Photographers have a seedy image. Pretending they are going to advance the career of vulnerable young starlets, but then just persuading them to try and do some "candid" shots, which they will regret later in their career. Top photographer Steve Brown has been playing the long game with me, feigning an interest in Collings and Herrin to get us both to an old church hall to take our photos for free (cleverly gaining our trust), creating that awesome Hitler poster and the equally amazing images for Christ on a Bike and What Is Love Anyway? I suppose I should have spotted that something was awry when he asked me to show my chest in that latter shoot. He was just seeing if I would do anything he told me.
Today we were doing a few shots, but the first one was my head and shoulders which would be placed on top of an action man doll (the one I ordered on line turned up in good time, which is incredible, but turned out not to be an Action Man at all, but some rubbish rip off, whose groinal area, whilst blank did not look right). Even though only my head will go on the poster Steve insisted I "slip my top off" so that my own clothes wouldn't cause an issue with whatever the doll is wearing (the Ken doll he had was wearing quite a fetching pink box tie). I wasn't entirely sure why I couldn't wear my shirt, but Steve has won my trust and I didn't question it too much.
With my topless photos completed, Steve then asked if we could so some of me in my pants, holding up a piece of wood (symbolic perhaps). The idea was that we could have a poster shot where I am holding up the word "Talking" whilst the word "Cock" is placed vertically and phallus-like protruding from my groin. I was now down to just my skimpy underwear and Steve and a man he had with him who just seemed to be hanging around doing next to nothing (had he paid Steve to get a view of me in my undies?) pretended that they weren't getting off on this. But they are only human.
And then Steve chanced his arm like some kind of Anthony Hopkins and asked me to remove my underwear (he said he'd photoshop out any actual rude bits, but if that's the case, why did he need to see them?). I was now in his thrall and did just as he said. I have been nude so many times in so many places in front of so many people now (and then I got off the bus) that I drop my pants at the drop of a hat. It did feel a little odd though. I think the images might end up on a specialist website for people who like to see short-legged fat men holding up pieces of wood.
Steve's wife (who is way too attractive for him and clearly a beard allowing him to cover his perverse tracks) arrived just too late to see me nude. I would have been happy to take my clothes off if she was that bothered, but she didn't seem to be interested at all.
I had already undressed a crap Action Man and myself today. What a strange job I have.
We did some clothed shots next and I think I may have reached an age where I should only be photographed fully clothed. We tried to do an alternative shot for the Metro column (as I don't much like the picture they're using) but I fear that Steve might just send them the nude one anyway. They will definitely use it.
And then we did a shoot for the Edinburgh Fringe podcast. I had been rushing around this morning and managed to procure a Braveheart Costume and a crown and some blue face paint, so we had a go at creating something that befitted the King of Edinburgh, but would leave any genuine Scotch people with the distinct feeling I was mocking them or myself, but not be able to tell which.
The emotional impact of this strange afternoon seemed to be high. I managed to get on the wrong tube twice in the next half an hour (I know I haven't lived in London for a few weeks, but didn't think I'd lose my street smarts so soon) and on one occasion had to push my way out of a packed tube, with bags of Braveheart gear, just as the doors were closing. Grappling them open and nearly knocking a woman over. She not unreasonably chastised me and told me I should have got out at the proper time. I pointed out that I would obviously have done that if I had realised I was on the wrong train any earlier. I did think I was going to lose some of my bags if not my life at one point, but managed to extricate myself and the woman wasn't dragged out with me in the end.
The only thing that could have made it worse if a load of polaroids of me in the nude had spilled into the train. But one of the benefits of digital technology is that we don't need them any more (in fact I wonder if the 2002 Talking Cock photo shoot was the last time I had some - that time I kept a fig leaf on).
A nice night in before six nights away and a lot of driving. We played Scrabble and then watched the Twilight Zone. There was an amazing one where out of nowhere a two headed alien on wheels rolled into a bar, apropos of nothing. it was the most brilliant and unexpected and ridiculous thing I have ever seen in any form of entertainment. We had to rewind to check we hadn't both imagined it. Later one of the heads asked the other, "Are you sure we're invisible?"
Yeah, I think there's a good chance you are, fellas, or someone would have shouted, "Fucking Hell, what the fucking Hell is that?" by now.
Best thing ever!
Oh yeah, and you can now download two of my live shows and one of Stew's from
go faster stripe.
