Pointless vanity project of the former Tabascokid

When you cover a job for a month, you very quickly lose track of what happened where and when so sitting down to write anything from the Winter Games in Whistler is going to be hard.  Long days and nights of covering training sessions on the icy slopes soon merge into one and only certain moments tend to stand out in the day.  As such, this blog is more of a collection of events and thoughts on my first Olympics.

After months of e-mails and planning, the day arrived for the UK photography team of two to head out to Canada.  As fellow London AFP staffer Adrian Dennis and I were waiting for our plane at Heathrow, a flurry of activity attracted my attention and Bryan Adams appeared.  Oddly enough, he wasn’t directed to cattle class at the back of the plane and that was the last we saw of him until the opening ceremony.  Also on the plane, Robert Carlyle sat unnoticed in Business Class.  As Adrian pointed out, when combined with the various Olympic teams on-board, if the plane had gone down, all of the media onboard wouldn’t have even made the foot notes.

Arriving in Vancouver, we made our way to the main media centre on the waterfront for our briefing.  Following a long day of travel with four cases full to capacity with clothing and equipment, we found ourselves in the AFP hub.  With events such as this, the main agencies and some publications set up a whole virtual bureau with AFP being no exception.  Walking into our area of the complex saw me being passed through the system with one person after another assigned to issue me with various bits of equipment, upgrade our software or brief us on our assignment.  Very soon, the adrenaline of finally arriving began to wear off and by the time I got to the meeting with the photo chief, it was proving difficult to take in the talk of remote editing, wireless transmission packs and field rules & etiquette.  Heading to the buses, I was rewarded with the news that the 90 minute journey to Whistler could be up to 3 hours.  Huzzah.

After being drafted in to cover the opening ceremony in Vancouver, I headed back down to the city on the media coach and on arrival was greeted with mass activity in the AFP media room.  AFP colleague Peter Parks had just been the only photographer to witness the horrific crash of Georgian luger Nodar Kumaritashvili.  With the networks showing TV footage of the crash on loop behind us, the editors worked on the pictures and searched for more news on his condition.  By the time that his death was announced a few minutes later, everyone knew that the most important event of the whole Games had just happened before the opening ceremony had even taken place.

Peter had been shooting on the final corner purely due to the strips of light that were crossing the track due to the low morning sun.  Our cameras take nine frames a second.  The whole accident is over within six frames.  Out of this tragedy, the only positive things to consider are that he died doing what he loved doing and his death was so fast, he would barely have even realised that it was happening.  Over the following days, the track would be scrutinised with extra safety walls put in place, padding wrapped around the steel pillars and competitors starting from lower positions on the track to slow them down.  The next morning, as I returned to the press room after a training session, I glanced down to the area where the crash had taken place and saw that Levan Gureshidze was standing in the spot where his team-mate had died.  As the last of the lugers completed their runs on the other side of the hastily-erected wall, he simply stood, looking at the pillar that had killed his friend.

After a couple of days of being the centre of attention and just as things were beginning to get back on track, Pete decided to reassign himself to editing duties by slipping on black ice and breaking his ankle, the second break he’s suffered in as many visits to Whistler.  With crutches now firmly welded to his side, the photo director in Vancouver decided to keep “TeamSledge” together as best as possible by allowing him to stay in Whistler to become our MacBitch.. sorry, “Editor”.  As it happens, it was actually a great result as now we knew that we had someone dedicated to editing our images who knew the course, knew how we were approaching our images and was on the same wavelength for new crops and ideas.

With so many spectators on the track attempting to capture the competitors as they hurtled past at astonishing speeds, it became a common event to be approached for information on how best to capture the action.  Unfortunately, there’s not a lot that you can say when the person asking you is trying to get the shot on a four-year old digital pocket camera with a three-second lag on the shutter.  As I was told before setting out to Whistler, after you’ve been shooting it for a while, you become attuned to the sounds rather than the actual arrival of the athlete and my burst rate soon dropped from 10+ frames to capture each pass down to a much more efficient (and professionally satisfying) two.

Being a keen follower of camera technology, I often read the gossip and rumors at NikonRumors and the build-up to the Winter Games had caused much activity on the site with requests posted on the site for all camera fans to be on the lookout for new equipment including prototype Nikon D4 bodies.  Being the nerd that I am, I’d already decided that I’d be looking out for one anyway but hadn’t then realised that the attention would be turned on me.  I normally tape my camera up anyway but had taped over all of the logos and model numbers on both my D3 and D3s.  Within a couple of days, a spectator sidled over to me, looking at my camera.  “So what model is that camera?” “This one?  Why do you ask?”  “Is it a D4?” “I’m sorry, bud. I really can’t talk about it..”  Despite my best efforts, I never made it to rumour site glory.. 

Canadians truly are a unique people.  After living in London for nearly seven years, I’ve become quite accustomed to the grunts, frowns and general unpleasantness that makes up daily life.  That made coming to Canada and experiencing the outright threateningly pleasant nature of everyone a severe shock.  Everyone is so nice that it feels like they’re actually joking at first.  If you sit down in a coffee shop, the person next to you just starts talking to you as though you’ve just met an old friend.  It’s such a pleasure but it has to be pointed out that after weeks of hard work and little rest, when you sit for your quiet morning coffee before rushing off to another long day, you begin to yearn for the solitude that London life can bring.  The annoying thing is that I know that when I am settled back in England again, I’ll be pining for some decency and manners from the general public.  Things get a bit odd when you meet resistance during work.  In London, there’s something satisfying about having a bit of a grumble with jobsworth-style security guards and PRs but there it made you feel as though you were punching a kitten if you snapped in any way.

