The day is splendid and the Reading Water Festival, which runs every year along the Kennet by the tall walls of the gaol, is a great success. The crowd is sometimes so dense that one can barely move. At one of the many stalls I spot a nubile Indian girl of about seventeen. She is sporting a pair of tits so enormous that they look incongruous on her spindly body. Of course, everyone else is gawking at those prodigious boobs. Including the girl herself. Every five to ten seconds she casts a glance downwards. Still there? Just checking! The second time I passed by her stall I checked her timing a bit more carefully. Five to ten seconds, all right. She could stare like the rest of us only when blissfully alone and preferably naked in front of her enchanted mirror.