With the exception of my passport (which is serial-killer-chic) there are only 2 photographs of me in existance. The Ex destroyed the rest, and if I'm entirely honest, there weren't many to go on the bonfire; I always tended to be behind rather than in front of the camera.
I was asked to provide a 'headshot' photo. Pornographic associations aside, I looked at my options. There's the passport which, as I said, looks like that of a mass-murderer. There's a photo of me and First-born which is nice, but I look far too fit and happy, and I'm not sure its suitable. Finally there's a very recent photo of me and the boys celebrating christmas in a bar by building a pyramid of shot glasses of epic proportions. No, definitely not suitable.
There's a whole load of me as a student as well, but I'm just too thin, young and long-haired in those. The inflatable shark probably wasn't a good idea either.
First-born tried to take some photos over the weekend, but her well-intentioned efforts probably belong in a surrealist gallery with titles like "Gigantic Nose, Sideways"
By happy coincidence, my neighbour is a professional photographer and today I had a 'session'. He burbled away happily about his long and varied career working for various magazines (and judging by some of the 'scenery' stacked in the corner of the room, I'd class those publications as 'specialist') as he snapped away.
I don't get to see the pictures until tomorrow, when he's picked the best of the bunch. I'm dreading it; the camera doesn't lie.
Oh, and if you see any shots of a guy in a black shirt, black leather jacket with a hairstyle by Salon de Finger-In-Power-Outlet turn up on any 'specialist' web sites, let me know, ok?
