Liz Taylor and Richard Burton were parading upon the large screen television when I drifted into the drawing room earlier this afternoon. The technicolor production of V.I.P.s (1963) was iconic. With an astonishingly young Maggie Smith, Rod Taylor, Margaret Rutherford (of Miss Marple fame), the portly (though extremely well attired) Orson Welles and handsome Louis Jordan.  Elsa Martinelli (of whom I had never heard) gave a creditable performance too.  The costumes were by Pierre Cardin exhibiting Miss Taylor in an uncommonly discrete reversible mink/overcoat, the first example of which I had seen at Pat Flesher Luxury Outerwear in Ottawa, Ontario.

The film was shot entirely at MGM-British Studios, Borehamwood, Herts., with a few establishing shots filmed at what was then known as London Airport, later Heathrow. The terminal set was one of the largest ever constructed in the UK.

Precedent to my absorption in this comedy-drama I did of course bicycle briefly at Lands End then got the car vacuumed and washed at ZIPS Car Wash™ on William Hilton Parkway. First things first, always a good prescription no matter where on the earth one happens to be. Trim the sails, so to speak; whet the appetite for the unheralded and serendipitous rewards of life that may follow.

While on the road, wending my way aimlessly through Sea Pines to and from my appointed destiny at the car wash, I listened to an Apple compilation of jazz tunes. I found it exceptional, a fluid reminiscence of traditional ’40s music and the Great American Songbook. It struck a spiritual chord. This off-beat fortuity inspired what might by any other calculation be perceived as a humdrum day by the sea.  For me however it exemplified the height of buoyancy, drawing upon the fossils and oils within my ancient being. Meanwhile I peacefully sipped my strong, black coffee and listened to the sound of the waves through the open patio door. I interrupted this shameless extortion of complascency to read and reply to random emails, and to linger succinctly upon the chaise longue on the balcony overlooking the sea (always in my mind an unparalleled elixir).

Our visits to Hilton Head Island have reached a pinnacle. Age and decomposition have overtaken me and now distinguish that which follows. No longer am I able – nor frankly do I wish – to bicycle upon the beach for miles from one end of the island to the other. Shopping – except vicariously – is right out.  And I defer groceries to chef. But this seeming proscription does nothing to diminish my relish of the island. As I have no doubt remarked before, the transition is simply part of life’s natural evolution.

Though “sitting back” is historically characterized as the supreme satisfaction I have to confess its appeal was initially otherwise. However upon reflection – and admittledly upon unfettered admission – I acknowledge that notwithstanding the many happy memories I have of my younger years upon the island, current affairs are first and foremost lucky and secondly rosy. I can for example imagine at a whim limitless different and unfavourable alternatives to present circumstance. I say this not to contract the currency, rather to distill it. When once one has removed the superlatives and nonsense from one’s affairs, the evaporated aromas and vapours are all the more intoxicating than first speculated when coloured (or discoloured) by the contaminants.

As a result of this unbridled psychic discovery (just kidding) I thought there was at least some merit in constructing a short slide show of the historic photographs I have amassed of Hilton Head Island over 20 years or more. The object achieves several ambitions; among them, to surmount erstwhile technical impediments (technology has forever fascinated me), compile a collection of my favourite images and finally to share with others that much advanced paradigm, “A picture is worth a thousand words!”

As I may have iterated previously we have already communicated with our trusted estate agent to ask her to book arrangements for us on Hilton Head Island once again next year. Although we have started to blend in wth the wallpaper, and our babbling now sounds like a television ad, our approbation of Hilton Head Island continues to be inestimable. The island is a veritable picture of sublimity!