Filming the news in the Peoples Republic of Royal Berkshire.

I admit that a day ago I got a little over excited at the prospect of a news job that came my way. You see David Cameron, our esteemed Prime Minister was coming to town and I had been tasked to film him as he visited a large transport construction site in Reading.

At the crucial moment during our interview, the Prime Minister felt an embarrassing itch...

What's the big deal..? I hear you ask..

Well, as a mostly regional news cameraman with occasional forays into network news, I don't get to meet our glorious leader in the flesh all that often and when he is on our patch, it's about a 1 in 10 chance that it will be me that goes to film him. My time however, had arrived.

As it was a construction site nobody, including our dear leader, could move without being dressed up like a glow stick at Glastonbury. Also, there was a pool camera system in operation so an interview and cutaway shots were all that were required from me.

Some shots of the construction site were in order, to build up a good solid sequence of where we were, so I headed for the entrance to film signage and wide shots etc.

"You're not going to film the Prime Minister arriving are you..?" Queried a small dark haired PR wonk. "It's just that you're only here for the interview, nothing else.."

I advised PR wonk of my intentions knowing that a pool camera was covering the Prime Minister's visit itself, and went about my business. I was then watched for the next five minutes.

People with clipboards milled around. As everyone was dressed in eye burning orange outfits, nobody could tell who was who. The only people not dressed as Coco the clown were the PM's dark suited protection detail, for as we all know from the films, a reflective jacket hinders the drawing of weapons and the killing of people who look remotely 'terrorist-ish.' I digress, his security detail remained practically invisible and were of no bother to the press.

His highly trained PR wonk detail however, had other ideas.

I made my way back up to the press interview position. It was then I was approached by the small dark haired PR wonk lady...

"Can I ask you not to film the Prime Minister as he walks towards the press area..?" She said, face like concrete.

"All interviews are to be conducted facing this way..." She pointed.

There were only two cameras waiting to interview the Prime Minister. We were instructed that the PM would move from my camera to the next one in an orderly fashion. A quip was muttered about Mr Cameron only being able to move to the right, but was hushed.

My Journalist questioned him with rapier like finesse and in reply got answers that in no way reflected his questions. Standard stuff from politicians. Once finished, the PM deftly moved, or should I say in tabloid speak, 'lurched' to the right and repeated the process with the next news crew. I turned my lens for a sneaky cutaway of the PM with the camera crew.

PR wonks slowly, quietly and unobtrusively placed themselves between my camera and the PM, blocking my shot.

"Could you not film the Prime Minister, this isn't your interview.." Whispered dark haired PR wonk. This was getting sinister... and annoying.

I picked up my camera on the tripod and moved 20 yards or so away. A nice wide of proceedings would do just as well.

PR wonk followed. Standing in front of my lens, she said "You're not going to actually film the Prime Minister are you..? This isn't part of the press interview section of the visit.."

Now, those of you that know me will be right... My blood pressure was beginning to rise, and my mouth was about to open. I bit my tongue and stopped myself descending into full on gobshite.

Many of you will be wondering why I didn't say anything. You see as a freelancer, hired by a broadcaster and standing within touching distance of the Prime Minister was not the time or the place to tell a PR wonk to go and... well, you get the idea. Becoming the story is not the cameraman way.

You would think that filming, meeting and interviewing the leader of your nation would be an honourable, enjoyable and memorable thing to do, and so it should be. Something for the scrap book as they say.

It's just a real shame that the experience was ruined by overbearing, soulless, pinch faced PR goons with an over inflated sense of self importance, who have nothing better to do than get in the way of the working press.

PR platitudes aside, we all know this is in order to minimise the coverage and picture taking at all costs, just in case a mistake is made by the Prime Minister. The less filming and pictures, the less of a chance that the PM will be captured on film, looking like a fool.

Like everything in politics however... We only have to wait.

Paul Martin is @ukcameraman on Twitter.

