Trafika Europe 9/10 - UK in Europe

Not Near London

the weather. England’s flat and under a shroud. Jasper’s main riff is the four elements. Earth, air, water, fire. It is his whole philosophy, when it comes to understanding people. And drawing them. Drawing her. A few months ago, when she was posing naked on his sofa made out of boxes, he told her that she was three-quarters water and one quarter earth, so she replied, ‘That’s literally mud.’ His red, white and black pastels were beating away on the paper the other side of the easel, These New Puritans banging out from his silly little speakers. ‘Wrong. It’s a river bed. Water flowing over a river bed. You’re at ease with yourself, like a really calm river.’

‘I was born in the fens,’ she laughed, because you have to laugh at a statement like that. ‘A marsh girl. Burgh le Marsh was just up the road from our bungalow.’ She liked to remind him of her authentic origins in Lincolnshire, the Land that Time Forgot, with Mum struggling to bring the kids up on her own after Dad died. ‘A real yellowbelly. A slub girl. That’s what we fenlanders call mud. Slub. Among other nice names.’ Jasper, in his best public- school-twat voice, said, ‘I was raised in Rutland.’ He wasn’t really self-mocking, he was showing off. No one can help what they’re born into. ‘Slub’s a good word. Onomatopeoic,’ she pointed out, hoping he would take an interest. He did. The electric heater was on but she was slightly

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