TV News cameraman and the Cornish pasty pandemonium.

You know as a TV News cameraman that your day is going to be a long one when you are hired by an outlying newsroom 87 miles away and it takes you 2 hours to get there through the rush hour traffic. You also know it's going to be a tough working day when one of your stories include an investigation into a double murderer who was let out of prison on day release only to go and kill again that very day...

(For my American readers, Yes, they actually do this here... I know, i know...)

The Cornish pasty mountain near Liskeard, Cornwall.

However, when another story comes along that involves gangs, large amounts of cash and 20 Million pounds worth of Colombian marching powder, crack and heroin, you just know that your day is going to involve driving, waiting, copious interviews, pieces to camera, GV's and not a lot of time between, in which to scratch your arse in a contemplative, serene moment of rest.

So you think i would have brought some lunch with me...

You see, believing Oxford to be a city of fine cuisine and a journalistic life of eating punnets of strawberries whilst punting on the river, alongside big brained Oxbridge graduates studying the works of Oscar Wilde, Nietzsche and Dan Brown, i wrongly thought that lunch would come easy. I know... What a twat.

Instead, it was a day of flitting between location (Dodgy) and location (Shit hole) resulting in a day with a 297 mile drive and a brief stop at a fuel garage where fifty pounds was duly spent on fuel and two pounds on a rather delicious looking, hot Cornish pasty. Not having time to stop and eat, my meat and potato repast was consumed on the tail end of traffic queues and traffic lights.

At each stop i would force as much of the pasty into my face as was possible, forcing my cheeks to bulge and flaky pastry bits to fly everywhere, much of it down my front and into my lap... At one such stop, i noticed a young girl in a car next to me, giggling at the fat faced, hamster cheeked idiot in the news van, and i could imagine the conversation with her Father...

"Daddy..?"

"Yes princess, what is it..?"

"Why does that man in the van look like a hamster..?"

Daddy looks over towards the van and sees a stressed looking, fat cheeked cameraman covered in flaky pastry with a lump of potato and gravy resting on his chin, masticating furiously before the red light turns to green, then disappearing in a cloud of tyre smoke...

"Oh... It looks very much to be a TV news cameraman, princess... and that's why you need to do better in school. Take a good long look sweetheart. You don't want to end up like him..."

Well, that's how i imagined it anyway, and having arrived at my next location to interview a rather pleasant Senior Investigating Officer from the fine body of men and women that is the Thames Valley Police, i got out and introduced myself. I shook her hand warmly and returned to my news van to gather the tools of my trade... It was then i realised what i must have looked like, and i again imagined the opening conversation between my journo and the police officer...

"Hello, my name's Leggy Hairdo... BBC... Pleased to meet you."

"Good afternoon, i'm detective chief inspector plod...  (Leans in and whispers...) Why is your cameraman covered in flaky pastry, gravy and potato pieces..?"

"Well, that's a TV news cameraman for you, chief inspector... Don't worry, it's normal."

Paul Martin is @ukcameraman on Twitter, and his life is a mess.

TV News cameraman, pulp fiction and dark crevices.

I guess many of my loyal and regular readers thought i had given up the blog. Not a bit of it. I'm still living the fast, furious and fun filled life of a TV news cameraman with all that the job entails... rubbing shoulders with the great and the good, warm far flung locations, good food and an amiable relationship with my desk bound producers.

The truth is, things took a turn in my personal life with regards to my Son, who as many of you know, is disabled. Don't worry, the turn our lives took was a good one, as my Son is now receiving the care he deserves. As a carer for him for over 15 years, it came as a welcome diversion from trying to work full time as well as being full time carers. I reassure you... All is well. It did however, mean i had to take my eye off the ball writing wise for a few months as things moved at quite a pace, meaning i had to concentrate on a few other, essential parts of life.

So today, i bring you all back down to earth with a bump. As is usual for a TV news cameraman, much of the past few months have been taken up with the usual court cases, health, business and crime stories and one transporter ship which decided it had had enough and took a lie down for a few weeks in a main shipping lane in the Solent.

"Well.." Said the proctologist. "That was certainly inserted with a great vengeance and furious anger..."

