As promised/threatened in my previous post, AFP sent me off for a week in Ireland, covering the blistering story that was putting all that was happening in North Africa in the shade; the Irish election. (Cue lightning strike)

Based at Bewley’s hotel in Ballsbridge (fnarr), I was well positioned for the vote count that would be coming at the end of the week but somewhat cut off from the world for every day up to that point.  Thankfully, Roly’s bistro provided some top nosh for me to enjoy, sat in my room like Alan Partridge in his “Travel Tavern”.

So on with the work then.  As seems to be the norm when it comes to this type of assignment, I spent the days leading up to my flight trying to work out who was who and why I should take their picture.  For those who share my ignorance of Irish politics, there are quite a few phrases to get your head round ranging from the parties in play (Fianna Fáil, Fine Gael, Labour, Sinn Féin) to the actual job title that they were fighting for (“Taoiseach” which, confusingly, is pronounced “Tea-Shack”).

On completing my first job, I quickly hit the little snag of transmission.  Even though I was just over that little bit of water called the Irish Sea, neither my Vodafone or T-Mobile USB sticks would work.  Boo…  After being quoted €50 in the o2 store, I then struck lucky at “Meteor”.  Never having heard of them, I was stunned when I ended up with a new USB dongle and a weeks credit for €10!  That’s about £8!

One of my jobs in the build up to polling day was to head north of Dublin to catch up with Gerry Adams as he canvassed a housing estate.  Readers of my generation may be able to relate when I say that this was actually quite an odd meeting.  Growing up in the 80s, the news would invariably feature Adams in connection with the troubles in Northern Ireland.  On top of this association, British media rules banned the tv stations from broadcasting his voice so, unbelievably, you’d have video footage of him speaking to the BBC reporter in English, but the sound had to be removed and replaced with an actor reading out exactly the same words.  For those who remember it, Living God Chris Morris parodied the lunacy of this perfectly in “The Day Today”.  By now, you should be getting an idea of how alien and taboo this guy appeared to the average young viewer.  Flash forward a few years and I’m following him round a grim housing estate and shaking his hand after an impromptu few seconds in front of the camera .  If you’d told the 9 year old me that at some point in the future, I’d be “shooting” Gerry Adams down an alley, just north of Dublin, I think I may have gone and lived in a cave for fear of reprisals.

While shooting in Ireland, I came across a photographer a number of times who I initially thought was taking the piss, but soon realised was the living embodiment of old-school press photography.  Thankfully, I didn’t get his name so don’t feel the need to censor myself but every time he appeared at a job, I was mesmerised by how he approached the job at hand.  The two examples that spring to mind were firstly in Dublin, after the man who was likely to form the next coalition Government had finished a serious press conference with the nation’s media, the snapper got Eamon Gilmore to lean out from behind a floral display and wave at the camera.  The terrifying thing is that he did it.  Reuters photographer Darren Staples and I were just looking at each other in disbelief.  Secondly, on the day of the count, whenever a result came in, he was at the front of the pack, ordering the newly elected politician to be lifted up onto the shoulders of his colleagues to wave at the camera, whether they liked it or not.  Coming from London where the SLIGHTEST hint of setting up a news picture is a cardinal sin, it was actually really enjoyable to watch someone working in a more traditional style.  There aren’t many around like that anymore.

Like many events, the Irish election was only going to be covered in one way in the international media; voting nuns.  While the local photographers cursed the idea and desperately fought to avoid the clichés, I’m afraid I dove in with both feet.  After a five hour wait with little action, suddenly a Toyota Yaris appeared around the corner and…  Nun Strike!™

While waiting at the polling station for the nunslaught to begin, I got chatting to the Garda (policeman) that was standing outside.  On asking if local resident and former Taoiseach Bertie Ahern would be arriving with a police escort, he chuckled at the idea and went on to explain what the best way for me to “take him out” would be, if I so wanted.  In disturbing detail, he told me where “the hit” drank every Friday, where he sat and even told me where the best position to base myself would be to use the rifle with scope.  Now this guy clearly wasn’t suggesting I did this but it was just another example of how relaxed people are out here of sharing their thoughts.  A number of journalists that I talked to over the week were astounded at how brutally honest the politicians were about their own shortcomings and the errors of their party.  It certainly makes a difference from the British political leaders and their microsecond of processing they do before answering any questions in the eternal chess game with the media.

Unlike elections in the UK where counting gets under way as soon as the doors close, Irish politics differs in that everyone gets to go home and have a good night’s sleep, returning the following morning to begin the count.  While this extra night of waiting will probably be responsible for shortening the life-expectancy of many hopeful politicians over the years, it makes some sense in that the ballot counters get to hit the task with fresh eyes and a clear brain.

