WHAT A LAUGH, photographing people to decorate the walls of an independent coffeehouse in Northumberland last week. The idea was a very simple one: stand people behind a tatty old cardboard box and snap them in a variety of food-related poses.

There were sausage smiles, colander hats and the odd cup cake on display. This one of the girl who actually agreed to have flour poured on her head is among my favourites. Not least because she had no idea how much flour she was going to have to endure – she just willingly said yes to the admittedly cheeky request.

We decided on sifting it through a sieve rather than straight out of the bag to save her looking like a complete snowman – or snowwoman – at the end of it.

Thanks to everyone who took part, especially Natasha for being such a great sport.

[November 2012]

A NEW BOOK by Philip Hensher suggests handwriting is dying a very elaborate, painstakingly slow and fairly messy death: http://amzn.to/SLdB6Q.

Simultaneously, Facebook has just announced that it now has more than one billion people using it every month.

No prizes if you’ve made a connection between those first two sentences.

Handwriting (that’s grabbing a long inky thing and moving it around on very thin rectangles of bleached tree, kids) is following in the footsteps of loads of other stuff that’s no longer required, like slabs of stone and heavy chisels, papyrus reeds and clever pigeons…

Philip Hensher might be right when he suggests handwriting still matters as, for now at least, inky scribbles are still found in birthday- and Christmas cards, on wedding reception dinner tables and, of course, on the inside walls of public toilets.

But it’s a dying art.

At eight years old, Facebook is the new kid on the block, high-fiving friends all over the place on its way to world domination. It’s bossing it. But it won’t boss it forever. Some other whippersnapper will come along at some point in the future and stamp all over Mr Zuckerberg’s ‘unlike’ button.

This scenario probably seems a bit unlikely now. But ask an oldster if they could even have imagined the death of handwriting when they were a lad or lass and they’ll probably give you a clip around your ear for heresy.

The fact that virtually everyone prefers qwerty keyboards to quirky quills means that, unlike what passed for writing in the olden days, everything we read now is completely legible; though not necessarily grammatical.

Who knows what Facebook’s eventual replacement will look like. Probably, whatever it is, will feature some sort of written content; though whether that content will be tapped out on keyboards isn’t so certain, as more efficient, voice-recognition software could help transfer your thoughts onto the screen.

Then later, maybe we won’t even bother with written content – we’ll just have computerised voices… providing… us… with… slightly… jerky. Con-tent. Of course, it won’t be jerky forever…

But what we can be more certain about is that we’ll end up with content of some variety because, like all our forebears, the grunters, the stone chisellers and the handwriters, we love to communicate.

Photo: personal.psu.edu

[October 2012]

IF SOMEONE WEILDING A CLIP BOARD approaches you in the street, what do you do? Exactly: you sprint in the other direction, shouting for help. ‘Stay away from me,’ you scream, as if the phenomenally sane person with the clipboard was actually a skinhead with a machinegun.

Well, let’s face it, who in the 21^st century actually has time to answer questions or tick boxes? (Don’t spend too long thinking about this sentence).

Yet when it comes to reading the results of surveys we hoover them up like cocaine at an end-of-the-world party. Because we like surprises (sometimes), we get a kick out of disagreeing with survey results. On the other hand, we sometimes don’t like surprises, so prefer results that correspond with our own world views. Surprise or no surprise: 100 per cent of people like surveys.*

Just two days ago (Tuesday 2 October) a survey revealed that apple crumble is the UK’s favourite dessert: http://bit.ly/PK5Lvr. It’s hardly surprising that, during the rainy season, people like comfort food (chocolate- and sticky toffee puddings were second and third, respectively).

What was even less surprising was that the survey was conducted by a bakery. That’s right: a company that has a vested interest in reminding people about the general scrumptiousness of apple crumble on cold, windy days.

By conducting a survey on its own website, the bakery company in question engaged with its audience (without chasing anyone around with clipboards) and gathered enough information to pump out a press release – or however it disseminated its findings – to remind the world that they love apple crumble.

In PR terms it’s as easy as pie to generate a good slice of media interest with the results of a survey that promote your products. In this instance, they got their timing right and they hit the right media.