Among the finest questions that I was asked by a passing spectator during the Games was, “Where do the bobsleighs start from? The top or the bottom?”  Admittedly, if they had started from the bottom, there would have been less crashes but I’m guessing viewing figures may have thinned out after a few days.  On the subject of crashes, I was reminded again how little the general public know about how the industry works after I caught the moment that a bobsleigh flipped over and passed over the Olympic ring logo.  Seeing the shot on the back of my camera, a spectator behind let out a gasp and patted me on the back with congratulations before asking me how many thousand dollars I’ll be getting for the shot.  Oh my, life would be good if it worked like that..

Thanks to colleague John D McHugh, before I left sunny London, I’d invested in a full set of Icebreaker Merino thermal clothing and I have to say that this stuff is a woolly miracle.  Now, I know this is really not a good thing to admit but one of the things that crossed my mind before heading out there was that I would very probably not have the time to do much laundry so it would be great to find clothing that looked after itself.  Cue the merino gear.  Seriously, I’m loathe to admit how long I wore that stuff for before it needed washing.  It’s incredible!  It keeps you warm, has no odour to it whatsoever and stays dry. Bravo, you intelligent New Zealand-based sheeps!

One of the unique aspects of working on major sporting events such as the Olympics is the use of remote-editing systems.  To those photographers out there who plan on working in the industry some day, this kind of technology comes as a bit of a shock after years of doing your own thing.  To cut a very long and complicated story down to size, at every key location at every venue, AFP came on-site before we arrived and laid ethernet cables from a main hub through to our photo positions.  Once we arrived and started shooting an important race or stage, we would connect our cameras to these cables via a Nikon WT-4 transmitter.  This means that as I work, whenever I shoot a frame that I like, I press two buttons on the back of the camera to mark the image and it is instantly transmitted to the editor a few miles away in the Whistler Media Centre where he can edit, caption and file the image straight away.  As you can imagine, this has both pros and cons.

On the plus side, the images are immediately out of your hands, leaving you free to concentrate on shooting the event.  Also, the editor will be in charge of captioning the pictures so aside from recording an audio-tag on any important images using the microphone on your camera, the hassle is taken totally out of your hands.  This leads to the negative side.  Unless you know your editor is capable of “seeing” the images within your pictures and trust he/she is capable of working on your images as you would yourself, it’s a hell of a worrying feeling to send your hard-won pictures off into the digital ether and just hope that they’ll go onto the news wire as you would like them to be seen.

With both Nikon and Canon in full attendance with workshops available throughout the Games to repair and service equipment for free, it was also a perfect opportunity to try out their new gear.  For me, the only real thing of interest was the new Nikon 70-200mm f2.8G ED VR II lens.  having already fired a few frames on this lens courtesy of Ian Gavan, I was absolutely over-joyed to get the chance to use one for the duration of my stay.  When AFP moved to Nikon, the 70-200mm was the only lens that really let the side down with a generally slow feel to it plus less-than staggering results.  The new incarnation is a totally different animal.  With pin-sharp follow focus, even when shooting lugers flying towards you from blind corners at 90mph+, the hit rate was near-perfect.  Time after time, the lens just nailed the images even during the late night sessions when the low light was forcing me to push the D3s up to 4000ISO.  A superb lens in every way.  It’s a cliche I know but the only thing that I didn’t like about the lens was that it wasn’t mine to keep.

After finding that I’d often have to shoot at speeds of up to 4000th of a second to truly freeze the action, I decided to go the other way and with an impromptu panning masterclass from Getty photographer Richard Heathcote, I was soon capturing the action with a greater sense of movement thanks to shutter speeds as low as a tenth of a second.  With these kind of low shutter speeds, it soon becomes clear which of the athletes are any good.  To complete the run in the fastest time, the best of the best will take a direct line through each corner with no wasted swerves to take away precious momentum.  These are the ones that make the best pans as you can predict their course through a known turn.  When it’s right, the only static item in the image should be the only thing that’s actually moving.  However, break out some of the lower-ranked teams and the pan becomes an experimental image of painted light and waves, all intentional of course.. 

On the final day, I had a day off but knew that wouldn’t last for very long as I had to go into the media centre to grab a Photoshop upgrade and as predicted, I was assigned to cover the fan reaction to the evening’s hockey match between Canada and the US.  With many people seeing the Olympics as just an opportunity for these two countries to get to play a grudge match, it was fitting that it came as the final event of the Games.  With thousands of people filling the streets of Vancouver, a space in the many bars and restaurants was impossible to find.  Large outdoor screens were erected on Robson Street in the Downtown area with crowds gathering outside shops to watch the game on monitors in the windows.

As you may have guessed from the pictures, Canada ended up beating their arch-rivals after taking the game to sudden-death.  Vancouver erupted.  The great side to the friendly and polite nature that I wrote about above is that, on winning, the celebrations were simply a massive burst of cheering and happiness.  Being British, I was prompted to high-five about 3 or 4 people and failed on every single one before giving up entirely and just shooting.  I can’t help but think that if England were to win the World Cup, their would be a threatening aggression to a lot of the celebrations that weren’t a factor over there.

After 22 days and with 11873 new frames to add to my archive, the assignment was over.  With one last get-together for those of us who’d been around Vancouver for the final night, we said our goodbyes and headed off in our different directions to all corners of the world.  It was a hell of a job with moments of fatigue, frustration, mental brick walls and photographic breakthroughs but I got to do what I love doing with a great team of people.  Bring on the next one!

The last time I was in Blackpool, I spent the day dashing between the “Haunted Swing” and the “Steeplechase” at Blackpool Pleasure Beach and building up the guts to go on the creaky looking “Grand National”.  Nineteen years later, I’m onstage at the Opera House in front of a few thousand people taking pictures of the Queen meeting Lady Gaga.  Slightly different.

