Jeremy Clarke Jeremy Clarke

Low life | 22 November 2012

issue 24 November 2012

After the open-air night drawing class, the teacher invited anyone who felt like it to repair to the pub afterwards to have a drink and maybe something to eat and maybe a discussion about art. On the way to the pub I’d nipped off to the cashpoint. By the time I got to the pub, the night drawing gang were already seated around a cosy table with their coats off and my bird had saved me the place between her and the art teacher.

I squeezed in between them and took in the new faces ranged opposite me. They were two women and a bloke. The younger of the two women was a straight-backed, handsome, pleasant-looking woman with whom I fell in love on the spot. The elderly woman smiling humbly beside her she introduced as her mother-in-law. Actually, her new mother- in-law, she added — she’d remarried recently. I hadn’t noticed either of these women at the night drawing class — maybe for the simple reason that it had been dark.

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