We had some racy photographs taken today. I realise the word racy hasn't been used since 1962 by an excitable TV critic talking about Diana Dors, but what should I call them? Dirty? I guess they are pretty dirty, but it is an odd, judgemental description, isn't it?
Most things we do these days are about raging against the dying of the light. We aren't furtive about it. We talk about it a lot. One day we wont be here, so let's do everything we can that brings a little joy to the day. We are doing pretty well on this score.
The photographer drove from Kent to take the pictures. Ronny and I had crossed paths with him at Fantasy Fest in Key West back in October. However, when I opened the door this morning, an entirely different man to the one I thought I'd remembered gave me an imperfect grin as he ducked into the house.
Steve turned out to be affable, philosophical, kindly and a dog man. Vera was charmed. Sunny was happy to pose for him, too.
"People ask me 'what does your wife think of you taking photographs of naked women? Well, I have a friend who spends all weekend face down in a damp field taking pictures of flowers. He's the weird one, surely?"
He told us about some of the women (he calls them all 'models') who run Only Fans sites using his pictures.
"One of the models I photograph a lot is a single mum who works as a cleaner. She says: "Steve, I have a young son, I work, I don't have much time to go out at night. Putting these photographs up and having people love them makes me feel great when I'm having a bad day. It makes me feel as if I'm something other than just Simon's mum."