EASTBOURNE is blessed. For among us walks your contributor last week, the very beautiful Wendy Miller.
Yet despite her great natural beauty Wendy maybe feels it necessary to use a little make-up now and again (what woman doesn’t?) to enhance her sublime beauty.
Perhaps she occasionally uses a little face powder? A little rouge? Maybe a little lipstick? Eyeliner?
And maybe all manner of beauty enhancements to add to her appeal? She does her hair wonderfully?
She wears the finest affordable dresses and shoes she feels set off her radiant complexion?
Daily, as do we all, she perhaps looks about her, and senses a little improvement would be inspiring to her being.
Why does she feel this need? After all knowing you possess stunning beauty should be its own reward.
Maybe she senses she could look even better. Maybe she feels that little need we all feel to appear modern and now to those who come in contact with her. Maybe she feels the need to appeal to impress; who of us doesn’t?
Strange then that the need that wells in the human soul she would deny to Eastbourne.
Not for Eastbourne town centre a little enhancement to its beauty. Not for Eastbourne a little modernity to its face.
Not for Eastbourne the need to compare itself to other great beauties and see how her face could be bettered.
Why is it one is reminded of William Blake’s lines? “O Rose thou art sick. The invisible worm, that flies in the night, in the howling storm – has found out thy bed, of crimson joy – and his dark secret love, does thy life destroy.”