Having said that, I’m not sure that it was vital to have the venue’s bar open at 9am.

With the early results showing the polls to be heading in the predicted direction, Enda Kenny flew back from his constituency to talk to supporters in Dublin.  With no definite confirmation of what his plans were, it resulted in a few hours of uncertainty where to actually be but eventually, news came from his press team that they’d be at a party at a hotel in the centre of town.  On his arrival, a reasonably vicious bun-fight greeted him as he tried to make his way through the hotel foyer and into the conference room.  These situations are never helped by members of the public standing right in the middle of the route and then freaking out when the slowly-approaching fist-fight eventually reaches them.  I always try to warn people that it’s a good idea to move, but only about half do.  The rest end up being pushed, hit, jostled and even trampled.  At least we’re getting paid to be in the middle of it!  I guess it’s an experience to talk about in the pub though.

With his speech over and Obama’s oratory title remaining unchallenged, the job for me was complete.  With the long task of forming a stable coalition only just beginning, I headed back to my hotel to pack my up my toys.  With the refreshing honesty and media-friendly approach of the politicians over here making a startling change, it’s good to know that there are places out there that don’t rely so heavily on the polished personalities and media coaching of other country’s elections.  In that way, despite the lack of world interest, I guess you could say it was a real vote winner.

Within hours of returning from the heaven on earth that is Villa Cenami, I was up in Manchester for the annual Labour Party Conference, preceded this year by a knife fight to the death between rival candidates hoping to become the new party leader.  With a brief speech by the previous Guvnor, Gordon Brown, it was on with the inordinately drawn-out process of announcing the winner.

While TV shows like “Who Wants to be a Millionaire?” and “X Factor” think they’ve cornered the market in faux suspense, the key element that they’ve missed is to draw out that weighted silence before the winner is announced by around fifteen minutes, filling it with fractional voting tallies at different rounds of the elections with third and fourth choices taken into account.  Boy, we were on the edge of our seats.  As colleague Oli Scarff pointed out, when it came to the final head to head between Ed and David Miliband and Dave’s score of 49.35% was announced, the hall was still quiet in case somehow Ed could have managed to score less than 50.65%.  Way to go, brainiacs!  Eventually, with both voting results and adrenaline used up, Ed Miliband was declared winner over his brother David by just over 1% of the vote.

Despite Radio 4 reporting that the bookies were edging towards Ed, I was a little surprised to actually see it go his way.  I realised in the following days that I was being  decidedly hypocritical as, on the one hand, I really dislike slick soundbite “jazz hands” politics but at the same time was chuckling at the fact that Labour had picked someone who is clearly uncomfortable in front of the camera.  Bad Leon.

After a quick hug (that I managed to be in the wrong position for), Ed took to the stage for his first speech as leader.  With his mentor, former party leader Neil Kinnock looking on, he thanked the other candidates individually with major praise going to his defeated brother.  During the announcement and most of Ed’s speech, David smiled, applauded and looked on with encouragement but, in between this, there were moments where he couldn’t quite hide his true feelings.

New day, new leader, new Labour.  Sunday kicked off (chortle) with the traditional annual Journalists vs Labour MP football match.  Always worth a look, this year’s “Finest Specimen” award went to Ed Balls for his near-perfect impersonation of David Beckham’s Armani adverts.

Back in the hall and it was on with the business at hand.  As usual, the area outside the main conference hall was handed over to organisations and groups that support Labour, are campaigning for help from political parties or simply want to get their brand and services noticed.  These ranged from a fantastic demonstration by a guide dog charity where delegates could be blindfolded and lead through a course by a guide dog, to pro-Hugo Chavez groups selling t-shirts and mugs.  One university was demonstrating it’s use of 3D technology but no matter how long I hung around, I couldn’t catch anyone worthwhile giving it a go.  Boo to coawardly senior politicians…

In the afternoon, after a bustle of activity outside the Midland Hotel, David Miliband returned to face the media onslaught.  Grinning and bantering with the TV crews, he made a quick statement of support for little Ed and headed into the sanctuary of the hotel.

The next day, we all knew that David would be addressing the conference and, up to now, had made no comment whatsoever on what his plans were now that the race was over.  With this kind of job, I always fall into the trap of over-thinking the options and possibilities.  Everyone knew that the only picture that would be used the next day was from this speech but without knowing how everything would happen, nobody knew what the “moment” would be.  Spending too much time trying to pre-empt these jobs can drive you insane so after driving myself insane, I opted to just sit directly in front of the podium.

