At the weekend, I went to see Lucy and Jake in Oxfordshire. The sun was shining and Ness, Jake and I frolicked in the paddling pool with the two offspring. Lucy remained clothed at a safe distance. Everyone was very happy. This morning, Lucy sent us the Facebook album of photos that were taken. She had affected the privacy settings so that the only people who were able to see the album were me and Ness, to give us the chance to vet the pictures and decide which, if any, we were happy to be put up for general consumption. My initial reaction was to scour each picture of my bikini-clad self meticulously, pouncing on any sign of: a) fat rolls, b) cellulite, c) stray hairs and/or d) any other misc. hideous blemishes and conditions of which I'd been previously unaware. Out of the 14 photos in which I was tagged, I was happy with my appearance in one, when I am seated in the paddling pool with my back to the camera. My back looks quite brown. Other than that, facially I look very content, but bodily I look very much in need of liposuction and an assortment of other invasive surgical procedures. There are three photos where my stomach muscles are so firmly in absentia that it appears as though I've had three children delivered via C-section in the past fortnight. My breasts certainly seem to be heading south in a way that would add plausibility to that suggestion (strapless bikini, I bid you farewell). And the contrast between my bearably healthy-hued top half and my luminescent thighs is nothing short of extraordinary.
That said, I had no problem with my friends and family seeing the photos - after all, that is what I look like. No point pretending otherwise. What I wasn't sure about was whether some random guy from my office who befriended me on Le Livre Des Visages should see so much of my flesh while he takes a break from trading foreign currency. And the conclusion I drew was: no. So I phoned Lucy and told her, regretfully, that I didn't want her to make the photos visible to the rest of her friends (and, by default, the rest of mine). She was wonderfully understanding and I felt better when gorgeous Ness, whose figure is to mine as a racehorse is to a walrus, was similarly uncomfortable about her body going on show. Consequently, the album was deleted and will never see the light of day. But the matter got me thinking. It seemed a shame - the photos were lovely. We did all look very happy and it was a gorgeous day that I will remember for a long time. And, as mentioned above, I have no problem for some of my friends to see me in that state. Which begs the question - if I'm not happy for someone to see me in a bikini, why am I friends with them on Facebook? I know that some people use the site as a networking tool, and have just as many business contacts in their Friends list as they do actual friends. I can see the benefit of this kind of activity and, given that my career will, I hope, take a new direction at some point before I hit retirement age, I think I stand by the idea that more is more when it comes to Friends lists. I guess the point is to be wary - even with the security controls and privacy settings, you never know for sure who has access to your pages, so it's probably best to err on the side of boring. I guess my friends will just have to wait til I put the pics in a good ol' photo album (the kind that you hold, with pages you have to turn). Having said all that, I'm pretty sure it's too late for me: a few pics of me looking soft and curvy in a minty green bikini probably won't make any difference to people's opinions of me. But although I'm a big one for honesty right now, my future career as World Leader may make me think otherwise. I'm just planning ahead... I only wish I possess such foresight when faced with a large bowl of pavlova.
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