 The rain has softened my skin, the harsh winter wind roughed it up again, a hole appeared in my boot and my back reminded me that i'm not as young as i used to be. So all is normal. So normal in fact that this morning, during a filming job outside an inner city school i was reminded of the breadth of human kindness.

Filming school kids as you know can be a tricky situation to find yourself in and most parents don't mind you being there once they know whats going on. Once everyone was happy, children were filmed, vox-pops were recorded and general views lovingly sequenced. I did however, say most parents, and not everyone it seemed, was happy...

Some, thankfully a small minority of one mother in this case, deem themselves as saviours of all children and experts in the law of filming in public places. Apparently, i have no right to film children. I need express permission from parents, even in a public place. I was told that if i pointed my camera anywhere near her children, there would be a distinct possibility i would be going home with an urgent need to visit a proctologist, the need of a newer, cleaner lens wipe and a lie down in a darkened room. Her actual words were...

"If you'se point that fuckin' fing at my kids, i'm gonna shove that camera up yer arse..."

I think you will agree that her grammar, diction and use of the first person pronoun was outstanding. The kids around her were certainly impressed, i was sure. With her skin tight leggings, baggy top, tattoos and scraped back hair she came across as a bastion of the legal profession, as M'Learned new acquaintance followed up her rapier like examination of my legal shortcomings...

"Youse need fuckin' permission to film 'ere..."

It was only a matter of time before i was called a nasty little pervert who liked filming children for sexual gratification, so i told her that all she had to do was to ask me not to film her kids and i would happily oblige, and there was no need to be so testy about it. However, there is just no pleasing some people, as our heroic, newly qualified street lawyer walked away, muttering something about human rights, kiddie fiddlers and something related to my camera and arse... again.

Sometimes... just sometimes, it would be nice if a random aggressive gobshite would learn a more sleek, powerful and impressive way to verbally assault a TV news cameraman... Something like this would be good: Ezekiel 25:17 ( Cameraman Edition. )

"The path of the righteous cameraman is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil producers. Blessed is he, who in the name of charity and good white balance, shepherds the journo through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his tripod's keeper and the finder of lost B-Roll. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who would attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I shove that camera up your arse."

Now that i could listen and adhere to... Alas, i think it is never to be. But it's nice to know isn't it dear reader, that whilst you may have missed my wise words and cunning prose, my sublime, erudite and crisp grasp of the English language, things have largely remained the same in the TV news cameraman world.

So I bid you farewell for now, as i'm off to buy an industrial sized bucket of lube... just in case i have to film there again next week. I can't be doing with all that chafing and anyway, my camera is a bit on the large side.

Paul Martin is @ukcameraman on Twitter.

Canine calamity causes cameraman consternation.

So, just how does your average TV news cameraman go out to work and four hours later have his work splashed across the internet in a frenzy of piss taking, LOL's and BBC baiting via Twitter, Facebook and internet news sites? The answer is very easy... Just add a well known and respected weather presenter, a live transmission and one dog with a weak bladder.

Before going live, doggy got in some squatting practice. Pic by @carolkirkwood

 
Before the morning was over, my cameraman endeavors were to end up on the likes of Buzzfeed, Huffington Post (Comedy Section), The Telegraph, The Daily Mail, Metro and The Independent.  Hell, we even made the news in Brazil..! You are by now probably thinking that i am jinxed, and you might be right. Either things have a habit of happening to me, or it's just the way i look at things, finding the funny, if you will.

Guaranteed, should i be filming live news it will either rain, the local idiot will find me or i will step in the only dog turd in the surrounding three square miles, but hey, one gets used to the ups and downs of the broadcasting life and the awful things that i have witnessed courtesy of my sadistic news producers. (Politics, for instance.)

I thought yesterday however, that my luck had changed. I was to broadcast to the whole British nation on the most watched morning news show with the best known weather presenter in the form of Carol Kirkwood, Queen of the clouds and dispenser of short, sharp rainstorms. Not only that, i was to film from one of the nicest sandy beaches in the South of England on one of the hottest days of the year so far.

Things don't get much better. My star was in the ascendance, my flag was at full mast and my engine firing on all cylinders.