As it was AFP’s turn to get the next job in the rotational pool system used to allow all of the main agencies equal chance to cover large events, I was “volunteered” to don the staff penguin suit for the Royal Variety Performance and head up North for a long evening of waiting around, followed by 15 minutes of stupidly high adrenaline as I battle to get the pictures then race to file ahead of newspaper deadlines.

Having expected to spend the night drumming my fingers in some tiny media room, it was a nice surprise to find that I was in the green room area with all of the acts.  The mood was fantastic with some of the performers saying that it was far better than in the opera house itself.  Dancers, crew and technicians sat with some of the main stars and watched the show on a large screen, laughing and applauding every act both on-screen and as they returned to the area after their performance.

Having moved into position to be collected for the frantic finale to the evening where I’d actually take my first official shots of the evening, I found myself chatting to some of the headliners with Bob Golding (the star of the one-man show “Morecambe“) and Michael Buble both proving to be top people.

My mum always asks me who the nice people are after I told her once how down-to-earth and friendly Paul O’Grady is and I can safely now add these chaps to the list of damned nice blokes.

An hour after the scheduled time, it was time for the artists to be presented to the Baked Bean and I was rushed out onto the stage behind the closed curtain.  Having been told that it was a solo pool and I was the only photographer, it was a little annoying to find an in-house photographer, a local press photographer and two ITV cameramen as well as Peter Wilkinson, the Buckingham Palace cameraman (another top chap), all struggling to get into the area that would really only fit two people comfortably.

With this wonderfully dignified bun-fight going on, the curtain was raised to reveal a few thousand suited people as the Queen wandered out to meet her entertainers.  It really is quite an experience to be crushed from both sides by people who are putting every ounce of strength they can find into pushing you aside while you very slowly walk backwards along a line of celebrity-types with the Queen a few feet in front of you, while simultaneously trying to concentrate on composition, exposure and flash settings.

Peter was whispering in one ear for me to look out for making sure we didn’t walk off the stage into the orchestra pit while an ITV in-house cameraman was whispering abusive threats for me to get out of the way into my other ear, all in front of a dinner-jacketed audience of thousands and the monarch.  Insanity.

After the frantic scrabbling for the picture, the frantic scramble to get the shots edited and filed began with newspapers already well over their usual deadlines and the main agencies all waiting for the pictures for international clients.  As should be expected on a night like this, the 3g signal that had been oh so good earlier on was now flaky and intermittent so I soon found myself pulling the minute remaining hairs from my head with frustration.  If there’s one thing that winds me up, it’s when an inanimate object that has been designed and sold to do one task fails to do it.  Anything that I’ve ever broken has been shortly after it decided to get temperamental at an important moment.  *looks at technology all around me with threatening stare*

Anyway, enough rambling.  By midnight, the job was over and I could head back to my hotel, somewhat frazzled.  It turns out that I ended up on a rollercoaster this time after all.

The Royal Variety Performance 2009 will be broadcast in the UK on ITV on Wednesday, 16 December between 7.30pm and 10pm.

Another year, another Erotica exhibition at London’s Olympia centre.  Having covered this event four times, it’s actually become quite a challenge to get something that’s both different from previous years and is acceptable for publication on the news wire.

While horrible nastiness and the carnage from Middle Eastern suicide blasts often makes it’s way straight to the wire, porn and sex can cause real problems if the images crop up in a country that frowns on that sort of thing so the subject has to be approached in a manner that shows everything without showing anything.  Simple, eh?

As it happens, this year’s task was much easier to do due to the fact that the show was about one third of it’s usual size, despite tickets having sold out.  With 75,000 people expected to visit over three days, the exhibition space seemed very empty.  Rather than the usual stands full of models and porn-stars signing promotional posters and DVDs, the show was more focused on toys, clothes and “equipment”, as it were.  If this is down to the recession, it’s interesting that the adult industry is usually named as one area of business that would not be affected by the global financial crisis but it’s clearly beginning to catch up on all quarters.

The stage show also seemed to be very similar to previous years, but was saved by some very talented acrobats and performers. I guess that the show can’t feature the kind of thing that the stalls are selling so instead it goes along the burlesque route. One break from the routine came from the performer in photos #3 and #8 who displayed a hardcore exfoliation method by bouncing around in a bath of broken glass.  Nice.

You would think that the tabloids would be all over this like a hairy bear every year but the next day saw nothing in there from any photographer, never mind my shots.  My only hit from the play report of image usage around the world that I get to see was of photo #1 in an Indian newspaper.  Who’d have thought that the UK papers would avoid the chance to show some flesh?  It just goes to show that nothing is ever guaranteed when picture editors are involved!

With my fourth year now under my belt, I think it’s time for a break from the Erotica show for a few years.  While providing more interesting pictures than the usual stake-out in the rain, I think I may have reached my limit of shooting semi-naked pole-dancers. Now THERE’S a phrase I never thought I’d see myself write..

In full JFK-style, I became “ein Berliner” when I flew over to Germany last week to work with the Berlin bureau in the coverage of the celebrations and events surrounding the twentieth anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall.  Never having visited Berlin before, I had the usual mixture of anticipation and nerves with the combination of worrying about working under deadline in a new city mixing with the excitement of covering a big event and working in new locations.  Having done a handful of this kind of foreign assignment in the past, it always pays to remember that within a few hours, I’ll be up and running but with this job, I was out of the hotel within minutes.

