Twenty-five years ago, in an entirely different childhood, there was a big sea. The sun shone, the summer was endless, and out into the never-ending clear blue water stretched a fishing pier, and at the end of it sat the best sort of humans. They were fourteen years old, almost fifteen, and not to brag, but Louisa was right: it really was the most excellent fart. One of them let it loose and the friends almost fell into the sea with laughter. That was the moment that became the painting.