I may have spoken a little too soon. My flag pole soon drooped, my star fizzled out and my engine sputtered. All courtesy of a chocolate brown Labrador owned by my field producer for the day. I need not regale you of the intricacies of what it did, for due to the magical interwebs and a sprinkling of cameraman fairy dust you can watch what happened... In full.



I will admit that i saw what it was doing just a tad too late to make a difference. The damage was done. Live broadcasting is just that... Live, and there was bugger all i could do about it, until now. For the modern interwebs now allows me to get my own back by shaming the aforementioned canine in a manner that online Listicle readers will know and love... Dog shaming.

Dog shaming... Pic courtesy of owner @Gilly_Robinson

So if you will now excuse me, i'm off to prepare for another live news broadcast. News has just surfaced that the water quality of local beaches have taken a nosedive and the best sandy beach in the South of England has lost it's blue flag status. Hey, i'm a freelancer, and a job's a job...

Paul Martin is @ukcameraman on Twitter.

TV News Cameraman And The Diminishing Of The Tangibles.

Many of you older TV news cameramen and women out there will remember such phrases as, "Can you hear the whir of the camera on audio track 2...?" Or, "Bugger, the tape door mechanism's jammed..." And my all time favourite, "Touch my camera again and I will kill you... To death."

As he pulled out the Pulitzer Prize winning footage from the camera, he dropped it down a drain cover...

The most oft spoken phrase in TV news gathering however, used to be, "Pass me the tape will you...?" and upon hearing said phrase, your journalist would pass you a Beta Sp tape which would make a satisfying, tangible 'whump' when placed in your sweaty grasp.

Those of you who remember film and film canisters can shut up now, I can hear you muttering from here. This post does not delve that far into the past, but even so, you will remember the feel of something solid and dependable in the palm of your hand. (Don't even think about going there...)

To those with boy band hair, spots and a penchant for all things Blackmagic Design, yes you... You, typing 'Tape' and 'Film' into Google on your iPhone in between filming with it and scratching your head, may not know of such pre-historic artifacts from a bygone generation, but they existed... And not that long ago.

I still find myself asking my Journo, "Have you got any tapes...?" Only for them to fish around in their pockets, check handbags, jackets and small dark holes to produce a tiny, thin piece of plastic with a metallic strip. Carefully, and making sure we are not standing over a storm drain or crack in the ground into which the card can disappear, we pass the precious object between hands as steady as any brain surgeon.

I slide the card into its tiny slot on the camera.

There is no push of a button followed by a 'Whirr, click, thud as the tape goes in, click and whirr' Nothing is opened and it's insides extracted by mechanical wizardry and stretched across drums with optical thingamibobs.

Nothing happens any more.

Once the filming of the days news is done, then the preciousness of that small, thin piece of plastic with metallic strip must become an even more dangerous and fear provoking work of calm. Imagine, if you will, handling a vial of Ebola virus in a maternity ward.

Dropping a tape was no bother, as long as you didn't drop it into the sea or out of a helicopter door. Things are now a little different. Drop a card from any higher that 2mm and it will ping off into the middle distance of the nearby road and blend in with the surrounding asphalt, from where it will taunt and laugh at your butter fingered buffoonery.

Passers by will look at you in a strange manner as you crawl around on all fours in search of your afternoons work. Office workers will gawp at you as you forensically examine the flower bed under their window like a scene from CSI, (Vegas... Not Miami, which was shit.)

Your Journo will be laughing at you, but secretly aghast at the notion that the work may be lost, and they begin to get nervous. Producers back at the ranch will spit blue murder if they find out their plans for tonight's bulletin are lying on the A325, just South of Aldershot, a mere foot away from his Cameraman's desperate fingers.

All the while, the small thin piece of plastic with the metallic strip, containing the wise words of vox popped citizenry will be lying there, just next to your left foot where you see it as you crouch into a ball whilst holding your head and pulling at what's left of your hair.

The ball of fear knotted in your stomach dissipates, not just because of a 'mislaid' SD card, but because of those vox-pops, the sage like knowledge, and their importance in the well being of the very nation known only to news producers. (And the fact that the producer would make you do them all again.) Cue a huge sigh of relief.