In what I class as the perfect mixture in a brief, I was asked to assist Berlin staff photographer John MacDougall with the planned events but also to get out there and shoot as many features as I could find.  What better way to get to know a city than to be ordered to go out, explore and record what you see?  With Berlin, there was always going to be the niggling feeling in the back of my mind that the photographers out here have been taking pictures of an inanimate wall now for years so it was naive to think I’d come away with ground-breaking material.  Still, the Israel election assignment at the start of 2009 reminded me that a “tourist” can sometimes see things a little differently so I tried to avoid doing too much research on what had already been shot.

A fun start to the assignment was having the chance to join the Trabi Safari around Berlin, where tourists get to jump into their individual classic Trabant car and follow a convoy around the sights and memorable locations of the city, with my particular tour following the original route of the wall.

Now I realise that the Trabant is a cult classic but they really aren’t that comfortable.  As the German journalist who was driving my car for the first time, hit the brakes for the first time, I nearly went through the screen as it appears that the braking system is essentially a button ie they’re either off or fully engaged.  Smooooth.

After visiting the remains of the original wall on Bernauer Strabe (above), I headed further North to Mauer Park and found a real treat for anyone visiting Berlin.  In the main area, buskers, artists and entertainers line the paths while a mobile karaoke system was set up in the “Bearpit” area, gathering an audience of hundreds who laughed applauded and sang along with whoever got up.  Just above them on the hill, a stretch of wall has become a hub for graffiti artists who work away on their own sections throughout the day.  Back down towards the road, a man created massive bubbles for kids to chase after and behind him, a market selling home-cooked food, secondhand collectibles and handmade artwork wove it’s way around itself in a warren of stalls.  Crashing out in the corner of a coffee tent, I edited my pictures as the evening came on.  A great place that everyone should check out.

With Monday being the official twentieth anniversary date, it started with a nice moral boost as word came from London that one of my shots from the previous night, of a woman walking among the foam dominos in Berlin, had made the front page of The Guardian.  Hurrah!  As part of the official events, these rows of dominos had been painted by school children and were toppled by various dignitaries to symbolise how the fall of the wall in Berlin caused a chain reaction, bringing down political divides throughout Europe.  Take THAT, Communism!

So Monday’s first job had Mikhail Gorbachev attending the unveiling of a bust of himself and allowed me to get my first shots of the man himself.  Having looked decidedly unimpressed with the bust, he then proceeded to make his speech and immediately leave the building, refusing to shake hands or sign autographs for any of the smiling guests.

I guess you can change the world and still remain a grumpy chap, I guess but I’d hoped he’d be a little more approachable.  Still, wherever we went, the crowds were only chanting for one man.  Thankfully, Henry Kissinger was far more open to meeting the people and rightly so as he was thoroughly rested after sleeping through the whole ceremony on the front row.  Bravo.

At the Bornholmer Strabe bridge, one of the official events of the day was the symbolic bridge crossing by old happy chops himself Gorby, German Chancellor Angela Merkel and former Polish President Lech Walesa.  Following their crossing, they would make their speeches before continuing on their way to the other side.

In a rather shocking example of German inefficiency (yes, INefficiency), the planned clear area was soon swamped with punters with pocket cameras, ruining the lovely clear planned shot.  Fighting my way to the front, I managed to get a shot of all three of them holding a photo of people crossing the bridge on the night itself, twenty years previously.  After scrambling, fighting and pushing my way in the crowds, the VIPs were whisked away, leaving a large crowd of photographer looking at each other with bewildered looks on their faces.  Worse still, one photographer managed to have a 300mm f2.8 lens stolen by the celebrating masses.  Grrr…

As the evening arrived, the official ceremony began and I ended up shooting official arrivals of the leaders in the French embassy (which could have been good but proved to be a waste of time) and found myself shooting the Brandenburg Gate events. Unfortunately this was from the wrong side due to the other position being taken by the local staff photographer.  As the rain continued to come and go, the spectators watched the official celebrations, speeches and fireworks but by the time the end came, the crowds had already thinned.  While the weather had claimed a percentage of them, there was also a real feeling that the celebrations hadn’t been focused enough on the people.

While dignitaries, leaders and celebrities congratulated each other on their success in ending Communism, the public were kept at a safe distance, behind twin layers of security barriers.  While I totally understand the need for this during the speeches by Sarkozy, Merkel, Medvedev and the rest of the political heavyweights, once they were tucked up in their bunkers again, the public should have been allowed in to celebrate in their own way, under the famous gates.  As is the way with nearly all of this kind of event in current times, the whole evening left the feeling that it was created to be enjoyed at home on tv, with the spectators that did make the effort used as a backdrop for the cameras.  I think it might be time for another revolution.

Yesterday, I was put on “Climate Camp” watch along with fellow AFP photographer and good friend Shaun Curry.  Following a few days of media hype with demonstrators refusing to give any information on their planned camp site location and the police offering “community-style” policing if the demonstrators were prepared to cooperate, we both went to our pre-arranged meeting points. With seven groups announced on the group’s website, I headed to the headquarters of Rio Tinto where the 70 or so protestors sat around waiting until we finally got the go-ahead and travelled via tube and train to the mystery final destination.  Before we started to move, all of the media were handed “guidelines” and here is where my annoyance begins.  While economic and environmental protest groups were falling over themselves to get images and video from members of the media following the recent trouble at the Mayday demonstrations in central London, they were now imposing their own rules.  It seems that as long as the footage shows evidence of police errors, the media is their friend.

With an official but smaller version available here, I’ll just pick a few choice highlights for you.  Firstly, it should be pointed out that the eventual destination and current climate camp is on Blackheath which is public common land.  This means that it’s open for the public to access and enjoy at all times.

You will be accompanied by an assigned camper during that time, who will ensure that both campers and journalists are kept happy, and can ensure that consent is obtained from people being filmed and photographed.

