I am clambering about on the arm-chair, testing out poses.
‘Very Paula Rego.’
The comment makes me stop. ‘Okay, would you like me to go with this one?’
It is fine for twenty minutes. Then it becomes agonising. They want it for four hours. After the first break-time I prop my watch against the fan heater. I watch the minutes. I aim for twenty minute stints before having to spoil their concentration by moving my left leg.
By the afternoon I am watching the seconds, struggling to last five minutes before apologetically shaking my bloodless leg again and shifting my twisted shoulder. I am letting them down. My reputation as a good model is in tatters.
As it happens, this morning at three I was browsing Paula Rego on my netbook.
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