Death In A Valentines Rainstorm.

It's not much of a final epitaph to two men is it? Family men, mown down on their cycles and killed by the driver of a BMW in the throes of evading the local constabulary on a dark and stormy evening.

The lamp post... torn down and snapped with the force of impact.

A few days ago, as the latest in a long line of storms passed overhead, i had trouble standing up and more importantly, keeping my tv camera dry as the countdown to an afternoon live ticked away. My reporter and i stood close to where the two men had lost their lives, rehearsing the moves and script, when my eye caught sight of a small gaggle of rain lashed people walking towards us...

We went live. 1'30" of explainer, police appeal and grisly details.

As we finished, i noticed one of the group silently picking up pieces of the remaining cycle. A cycle seat, pieces of plastic and a small torn piece of clothing. The three remaining women of the group huddled near the impact spot, shaking. I couldn't tell if they were shaking from the cold wet rain or...

Eye contact was made between us and we drifted towards the group. A short question revealed a wife, a daughter, a friend and i think, a Brother. A small bunch of flowers were clasped in a hand. The shaking not only from the cold but from the shock of being told only a few hours before that her Husband was dead... On Valentines Day.

My camera stayed by my side. I did not have the guts nor the will to raise it.

In a turnaround of events, they were the ones asking the questions. Do we know any more information? Did we know what exactly happened? We talked and gave any information that we had. We asked if they would like to speak on camera about their tragic loss. They politely declined and we understood.

I didn't want to film a sobbing family at the scene of their loved ones demise. The shaking and the tears were all too plain to see on a cold, wet and windswept suburban street. I make no apologies for leaving them to their grief and keeping my camera at my side. We could tell the story without pictures of the very sad scene before us. Some may disagree, but i really don't care.

As i walked away, they disappeared in the greyness of the thunderstorm and the rain. I got into my news van and stared at the bag of chocolate, wine and valentines card in the footwell for my wife, safe in the knowledge that she was at home, cooking dinner for a husband who will soon be home.

Paul Martin is @ukcameraman on Twitter.

The Show Must Go On.

So far, it's been a year of being up to my family jewels in rainwater, whilst standing on many a high street in the South of England, watching other peoples possessions floating away never to be seen again. Local communities devastated and families lives reduced to zero by the weather.







Although a major news story here in the UK, the storms haven't stopped the grind of everyday life from catching the news producers eye and anyway, something's got to be done about my reporters bad case of trench foot and crotch rot.

I thought my day would get a little brighter by filming a fundraising party, held by a local community and family in aid of a dying mothers wish for her kids to go to Disneyland when the inevitable came. There would be cake, tea, a petting zoo and bouncy castles... Every TV news cameraman loves a bouncy castle... And cake... And a chance to dry out his socks.

Although a sad tale lay underneath this fundraising party, a bunch of kids with smiley faces would cheer me up no end after the misery of the floods, so we turned up, with shiny lens and fluffy mic, only to be told that the mother had died only 4 or 5 hours before, but you wouldn't have thought so.

The smiles and the laughter of the local kids were genuine, the cake just as sweet and the castles just as bouncy, but there was something lurking just underneath the grown up eyes of the grieving husband that betrayed the coming grief that would surely soon take over from the shock... Something was going to give, just not now, not here.

A lot of work had gone into the fundraising by the family and local community, the organising, the cooking, the booking of entertainment and the venue. Too much to just abandon even with the biggest of reasons to just go home and curl up into a ball.

The show must go on, as they said. So we filmed and we chatted and we told a story of a dying wish that was only a few hours old.

I felt uneasy filming the fun before me. I couldn't believe that any fun was actually being had by anyone. The husband talked of his courageous wife, the kids played and ate cake. The community rallied to the call and money was indeed being raised by the bucketful.

You see sometimes, what you may expect as you turn up with a TV camera, may not be quite what you get, and that people, at the worst time of their lives, can really surprise you. And it was wonderful to witness.

You can donate to Cancer research uk HERE.

Paul Martin is @ukcameraman on Twitter.

Call Noah... We Have A Problem.

SEVERE WEATHER ALERT..!! The Environment Agency have issued the following:

***14.2.2014 0800Hrs GMT.***

A severe front of visiting politicians is heading South West. Accompanying photo op's may sweep South across your area leaving broken promises in their wake. Unusually, a blast of hot air may cause damage to local areas, followed by flooding caused by the tears of local residents.

