Not really what you could call my cup of tea; but it might give you some idea of the kind of place I'm talking about.Yeah, you might gather that - as ... young man - the Cliff Head Hotel had never been my favourite place in the world. Well, as Slim Dusty so eloquently put it "there's nothing so lonesome, morbid or drear, than to stand in the bar of a pub with no beer". Just replace the "pub with no beer" bit, for the "Cliff Head Hotel" and that about sums the place up.Anyway, on this particular. Paints, pencils in a rainbow of colors, a sheath of paper, books stacked on a corner, a rocking chair piled with cushions. It was obviously a place of the heart, and I instinctively knew that it would never have been opened to me if it wasn’t for the love she bore me and I her. Nimble fingers pressed the stones into the sand of the wall continuing the pattern, carrying it farther, round in swirls the dark grey lines picking out the simple pattern and the nude pinks and browns adding complexity.. More

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