Trishies Wedding, or...

Dont Piss Off The Priest.

This is the third shot I took today, before the madness truly started.
A bit of a sit down, cuppa tea and a fag.

Then it got interesting.

One would think that the snappers job would be just that- snapping.
Oh, Sweet Jeebus, no....

I had to critique the make-up (that liner, with a champagne gown? Not in my lifetime, sister!)
I had to nailgun a buttonhole to a three year old (I ALWAYS bring safety pins, harder for the childers to swallow in the middle of the ceremony).
I had to manipulate bits of women that would, in other circumstances, get me arrested.(Why do people always assume the photographer is gay, or at least neutural/neutered?)
I had to smile when the flowergirl told me that she hated me (and that was before I kicked her)
I had to go out in the fucking snow to snap the Father of the Brides Prize Donkeys. (Beautiful Asses, all round.)
I got EATEN ALIVE by the Parishanoid Priest after the wedding.(In fairness, its a rough time for The Church, and Im an easy target. Sorry, Padre, I'll try to include you more in the next wedding of yours I do, which will be, um..NEVER!)


But it was a wonderful day.
A beautiful family, times two, now one.

A mad bunch of Welsh Hoors over, mixed with our lot.
Can you imagine?

I was sorry to leave, and....

Trish and Jason- I truly wish you three all the best in the world.