Week after week I went back there, just to watch.
Then one week she wasn't there any more.
There was nothing I could do but stare and stare at the whelks.
Whelks are strange and comforting.
They have no notion of community life and they breed very quietly.
But they have a strong sense of personal dignity.
Even lying face down in a tray of vinegar, there is something noble about a whelk.
Which cannot be said for everybody.
From Oranges are not the Only Fruit by Jeanette Winterson. This is the best whelk related writing I have ever read. It beats even Louise Rennison's Whelk Boy (Peter the kissing instructor from Angus Thongs and Full Frontal Snogging).