Outside of these hours, there will also be a particular spot close to the entrance to which TV crews can be escorted to do interviews.

What? So in a public area that has been cordoned off with temporary fencing by the protest groups, we have to ask permission to access this land which will only be granted between certain hours (10:00-16:00) and only if guided by a steward?  On the plus side, for some reason this year’s occupation doesn’t feel as insane as last year where the group illegally occupied land by the side of Heathrow airport and THEN started telling the media when we were allowed to come onto their land and to respect their rights and not to try to come onto their land at any other times.

Certain neighbourhoods and work spaces may decide to ‘opt out’ of the media access policy, and no journalists of any kind should go to these spaces in any kind of capacity. This is not because these areas have ‘anything to hide’ but because the camp process respects the right of those neighbourhoods and working groups who don’t feel comfortable engaging with the media. Our ability to provide wider access to the camp depends on us being able to respect the decision of these groups to opt out like this. Journalists will be informed by the media team on arrival which neighbourhoods and spaces have opted out. The neighbourhoods that opt out may change during the week.

Again, I’m not allowed to go to certain areas of this publicly-owned land because some people have decided that the laws that cover media access and control for every other part of society aren’t quite good enough for them.  However, if they decide that they now want publicity, they have the right to suddenly beckon the journalists in to record their experiences.

In another sheet, we are also told that “you must display your press badge at all times“.  The logic behind this is that “if you’re identifiable as a press journalist..then you’ll find it easier to get an insight into the camp”.  So it’s fine to retain your anonymity if you’re a protestor but not if you’re media.  ID cards anyone?

The guide goes on to say that “if you want to take a picture or video and it includes people, always always ask first.  If you can’t ask, don’t take the picture“  Again, UK law says if someone is in public and not on private property and as long as they’re over 16, you’re free to take whatever pictures you want.  This is a part of UK law that should be protected to the end as without this, how does the media hope to get a picture of anyone?  As soon as controls of this type are introduced, our hands are effectively tied.  The fact that these restrictions are trying to be enforced by “Smash the System” ecological and financial protestors would be hilarious if it wasn’t so stupid.  I was shooting for about ten minutes before I was told to stop.  When I enquired why, I was told I had to ask everyone first.  I told him that I didn’t and he informed me that camp policy was to strongly request me to ask first.  I informed him that I’d officially heard his strong request and chosen to ignore it.  I carried on shooting, he stopped talking.  Grrr..

For further reading on this situation, check out Jonathan Warren’s blog here.

Now after reading all of that, the last thing that I want you to think is that I’m some Neo-Con Littlejohn fan.  Far from it, I would hate people to grow up and live their lives thinking that they were unable to change the things in the world that they disagreed with.  The feeling that you can change the world is such a vital thing for everyone to feel at some point in their lives whether it’s for a phase during the College/University years or for their whole lives.  My problem comes from organisations believing that they have the right to cry that the world’s not fair and then bring in rules and regulations that are far tighter than the governing bodies that they rebel against.

At home, I have eco-bulbs, I reuse my shopping bags, I never use the standby function on my tv and I use public transport.  However, I now really feel like buying a Hummer..

With their trademarked sense of understatement, U2 set up camp in Wembley Stadium for a two-night residency and I managed to get into the first night to see what subtle delights they had to offer on their 360° tour.  Running over 2009-10, the tour is expected to include up to 100 shows all over the world.  In a rather nice touch, the band have agreed to donate all of the three stages they’re currently using to various cities as permanent gig venues.  It’ll certainly be quite an upgrade to the Dog and Partridge pub.

Due to the unique design of their massive stage, the band managed to break the previous attendance record set by the Foo Fighters with both days combined figure topping 177,000.  That’s a lot of people to bombard with tickets, merchandise and gubbins.  Still, it beats the dodgily-dressed PRs outside the venue, flogging their U2 branded phones from display stands all down the concourse.  In the days since the show, it has seemed as though half the people I see in town are wearing tour shirts.  Kerchinggg!

Despite never having been into U2, I can still see the appeal of going to such massively orchestrated shows and even with little interest in the music, it’s an experience to see such a well choreographed set (or at least the first three songs).  The pre-show briefing warned us of rotating bridges to dodge and key points where the band come together and members would cross onto the ego-ramps closer to the photo-pit so there were no nasty surprises.  The only band I’ve ever shot that were more choreographed were the Rolling Stones, oddly enough.  That was pretty exceptional though with the pre-show briefing including “at the end of track two, Mick will move to the left of the stage, wave to the crowd and remove his jacket”.  Further evidence that the band are actually dead and now entirely animatronic.. 

Having only had the chance to see the first three songs, it was surprising how little the band were using the “in-the-round” capabilities  but I’ll assume that along with the choreography, rules had been put forward of staying in a group for the photographers benefit.  I like to think that someone thinks of us chaps!  On a connected note, when I was confirmed as a photographer for the show, I was asked whether I wanted the short or long position; the short being right in front of them and the long being on a 400mm to get an overall view of the stage.  I opted for short and even then I had to stick a 1.4x converter onto my 70-200 to get close to a full-length!  For any photographers shooting later shows in the tour, take your 400mm whichever pit you’re in..

Rather frustratingly, as we were being ushered out, Bono ventured across the ramps to where we had been standing and so I had a second to grab this last one as I was shoved through the pit by security.  Hurray for flukes and luck!

In a further attempt to remind myself how out of shape I currently am, I volunteered to cover the World Freerunning Championships in Trafalgar Square.  Having shot the preview for last year’s event at the Roundhouse, I was reasonably prepared for what to expect but seeing it up close was something else.