***Alert Ends***

Politicians... Don't you just love 'em..? But seriously now, after all these years as a TV news cameraman, I am still amazed at the kindness and generosity of people who have the nations press etc, descend upon them at possibly the worst time of their lives.




One after the other, fierce storms have again lashed the UK, causing floods, wind damage and misery across much of my patch in the South and yet still, I find myself invited into the homes of people who have lost pretty much everything and offered a cup of tea.

Finding your house has become part of the local rivers and sewage system is not a pleasant experience, but the series of storms here have left some dealing with their second or even the third flood this year. It's heartbreaking to witness, yet at the same time, heartwarming to see the kindness of people not just to us as the press, but to their local community, neighbours and strangers.

The next few weeks and months will see me filming not just the floods and damage now, but the repairs and clean up that is to come. I think we all have a long journey ahead if the weather ever gives up and the heavy rain stops. My guess is that we will be seeing more of this, year on year...

So... Cameraman and women of the UK and beyond, put your eyes to the glass and wade forward, record the blowhards and mouthpieces of officialdom and government. Hold them to account on behalf of the wet nation...

Just watch that turd doesn't float into the top of your wellies...

Paul Martin is @ukcameraman on Twitter.

Betwixt Madness And The TV Newsroom.

I had a chilling feeling when I accepted the job from my news producer to film at Broadmoor. For those readers who don't know or have not heard the name, follow this link.

Secure Broadmoor... Welcoming.

Basically, Broadmoor is a Category 1 secure prison hospital for the criminally insane, to use layman's terms, and very few people like me, much less a member of the press, get to wander around inside the high walls... With the inmates, sorry... 'patients' still inside.

"Would you like to film inside..?" Asked my producer...

"Can I take a shotgun, knife and my favourite chain mail outfit..?" I replied. "Oh, and an industrial strength military tazer..?"

Sorry to be so glib, I understand there are many levels of mental illness and criminality within Broadmoor, but a lot of the patients within these walls are mostly free to go about their business as instructed and supervised by the staff, so there was a distinct possibility of either bumping into a gentleman thief with treatable mental health issues, or on the other hand, someone of 'unsavoury' provenance, with a well documented history of ripping innocent victims to pieces on the direct orders of Satan himself, using only a blunt butter knife and a piece of string. I wanted to be on my guard... In fact, I wanted a guard. A big one.

So it was that my reporter and I found ourselves and my TV kit being examined, x-rayed and searched before being photographed and fingerprinted by the watchful security team.

I wondered just how tight the security here is... I had visions of being quietly taken aside and internally examined by a grey haired old Doctor, only for him to be the recently escaped Mad Pete 'The Puppeteer' McGhinty, a man sentenced in 1978 to 10 life terms for wearing his victims as organic glove puppets during a gruesome one man rendition of a Punch and Judy show, in his bedsit in Wathamstow.

You see, I had researched who was in there and why they were there. There were going to be some seriously infamous, yet unstable men occupying the same space as me. There was also a lot of history within the old Victorian buildings, treatment rooms and small locked cells that were soon to be demolished.

Whilst filming the old buildings, which will be replaced with modern, up to date and more suitable hospital wards, I got to looking into the old cells and dark corridors. The staff panic buttons, heavy double door locks and a wall poster proclaiming that shaving razors are strictly issued and monitored at all times... A wise move I thought. I imagined the now infamous men of the past and present who may have sat on the very benches I was sitting on. It was seriously unsettling.

Growing up, I watched the news and read the papers about the serial killers, rapists and murderers of the 60's 70's and 80's, the delusional rippers and slashers and body mutilators of the 90's and the present day. It made my blood run cold that many of them occupied this very building I was now in... A fair few of whom are still here...

I thought about this fact. They could be just upstairs, or around the next corner in the courtyard, or waiting... waiting for their chance to... (Stop it, stop it now.)

The truth was that it was a fascinating and informative days filming, one of those days where you get to go where very few others do and learn a little into the bargain. I am grateful to the staff who were with us.

When the old buildings go, and with them the history and memories of those within them, both patients and staff, I will at least be able to tell others that I had been here, where the fine line between so called 'normal' and the many levels of 'madness' meet. The unseen world of the unstable mind...

On the other hand, just walk into any TV news room around the world... You will see what I mean.

Paul Martin is @ukcameraman on Twitter.

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.