So let this be a lesson to us all because apparently, this is what happened to a friend of mine and in no way whatsoever involves the author of this blog post. Just to make that perfectly clear. Here at the ukcameraman institute of TV news studies, we are a bit more careful.

Paul Martin is @ukcameraman on Twitter, and is hugely relieved for his 'Friend.'

TV News Cameraman And A Fistful Of Nothing.

The business of TV news often means covering stories involving the misery of others. There is no sugar coating it, wrapping it in cotton wool or the touch of a velvet glove.

Take a deep breath... and knock.

Often, this means as a TV news cameraman I, along with a reporter, have to approach relatives, friends or colleagues in the aftermath of something awful in their lives or drag up memories they wish they could forget, and ask them a straight question at one of the most difficult times of their lives.

"Hello. We are the press. Would you like to invite us into your life and home and tell us about your dead wife..? Just between you, me and around half a million viewers..?"

OK... So we don't exactly put it that way. Tact, discretion and understanding are warranted in a situation like this, but it sure as hell feels like it when you are stood on a man's door step unannounced, asking him in a slightly kinder manner, to do just that. That's what I did yesterday.

I was grateful to him that we were indeed invited into his home, given a hot drink and spoken to with a respect for our jobs as journalists that in this day and age can be a limited experience, given what we had just asked of him. A quick "No..!" and a slammed door in the face is as likely to happen than a warm invite with tea and biscuits.

We talked for a good few hours. He knew what we wanted as journalists, the human angle to a difficult story involving the sad death of his wife of many, many years. Space to fill on the airwaves as a slot between crime and the football. He was no fool.

In the end though, with the kindness and grace of a gentleman still in mourning and wondering where to go next in his life, he declined the offer of tea time exposure on the nightly news. He even thanked us for coming to see him and with a genuinely warm handshake, we took our leave and left him to the rest of his life. I genuinely hope that we didn't upset him too much in the pursuit of our work, but i guess we left a little upset behind as much as we try and avoid it. There is after all, only one way to ask.

Sometimes, a heartbreaking story is to be told. And sometimes, it's just between them and us over a cup of tea. We got the whole story, we just couldn't tell it properly without him. Either way, as journalists, we don't always get what we want in the rush to deadline, but i was grateful for the tea and warm welcome.

Paul Martin is @ukcameraman on Twitter.

Thanks Krishnan, you were of no help whatsoever...

I had occasion yesterday to be invited to a free curry lunch by the owner of my local house of Indian subcontinental cuisine. It was a thank you to locals for spending many hundreds, if not thousands of pounds over the past ten years for his most loyal curry eating patrons and lager drinkers. Attended by local businessmen and councillors, even the Mayor, I felt privileged to have been invited.

Drinking beer and telling tales...

However, word got out that i was a TV News Cameraman, so i spent much of my afternoon fending off local news story pitches by local businessmen, people with political axes to grind and those just wanting to get on the telly.

"Is the Prime Minister really a total arse..?" People would ask. "Would you like to come and film my  collection of early 1950's war comics..?" and "You should do a story on fiscal spending at the local council... Shocking." Suddenly, between bites of Tandoori chicken and onion bhaji, this local TV cameraman has morphed into the BBC Ten O'Clock News and must display my fount of all knowledge about the state of the nation, foreign policy, political responsibility and celebrity goings on.

Salesman: "I sell this particular type of widget... You should do a story on widgets."

Salesman's wife: "My Sisters friend's boyfriend's Uncle used to play football for Ipswich..."

Left wing agitator: "Those Tories... Total lunatics when it comes to standing up for the working man. I blame Thatcher. What do you think should be done..?"


I was as polite as I could be, trying to blend in. Eventually, people began ignoring me again. As the Kingfisher beer flowed, I found myself sitting away from the others, with a group of normal working blokes from around the local area. Builders, decorators, office wonks and the like. Anything to get away from the local politicos and business types.

It wasn't long before the inevitable question that stalks anyone working in TV reared its head. "Who's the most famous person you have met..?" I tried to impress by mentioning heavyweight TV News personalities and in a panic, a journalist of high quality sprang to mind.

