There comes a time in every author’s life (well maybe some author’s lives) (ok, this author’s life) when he has to admit he’s lost so much weight that his profile photo just isn’t hacking it any more.
So he looks through his album to see if anything still looks like him. He tries this ‘cos it’s a cool author’s photo on Jolly Harbour beach in Antigua but it doesn’t cut the mustard.
neither of his daughters would let him post it on social media so he doesn’t dare upload it.
Somerset Maugham’s Bar in Raffles, Singapore,
but he can’t claim he looks like that anymore either.
So he does what any singularly unphotogenic over garrulous bloke would do when faced with the demanding challenge of making himself look semi presentable and he calls in professional assistance.
is doing the biz to prove it:
Oh, and here’s his super cool mum Bev.
Well, the boys consider the challenge carefully. And though it’s incredibly demanding they reckon that with a bit of spit and polish and if they drag the aging author far enough out into the New Forest they might just get a shot or two of him that’s semi-presentable. So with much anticipation they leave the Victorian sweat shops of London far behind and train it down to darkest Hampshire where the aging author meets them at Brockenhurst Station (yeah we’m got stations an’ trains here. Don’ e go thinking just cos we’re an hour and a half from The Smoke we’m behind the times.’)
So deep in a hidden valley in the New Forest discovered by only the boys and 40,000 tourists each year, Sam mutters secret spells known only to stylists and waves his magic wand over the local cauldron while
After many hours of exhausting shooting Matt looks good. And Dom looks good. And the Forest, as always, looks stunning. But Forester, well it’s quite a challenge to make him look good. But Sam and Dom, they’re professionals and will they be daunted? You bet yer sweet life they… Oi! Enough of that! NO!! Of course they won’t.
They head back to The Smoke, grave expressions on their faces, muttering something about how impossible it is to make some people look presentable no matter how hard you try. But failure is a word unknown to these seasoned experts and they work long into the night on Photoshop, trying to make Forester look half decent. Dawn is breaking. Dick van Dyke is leaping over the rooftops with soot on his face and a chimney brush in his hand. A heavy pea soup smog is hanging over the London photographic sweat shops. The boys are utterly exhausted, close to admitting defeat when a little light bulb comes on over Sam’s head. Dom grabs it. “Got it!!!” they scream in unison. “Monochrome! Monochrome’s the solution.” So Dom gets out the negatives and sloshes bromide all over ’em. Slowly but surely, the colour drains from Forester’s face leaving an almost presentable monochrome photo. Another week’s sweat on Photoshop saves the day and preserves the reputation of the greatest stylist and photographer in the land. The lads’ fortune will be made for all time from this. Questions will be asked in the House as to how it was achieved. Matt will be breaking out Bonio’s all round to celebrate. Forester’s new image is a success!