‘What d’you think of that picture?’
‘Which one? This one?’ (standing in front of a large, colour print of the sea during a storm).
‘Yeah. What d’you think?’
I take a step back and take it in. The sky, low, intensely dark, a few shreds of ghastly white cloud riding ahead like the tormented souls of drowned sailors making it home at last; the sea, ragged, wild, one giant wave in the foreground folding over in a gigantic stack of water to crash onto the beach, only just falling short of a tiny figure – man? woman? it’s impossible to tell – who is leaning into the wind with one hand on their hat and one arm outstretched, their raincoat flaring behind them.
‘Pretty dramatic!’ I say. ‘Who took it? You?’
‘I tied myself to the railings so’s not to get blown away.’
I turn back to the picture.
‘So who’s that on the beach? A wizard?’
‘I dunno. Some nutcase. But I think it’s the best picture I ever took. Yep. I’m pretty proud of that one.’
‘I wonder what happened to him?’
‘‘I think he lost ‘is ‘at.’