Thursday, November 04, 2004

About face

Wednesday was the day of the photo shoot.

I will not keep you in suspense - here I am drinking coffee in a garden centre between Ipplepen and Newton Abbot in Devon.


In the morning, I went over to my ex-girlfriend's, Kirsty. It is good that we can be mature and share the same space without hair-pulling, insulting one another, or poisoning each other's drinks (although, coincidentally, i did wake up in a ditch with only my pants on this morning, 50 miles from where i was staying...)

Kirsty is my designated photographer now, just like I have my designated hairdresser (who has now come to understand that when I cry afterwards, this means he has done a poor job). She is very good at understanding the distress of standing around and having my image captured causes me. As has been noted previously, I have tendencies towards scopophobia, the fear of being looked at, and for me, being photographed is the most horrible unforgiving stare of all.

So why do I do it?

Well, I am, you know, still rolling around on my bed in frustrated lust, and am therefore still seeking that special humanoid. In order to be fair to prospective blind dates, I feel obliged to supply fairly current photographic evidence of my physical being, especially as the brass rubbings I'd been sending out up until September have met a lukewarm response.

To try and make sure that I wouldn't look better in my photos than in reality, I undertook some careful preparation. Firstly, I went on a massive drinking session with Leo before setting out for Dublin on Tuesday morning. This made my eyes puffy, my throat swell up, and generated a strange red blotch midway up my nose.

I followed up stage 1 with stage 2 on Tuesday night, eating four greasy slices of cheese on toast, topped with Worcester Sauce, and then sleeping for just 3 hours on a dusty carpet in a freezing house. This made my eyes even more puffy, my eyeballs a fetching shade of crimson, and my neck swell up so I looked like a full-blown mutant.

Perfect!

In contrast to looking like a reanimated corpse, I was very careful in selecting some clothes for this occasion, packing my bag with my furry-collared corduroy jacket and my Paddington Bear duffel coat. Let my flesh have an off-day, but please! dear God, don't let anyone say that Jason is lacking in the style department. I don't mean to brag, but for my money, I must have been one of the sharpest-dressed men in the village I'm presently staying in - (population: 120 average age of resident: 85)

I am going to draw to a close here and not reveal the full flawed glory of the photoshoot. It can wait until tomorrow. Until then, you will just have to munch on broken glass to simulate the sensations my red-eyed menace of a face will inspire in your hearts.

2 Comments:

Blogger Claypot said...

Looking a bit Adam Sandler there...

12:41 AM  
Blogger kingfelix said...

If I was a true Adam Sandler lookalike, my nose would be touching the bottom of that coffee cup...

I can assure the world that it wasn't...

11:32 AM  

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