For most of June I have been squirrelled away in Chaiyaphum and very pleasant it has been too. There has been a fair amount of rain which is good news for our rubber trees which were looking decidedly thirsty.
I don't think a day has passed in which I haven't been lined up for photographs taken on smartphones with villagers, farmers and friends, usually standing in the middle of a field somewhere. I will probably never get to see any of the snaps which will be tucked away in the phone archives, never to surface again.
Unlike these days when photos are taken of just about anything, there was a time when a photo session meant something special was going on. In our family cameras would appear only for weddings, Christmas and holiday outings. Now people take photos of themselves without even a hint of confetti or a beach.
I recall great excitement in 1963 when we went "high-tech" with the Kodak Instamatic which was supposedly "foolproof", although it didn't take me long to prove that assertion incorrect. The Instamatic carried a film of either 24 or 36 exposures. Sometimes the film would sit in your camera for weeks or even months.
Eventually a trip to the local pharmacy was required, picking up the prints a few days later. This was the highlight of the entire process. It was the anticipation of what may emerge on the prints as often the snaps had been taken so long ago you had forgotten what was in them. Invariably many of the snapshots turned out to be utter rubbish, but the rest would be lovingly allotted a place in the family album, forgotten but not gone.
Say cheese
The family albums would resurface about once a year which enabled everyone to have a good laugh at how stupid we all looked. Some of the snaps were atrocious, but they all sparked memories, usually happy ones.
In group photos there was always someone who would come out looking quite ridiculous usually from having their eyes closed or scratching their nose at an inappropriate moment. The rest of us were sporting idiotic grins after being told to say "cheese!"
It was quite easy to spot the photographs I had taken because there was usually a finger or thumb obscuring much of the print.
Beach boy
One photo I will always remember was when I was aged about three, at the beach wearing hideous woollen bathing trunks. I was standing in about a foot of water crying my eyes out and holding my father's hand, a picture of abject misery. By contrast my father sported a wide grin and adopted one of those silly poses expected of dads on holiday.
I think the photo was taken in Bournemouth. It serves as a reminder that dipping one's toes in the Gulf of Thailand is a far more preferable introduction to the joys of the ocean than taking on the chilly English Channel which is more like shock therapy treatment.
Flash, Bang, Wallop!
There's one song about taking a photograph that I have never forgotten. It comes from the 1967 musical Half a Sixpence featuring a lively performance by Tommy Steele as an orphan in Victorian England who inherits a fortune and then loses it all. It was a hit both as a stage production and a film.
The outstanding song was "Flash, Bang, Wallop!" which depicts the photographing of a group wedding scene. For fellow wrinklies here's a brief reminder of the famous chorus:
"Hold it, flash, bang, wallop! What a picture/What a picture, what a photograph/ Poor old soul, blimey what a joke/Hat blown off in a cloud of smoke…."
That sounds like more fun than taking photos these days.
Teen idol
A few words are in order about Tommy Steele or rather Sir Thomas Hicks OBE. He is now 86 and it is a long time since he burst on the scene with Rock With the Cavemen in 1956. The media dubbed Steele "Britain's answer to Elvis" although he was nothing like him. Then in January 1957 he reached No.1 with Singing the Blues, a catchy number which us children would imitate on the way to school.
Steele had a pleasing personality and everyone seemed very happy for him when he bought his parents a four-bedroomed house. The press was quick to point out that he was already earning more than British PM Harold Macmillan. Tommy also had a better voice.
Enough to make you go 'ah!'
It was sad to read of the death earlier this month of the delighful Brazilian singer Astrud Gilberto, aged 83. I fell in love with her from the moment I heard The Girl From Ipanema in 1964. Accompanied by jazz saxophonist Stan Getz it was Astrud's first professional performance which was part of the charm. Her plaintive voice sounded innocent but seductive at the same time.
The song was soft, lilting, cool, mellow -- well, you get the idea. It conjured up an irresistible image for any teenage lad: "Tall and tan and young and lovely/The girl from Ipanema goes walking/And when she passes each one she passes/Goes 'ah!' "
If you are feeling a bit stressed, a combination of Astrud and Getz could do the trick. You might even go "ah!"
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