Yachting with the Catwalk Five

Languishing langoustines, on the deck. Ten pretty-polly legs bending, bronzed, multi-articulate. That's fifty toes pedicured. One hundred nails painted. Cute tickles rendered, tender with giggles. One hundred and sixty pearls of "ultra-brite" white, flash and blind. Five pouts pursed, shared in ‘plump-plum’ advertising portfolios. Locks coiffured, tossed or screw-curled. Lip-smacking good, sugared Brazilians embraced. A technical posse of experts aboard, guaranteeing a tip-top image of pedigree class. Glitz Ritz glamour, girls inhaled and paused for that glossy million-dollar finish.

Do they know the fragility of their value? If doves cry, this species of kookaburra shrieks with laughter, youth and beauty in spades. Diamonds shining in a sea of clubs. Stakes are high, competition fierce with limousines and the red carpet’s treats. Business is pleasure. Pleasure is pain. No pain, no gain. Repetition won't stop the clock, the heart's tick-tock. Models, hostesses, croupiers, all dazzling aliens in pin-up stilettos. Tops tied with gossamer threads. Knots unknot.

He aims and shoots. Perks of a career in every ocean of photography's stars and stripes. Parallels of blanched-white opulence, red-raw between the lines. The girls snort through thoughts of common sunburn, carbohydrates and loneliness. Their diet hysterical: hot tans, Instagram, aspartame and champagne. An American dream spread on caviar canapés, imported from a fish farm in Dubai.

His phone bleeps. Message from home. Reads like a telegram. Punctuated with sighs of telepathy. Icons, pervading, persuading, burrowing reality under his skin. Is a bird in his hand worth betrayal? The knot pulls tighter. He adjusts his swim wear.

Yachting with the Catwalk Five

Swoop, dive and splash. Dolphin-like clicking, enticing, suggesting. Camera - a sensory extension captures another, an other and her. "I'm on my last roll! Dive divas!" The five mermaids uncurl, purr, unfurl, billow, soar and sail. Paradise lost and caught, then instantly sent to New York.

Job done. Pushed over board his grin escapes. Ten legs wiggle. Which pair will be chosen as his next Pussy Galore?