From The Horses Mouth: Raisa, The Chipping Norton Set, And Me..

In the bright lights of London, much has been said and written about the Leveson Enquiry. Phone hacking, illegal payments to the Police, borrowed horses and dodgy journalism.

But it's not often that a local, provincial TV News Cameraman gets the scoop instead of the reporter. Having been dispatched to the wilds of the Surrey countryside yesterday, i found myself in the company of a few old nags in an RSPCA horse rescue centre. Whilst covering an entirely unrelated story, i was approached by one particularly friendly horse i shall call 'Thunder', (Not her real name.) who told me a story about corruption, hacking, politicians and a global media empire.

PSST...! Are you from the news...? I've got a cracker of a story.

Now let's not think about the fact that i just met a talking horse, (*1) and the fact that it was up to date on the phone hacking story and the Leveson Enquiry. Those facts are mere sideshows. For it emerged in conversation that Thunder had in her possession a number of documents and diary entries from a close friend of hers called Raisa, a retired Metropolitan Police horse, whom she met and befriended at numerous grooming sessions on country estates.

Spilling the beans... An interview with 'Thunder'.

 The documents were entrusted to Thunder by Raisa, on the understanding that what they contained could be explosive if brought into the public eye, and could never be released, unless something dubious happened to her, or if she were to just... disappear. On hearing the sad news of Raisa's death, Thunder has decided to release the documents, and has entrusted them to me for safe keeping.(*2)

For the sake of public interest, i have decided to publish a narrow selection of Raisa's diary entries, in the hope of clearing up a little of the confusion surrounding the time she spent in Chipping Norton following her retirement from the Metropolitan Police Mounted Division. Here are my findings thus far...

7 Jan 2008 London.

Looking forward to my retirement party next week. Going to have balloons and everything. Must dash... Chelsea are at home, heads to crack... Busy busy busy..!! 

14 Jan 2008 London.

Woke with a thick head this morning. Party was ace. Pete, my Police stable boy, tells me i'm off to Oxfordshire. Apparently the Chief Super has done a deal with an old mate of his. He tells me there will be plenty of hacking... We shall see.

15 Jan 2008 Chipping Norton.

Wow..! Really landed on my feet here. Dead posh. Plenty of scope for a good hack with my new owner Rebekah and her chums. Her husband Charlie called me an old knacker. ( I don't like him. ) Saw some old bloke called Clarkson on a quad bike in the next field shooting foxes... a bit mad i think.

28 Feb 2008 Chipping Norton.

Some posh bloke called Dave arrived this morning. Him and Rebekah spoke all morning about hacking but they never took me out. He said he wanted none of it... Went to bed... No dinner.

(P.S. Rebekah was on the phone all night to a man called Rupert. She said Dave was impotent... I think she meant important. )


30 March 2008 Chipping Norton.


My coat is becoming matted. Don't get groomed often any more. Missing the thrill of London and shitting on the streets. The days of cracking heads with the boys are long gone.


20 April 2008 Chipping Norton.


Finally..! Dave visits again and Charlie takes us out for a hack. Dave climbs aboard and off we go. I think i shall call him BIG Dave from now on... if you know what i mean..! They chatted for hours about Eton and the old days. Much laughter and sniggering about poor people and a bloke called George.


( P.S. WENT TO BED AGAIN WITH NO DINNER...! )

They say that the truth is stranger than fiction... This is pure fiction.

Having read(*3) the rest of the diaries, i can indeed attest to the explosiveness of their contents. I may reveal more from time to time. Should the Leveson enquiry call me for evidence, i shall of course fail to remember any such meeting with 'Thunder' and the whereabouts of the Diary, and this blog post will be deleted, to be found again by the officers of Operation Weeting. I will probably end up in prison, and my press card revoked.
 
(*1) I am making this whole thing up.

(*2) For Sale to the highest bidder.

(*3) Wrote

Paul Martin is @ukcameraman on Twitter.

www.media-attention.co.uk