Pangs of adolescent yearning for excitement centred on the fairground. Dangerous electric wonderland of fizzing bulbs, splashing riotous colours seen and longed for through a translucent protective screen. Hearing neither sounds of laughter, nor demonic screams Norma still felt the sirens summons to another world.

Maturity failed to dull the itch. Transported to calmer waters in life, the wanderlust remained. Friends seemed distant and aloof, hidden in the weed of conventionality. There was no one to share her desires, hear her open mouthed calls.

Liaisons in warmer climes appealed, lured by the picture window of sharp pink coral, tropical shipwrecks and ethnic colours. Fiestas of black and yellow, red and aquamarine, swirled before her, darting crowds moving to a calypso beat. Norma saw her golden reflection and knew she was an outsider in this school.

Freedom beckoned in old age. Now she was one among many in a discarded backwater. Surely the itch could be satisfied, for no glass ceilings or Perspex walls existed to hinder progress towards her ultimate goal.

Sunlight dazzled, bouncing off the ripples drawing Norma closer to the adventure she craved.

Out of the blue skies dived salvation, as the heron's beak plucked Norma the goldfish, from the pond. Permanently curing the itch!

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Written February 1999