After a session of speeches and debates on foreign policy, David took to the stage and immediately had the audience in his hand.  A very natural speaker, he wandered the stage without an autocue or notes, delivering both a passionate speech and a strong show of support for his younger brother.  During his speech, it was hard not to look at Ed and see a look of fear in his eyes as he saw how comfortably David handled the delegates.  Knowing that his keynote address was set for the next day, I really wouldn’t have wanted to follow that.

As had happened for the leadership announcement, I managed to retain my 100% record of being in the wrong place due to being blocked by the huge podium that I’d oh-so-cleverly dumped myself in front of.  Genius.  After missing the initial hug, thankfully, I managed to scramble to a slightly better angle and get a moment as they came together during the standing ovation.

With the applause still echoing in the hall, the pressure for Ed to perform the next day was mounting.

The following morning saw rule #12 spring back into life for it’s annual moment in the spotlight.

In the conference hall, votes, meetings and Q&A sessions rumbled along with the afternoon’s keynote hanging over everything.  It’s always a shame when there’s such a big event on a day as it just kills everything else.  The features and fluff that you find are very unlikely to make the papers when, in a few hours time, the wires will be crammed to capacity with pictures of the main players.

With colleague Andy Yates on long lens duty from the back of the hall, I opted to go for the scrum on the floor so stripped my gear down to the basics and stretched off ahead of a long session of crawling about on my knees.  The aches and pains of squatting down so low on hard floors while trying to crawl over each other to change positions are not particularly nice and, every single year, I vow to get in shape so I can just sit cross-legged in a Zen-like state rather than cramping and slapping my numb legs every few minutes.

The keynote is another example of an opportunity to over-think a situation as no matter how much thought you put into your position, the speech goes on for forty minutes so you’ll inevitably move all over the area to get different angles.  Once you have a good white balance, there’s very little that changes over the week so it’s up to you to make the picture through different angles and lenses.

As ever when shooting a performance of any kind, it’s very easy to switch off your ears and just look at the pictures and I must admit that is what I did here.  It was only afterwards that I was told of his controversial criticism of Iraq and only in the evening when I saw the footage of David Miliband’s furious response to his brother’s comments.  Speaking to the cameraman that spotted David’s heated comments to Harriet Harman, he said that he noticed it at the time and lip-read him asking Harriet why she was clapping but kept it under his hat until after Sky and the BBC had done their main evening bulletins.  When ITN did their evening news, out came the footage and a whole new story was born.  By the end of the evening, David Miliband’s career in frontline politics was all but over.  Journalists boldly claimed that we would never see him on the stage again despite him still not having made any statement on his future.  That announcement would be coming the next day.

The one bit of planning that was necessary came at the end of Ed’s speech as we’d been pre-warned that he would not be bringing his heavily-pregnant partner, Justine Thornton, onto the stage.  This resulted in all of the photographers camping around the poor woman for the last twenty minutes of his speech as we waited to catch the hug.  It almost got to the point where no-one was shooting the actual keynote address for fear of missing “the moment”.  As is depressingly common in these situations, when the hug came, it was a definite let-down as no-one could get a good angle .  Yet another lesson in learning not to expect a “guaranteed” picture to actually work.

Aside from the main events of the day, it’s still worth a regular patrol around the stalls as you never really know what you might stumble across.  Limited edition Ed Miliband mugs were hurriedly produced with a queue forming to buy them as I took pictures.  They didn’t quite have the flair of David Cameron’s “Fire up the Quattro” mugs but that didn’t seem to be slowing sales.  It really does seem as though the Conservatives have the upper hand in eye-catching souvenirs.  The latest one that I’ve seen from the Conservative conference is bottled “David’s bitter” ale featuring a sketch of David Miliband on the label.

After days of speculation, Wednesday brought the deadline that everyone had been waiting for; Shadow Cabinet nominations and, with it, a definitive announcement from David Miliband on what he planned to do.  With a final registration point of 5pm, the media in London gathered around his family home for any sign of a statement.  In Manchester, all eyes were on Ed.

This year’s special guest speaker was Helle Thorning-Schmidt, a Social Democrat from Denmark who was the focus of attention until halfway through her speech when Ed arrived onstage.  Cue a mass scramble to the area in front of him to shoot every single twitch, sniff or glance that could be the tell-tale sign of upset (or at least look like that).  It’s amazing how someone scratching the tip of a nose can end up in the following day’s papers with a caption talking of the subject “wiping tear’s from their eyes”.

It was around this time that I really began to feel sorry for the guy.  Having won the leadership of the Labour Party, he was now under intense media scrutiny for the first time in his life, had potentially ended his brother’s frontline political career, caused a division within his family and was clearly suffering from a rather heavy cold.  It got to the point during the afternoon session that he truly looked on the verge of vomiting as he tried to find something to do with his hands.  Not the best way to “celebrate” your victory really.

