Hawker In Chief

Beautiful sunny day. Perfect for a stroll on the beach, a flop in the hammock, a glass of beer in some street-café... anything but a funfair, with its cramming of tinny soundtracks, mock-hysterical screams, loud stinks of cheap, hot, meaty FOOD for the human herd. When had I last waded into such a flood of sensations? Don't remember. But I do remember my childhood fear of circuses.

I knew it would be photographically interesting though; and interesting in other ways. The place radiated waves of vitality. Funfairs are self-contradictory: kitsch, anacronistic and bang up to date, a world away from computer games (though with something of the simulators one finds in amusement arcades). This makes them a little spooky, like a waxwork museum unroofed, in an open field, with all the exhibits fullfleshed and zapped full of exhibitionistic life.

I took a couple of portraits, of this guy, Gavin, who was happy to be photographed, and this man who was less enthusiastic about it (though he didn't object). I like the latter's involvement with his role. He was living it. Perhaps this is what gives him that sense of someone in command. Take away the teddybears, the moneybelt, the t-shirt, and replace with robe and spotlight and he could be a distinguished actor playing Zeus about to hurl his lightning-darts, or (swopping the robe for a suit and a bank of microphones) Billy Graham, a Prime Minister or The President (he'd make a handsome portrait on a dollar bill).