I am not – and Jo will readily testify this – particularly photogenic. As a baby and young boy I had a certain flair, being able to produce a naturally happy face, but in the years of adulthood I am unable to smile for the camera. At best I look contemplative, though mostly I come across as grumpy or bored.

It’s not for the lack of trying that I fail miserably (or succeed to be miserable). Inside my head I believe I’m pulling a cheeky smile; the muscles around my mouth feel like they are tugging excessively. But the end result is nothing more than an expression of mild disdain.

I recently tried forced laughter in one picture, and a positively jaw-breaking open-mouthed smile in another. I looked like a mixture of Elmer Fudd and a Pakistani.

Should my daughters’ memories of me be based on our photos, I fear I may ruin their lives, which is why I write this, in defence.

Oh, Mona Lisa, we are united in a curse.