A small portion of my brain has convinced itself for no reason that both freerunning and parkour are activities I could do if I put my mind to it so as long as I never actually try it, the illusion can remain.  I guess it comes from wanting to be as undeniably cool as these guys!

When you see gimps limping down the street, desperately trying to exude that special something, it looks decidedly crap when compared to what today’s competitors have mastered.  The added element that sets it apart is how competitive yet supportive they are to each other.  Before each run, the waiting competitors applaud and hug the next one up.  During each run, the others follow what the current runner is doing and cheer as they try new things. Knowing how the fear-mongering members of the media like to characterize male teenagers and young adults as a dangerous threat, it’s satisfying to see living proof of their ignorance.

Anyway, enough rambling nonsense.  Despite the fact that the stage designers and health & safety bods seemed to have got together beforehand to work out how to make the backgrounds to any photos as messy as possible, it was still possible to get a few clean shots with certain crops and angles.  The next problem with this type of event is that the runs appear to be improvised on the spot so there’s no way of knowing what wall they’ll leap off or block they’ll somersault over.  Combined, these factors mean you get a reasonable amount of exercise leaping up and down to try and get the right position as they look as though they’re heading towards your pre-scouted sweet-spots.

My favourite line of the day came from the biog of German freerunner Jason Paul who said that his ultimate goal in life is “to live a life you could base a really awesome movie on.”  Marvellous.

The day ended on a patriotic note with British entry Tim ‘Livewire’ Shieff crowned as the 2009 champion. American film and music video star Victor ‘Showtime’ Lopez took the silver with Jason Paul of awesome life-story fame continuing his epic by taking bronze.  Bravo, chaps.

After the love and peace of Glastonbury 2009 comes the angst, anger and aggression of the Sonisphere rock festival at Knebworth.

Featuring rock and metal bands ranging from veteran British groups “Saxon” and “Heaven and Hell” through to the latest young bands from around the world such as “Airbourne” and “The Defiled”, it saw the usually sedate Knebworth estate turned into a mecca of metal.

On a much smaller scale than Glasto, Sonisphere aims to cater purely for rock and metal fans although the inclusion of “Bjorn Again” and a semi-acoustic travelling minstrel group called called “Blaas of Glory” performing rock covers in the billing didn’t illicit the onslaught of “piss bombs” that I’d half expected.

Highlight of the weekend by a country mile for me was Anthrax. Having grown up on them, it was fantastic to be able to shoot them again, then head straight into the crowd to enjoy the atmosphere.

The emergency drafting of former singer John Bush resulted in a hastily compiled Bush-era setlist but that certainly wasn’t a problem for me. As ever Scott Ian looked the perfect example of rock coolness.

Having enjoyed shooting the features aspect of previous festivals, I thought I’d do the same here and found a few little amusements but on the whole, the general crowd was far too well-behaved.  Obviously matters were different in the mosh pit..

Having not really followed all that’s going on in the rock world, I had to get a few tips from various people with the advice to go and see Canadian group “Fucked Up” a bit of a gem.  For those not in the know, lead singer Father Damien spends the show setting fire to his chest hair, igniting aerosols and falling all over the crowd.  Scars on his forehead demonstrate how the bands performances usually end up.  The fact that he’s a BIG fella makes quite a sight too.  Now when this is combined with half of the audience being there for the decidedly tamer rock group “Thunder”, the clash was rather fun..

One of my favourite finds of the weekend came with a chance spotting of this tattoo.  I really need to know what the story is.  Surely it can’t have been intentional?

Having no idea on the security arrangements on-site, I decided to book into a hotel which proved rather pointless as I ended up having to drive 19 miles to reach it.  Home was only 29 miles from the festival site.  Doh.

Which leads me to the main point of the weekend, Metallica.  If you’re going to shoot a festival, everything naturally acts as a build-up to the main event. On both days, I’d filed shots of people wearing Metallica shirts as Knebworth prepared for the headliners to take to the stage but when the time came, the bands management decided to block agency access.  Newspaper photographer?  Fine, come on in.  Agency?  Nope.  It just leaves me baffled every time this happens.  Why do bands think that agencies are automatically going to start making illegal copies of t-shirts while the Daily Mail will want to run a photo-set of a heavy metal band?  I was angry about it last night but today I’m just confused.  If anyone has any idea what the logic is, please let me know.

Having had a lot of my Glastonbury festival shots on the Boston Globe’s “Big Picture” site, I wasn’t sure how to put this blog together as I didn’t want to just repeat shots that a lot of people have already seen.  In the end, I’ve decided to go for a mix of some of my personal faves, some that I’ve had good feedback on and one particular shot that even I can’t stop giggling at whenever I see or even think about.  More on that one later..

The weekend started on Wednesday and after setting up Camp Tabasco, it was out and about to see what’s new since last year and to catch some weather pics while the sun was still out.

With previous experiences of virtual trench foot and apocalyptic devastation, I always try to catch the blue sky when it’s there.  There does seem to be something about Worthy Farm that causes a unique weather system to hover over the area whenever an amp is plugged in.

The evening drifted on and the floating candle lights were soon appearing up at the stone circle and fading off into the clear night sky.  For anyone who’s never been before, one of my snippets of advice is to head up to the stone circle on your first night without looking back.  When you reach the top, turn round and remember that every light that you can see is part of the festival, not some nearby city.  Incredible.

One of the many reasons that I love Glastonbury so much is the feeling that whenever you go out for a wander, you are guaranteed to come back with a set of pictures of the most unusual and bizarre people such as the woman pushing around a stuffed dead dog wearing a sombrero in a pram. Class. The only downside to this is that it’s so hard to actually “sign-off” for the day.  I find that I shoot all day and when the music’s finished, I carry on shooting but in “shooting for me” mode.  It’s a fine (if not entirely non-existent) line.

