Stockings And Suspender Belts!

You might possibly be aware that I have begun a series of paintings entitled 'memories from childhood'. This has caused me to delve even more deeply into the inner recesses of my chaotic mind.

I have already finished a couple of paintings along these lines, and a few more ideas have been written down for further consideration. Ideas such as 'the tragedy of the milkmans horse', and this: 'Mrs Williams fluffy jumpers'. But the idea that is exercising my grey matter the most robustly at this particular moment, even outweighing the prominence of Mrs Williams jumpers is: 'Stockings and suspender belts'.

There is a word for the kind of child I was. The kind of child, who might be more aware than perhaps he should be, about, shall we say, more grown up matters. There is a word for it, but at the moment it is eluding me. I shall continue writing and hope that the word presents itself by the time I finish this. How annoying that I can't think of it.

The magic words uttered by a woman, " Oh damn, my suspender is broken!" would be guaranteed to take my attention away from whatever book I was currently lost in. My interest was instantly aroused, and I would watch intently as, in situ, emergency repairs were undergone to this, to me, extremely fascinating item.

I'm sure had the women concerned known of my interest, they might have declared it an unhealthy interest. Because in those prehistoric days, any interest a child took in such matters was to be discouraged most severely. They might even have packed me off for psychiatric evaluation.

Fortunately for me, they didn't realise. How could they? I was still only in the first decade of my life. It was the fact that I was so young, and apparently, as far as they were concerned, so childishly innocent, that I was able to view proceedings with such alacrity.

Of course being so young myself I had no idea why I found stockings and suspenders so endlessly fascinating. I only know that I did.

As I grew older, I naturally studied the subject more closely, and of course discovered the reason for my fascination, and a very healthy and normal male interest it turned out to be.

In these more 'enlightened' times there is not so much secrecy surrounding female under garments. There is nothing hidden. There is no mystery. This is such a shame for the adolescent male.

I am so glad that I underwent my voyage of 'naughty' discovery, even though, in the words of the old song: "In olden days a glimpse of stocking was thought of as something shocking, now heaven knows, anything goes".

That's the problem these days. Anything goes. Not much excitement to be had in modern circumstances.

But oh what excitement in a glimpse. Just a glimpse of stocking tops and suspenders!

Right! Well, I'd best get on. There are pictures to be painted. I'll let you know how I get on.

I still cannot remember the word I was searching for earlier. It's a word that describes a child acting older than their age. I bet it comes to me as soon as I hit the publish button!

Got it! Precocious. That's the word I'm looking for. Just in time too! At least, I think that's the word.