TV News Cameraman And A Tale Of Woe.

Being a freelance TV cameraman in the news industry can be a precarious affair at the best of times. Long days without a phone call, a nibble of a news story or the promise of jam tomorrow, but I have got used to that, it's normal.

Having met the cameraman, the interviewee did the only rational thing...

Having decided to take a long break over Christmas and new year, I threw myself back into to swing of things with four straight days of news gathering. On the fifth day, I could feel that something was not quite right, but I couldn't put my finger on it, and anyway experience, (and my wife,) tells me that putting your finger on things can get you into an awful lot of trouble so I ignored the warning signs.

The tiredness, that little niggling ache at the base of your skull that doesn't go away... I put it down to having worked long hours and driving a stupid amount of mileage in the pursuit of newsy knowledge and the public sharing thereof...

Pop a headache pill and drive on. Stand in the Winters cold and rain... Everything's gonna be ok. Nothing to see here, stop being such a wuss.

A break after day five reassured me that all was fine, I'll just blow my nose a little and accept the job that my producer has allocated me for tomorrow. A quick interview with a sportsman at a location not too far from the top of the M3 and then tootle along to the next job. A full day beckoned and things were looking rosy.

The morning started with traffic. Lots and lots of traffic. In fact it was safe to say that the whole of the South of England was on the road between home and the M3, which was itself going at the speed of an asthmatic snail that was carrying a particularly heavy load.

My indicator in the van was giving me an ice warning, the temperature was 1 Degree Celcius... But...  is it me or is it hot in here..? I opened the window and turned down the heating. My face got wet but, no, it wasn't raining. I wiped my brow with a leftover Starbucks paper towel and closed the window. My temperature indicator was right about the 1 Degree Celcius because I was now shivering. I shivered so much that my teeth started to chatter and I began to sweat like a cornered bodybuilder holding a bag of steroids.

This, I decided, was not good.

From a reasonably ok man an hour ago I had descended into a shivering sweaty wreck... In a traffic jam. I adjusted my van seat to get a little more comfortable. The back and neck ache presented themselves with the subtlety of a large elephant dressed in a tutu and the dull ache at the base of my skull decided to have a party. Pow..! Instant viral shittyness.

I made the call to my producer. It's a call that any freelancer in this industry hates to make. Derailing his carefully laid plans, i knew he would have some reshuffling to do and calls to make. I was about to disrupt his schedule for the day... And news producers don't like that. Not at all... Oh no, especially from expendable freelancers...

I actually thought of Skyping him so he could witness the melting face, the shakes and the dribble, but decided not to inflict that upon him as he sipped his cappuccino and nibbled his hobnob. I made my excuses and cancelled the rest of the day. I would film the interview of course, or the job would be lost because international sports stars don't give a flying poke at a rolling doughnut about my predicament, and we were booked in for half an hours time with no other cameraman available... I couldn't let them down, but I knew I couldn't keep it up.

I spent the rest of the morning being asked by people if I was ok. According to my sports reporter, I did not look a well man. To top it all, and as is typical, the sportsman was an hour late for the interview by which time he was genuinely worried about coming anywhere near me. I looked and felt like a mess.

I wrapped the job up in double quick time and steered clear of actually holding the camera or the tripod for fear of making the interview look like it was filmed during an earth quake. The sweaty shakes were out of my control. I threw the kit into the van and made for home.

"What are you doing home.." Asked my Missus. "Ooh... You look like shit."

It's good to be home in the loving embrace of my family.

"Don't you come anywhere near me." She added, as I sank into the couch whilst taking medication with an industrial ladle, and popping pills until things went fuzzy... If I don't pull through troops, please tell others of me... Tell them I was a good man.

Paul Martin is @ukcameraman on Twitter. And Woe... Woe is me.

The Sunday Showdown.

Getting up early on a Sunday morning is always going to be a bitch. But when it's around -5 or 6 outside, you've scraped the ice from the car, crunched through the leftover snow with your camera and nearly slipped arse over tit, giving a good go at making yourself look like a windmill on acid, makes for a Sunday morning you would rather forget.

But having left the Missus to deal with the kid when it's your turn to cook breakfast, is a sin of the highest order. And i was looking forward to Bacon, Eggs and other assorted breakfast things served up to my families culinary delight. But i had to cancel my family Sunday morning, having been booked the previous evening to film a national Politics live into a major news programme, so i found myself outside getting ready as described above. The satellite truck was booked and on it's way, containing an engineer who had probably had the same morning as me. All systems go...

Now we all know that this is nothing new in the news business, things change, people move about, the story changes or moves on to a different level. But this was a simple live on a Sunday morning with a very influential person who had agreed to do the interview into the show. All they had to do was wake up and get dressed. Oh... and do what you agreed to do.

The story is a long running one here in the UK, about newspapers, phone hacking, the passing of illegal monies to underhand people and the arrest of many journalists on charges yet to be proved. A scandal of the highest order in my own business. Oh the shame...

Anyway, to cut a short story even shorter, the principal guest cancelled and pulled out of the interview. I guess they got out of bed and stubbed their toe or something. But for reasons unknown to me anyway, my job was cancelled by a very apologetic producer in London.

"Sorry dear chap... job's gone away, guest pulled out."

"No problem," Says i... "Call me back any time..."

"Cancelled you say...? Oh well, never mind eh...?"

What i actually said having ended the call cannot be repeated here, except it contained the words, F*ck, Boll*cks and what a Wan*ker.

So to all of the influential prime time news guests and talking heads out there, listen up... We put a lot of effort and work into coming around to your house, trailing in mud and slush through your living room, draining your electric sockets and knocking valuables off shelves, just so you can give up your Sunday morning and spout forth on the telly. Do you honestly think that i want to be in your nice house, drinking your tea, mentally undressing your Missus, and teaching your sleepy eyed kids to say rude words...?

Do you think i enjoy being paid to give up my family Sunday mornings, just so that i and a few other dodgy looking geezers can invade yours..? Hmmm...? I should think not. And seeing as my now ex guest is in the print news business, i would have thought that having a journalist and cameraman rooting around in your unmentionables drawer was second nature to you.

So come on guys, when everyone's Sunday morning has been ruined, yours and ours, the least we can do is go through with it and get it over and done with. We come round, ask rude questions and generally turn your life upside down for a few hours, in exchange for you to get your ugly mug all over the airwaves and generally ruin the viewers Sunday mornings. It's a win win situation and we should all play the game.

But to pull out at the last minute means that you have sent some lowly news producer into a head spin, put the shows director into a really shitty mood, and generally upset the smooth flow of a news day, never mind the smooth flow of this particular cameraman.

So come on, play the game....

Paul Martin is @ukcameraman on Twitter

www.media-attention.co.uk