As expected, at a few minutes after 5pm, David announced his retirement from frontline politics and a hastily organised “doorstep” was set up outside the Midland Hotel.  After an hour-long wait, Ed walked down the long corridor to the front door alone with the applause of his team coming from the rooms behind him.  With a fine example of upper-lip stiffness, he delivered his words of support for David’s decision and headed back in, leaving the TV reporters to spring into the gap to continue their live reports.

With the Party hoping that the whole Miliband soap opera was behind them, the Conference reached it’s final day.  By now, Ed’s cold was in full effect giving all of the photographers the chance to fire off copious quantites of frames whenever he blew his nose.  This is serious photojournalism in full effect, people.  “Can’t you see?  He’s crying, dammit!”

The morning was filled with various speeches and Q&A sessions in front of a decidedly thinned-out audience.

As tradition dictates it was down to the Deputy Leader to officially close the conference for another year with a light-hearted rallying cry to supporters to get out there and do lots of good Laboury things.  With a number of regular Cabinet members deciding to step down this year, it was the last time that we’d see Alistair Darling, Jack Straw and Bob Ainsworth on the stage  but attention was already shifting to the Shadow Cabinet election results, to be announced on the 7th of October.

With rumours that Ed Balls and wife Yvette Cooper have both decided to stand for the same position, it’s starting to look like the soap opera isn’t quite over just yet.

So the campaigning was over and the votes were in.  Overnight, early predictions had swayed between a thinnest of victories for the Conservatives and a Hung Parliament.  As day broke over Westminster, it was looking like we were about to enter an a very rare era in British politics.  The question now remained; how the hell was this going to run itself out?

While it became clear that Nick Clegg‘s Liberal Democrat party had failed to take advantage of any of the unexpected support that they had gathered during the campaign, it was also obvious that his next decisions would be vital as to deciding who formed the next Government.  As expected, the media descended on Cowley Street to await the arrival of the “Kingmaker”.

When he finally arrived back into London from his constituency in Sheffield, he called an impromptu press conference on the doorstep of the party headquarters.  With general expectation being that he would be either non-committal or make overtures towards the centre-left Labour Party, he managed to throw a perfect curve ball, stating that it was now up to David Cameron to prove he could form a strong Government.  To those that don’t follow politics or are in far off lands, he’d managed to create a situation where the Lib Dem’s natural allies (Labour) had to be a second choice after stating that he would respect the voting figures.  With Labour coming second, it was up to Cameron’s centre-right Conservative party to see if they could make a decent offer first.  I hope you were paying attention there as there may be a test.

With the Liberal Democrat, Conservative and Labour headquarters all being within quarter of a mile of each other in Westminster, it didn’t take long before you had the unusual sight of young Conservatives gathering outside the left wing Lib Dem offices for news.  On a side note, I have to state that when I saw some of the guys loitering around, I actually thought that they were Lib Dems in fancy dress as stereotypical Tory Boys but no, it seems that some do wear blazers, jeans and deck shoes at all times..

With no outright winner, Downing Street remained eerily quiet as no-one knew what was going to happen and where.  After each leader returned from their constituencies, word soon passed around that they’d all headed to bed in preparation for the coming days.

The next day arrived and the pro-Cameron newspapers and channels began to pile the pressure on Brown to resign.  Westminster became a web of photographers and camera crews criss-crossing each other as they rushed to Government departments, offices and meeting rooms where talks were rumoured to be taking place.

While shooting Clegg’s arrival for a meeting with his senior party members, I caught wind of a memorial service to mark the 65th anniversary of VE day that was to be held at the Cenotaph on Whitehall that all three leaders may attend.  Too good an opportunity to pass up, I rushed over and managed to talk myself onto the media stand.  Thankfully, as I was driving, I’d thrown a 400mm into the boot of my car so was able to follow all of the eye movements and body language displayed during the service.  It must have been such an unusual situation behind the scenes as neither Labour or Conservative had announced formal talks with the Lib Dems but what on earth else could they have talked about?  Diplomacy skills set to full power, I guess.

With that rather nasty surprise out of the way, it was time for the talks to begin.  First up, senior members of both the Conservatives and the Lib Dems met for a day of talks at the Cabinet Office on Whitehall.  On the way in, I managed to get a reasonable position as both teams walked up the steps so on their departure, I figured the best place to shoot would be from head-on to the door, in the middle of the street, between two parked satellite trucks.  The problem with this stroke of genius was that, due to nobody knowing when the talks would end, we all had to stay pretty much on guard at all times.  This would have been fine if it wasn’t for the fact that the trucks need to keep their engines running to power the broadcast gear, resulting in me consuming more lead than a church window factory.