So, next time you want to generate a bit of attention, ask 1000 people for their views and pass the results on to the media. You’ll lap up the results.

* This sentence may or may not be true: we didn’t actually ask anyone

Photo: bbcgoodfood.com

[October 2012]

SIX DAYS AGO The Sun reported that the government’s chief whip, Andrew Mitchell, was alleged to have called a policeman – or the police in general, this bit isn’t clear – ‘f*cking plebs’ for preventing him from getting out the main gate in Downing Street. Apparently, the ex-Rugby pupil doesn’t like being tackled by public servants.

Every day since then the incident has been making headlines.

Commentators have had a field day. Or six field days so far to be precise. Is calling people a ‘pleb’ worse than calling people ‘chavs’? asked one. ‘Pleb’ is an abbreviation of ‘plebeian’, the Oxford English Dictionary chipped in, reminding every pleb in the land of the word’s Roman origins. BBC Radio 2’s Simon Mayo played songs for ‘plebs’ on his drivetime show on Monday, including ‘Fanfare for the Common Man’ and ‘Eton Rifles’, highlighting the polarity between the plebs and the posh.

Boris Johnson shoehorned his foot into the ‘gategate’ affair. Yes, said the old Etonian, the police were right to threaten Mitchell with arrest for his unruly behaviour.

And on it runs…

It could have been handled better. We’re still assuming Mitchell did actually utter the words – he doesn’t appear to have admitted or fully denied having used the actual words ‘f*cking plebs.’ It’s all a little ambiguous, which is part of the problem.

A sincere and unambiguous apology would surely have dampened this story, at the very least. As long as it was done quickly, before people’s ire had time to take hold, and everyone had something else to tweet about.

The problem is the apology was neither quick or sincere. Or unambiguous. Mitchell stated he did not use the words that were ‘attributed’ to him (he hasn’t said that he didn’t swear; and he wouldn’t even touch the word ‘plebs’). All of which adds weight to the notion that he’s a bit too haughty to even utter such language…

Meanwhile, the full police report has been published in today’s Telegraph (Tuesday 25 September). The Huffington Post tells us ten unconnected facts about the chief whip. The Today Programme on Radio 4 asks whether the word is even an insult. And Twitter is just groaning under the weight of public opinion: ‘so, it looks like swearing at coppers is only an arrestable offence if you’re a… erm… pleb,’ Mitch Benn tweets, drily, possibly starting a whole new debate…

A simple apology, quick, sincere and unambiguous, could have saved us from reading about f*cking plebs for so long.

Photo: JUSTIN TALLIS/AFP/Getty Images

[September 2012]

(The thrilling Stage 2 sprint finish in the Tour of Britain 2012. Photo: tourofbritain.com)

THE TOUR DE FRANCE featured them, as did La Vuelta, the Spanish equivalent. And so it goes that this week’s Tour of Britain also brings to the fore its fair share of breakaway cyclists – those crazy dudes for whom the breathless pace of the peleton isn’t quite breathless enough, so they strike out for the front, increasing their cadence in line with the thundering beat of their hearts.

Why do they do it? Rarely is the breakaway cyclist one of the main contenders to win the overall race, or even the stage. The lone cyclist (sometimes there’s a small knot of them) is inevitably reeled in by the group. Sometimes, heartbreakingly, in the last couple of kilometers of the race, after they’ve been smashing into the wind for four or five hours.

There’s a few reasons for it. One of which is, if they’re not a sprinter, and it’s a flat or flattish stage, they’re not going to win the race anyway, because they know there are faster finishers. In theory at least, if they can get far enough ahead, they might just hold off the pack; though in reality they rarely do. Same theory for mountain finishes, if they’re not one of the top climbers.

Another theory is less to do with cycling than PR. Imagine if you’re say, a middleweight cyclist unlikely to win either the stage or the race. You’re going to be sitting among a couple of hundred riders, absolutely unnoticed by the myriad tv cameras and photographers. The crowds don’t really notice you blurring through their village, neither do those watching from the sofa at home. You’ve made up the numbers. Is this really what your sponsors want from you, or would they prefer you got their brands some air time?

