Right Sweethearts, this is not so much my Swan song as waling at what I never thought possible.
Yes. I am getting older. OUTSIDE. Once called beautiful. Now? I cannot believe it.
Obviously I do look in the mirror every day but mirrors deceive. However, do have your passport photo taken – as I did about an hour ago – and your world falls apart. I look like shit. How I am going to sell this to my parents who I haven’t seen for years I do not know. They are (always have been) easily disappointed. Dear dog in heaven. HELP. I can hear my mother now: “Ja, wie siehst Du denn aus?” (Loosely translated, not that she ever uses swearwords, but does convey disapproval in subtle and far more hurtful ways: “What the fuck do you look like?”). Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Lets’ go back to the beginning of my five year old cute self.
Don’t get me wrong. My face is (relatively) remarkably unlined. My neck so smooth is the envy of many a twenty five year old. But, by golly, there is something in that photo – well, I don’t know. Old. I suppose. Shit. Shit. And Shit. Not exactly helped by passport requirement of “neutral expression”, “no smile”. My smile is my USP (unique selling point). Whatever. Doesn’t matter. As long as it gets me in and out of the country (my passport expired two years ago, making me – effectively – a person non grata, in no man’s land, a prisoner on these isles) vanity is not important.
And don’t all of you rally around telling me that all of our passport photos look as if we were on death row, just about to be shipped out to Alcatraz. Though that is true too.
Once the Angel materializes back from his travels I will ask him to shoot me. With his camera. To give me perspective. Oh my god. Dear dog in heaven. Who’d have thunk it?