The first act this year was Maximo Park on the Thursday night at the Queen’s Head bar.  This in itself was unusual as normally the music only runs from Friday to Sunday.  As you can imagine, 60,000 on site by this point and one average-sized marquee playing music.  Cue chaos.  The show was delayed by 20 minutes after a few people were trampled during the dash to get to the front when they finally opened the doors.

The media area is still backstage (between the Pyramid and Other stages) but the hospitality camping is now on the old cinema field which was a bit of a pain but it did make sure that you got to actually get away from the backstage area and see the festival.  When I last worked at Glasto, the media camping was in the same field as the press area and a lot of the photographers never left the field.  When Kate Moss and Peter Doherty are wandering around, a lot of the celebrity guys hardly had to leave their tents to get a picture!

This year started off beautifully on the Wednesday but then “the fear” started to spread when thunder and lightning skimmed the site on the Thursday night.  My first attempts at trying to shoot lightning failed miserably but thankfully not as badly as a photographer from Getty who killed two Canon 5dmk2 bodies in the downpour.  Ouch.

With the mud came the traditional japes and blitz mentality including the guy above who was carrying four litres of lager around one ankle, in what I can only guess was an attempt to free up his hands and keep it cool in the puddles and mud he walked through.  Why he put it all on one leg is beyond me though.  By today, he must have a left leg like a bodybuilder and will be having to constantly stop himself walking in circles.

As the evening wore on, the first signs of the big story of the weekend started to appear. I received a text news alert saying that Michael Jackson had been rushed to hospital.  Soon, as fellow photographer Ian Gavan and myself walked along the old railway line, we were passing more and more groups saying that he was dead.  Among these we heard “Janet Jackson’s dead” and “Jackson Lane’s (?) dead”. At first we put it off as a rumour but when it got to a certain point, we realised we should check it out.  Cue a call from me to Ms. Mavric and one from him to his Mrs. to check the headlines.  Blimey.  I can say I was at the gates of Shangri-la when I heard that the King of Pop was officially dead.

By the next morning, the panic was on to get some sort of picture that could connect the massive news to the Glastonbury festival.  After an early wake-up call from the picture desk, I headed out for a quick scout and only managed to find a couple of pieces of graffiti but then hit onto the idea of checking out the t-shirt stalls.  Having noticed a sign on the first day offering “print your own shirts”, I headed back there and after convincing the owner that he wouldn’t get into copyright trouble if I took pictures of him at work, he allowed me into the back of his van where he was just about to print the first “MICHAEL JACKSON IS DEAD” shirt.  After getting the pictures out, I headed past again to find that he’d branched out a little and strayed across the copyright line this time but by this point he was happy to be photographed.

Back to the music. As photographers know, the deal at concerts is “first three songs, no flash” but this time, the Health and Safety had sunk their teeth in and we all had to wear ear-plugs. No-one really questioned it but its a bit odd when you block your ears for 12 minutes of music while the festival-goers two metres behind you have been stood at the front for 7 hours without them.  A friend of mine got a shot of Lily Allen carrying a little girl backstage and when editing the shots, found the kid had a mouthful of them so they had some use after all..

Of the sets I shot, the most photogenic was probably Lady Gaga although I can’t say I’m particularly impressed by the music.  It all sounds a bit too much like a more commercial version of Peaches to me.  However, there’s no denying her stage presence and the three songs we got to shoot saw rotating plinths, reflective cocoons and all sorts of randomness.

After shooting and wiring the music from the main stage, I love to go and wander around as many fields as I can cover with my Nikon D3 and the new 50mm f1.4G lens. I took two flashes to Glastonbury with me and never used them once in the end.  Shooting at 3200 is perfectly usable for the night shots. I’d love to get hold of a 24mm f1.4 too but can’t afford it at the moment. *Hopes random generous Nikon salesperson is reading* 

As soon as the music finishes on the main stage, the green fields and Trash City area get rammed as 100,000 of the 150,000 revellers head to the narrow alleyways and paths, looking for after-hours entertainment. With the old rail line at a standstill, the back routes always prove to be quicker and, again, will present you with the most beautiful sights.

The glowing pathway (above) was spotted by fellow photographer Mark Large as we wandered up to the Stone Circle (below).

With morning comes the hunt for more features and random beauties to grace the Nation’s pages.  As I previously said, it’s always easy enough to find the unusual here with today being no exception.

I never quite managed to work out what the score was with the “bride” below as she was there with her bridesmaids but I’m sure she said her bloke was at home so I can only guess it was deemed to be a good choice of clothing for Glastonbury’s famous mud-baths!

The evening ended with Bruce Springsteen headlining the main stage and, after a few problems with restricted numbers into the pit, the fantastic press team in the media tent got me in.  Unfortunately, we had the choice of stage right or stage left.  Having opted for right, I then discovered that this was where the camera boom arm was positioned and spent the whole of the three tracks running up and down my stepladders in an attempt to shoot under or over the damned thing.  Grrr..

After seeing some stunning shots by Guardian photographer Martin Godwin of enthusiastic dancers in the dance village, I decided to head down there in the evening.  Aside from missing the climax of the “2 Many DJs” set by seconds (including the ticker tape, streamers, strobes and assorted photogenic bounty), I managed to stumble across a few frames including what I can only describe as an extra from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre stood, stationary, in the corner. Sober or not, I still wouldn’t particularly like to bump into him on a darkened dancefloor.

Every year, the festival has a “guilty pleasure” style slot on the main “Pyramid” stage with acts such as Rolf Harris, Shirley Bassey and Tony Bennett playing previous events.  This year the honour went to Status Quo and I have to say that despite the crowds turning out en masse, the band looked unimpressed.  Having read an interview with them before where they’d said that they didn’t like Glastonbury and wouldn’t be staying to watch anyone else, it came across very much as a case of take the money and run.  Boo hiss..

