Mitsubishi Lancer Evolution X

Having my photograph taken has always been like having extensive root-canal work done on my soul. I hate it with an unbridled passion. A photograph of me serves as a permanent reminder of the simple fact that I am just a stomach and a very large chin with a small piece of wire wool growing out of the top.

Unfortunately these days everyone has a camera phone, so everyone has become an amateur paparazzo. And that means I have my photograph taken about four hundred million times a day.

I understand why, of course. If you could get a snap of Cliff Richard mowing his lawn, then – ker-ching! – I bet it’d be worth a grand. If you could get a Formula One boss having his hair checked for lice by a girl dressed up as a Belsen inmate, you might even be able to afford a new car.


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