Rye is a charming town. I've not been there for many, many years but I have a vision of clapperboarded houses, narrow alleys, Henry James and a memory of one particular occasion and one particuar antique shop.
It stands on the main drag through town, opposite a road junction, so it is on the joint of the "t" in a T junction. It has central door set back and sweeping into it are two curved glass windows. It's an attractive place, creamy white and well maintained.
Standing looking at the array of antiques and collectibles are two, frankly, unlikely looking sorts. A couple. They look bikerish, and as I get closer, walking my way up the pavement towards them, coming at them, as it were, from behind, I can see that his long hair is greasy and their jeans are stained and well worn. The details that I recall indicate that they must have been on holiday, along with 90% of the people there as far as I could see. As I got in range, I could make out snatches of their conversation. And they appeared to be looking at horse brasses (anathema to me. Yeeuch).
I heard as he said to her
"We've not seen one like that before, have we"
There is a long pause.
"No" she said, in a somewhat nasal twang, so the vowel was drawn out, extended beyond it's natural reach, so that it sounded like NOooo.
Another break for cogitation.
"Mind", she said. "We've not been looking"
.
1 comment:
i remember rye from when i was five. there was a steam train, and everyone else had a crab sandwich.
i hate crab. and steam trains. still, it was only another 12 years before i could leave home...
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