Confessions of a Studio Photographer

My very first job - as opposed to collecting football pools whilst still at college - was as a photographer, working in a small studio in a northern mill town.

I was 19. I'd been interested in photography for years, had bought all the relevant magazines on subscription and, as most teenagers would be, was easily self-persuaded that life as a professional photographer would be either hob-nobbing with the rich and famous, or an endless succession of naked or near-naked females parading in front of my lens, from which every now and then I would have to wipe the steam...

It was nothing like that. For a start, the studio owner, who was incredibly handsome and well coiffured, had a monopoly on the naked and near-naked females - and an incredible method for persuading even the reluctant ones that they should be... "Brought a change of clothes? Oh... well never mind we'll do some bare-shoulders shots..."

For seconds, as the junior of the establishment, my job was mainly being up to my elbows in foul-smelling chemicals and in either near or total pitch darkness, developing films and printing black and white prints by the hundred. Most of these were incredibly boring passport photos, interspersed with head and shoulders portraits of the town's new but large immigrant population, destined to be sent back to relatives overseas and once in a while something that made me perk up (sorry for the choice of words) and smile!

When the owner went out doing weddings or other work I was allowed into the studio to take passport photos or to make appointments for portraits. Only if it was a rush job was I allowed to take the photos myself. However, one Saturday afternoon an asian gentleman came in, adamant that he needed photos taken and delivered as soon as possible.

All went well until he started to strip off his clothes... "Er... what sort of photos did you have in mind?" I stammered, looking slightly aghast at the trouser belt being unbuckled.

It turned out he was a wrestler - it was very popular on Saturday afternoon TV at the time and he was wanting promotional photos. He had on his wrestling tunic underneath his clothes. I was very relieved at that.

Later that day when the owner came back and asked with a grin; "So did you get anyone's clothes off then?" I was able to look back at him, calmly and coolly, and nod sagely...