When the meeting eventually ended, the media scrambled to get clear shots of the politicians as they walked from the building and down towards the Houses of Parliament.  As we crossed the road, a cameraman fell back over the bonnet of a queueing car, dropping his camera onto the paintwork causing a lovely dent and big scratch on the shiny new car.  As he scrambled to get up, his producer yelled at him to continue as she stayed behind to calm the rather concerned motorist.  Being in these moments is often such a surreal thing as you rush and push your way through passing tourists who all stop and stare at this circus working it’s way along the pavement towards them.  Great fun!

By the next morning, the mood in Westminster was getting impatient.  24 hour news channels began to run out of content as meetings continued between the parties behind closed doors.  The revelation that the Lib Dems were now also talking to Labour caused some interest for a while but the general feeling still lay with the formation of a Con:Dem Nation.

By now, any picture of the leaders had become a necessary shot to get in the bag each day, just in case some big announcement was made and a new photo was needed in a hurry.  This involved camping outside Cameron’s West London home, Clegg’s South London home and number 10 Downing Street.  Not a glamourous job by any means but thankfully I got to spend the day talking drums with Reuters photographer Kieran Doherty.  Anyone straying over to join in the chat soon walked away again after hearing enthusiastic descriptions of the decay rates of Paiste Signature crash cymbals and the qualities of Evans hydraulics.

While waiting outside David Cameron’s office in Westminster with Getty photographer Peter Macdiarmid, he decided to check the windows for signs of life and not long after joining him, Conservative Policy Chief Oliver Letwin appeared.  Long range pictures like this aren’t really my kind of thing but when it gives an insight into the pressure that the negotiators were under to broker a deal with Nick Clegg, it added an extra ingredient to the picture story.

By the following day, Cameron was losing patience and issued an ultimatum to Clegg to declare his intentions and news channels started to suggest that something was about to happen.  I rushed to Downing Street and dug in for a long wait.  As the news helicopters gathered overhead , a podium was carried out into the street and after a few heated shouting matches as to where to place it for the best angle, Gordon Brown appeared with his wife Sarah at his side.

A short but emotional speech later and the Brown family walked to a waiting car, before heading to Buckingham Palace where Gordon would formally tender his resignation.  Smiling and waving to the cameras as he walked, I dashed down to the car and managed to catch a more candid moment before he left the street for the final time as Prime Minister.

While attempting to keep my impartiality in this blog, I have to say that I don’t think he did that bad a job during his time in office.  In the three years he held the reins, the UK suffered severe floods, terrorist attacks and a global economic collapse.  This all came without the customary honeymoon period that a new leader can usually enjoy after taking office, due to the handover happening between elections. That’s hardly an easy term.

Anyway, out with the old and all that so after having a total nightmare as I tried to file my “BrownExit” (ooerr) shots, it was time for the Cameron show to begin.  As we all scrambled to get back into position with a few sparks over which photographer was where as Brown left, we watched a small TV crew’s screen displaying a live feed of the new Prime Minister’s limo driving back from Buckingham Palace to his new home in Downing Street.

At this point, I’d like to write about some quirky fun thing that occurred here, but when something is happening that the news industry has been waiting months to witness, the only thought is to get a shot that you’re happy with so I can’t say I remember much about his speech or his entrance through the famous door.

Once the new PM was in place, the carefully-balanced pyramid of photographers collapsed into a frantic pile of editing photographers as we all rushed to get the shots out and on to the wire.  Yet again, the sheer quantity of photographers trying to send their pictures in one location caused a complete failure of the system and I found myself running up Whitehall, desperately looking for a power point and a strong phone signal.  In the end, I found myself half a mile up the road in a Charing Cross pub, surrounded by drinkers watching me edit.  Even though the screens in the pub were showing a live feed of the day’s events, it became my job to tell the onlookers what had happened and who their new Prime Minister was.  Now that’s what I call a personalised news service..

Having been working in London for seven years, it’s been odd to think that this is the first general election that I’ve actually covered.  Back in 2005, I was working for The Times and as far as my archive shows, I appear to have been assigned the all important mopping-up duties by the picture desk.  This results in a fine collection of images from under-attended Christie’s photo-calls as the senior photographers jet around the country with the action.  Those of you hoping to break into this industry, take note.  Thankfully the gap between elections has allowed me to sneak up the ladder and actually be in a position to cover the political story this time.

With the starting gun fired on the 6th of April, I had the extra bonus of being the first of the pooled agency photographers to travel with Conservative Party Leader David Cameron for three days as he began his official campaigning.

