Where does a decade go? This is an old photo essay. The colours are faded like a cheap postcard, but I like that. Fed up in Malaga on a bus with cranky pasajeros. The Boss was a big lad lacking in empathy who would stay in his bunk on sunny port days. The Baby Togs would be forced on tour to shoot stock and pose pasajeros. But the pasajeros were disinclined towards posing. Lest the wife snuck down after dinner squiffy on the house stuff and purchased a print that they'd never look at, sure they only end up in the bottom of a drawer we've got our own camera thanks, here I could sell you some paper the bloody walls with them hahahahaha.
We didn't like the shorts much either, standard issue. The girl's ones had an elastic waist and not as many pockets as the boys, it didn't seem fair. The sarcastic pasajeros would see our bright blue polo shirts coming. The nice ones would take pity and let you take their picture - as a favour. We'd smile gratefully, thank-you for letting me take your picture. They'd never come looking for it but it stopped the boss from looking for you if you pushed half a decent roll. In Venice, posted by the Grand Canal for a day to ambush gondolas 'over here! Oriaaa-nnaa! over here!' I snuck ashore in a little black outfit. I just couldn't let the Italians see me in those shorts. The Boss lacking in empathy found out and made to give me what-for. I ran the length of deck 7 to escape him. 'No Running in the alleyways'
I wonder if the hooks are for the carcass's of matadors or bulls? I like to imagine both of them hanging there dripping side by side after a particularly good show.