have posted a new story on One Fine Day. It is called Pretending. Comments are always welcome there as here. If as some have found there are problems in commenting there please have your say here.