With Sunday afternoon came my personal musical highlight of the weekend with British ska band Madness. Having grown up on them (even to the point of taking an album cover into the hairdressers when I was 10 to get my hair cut like the drummer), it was a real pleasure to shoot them but even more fun when I went out into the crowd with another photographer and could enjoy the incredible atmosphere out there.  It’s great to have a band that play top songs with such a strong back catalogue that everyone can sing along to.  Bravo, chaps.

With newspaper deadlines looming, the next mission was to try to get some pre-emptive scenes of the devastation that would be left for the clean-up crews to deal with in the morning.  With headliners Neil Young and Bruce Springsteen out of the way and only a handful of bands left, some were starting to gather their gear and head for the exits.  Every year, it amazes me how much stuff is left behind. Arriving with brand new tents and chairs and sleeping bags, a certain percentage of the people seem to just up-sticks and go. It’s a real shame as the festival is the largest green fields festival in the world and it’s only through respecting the farm that it will be able to continue in the future.

On a completely different subject and going back to the picture I was talking about in the opening paragraph, I’d had an idea in my head for the last few years of going on how to shoot the toilets.  In no other job does the picture desk ring you and specifically ask for shots of the latrines but Glasto is different.  The long-drops are the stuff of legend.  With myths of seat collapses combined with the very probable chance of dropping your phone down them, it really is a sight to behold.  The usual picture that’s been done to death is the rows of wellington boots under the doors.  Pish to that, thinks I so I shot the picture below.  After loading it onto my screen and realising that I’d actually caught two people “in action” as it were, I decided that it probably wasn’t likely to be printed in a national paper so kept it for this blog.  Before you ask how I got it, don’t.

Sunday’s headline act on the Pyramid was recently reformed British pop group Blur who apparently went on to play a blinding set.  Unfortunately, the festival rumour mill was in full effect with word being whispered around all day that Justin Timberlake was on site and would be appearing as a special guest with The Black Eyed Peas.  As the BEP were onstage shortly after Blur, there was a mass exodus of photographers across the site to the jazz stage to catch what would surely be in every paper the following day.

You can pretty much guess where this is leading, I’m sure.  In the end, we came, we saw, we saw some more, then they left the stage.  No special appearance.  No JT.  Bah..

With the bands all in the bag, all that was left to get was the last few minutes of the festival before Monday morning’s carnage on the roads began.  The stalls began their half-price sales and the food kiosks began to pack up shop. People walked slowly across the main field with their heads down, looking for lost treasure and mobile phones. Fire crews wandered across the site, putting out the remains of camp fires as they smouldered.

To some people, this place will probably sound like hell but I can honestly say, it’s one of my favourite places on earth.  Bring on next year.

With tonight’s news that Works and Pensions Secretary James Purnell has quit his position in the Cabinet and released an open letter to various newspapers calling on British Prime Minister Gordon Brown to quit, it reminds me how fascinating this job can be.

The news from Westminster over the last few weeks has been slowly gaining momentum with the area around the Houses of Parliament full of sat-trucks, scurrying photographers and gossiping journalists.  It’s times like these when I really do savour being able to witness the true “breaking news” aspect of journalism in London.  Text alerts from news services throughout the day keep a close track on events with photographers and journalists sharing further rumours of reshuffles, rebellions and resignations.

In Downing Street, the feeling of change and uncertainty is being thoroughly nurtured by the political media (damn them!)  While covering the Cabinet meeting arrivals on Tuesday, a BBC producer known commonly as “Gobby” called out to Ministers asking if they were enjoying their last day and greeting Children & Schools Minister Ed Balls with “Good Morning, Chancellor!” (a position that he’s apparently always wanted).

Having counted all the key figures in, the photographers all rushed to their laptops to edit and wire the images, checking wiki pages and Government sites for official job titles and names of lesser known faces.  When editing a reasonable quantity of arrivals, it’s important to prioritise the pictures that are edited to make sure that the faces of the moment get out first.  With this in mind, any gossip, facts and rumours are put to the test to make sure that the story of the day isn’t the one person you didn’t bother filing!

With Jacqui Smith announcing that she will step down from the position of Home Secretary at the imminent reshuffle, Hazel Blears resigning her position of Communities Secretary and now James Purnell resigning and openly attacking the Prime Minister, opposition parties can clearly smell blood.  With Brown looking to be out of control of events, the Cabinet reshuffle was set to be his opportunity to assert authority on his struggling party.  With resignations now coming with frightening regularity and other Ministers openly saying that they don’t want to leave their current positions, his wings appear clipped and it really is looking like a change will come soon.

Purnell’s resignation will at least get all of the whispers into the open with those with their eyes on the leaders position having to decide whether to take a stand.  Following his failed attempt at a leadership bid last year, it will be very interesting to see whether Foreign Secretary David Milliband (a friend of James Purnell) sees this as his second chance.  I’ve photographed Health Secretary Alan Johnson a few times now and have always found him to be a decent chap so I’ll be very interested  to see what moves he makes over the coming days.

I’m not a particularly major New Labour fan but I was looking forward to having a Prime Minister that would ignore the image and spin-led politics of the previous period under Tony Blair but it looks like Brown’s chance to shine will be cut short.

Having talked to someone who has worked with David Cameron a reasonable amount, its depressing to hear that he described him as being very similar to Tony Blair in style, mannerisms and attitude.  If the country does take the predicted course of voting Conservative at the next election, it looks like we could be heading back into the wonderful world of soundbite politics once more.  Joy.