Kelly Rose Bradford: Photo not even a mother can love

Nov 17 2009 Surrey Herald

I NEVER thought I would mention my son, Peter Tork of the Monkees and John Major all in the same breath.

Or indeed make comparisons between the three. But I have. And it was all down to his latest school photograph. Because he looked like some weird amalgamation of the two.

It would be mean of me to brand it hideous. Mean, but sadly, very true. It is shocking. Appallingly bad. To look at it, anyone would think my child had been either scared half to death and his face frozen in terror, or he had been encouraged to don the most outlandishly ridiculous expression he could muster. And channel Tork and Major while he did so.

The morning of the photographer's visit, I'd washed and blow-dried his hair, smoothed it down with serum and kept it glued in place with hairspray. Perhaps a little too much hairspray, as the child who stared back at me from the picture looked like he

was wearing a solid wig, like a Lego figure.

I had instructed him on how to smile, and to make sure his face wasn't smeared with ketchup, snot, felt tip pen or any of the other stains children managed to accumulate throughout the day, and I was fairly confident a good picture would be taken. This is, after all, the child who is never short of a pose for the camera at home, who patiently re-enacts the opening of presents, blowing out of birthday candles, and feigns any number of expressions and emotions when a lens is pointed in his direction. He was, for goodness sake, a professional model as a baby. What could go wrong?

It was with excitement that I took

the proof copy out of his bag. "Is it good?" I asked him. He shrugged. Then laughed. Which, with hindsight, probably didn't bode well.

Then I looked at it. An involuntary shriek raged forth. I laughed and laughed and showed his dad and he laughed too. And Boy looked at it again and he laughed. But once I had picked myself up of the floor, I realised that actually, it was astoundingly awful rather than funny.

My gorgeous child had somehow been captured on film in a way that was so beyond recognition it was actually quite scary. And embarrassing. There was no way in the world I was shelling out for even the basic package of a couple of pics, let alone a bumper variety gift pack to include calendars and bookmarks. Good grief, I wouldn't wish the horror of the image on anyone for the next 12 months, and I certainly did not want to be reminded of it myself. Lest of all in exchange for 30 notes.

So this academic year will be commemorated via my camera phone and a 90p enlargement of the photo at the supermarket. And hopefully no hysterical laughter at the finished result.