Topics:  damian bathersby, melbourne cup, perving

Of course Mr B would never dream of perving, honest

I THINK most people hate having their photo taken.

Smile. Click. It's over in a second but the memories last forever.

First Communion Day, 1969 - a fat boy sporting a crew cut, white shirt, bow-tie, shorts and long socks.

Class photo, 1977 - eyes rolling back in my head a split second before I fainted.

Twenty-first birthday party, 1983 - long hair, full shaggy beard, pregnant first wife.

Thankfully, I am so old that my most forgettable photos were prints which I looked at once and threw in a bottom drawer, never to be seen again.

These days, every single photo - good or bad - can be on the internet within seconds.

And there it stays forever.

Warts and all.

It doesn't matter if you've got one eye closed and are looking like a moron.

Onto the internet it goes.

Bad haircut?

Bung it online!

Something hanging out of your left nostril?

Same deal.

I raise this problem because there is an unfortunate photo of me floating around the virtual world (and the office noticeboard) and I want people to know the truth about it.

It's not a particularly bad photo of me, as such.

I'm wearing my best suit.

And a hat.

A trilby, as it happens.

Nice shirt. New tie.

Very dapper.

My wife snapped it at the races the other day.

"Smile," she said, as people do when taking your photo.

Then, just as she was about to press the button, she called "look behind you!".

More an urgent order than a casual request.

I turned quickly, expecting to see someone famous or at least a drunk falling over.

But all I saw were two young girls with long legs, short skirts and high heels.

Very young girls, if I'm being completely accurate.

In fact, I think the underpants I was wearing under my best suit were older than they were.

But they were no different to thousands of young ladies at the races that day and I turned back to ask my wife what the hell she was going on about.

Then it hit me.

I'd been conned.

She and her friends were already huddled over her iPhone, giggling at the photo of me leering at two girls young enough to be my daughters.

Before I had time to protest, she had shared it on Facebook and within a few minutes people were commenting.

And not nice comments.

The general theme involved the words "dirty", "old" and "man" in various combinations.

Sadly, it seems only those who know my wife's devious ways believe I was set up.

But it's true! I swear!

And the bloody photo is out there for all to see ... forever.

I can take care of the one on the office noticeboard, no problem.

But surely the internet has a virtual bottom drawer I can stick the other one in so it's never seen again.

Not for me, you understand.

For the sake of the two poor girls.



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