By the seat of my pants

As a wedding photographer there are a few things that I don’t like to hear.

“The wedding is off,” tops the list.

Mercifully, that is a very, very, very rare occurrence. Twice in five years, I think.

“Your jacket is on fire.”

Erm… yeah… that’s happened.

“Could you stop taking pictures?”

Once… A priest had a bad day… We actually parted on very good terms and I’ve photographed in his church since.

“Move, you wxxxker!”

That one’s a long story.

What else don’t I like to hear?

Oh, yes. The sound of my trousers ripping as I bend down to pick up some gear during the formal family photographs.

That’s not a good sound.

Especially when you’re wearing bright red underwear. You can’t hide red. It’s the first colour the human eye sees.

Apart from me, I don’t think anyone noticed that it had happened and I stood up quickly, hoping my jacket would reach down far enough to cover the tear.

Without even looking, I could tell it was a substantial rip. Nothing superhuman about that. It’s a sensitive region of the human anatomy and you can pick up even the slightest of hints of a whisper of a breeze down there. The merest fraction of a degree in temperature change doesn’t go undetected. It was drafty and it was cool.

I was in big trouble. Sure, nobody had noticed, but with a slice through my trouser fabric the size of the Suez Canal that couldn’t last long.

OK. Keep calm. If someone sees something laugh it off, engage with them and find a new pair of trousers on the way from the church to the reception venue.

We got through the family group shots, with people standing behind me as I worked, without so much as a titter.

Could it be that everyone was too polite or embarrassed to say something? Unlikely, this was a good crowd and didn’t seem like the sort of folk to let a fellow out into the world with his red boxers trailing out after him. Besides, it would have taken a herculean effort for someone to not at least giggle if they had seen something.

I left the church convinced I’d got away with it. Perhaps the damage wasn’t too bad after all. The hotel was only a minute away. I decided to get there and assess the situation discreetly with the help of a full-length mirror in one of the more remote gents.

When I did, two things became apparent.

1) The tear was of staggering proportions. I could have put my head through it. I should point out for good order that I didn’t. Imagine walking in on that scene in the gents. Imagine trying to explain it.

2) Astonishingly, when I stood upright the cloth of the trousers seemed to heal itself. However I turned, I could not see the tear. Not so much as a hit of red.

I made a bold decision. Provided I kept the seat of my trousers facing away from people, I could happily continue on working without the need of a dash out in search of replacements. I spent the rest of the afternoon and the evening – oh yes, it would happen on one of the days that I’ve been asked to stay right up to the dancing, wouldn’t it? – with my back facing walls and circling around people in a peculiar fashion that kept them chest-side at all times. Only when the dancing started did I throw caution to the wind. Light levels were low, people were merry so I figured I’d be all right.

What did I learn?

Well, I might need to lose some weight. So there’s that.

And I should consider keeping back-up cloths in the car along with back-up cameras and lenses. Next time I buy a suit, I’ll get two. A bit roomier as well, I think.