Busting a gut out in front gulps up air time. The media – and therefore the general public – can’t ignore you because you’ve made yourself visible – visible in a near heroic way. Having paid you less than they would a top rider, your sponsors are delighted that you’re pushing their brands through the viewers’ small screens and into the minds of a million watching would-be Wiggins.

So, a hard day out in front of the pack makes contract negotiations that much easier next season when, of course, if you’ve not become one of the main contenders, you have to do it all again to keep your sponsors happy…

[ENDS]

[September 2012]

THE BBC Olympic trails remind viewers that getting to the world’s biggest sporting event ain’t all glamour and glory for the athletes.

We’re prompted to remember that it’s about those hours we don’t see the athletes put in – the getting-up-at-the-crack-of-dawn hours, the training-in-all-weathers hours, the overcoming-whatever-adversities hours, the sacrifices-every-athlete-must-make hours…

And as for getting to stand on a podium, well that takes a very special sort of dedication.

This image, taken not long after Becky Adlington had won two Olympic gold medals in Beijing in 2008, sums up – or at least attempts to sum up – the two worlds every successful Olympian must inhabit: a background of graft juxtaposed with a foreground of glamour.

Just before I took it, Becky had been training in Nottingham University’s pool; though the word ‘training’ seems a pretty flimsy way to describe the effort required to cut through water à la Adlington.

As I didn’t have an Olympic podium handy I had to make do with what was lying around for the photograph; which turned out to be six training floats, or whatever those things are called that Olympic swimmers hold on to as they use their feet as outboard motors.

Becky didn’t bat an eyelash. Having just burned off about 3000 calories in the pool, she was all smiles when I asked her to pose on a polystyrene podium in mandatory plastic overshoes.

Her attitude then was worthy of a medal as far as I was concerned. But I suspect she’ll be packing more than a winning smile when she defends her crowns during London 2012, kicking off today.

- ENDS

[July 2012]

A BRILLIANT DAY was enjoyed by the thousands of people who turned out to see the Olympic torch light up Hexham.

Few of the crowd would have been surprised by the meticulous planning that meant the once in a lifetime occurrence went by swimmingly. Even the weather couldn’t have been better planned: throughout the hour or so the Greek flame was in this part of Northumberland, the rain completely stopped.

The flag-waving crowd lined Rotary Way, the road that straddles the River Tyne, where the torch began its mini tour. They’d arrived under a heavy drizzle, so a sea of wellies, waterproofs and umbrellas were on display, bringing colour that was a stark contrast against the determined grey sky.

LOCOG – the Olympic organising committee – also brought a huge splash of colour. Its PR machine was in party mode, leaping, cycling and dancing its way along Hexham’s main thoroughfares, bringing smiles with freebies for the throng.

The first torchbearer was teenager Josie Hart who, dressed head to toe in white, stood out against the overcast sky, perfectly illustrating the words ‘Moment to shine’, written across the Olympic tour bus’s sunscreen.

She swung the torch left from Rotary Way into Station Road, passing alongside Wentworth’s athletics track, before the torch was greeted by another crowd gathered in the leisure centre’s carpark.

From there it met up with shoppers in the town centre, and was also seen by those in and around Hexham Hospital, from where it continued on its way to Riding Mill, Prudhoe, Stocksfield and beyond, gradually making its way to London for 27 July, to set the Games alight.

ENDS

[June, 2012]

I used to like clichés. But I think they’ve become a bit overused.

A clichéd image of, say, a doctor would be a man (always a man) with a stethoscope around his neck. Smiling benignly to an imaginary patient.

Cliché-lawyer? Sharp, pin-striped suit. Square jaw and, for reasons I can’t fathom, dark or grey hair. Are there really no blonde lawyers?

And what do we have here: a professor in a bow tie? What a surprise. Howdy teacher – dig the cords. And is that real leather you’ve used for those elbow patches on your jacket?

You get the general idea…

So how refreshing it was to go to a local firm of accountants recently to photograph the people working there out of context… you know, not holding calculators, not sitting next to a stack of ersatz cash, or gazing at a spreadsheet on a computer screen…

Instead, they were photographed showing what they do outside of work which, of course, illustrates that they are real people, afterall, not just anonymous, number-crunching suits who gape at the telly when the budget’s on.