As is the way with elections of recent decades, if a newspaper or agency wishes to travel on the branded battle-bus of any of the three main parties, they have to pay for the privilege.  This fee is designed to cover the travel costs and any expenses that crop up during your time aboard the good ship Politic. This is pretty understandable but puts a real limit on who can actually afford to pay the fees set by the parties.  With both Labour and Conservative seats priced at over £13000 for the month with the Liberal Democrats charging £7000, it’s certainly not the kind of amount that most freelance photographers could afford to find.

The second problem comes from the fact that once you are on the bus, you are totally at the mercy of the press officers.  If they say no pictures, you don’t shoot.  If they say it’s time to go, you run for the bus.  Most of the time this is fine as when a party leader is travelling on the same train, coach or plane as the media, he certainly doesn’t want to have to be posing for pictures and answering questions as he prepares for the next event.  However, the downside comes at moments such as when British Prime Minister Gordon Brown was recorded calling a supporter a “bigoted woman” on an overlooked radio microphone.  I wasn’t with Labour at this point but, as the story broke, those on the bus were being driven away from the area and when asked if Brown would be returning to see the woman, were told that it was unlikely.  In the meantime, the media who were following the appearances individually, gathered at her home to see the shame-faced PM return to the house to apologise.  The only photographers from the battle-bus who caught the moment were those who got off the bus and jumped in taxis for the long and costly journey back to where they’d come from.

Life on-board did have it’s advantages though as on my final day with Cameron, I was offered 2 minutes (read 13 seconds) for a portrait session following a speech in Plymouth. I spent the last few minutes of his address rushing around the college venue, desperately looking for any form of clean background. Thankfully, after an initial suggestions of a science lab (“Yeah, that’s it Mr. Cameron. Just peek around the bunsen burner”) I managed to find a long corridor so threw on the trusty 50mm (See #16) and grabbed my only one-on-one portrait of the whole campaign.

One clear difference that I experienced over the month was the way in which each of the party’s press officers handled the media that they were working with.  From talking to other photographers, there has been some dispute which has been the worst and which the best but I have to say that the Conservative PRs proved themselves most helpful through a combination of openness to suggestions from photographers and willingness to adapt at speed when faced with problems during events.  This was clearly demonstrated at the launch of the Labour and Conservative manifestos.  Held in the as-yet unopened wing of a hospital in Edgbaston, Birmingham, the Labour event saw all of the photographers held in a room out of the way until minutes before the event started when we were suddenly released to dash into the stage area.  By this time, the seats were all full of supporters and the broadcast crews had taken position at the back resulting in a ridiculous situation whereby we were told to stand up in front of the audience but not to get in anyone’s way.  Within milliseconds, middle-aged women in bright red coats were crying foul calling for stewards to come and remove the photographer from their view.  On realising how impossible it was to work in this area, anyone attempting to get to other positions was told that the event had now begun and we weren’t allowed to move.

In contrast to this, at the start of the Conservative launch at Battersea power station the following day, the head PR led all of the photographers into the room first, told us that we were allowed to go anywhere at all apart from one pool position and then, on the slightest suggestion from a photographer, removed the whole front row of seats so that we’d have more room to work in.

Now the cynic in me screams that anyone who wants to get into power will do whatever they can to get onto your good side while those in power will be filled with the paranoia of fearing having rogue meeja-types roaming all over the place.  I know, I know.  I should trust more.  Unfortunately, in the back of my mind, I have the memory of the fact that when Labour were trying to get into power in 97, they apparently promised that conditions for working media in Downing Street would be improved massively if they got in with a roof being installed over the press pen and power points and toilets installed.  13 years got us a plug.  I rest my case.

On the night of the first televised leaders debate, AFP sent photographers to various places to try to capture the public interest in the novelty factor.  Being unassigned, I followed the digital/online side of things with a few pictures of the twitter community battling it out over who was best, who was worst and who could come out with the funniest random comment on the evening’s events.  As it turned out, the winner of most outrageous online comment of the evening went to the Sky News homepage where, immediately after the debate had finished, led with the headline “Public opinion in: Cameron wins debate!” while a scrolling ticker of the public opinion results scrolled at the top of the page showing “Clegg 50% Cameron 28% Brown 22%”.  Way to go, pre-prepared impartiality.

