“That was a nice picture,” she said. “Where is it?”
“Which? The one at the end of the last post, you mean? It’s Teide National Park, in Tenerife” I answered.
“Far from the madding crowd,” she said, a hint of sarcasm in her voice. I could tell I wasn’t entirely forgiven for our little fracas earlier the previous week.
“Well, since you raise the point,” I answered, “It is. At least a lot of it is. It’s not all kiss-me-quick hats and rides on floating bananas. There’s real sophistication on Tenerife, and superb scenery.”
“You seem to know a lot about it,” she said.
“I go there quite a bit,” I answered.
“I thought writers were supposed to travel around the world,” she said, “like Ernest Hemmingway and D H Lawrence.”
“Yeah, they do,” I answered, “I mean we do, but a lot of us also like have somewhere specific to write as well. For me it’s Tenerife.
“Got any more pictures?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said.
“Now don’t try to be too clever. We don’t need any fancy formats. We just want to see the pictures.”
I shrugged. How about this then?” I asked.
Haven’t they got any people out there?” She asked.
“But wouldn’t you rather see a cutesy kitten?”