I caught these out of the corner of my eye, a month or so ago, in the local Sally Ann. What do you know? In an instant, down the chute I go, threading through some manner of temporal anomaly, all the way back to 1977.
Noel Edmonds is on Radio 1. I am at the breakfast table eating cereal in a semi-detached end house in Chandler's Ford. Mum leaves the kitchen for a few ticks and I reach over and grab the newspaper. I turn over the front page and become transfixed, for what seems like a teeny-tiny slice of forever, by Linda Lusardi's halftone gaze (I always went for their eyes first!) Before too long, I hear the old dear coming back down the stairs and I hurriedly close the paper and I crack on with the Frosties in my bowl.
Ms. Luscardi's areolae begin to evanesce; as they dissolve, their ineffable symbolism is framed by a stalwart ring of neo-gothic ornamentation, bisected with milk.
Both are equally stamped into my being.
Image of Linda Lusardi Copyright: News Corp UK & Ireland Limited.