We’re not talking about people being crazily outrageous, doing things that they wouldn’t be happy for online viewers everywhere to see them doing, as this would not only be incongruous with their profession, but potentially damaging for their brand.

But browsers of the firm’s site are probably not expecting to see a picture of a female accountant surrounded by builders’ tools just because she happens to enjoy DIY at the weekends. This fact alone means that viewers’ attention might be held for a moment or two, which is afterall one of the website’s jobs.

It also helps the firm distinguish itself from some of its competitors. And it might even suggest, to at least some browsers, that the people working at this particular accountancy firm have a sense of humour which, hopefully, it’s not yet become a cliché to suggest, is priceless.

- ENDS

[April 2012]

Under the inky sky were random dots of light, roughly outlining a pathway, like a nocturnal airstrip drawn by a drunk. Closer inspection revealed the random dots to be tea lights encased in brown paper bags with stars cut out. The flickering dots drew you further into the darkness, round corners, through bushes, under trees…

In the distance more tea lights, apparently floating in mid-air, pulled you under the branches where they clung, towards the tennis pavilion, where vague Dickensian urchins scampered in and out of doorways in their pyjamas!

This spooky dreamscape, believe it or not, was the setting for an impish night of entertainment aimed at children; yet like all the best entertainment, it really had universal appeal. The big people were happy to sit under the stars at candlelit tables, sipping hot chocolate and nibbling cookies, caught up in a scene they now began to think they’d imagined themselves.

I was fortunate enough to be invited along to try and capture, somehow, the magic.

The dusky storytelling itself – for this is why we were here – took place beneath the pavilion’s roof, in a park in the middle of Birmingham. It was conjured by Moseley based Little Mo, a company younger than its target audience – so new in fact is Little Mo it doesn’t yet have a website.

But a website is surely on its way, for Little Mo will grow up very quickly, I predict. The night was a big hit, not just with the under 8s who, cosseted on a huge raft of floor-cushions, were transported into Neverlands by storytelling guru Carole Graham. They clung more tightly to her words than they did to their own teddies, like snails hanging onto the tail of a whale.

Big people were equally captivated by the scene, allowing their offspring to flit between the tiny naked flames outside, or to dance beneath stars, running their free range legs into the ground just before bedtime.

I’ve no idea what else Little Mo has in store for its pyjama-clad groupies. An evening cinema, perhaps, with fire breathers and acrobats gamboling down the aisles during the interval? Midnight magicians, a visit to the man on the moon..?

The possibilities are endless. And if, like me, you’re looking for some seemingly unscripted experiences (for your children’s entertainment, of course!) then follow the tea lights that lead to Little Mo. It’s magical!

- ENDS

Storyteller Carole Graham is based in Hereford:

www.storyspace.co.uk/index.php

To be added to Little Mo’s mailing list contact:

bthirteen@hotmail.co.uk

[March 2012]

AS ST VALENTINE swaggers back into town, and optimists’ eyes begin flirting with the backs of letterboxes, the chill in the air gives way to a bit of warmth.

It has to be the most romantic time of year, at least for those meltingly intrigued by the lettering on the billet-doux that lit up their welcome mat.

The 14^th day of this month is also the opportune time to propose; and if a traditional one’s not forthcoming, audacious girls are given licence to take the bull by the horns by getting down on their own bended knees on the 29th…

For the photographer charged with recording the wedding, an appreciation of the emotions, the build up and the organisation is paramount. What else would better help a couple re-live the best day of their lives but images of themselves among their friends and family?

My approach is simply to work around the couple, unobtrusively, capturing the details of the day, including the laughter, the tensions and the dancing. A group shot here and there is as integral as confetti, assuring couples they’ll have a memento of everyone who attended. But few want to spend half the day with fixed camera grins, I find.

Building trust begins at a pre-wedding meeting, to the extent that, should events become a little overwhelming, as they did for the bride and groom in this photo, they can rest, assured their big day’s best moments are being captured forever.

And they’re being captured as high resolution files with Canon’s top-of-the-range digital cameras, coupled with its professional, L-series lenses. The digital images can then be shared online, or can be used to produce album prints or even large format pictures to adorn any interior wall space.

[February 2012].