On the day of the third leader’s debate, I was sent up to Birmingham to capture the events surrounding the show.  With no access requested for inside the venue, I spent the morning shooting rather uninspiring little protests and features around the university campus before deciding to try to get inside.  Using all of my Northern charm, I convinced the security that the lack of my name on the list was clearly some kind of small but embarrassing (for them) oversight.  Once inside and full of buffet food, the show began.  The lights dimmed and the PA boomed into life as the glow of the laptops lit the faces of the  journalists sat at the rows of tables across the room.  With a giant screen at the front and smaller plasmas dotted all around, the faces of the three main men stared into the room from all sides.  News anchors tweeted away as others marked the highs and lows of each leader’s comments on digital charts.

With the debate coming to a close, Mandy stalked into the room and the spin began in earnest.  Within minutes, representatives of each of the parties were talking to anyone with a camera or a microphone, insisting that whatever we thought we’d just seen, they knew better.  Somehow each leader had managed to display their statesman-like skills at the expense of their rivals.  Whenever a new politician or spin doctor appeared, a huddle immediately formed around them as they launched into a speech of glowing praise of their boss’s performance.

The morning after the third debate, Gordon Brown headed to a district on the other side of Birmingham for the launch of his latest poster campaign.  Breaking out the members of his cabinet, the handful of people that make-up the faces of the Government stood in unison as the took turns to explain why Gordon was the man that the country needed.  As Mandy was wrapping up his statement of support and just before the PM gave the speech that would hopefully put the whole “BigotGate” (I feel like scrubbing my fingertips after typing that) disaster behind him, lady luck yet again managed to get lost on the Birmingham ring-road and fail to reach him in time.  The crew of a passing bin lorry began shouting insults out of the window of their cab as they passed, lost control and swerved across the road, causing a passing car to pull out of the way and plough straight into a bus shelter.  Just imagine that for a second.  This guy is already in third place and  gets recorded calling a lifelong supporter a  bigot and then as the nation’s media presses record and he draws breath, what sounds like track 6 from volume 3 of the BBC sound effects album, “car crash inc. skid sounds and comedy tinkling glass” fills the air.  Within seconds, the press pen is empty as TV crews, journalists and photographers rush out of the car park to see what’s happened.  After shooting the wreck and seeing that the driver was OK, I turned to look down to the car park to see Brown making his speech to a virtually empty press area.  Ouch.

Following all of the hoo-ha of the televised debates, I was sent to what was being hyped as the “unofficial fourth debate” at Westminster Methodist Hall in central London.  Unlike a true debate however, the leaders would not be on stage at the same time but follow one another in having the chance to address members of the Citizen UK group on why they should be the best Government for a civil society.  With ten minutes to speak, the leaders would then be asked a number of questions by community leaders with the audience actually allowed to show their support or disapproval, unlike the tv debates.  All went as expected with Cameron giving the same speech that I’d heard so many times on my three days on the bus, Clegg slightly failing for the first time with a few stumbled words and the odd apparent loss of direction to his words but then Brown took to the stage.  With Labour WAY down in the polls and a lot of people already writing him off, he pulled out a truly incredible speech.  Pounding the lectern, gesturing with huge expansive movements, pointing at the audience and bellowing his message of support for the Citizen UK’s policies, he’d got the room in his hands within minutes.  Photographers around me at the front were gunning their cards as he produced picture after picture with his sweeping gestures and dynamic stances.  The audience whooped and applauded as he showed his support for the community’s achievements.

Then, as we all should have expected, it happened yet again for poor old Gordon; a man that is well recognised among photographers as that annoying guy that refuses to move out the back of your pictures outside the High Court appeared from nowhere, walked onstage and started shouting about ending nuclear power in the UK.  Security were caught napping, Gordon’s train of thought was clearly derailed and the photographers filled their cards with the moment.  In one short moment,  the news had changed from a possible comeback for Brown to yet another story of misfortune for the tabloids to savour.

With the voting only two days away, I went out into the streets of Islington with the local Liberal Democrat candidate Bridget Fox.  How people of any party can do this type of cold-calling for days on end is completely beyond me.  I was with Fox and her two assistants from around 20 minutes and by the time I left, I was feeling like Marvin the Paranoid Android and yet they just keep on going like masochistic Duracell bunnies.  Working through a list of undecided and Lib Dem voters, they knocked on door after door to be greeted by either silence, a thin crack in the door with an eye peering around it or, at best, nervous looking people wondering who the hell was disturbing them.  Bravo to all candidates and and party faithful of every type who are prepared to give up their time to do this kind of thing, particularly in seats that you have little chance of winning.  My hat is well and truly off to you.

