Photographically, there is a documentary moment at most weddings when a father’s eyes will meet those of his daughter’s for the first time as she stands before him in her wedding gown. The intensity differs from father to father of course and even those dads with the most obdurate courage find this to be one moment more than any other during the day, where a myriad of emotions flatten any wall of masculine parental steely resolve they thought they possessed. It’s fabulous. Professional platitudes abound on the web, so I’ll cautiously express a somewhat overused term; privilege. As a documentary maker, albeit in stills, that’s what makes this job so important, he says, hearing the opening bars of ‘Land of Hope and Glory’ fading up behind this blog entry. Listen, I can swill beer, crack beer nuts and talk sport with the best of ‘em at any bar in this land where spit and sawdust define the landlord’s choice of decor. But I’ll also experience and hopefully always will, a lump in the throat when I witness the sincere pride liberated by a father with momentary tunnel vision, who can see no further than his ‘little girl’ on the morning of her wedding. Phew, that’s said. Okay, big hearty Haka lads and let’s get back to talking rugby.