Chubby Chops - a life in pictures. Part 6

No more diets

Picture № 25, 1993, in Spain with John and my parents,

celebrating my 40th birthday

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We had lovely holidays – here we had rented a beautiful villa not far from Valencia, to which city outskirts my parents had moved from Argentina to spend their retirement. It was a time to take stock, and I didn’t like what I saw – I was nowhere near getting my weight problem under control, and saddest of all, I had left it too late to have children. All those years obsessing about my appearance and I was going to have nothing to show for them.

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Picture Nos. 26/27/28/29 - Bristol Rugby, early nineties.

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During this time I was asked to take pictures of the Bristol rugby team at their home games for use in their programmes, which I did for several years. I was allowed to be on the touchline with John so that I could run up and down. No, don’t ask – there’s no photo of me because I would sooner have had my throat cut. It was usually blustery, cold, wet and muddy, so I had to wear thermal underwear, plus normal clothes plus waterproof gear over all of that.

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John would prompt me when he could see at which end of the field the action would be, and I’d waddle down with camera, my pockets bulging with spare film. The worst bit was at the beginning, when the Bristol captain would run out with the little mascot – usually a child under 8 dressed wearing the Bristol strip – and I had to stand in the middle of the field and photograph them as they ran out, throwing the ball to each other. To do this, I had to position myself out in the middle of the pitch, ready and waiting 5 minutes before they emerged, then after the pictures were taken run back to the touchline.

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I knew the 8,000 spectators weren’t interested in the navy blue Michelin woman shuffling onto the pitch before the game, and up and down during it, but I reasoned that before the game or when nothing much was happening, they would be casting about for something interesting to look at, and their gaze would fix in amused fascination on the rotund photographer… I always ensured I was on the same side of the field as the television cameras, so that there wouldn’t be a ghost of a chance of my appearing on the local news afterwards.

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John would squat on a little folding stool on the touchline, tucking into his supplies – a hard-boiled egg with salt in a piece of tinfoil, a slice of buttered bread, a Kit-Kat chocolate bar and his ever trusty hipflask of brandy, not to mention the scalding cup of coffee bought at the ground, shaking and slopping as it jostled for position with his cigarette.

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It was fun, but there were limits to my coping with the exposure and self-consciousness I felt before 8,000 people, however anonymous I was, and several years later when the photographic technology grew apace and other photographers had more modern equipment which meant that the printers of the programme could get the pictures to them faster than I could, I dropped out with relief. I was also getting tired of the “If it’s Saturday it must be cold and wet” routine.

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Photography was wonderfully absorbing and took my mind off areas of my life about which I was unhappy, and specifically it meant I was behind the lens, and not being captured by it. In 1995 I was pleased as punch to win one of the trophies at my local camera club.

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Picture № 30, 1995, aged 42, with Group One Backwell Camera Club Trophy

I particularly enjoy candid portraits, and take pictures at dress rehearsals – amateur opera in the past, and Gilbert & Sullivan productions now. The advent of digital cameras has made the whole process so incredibly easy, and enables me to concentrate on the creative side (with mixed results, I don’t claim to be a David Bailey).

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Picture № 31, two members of the chorus at a performance of The Mikado

about 10 years ago

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As I developed on the inside, sadly I expanded on the outside too. Being freed of the tyranny of trying to be slim and pleasing other people, vanity ceased to be a factor in my life altogether, and I rarely looked in the mirror.

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Picture № 32, 1995, out for dinner with John and old school friend

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Later in the year an old school friend came to stay, and when she sent me a photo of the three of us at dinner I realised that the situation had got worse, and as usual my misery showed. However this pained expression was mainly reserved for photographs, which I simply loathed posing for – I’m told that I was capable of as much cheerfulness and humour as anybody…

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(To be continued)

-oOo-

Go to Part 7

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