perjantai 26. tammikuuta 2018

The worst picture ever

13th G7 Summit was held in Venice between June 8 and 10, 1987.

Those nice lads at AP took me there from some sickening war. The whole thing was a mess. USA had her Jimmy Carter coming and everything went crazy about the nutfarmer´s brother (a clever, wise and studied man).  I learned some important lessons. All those big agencies had their shouters aka assistants there. When Jimmy showed up, those guys shouted like some horny rhinos in the bushes..."MR PRESIDENT JIMMYYYYYY."
So I noticed this peculiar thing.
Who shouted the loudest, really had the POTUS turn his head and shouter´s shooter got the pics. I had no shouter, I was a lonely finnish poor shooter only and tired like hell. I guess I had some flees and scabs all over as a gift from a refugee camp in Algeria. I was itching like hell and did not have time to change clothes after arrival to airpot and after that obligatory boatride to downtown Venice - invaded by US tourists.

But it got worse.
When I had my pics and rushed to develop them - I was told by another AP guy to stay putt and check for Maggie Thatcher, who was a late bird. What a blue birdie she was. So I delivered the shells for the errand boy and started to wait for Maggie.
And boy did she come, oops! She arrived - she did not come. Coming could´ve been hard thing regarding her husband, a dry branch.
When she arrived,
it did not happen where it should`ve. No. It was another gate and through another door. So I run like hell and struggled with MI5 or CIA or whatever big shorthaired guys to let me through. I lost my # 1. cam - the F3 and shot this terrible one with body #3 the trusty FM and a straight flash which I never do. Shot through a wall of agents. The battery dies out in #2. 
Maggie goes and I feel totally desperate. I know how the desk roars - cause I didn´t get a seller.
It´s all over. Dead silent. I guessed there is nothing else to do than to see the loo.
Off I go. See the urinal and relive myself, when the door opens.
It´s Maggie Thatcher and I have a leaking dick in my right hand.
This english ladyships knows how to act. She looks into my eyes only and asks with that very english cool dialect. "Excuse me, I´d be happy I you could be able to tell where the ladies restroom is." 
For just a short second I wonder what would`ve happen if i break loose and ask her to come closer and check out my slowly whitening and fading real finnish sauna dick.
Did I? You guess right.
So I tell her where ... cause we photojournalists always know where the ladies room is.
Later that nite I sit with Jimmy Carter in that museum on an venice island with the golden globe top  and I`m supposed to take his portrait for some arabic zine.
That`s another horror story.

And sure -- I know I run this same story every third year. Anyways it is so cool - so cannot just forget. If some of my sons happen to have kids - this is a story to tell ´em. The very granddaddy running around in Venice so dirty, smelling and itching cause of scabs. Ain`t that some real finnish sadness from the backwoods.