Karen the Ruskinologist reminded me today that some months ago I'd pledged to publish photographic evidence of my Pre-Raphaelite feet. You don't hear nearly enough about Pre-Raphaelite feet these days. Besides which, my foots are poseuses of the most shameless order, and they practically set up the camera themselves. So here are pho-toes, ye nymphes and swaynes, of meine Fuße. Twenty-nine years in the making, and, give or take a few blisters, never a sour moment.
Dante Gabriel, eat your long-toe-painting heart out.
Here my feet share an intimate fireside moment, free from the daily trammel of susan shocks.
Here. on the other hand (ha!), is a lone foot, stark raving stark. Note the Pre-Raphaelite toes. They span whole octaves.
And here, old lefty, six feet tall in his stockinged feet, tries camouflaging with the rug. Hole in hosiery cunningly concealed during the day by boot.
Right. Thank you. That will be all.