Election day Eve was mark-up day in Downing Street.  Now you may think that this would be a reasonably simple affair but what started at 10am ended at noon and all that it entails really is members of each organisation marking the spot on the stands where they will be working from on the following day.  With the teams divided into newspaper or agency, the names were put into hats and picked alternately, allowing a representative from the group to scurry off and grab a spot of their choice.  So much thought has to be put into this that it really becomes quite a stressful challenge.  Will I have a clear view to the door? How close to dead-on to the door can I get?  Where should I put my second position?  Will I have enough room?  Do I need ladders?  Where should I mark the third position?  Am I missing anything regarding positions that no-one has noticed yet?  Is there an option to use a remote camera?  All this to take a photo of a man stood in front of a door.

What really topped it all off is that this time it had the real possibility of being a hung Parliament, meaning that there was no real winner and all of this may not happen for days to come.  Ah, the joys of the job.

Polling day saw me on bomb-watch in town, shooting random polling booths, quirky features and just generally being on hand in case anyone decided to do anything dumb to mark the day.  Starting on the King’s Road, I decided to go for a bit of traditional London tourism with a voting Chelsea Pensioner.  After a huge bust-up with the security on the gate who threatened to call the police just for being on the pavement near the hospital, all was resolved with a marvellous chap in full scarlets.  Every time I’ve shot there, the men and women that live in the hospital have been absolute gems.  Bravo, old dudes.

From here, I headed out to the Anglesea Arms for another burst of prime feature; a traditional English pub with hanging baskets and tables in the sun that was, for one day, acting as a polling booth.  As is the way when covering voting, any requests regarding shooting inside the station are directed to the Returning Officer who, unfortunately, wasn’t that up for allowing many options so I had to settle with an external view.  Boo..

With everything now quietening down, it was time for an early night in time for tomorrow’s big day..

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.

Israel.  It never likes doing anything the easy way, it seems.  As expected, yesterday proved to be a mammoth 22 hour shift, ending in Tel Aviv at the Likud party base for what was supposed to be Benjamin Netanyahu’s victory speech.

But as has become increasingly familiar out here, things didn’t go according to plan and as the polls closed at 10pm, the published exit polls sent shock-waves through the room.  Rival party Kadima were ahead by two seats. Supporters did their best to keep spirits up with bursts of “Bibi” chants and flag waving but things weren’t looking good.

Supporters who’d arrived with the sweet taste of victory in their mouths began to sense the discount burger taste of defeat.

In Israeli politics, it’s often the case that there is no definitive winner on the night but usually, the polls are reasonably accurate.

Hours after the initial results were reported by the tv networks in Israel, “Bibi” took to the stage and with an Oscar-worthy performance managed to show little sign of upset and even claimed victory, albeit for the right-wing if not his own party.  As Yisrael Beiteinu‘s far-right policies had grown in success, the left-wing Labour party had now been pushed into an unprecedented third place in the polls.

Surrounded by members of his team and party, Netanyahu did his bit, thanked his crew and wrapped up his speech.  Before he’d left the stage, supporters were already leaving the building.

Looking down, I noticed scraps of paper that looked like the ballot papers from earlier in the day and had to ask a photographer next to me what the paper said.  Discovering they were Likud party papers, soon every photographer was monstering the poor cleaner who was just trying to get home.

With victory so strongly predicted for previous weeks, many in Israel’s politics will be left wondering what went wrong for Likud and what happens now.

On your marks.. Get set.. Vote!

As a little recap, election day in Israel is here with current polls suggesting a tight race between the hawkish former premier Benjamin Netanyahu and centrist Foreign Minister Tzipi Livni, with the far-right expected to make major gains.  Following “Operation Cast Lead” in the Gaza strip and continued threats from neighbouring Iran, some parties are playing on the fears and insecurities of many Jewish voters.

5:30am alarm call.  Ouch. First call of the day was to head out to the settlement village of Nokmid; the home of far-right Yisrael Beiteinu party leader Avigdor Lieberman.  Located right in the middle of otherwise Palestinian-controlled land, the village has armed security guards as you enter and has managed to create a strong suburban atmosphere, despite being surrounded on all sides by the desolate lunar landscape of the West Bank.

With the polling station in order and the ballot box secured, the doors were opened for the small community to cast their votes.

At 8:30am, Lieberman arrived with his heavy security escort and cast his vote.  As expected, any sense of organisation in the media disappeared as people pushed, pulled and slowly crept/collapsed forward.  After a short speech in Hebrew (which I’m sure was full of messages of peace, love and unity), he headed one way and I headed the other, back into Jerusalem.

A quick liberal spraying of superglue to the screws on my very very annoying 70-200mm lens and a belly-full of pizza from the giant stack of 12 large Dominos delights in the office and a quick chance to go through my edits from this morning.

In an hour, I head to Tel Aviv for a long night of vote-count fever and a chance to complete my set of covering all four of the main political parties.  Maybe this kid’s got the right idea..