When I was still at school in the senior class, we were allowed one afternoon a week to pursue an approved off-school-premises sporting activity. Instead, one Friday, a couple of friends and I bunked off to go to an Oktoberfest organised as a promotion for a German beer company with heavily-discounted prices. There was a marquee set up in the town square, with buxom pigtailed wenches doing those amazing beer-carrying tricks.
A photographer from the local weekly newspaper took a snap at the trestle table where we were seated as a clutch of steins arrived, and we held our breaths for a week until the picture appeared on the front page the following Friday. Fortunately, the photographer had taken more interest in the beer-carrying feat and the girl’s cleavage, such that none of us were recognisable at the edge of the picture.