"Krishnan Guru-Murthy once tweeted me a thank you for some pictures i sent in for Channel 4 News." Blank faces stared back at me. I changed tack. "Err.. i had my hand up the jumper of Debbie Harry once. I've met Barry from Eastenders... and..." The eyebrows of around ten middle aged blokes rose in unison... "WHOA THERE... Back up a little... You've grabbed Blondies tits..?" That wasn't what i said no. Too late. "Hey fellas, this guy's fondled Blondie... felt her tits and everything..!" The pride i felt as a news cameraman when Krishnan tweeted thanks to me obviously meant nothing to these guys. I tried to explain. "No No No... i was fixing a mic and..."

The next half an hour saw my curry go cold as i tried to explain to those around me that i had not in any way shape or form fondled Blondies tits with a follow on to a full blown sexual relationship. I met her for half an hour or so whilst i did an interview with her backstage before a gig for the local news, that was all. Disappointed, they gradually drifted away and the normality of being ignored resumed.

A small chap, who was a little the worse for wear alcohol wise, sidled up to me and said, "So... this Krishnan Guru chap..." At last, someone who wanted to talk to me about what i do for a living. "Ain't he the one with the loud ties and funny socks... Channel 5..?"

"No."

The bloke walked away. From now on, I am telling everyone that i am a long distance van driver. Which isn't very far from the real truth. I sat back down and drank my beer in silence.

Paul Martin is @ukcameraman on Twitter.

www.media-attention.co.uk

 



    

Awkward situations for a news cameraman: Part 1.

I placed my camera on it's tripod at a respectful distance. I wanted to film the group of people in front of me, but didn't want them to know i was specifically filming them. Or for what purpose. As they sat and unpacked their takeaway burgers and fries, cokes and side orders, i rolled.

As the Death Star approached, i switched to using 'The Force'.

Trying to film them anonymously was hard. As they faced each other across a large wooden outside table, faces managed to pop into my viewfinder. Big, large, round faces. The faces kept pushing more fries into the holes at the front, along with about a third of a burger in one bite, washed down with sugary goodness. I concentrated at their midriffs. cracks of arses revealed themselves in large quantity. Bellies protruded from underneath too tight T-Shirts. Bingo wings flapped.

Are we getting bigger..? Are we killing ourselves with fatty foods and sugary beverages..? This is why i was filming. The news has taken upon itself to see, to find the truth, however much it wobbles. My task was to find the overweight amongst us, and film them eating their dinner without revealing their true identity for fear of national embarrassment on the nightly bulletin.

As i focussed in on another gargantuan burger mastication scene i looked up, they were looking at me as i was filming them. One, then two, until finally, the whole family were staring in my direction. I could see them talking about me with general nods in my direction, between mouthfuls of prime beef and potato. I was going to have to explain myself.

As they finished their meal the larger of the two men aimed his not inconsiderable frame in my direction. His bulk getting larger as he filled my vision with girth not seen since the Death Star made its first appearance.

Death Star: "Wotcha filmin' mate..?"

His wide neck glistened with a film of sweat, brightening the colours of the union jack tattoo just below his collar. I wasn't going to lie to the gentleman, as he blocked out the sun, ready to destroy the feeble planet with his overwhelming might.

Feeble Planet: "Oh, nothin' much, just a film for the news about fast food and the dietary need of the British nation as a whole, with an emphasis on glandular over expansion within the general patronage of said establishments."

Death Star: "Oh, right. You weren't filmin' us woz ya..?"

Feeble Planet: "No.. no.. no.. just, y'know, general burger joint scenes..."

Death Star: "Nice camera..."

Feeble Planet: "Thanks."

With that, he turned as nimble as an oil tanker, and rejoined his family, who by now had eaten his fries and finished his coke. My luck was seemingly coming to an end and not wishing to push it further i packed up and left the scene in search of another. My encounter with the Death Star a mere fleeting threat of annihilation.

The news watching public would not be aware of the bravery of this particular rebel of the news alliance, and the dark protruding secrets of the Death Stars exterior would be broadcast for this sector of the galaxy to watch.

Paul Martin is @ukcameraman on Twitter.

www.media-attention.co.uk