On reflection.

Of all the myriad of inventions, discovered, manufactured or stumbled over down the centuries, two, for me, stand out. They basically carry out the same function. One shows you how you looked, whilst the other shows you how you look.

Before the invention of the camera, only the wealthy ever had their image recorded. I am discounting the shroud of Turin here. Whether you believe it is genuine (tehe) or another manufactured holy remnant for the tourists and the gullible, it cannot ever be proved to be a good likeness as there is no-one around to corroborate it. If he returns to prove me wrong, I shall wipe the egg off my face (as well as wiping the mess from my soiled underwear too). I never really believe that portrait painters actually captured true likenesses of their clients. It would be bad for repeat business if he, say, painted Wayne Rooney, looking actually like Wayne Rooney. How pissed would Wayne be if he paid a fortune only to be handed a likeness of something looking like the old lady he had shagged the night before?

Cameras have a tendency not to lie. I am not saying they don’t lie as Photoshop has proved that myth to be incorrect time and time again. I look in the mirror and, after the initial shock I think “yeah, not too bad. You look more distinguished it’s true and there are a couple more lines and the hair colour is a shade lighter but overall I haven’t changed that much”. Then I look at a photo from 30, 20 or even 10 years ago and I can no longer lie to myself. Not only is the hair lighter, some swine has buggered off with half of it. True, I had lines back then but they didn’t criss cross each other giving my face the look of an ordnance survey map of Ambleside. I also didn’t have that saggy bit which I now expertly conceal under a neatly trimmed goatee.

I once read of a woman who suffered a trauma to the head and every morning she woke up believing she was 18 and not in her 40’s. Every morning she looked in the mirror and screamed as an imposter stared back at her. Can you imagine the shock of looking in the mirror and expecting to see your younger self but instead seeing your Mum, or Dad, or worse staring back at you?

More scary are the full length mirrors. They are capable of such deceit. Our bedroom full length mirror is flattering. For some reason it stretches the torso and reduces the flab. The mirror in the bathroom doesn’t lie. I hate that mirror, even more so as it is opposite the toilet and, unless I have a good book, I have to stare at myself too many times a day in a position no-one should have to witness.

How many times have you seen someone in the street and said to yourself “God almighty, haven’t they got a mirror in their house”? They have, but they see themselves totally differently to the way the rest of the world sees them. Those tree trunk legs are shapely. The exposed midriff is taught and sexy, not somewhere you could imagine mushrooms growing in the underhang.

The world would be a better place without mirrors and cameras. Keep the kids photos. They are special and a reminder of youth but, once past twenty, forget it. Dump the camera and the mirrors and be happy.