I ran into John just before Thanksgiving last year. My arms were barely coping with a load of turnips and a monster of a turkey. I was rounding a corner at full speed; my mind was on other things. I nearly knocked him flat when we collided, turkey and turnips flying everywhere.

He brushed off his jacket, took a sharp second look at me and said, "India? India Marlowe? John. Emrys. Remember?"

And I remembered right away. Twenty years ago, I was an up-and-coming interior designer just returning from London; John was first assistant to a photographer I had worked with on a couple of editorial assignments. He was one of those "I'm on the ball and going to do this" types; sharp, focused, driven. We had gotten along famously during subsequent shoots we worked on together but then lost touch over the years.

Until he handed back my battered turkey, along with a couple of the now half-mashed turnips.

We caught up the way friends do after a long absence, glossing over the highlights - and exchanging phone numbers for a lunch-date at some point in the future. It was nice to catch up but you know how these things go, right? Life gets busy then one person or the other forgets to call and the brief re-connect is broken. I should have known better.

John called after the holiday weekend, asking if I'd be up for a coffee-shop meeting. You could tell from his voice that he had an idea, something he wanted to work on. It was obviously going to involve photography and I hadn't been on a set for a decade, so my curiosity stepped up.

He was already waiting when I arrived, telling me he was relieved when he spotted me crossing the street without an armload of poultry this time. It was after an enjoyable hour of conversation when he stopped suddenly and leaned forward on his chair. "I have a question for you," he said, bringing out a well-worn sketchbook.

In my mind, I had already begun to start swinging another ButterBall; it was perfect timing to let him have the full broadside. "You want to have me sit for a shot, nude."

I have to tell you, I'll forever wish I had a camera trained on him that moment; the look he gave me was so complex it almost defies description. Sort of a minestrone of being rendered speechless with disbelief, then total delight with a small handfull of confusion thrown in as flavouring to really get the blush going.

I told him that I had been considering having a nude done of myself for a few years now, but never really thought I would follow through. I had stayed in pretty good shape after raising my kids but even so, the number 50 was looming on the immediate horizon and things weren't as... well, you know what I'm getting at. So I checked out John's website before our coffee-date, expecting to find typical, skinny model shots in abundant supply. And to be truthful, there was some of that. But there was something else, too.

It was those other shots that had me thinking John would be the right guy to shoot a really great nude of me. Erotic, yet still clean enough to hang on the dining room wall and have people wonder whether it really was me in the photo. I very much wanted it to be brazenly sexy, not brazenly identifiable.

To be fair to John, I told him I had already decided to ask him to do a shoot with me; I just stole his thunder. He recovered brilliantly though and got right back on track. Still the same focused guy I had known 20 years ago.

It's not important for me to describe how the actual shoot went, except to say he and his support crew are pros on every level. I think every nude shoot is probably different; so much of the outcome depends on the comfort-level between photographer and ‘model.' There's a lot of unspoken trust with creativity that happens and I believe that it goes both ways.

What I will say is that I have three prints from that shoot. One is on our bedroom wall. The other two are hung in the dining-room, side by side and large. It's impossible to miss seeing them when you walk into the house - that's how happy I am with John's shots. Plus I have to smile to myself when a guest occasionally looks at an image, then at me, then again at the image and I see their forehead knotting up, just a little. I love that.

I thought it was the best year for turkey dinner, ever.