The Fitzroy Gardens are a paradise for brides: rolling meadows, mighty avenues, follies and ponds. Dozens marry there each year. Hundreds more come for photographs. As a consequence, the gardens have become Melbourne's premier bride sniping ground.

It began during the recession. Intersections filled with menacing youths, smearing car windscreens with jagged rubber devices. Oblivious to protest, they extracted change from red-light maroons, then fled before two-minute tides.

With the traffic-light market quickly cornered, the poor had to seek alternatives. One Saturday, a dishevelled woman approached a regal bride at the end of her photo session.
'I've just taken two dozen behind-the-scenes shots of your lovely party.' The dishevelled woman produced a film from her battered Pentax.
The bride regarded her sternly. 'Yes, I saw you. I wondered why you were creeping around in the bushes like that.'
'They're yours for twenty bucks.'
An excited bridesmaid scampered up. 'What'd you get?'
'Oh, the best man tripping over the Esky; you pinning the broken strap; the chauffeur pinching a champagne. That sort of thing.'
'And you want twenty?'
'Yeah.'
The bridesmaid fished a note from her purse and traded it for the roll, which she pressed into her sister's gloved hand.
'Present, babe; from me. Who knows? Some of them might be ace. And what's twenty bucks on your wedding day?'
'Too right,' beamed Melbourne's first bride sniper, before darting away.

The craze spread like wildfire. From Collins Place to the steps of Parliament, photo sessions were plagued. Canny snipers raided opportunity shops for frocks and morning coats. Thus camouflaged, they became the bane of professional photographers.

Police were disempowered after early arrests led to lawsuits from snap-happy relatives (whose only crime was poor dress). Composition went out the window, ruined by strangers in frayed formal clothing - leaping, grinning and holding ancient cameras aloft to capture every Special Moment.

To be continued...