Panstville II: The Rewenge

Bear with me, even before I begin I can tell that this is going to be a self indulgent and rambling post as I'm tired and really need to get out more!

I've said it before and I'll say it again, the denizens of Pantsville are revolting... honestly one bit of sun and the overweight are out wearing unfortunately skin tight clothing (or in some cases just no clothing) and pushing veritable armadas of little Shazney-Jane's and Dwayne's around the shopping area as they puff away at the obligatory Lambert and Butler, hanging limply from the corner of their collective mouths.

The fact that I'm still talking about the inhabitants of this rather unfortunate and still anonymous town is that frustratingly the summer challenge is on hold... On a slightly different note, three of you have now guessed at the location of this dingy hole of mediocrity and although not a thousand miles out, I am as yet unable to hand out T-shirts or monogrammed paper bags...

As all great generals know, no plan survives contact with the enemy (Helmuth von Moltke) - though I'm fighting a different kind of enemy, namely the Forces of Bureaucracy (aka FoB - the dastardly swine), who have a habit of taking no prisoners.
The FoB are waging, what I like to term 'a pain in the arse campaign' (they're that underhanded, I wouldn't be surprised if they were also responsible for my lack of reception when using 3mobile dongles and third world debt*), which means I am currently surrounded by teetering piles of distasteful paperwork needing my attention and stuck here till the beginning of August.

*I'm not really sure if I can hold them accountable for third world debt.

Sadly this means that the amount of photographic work I'm doing has also slowed to a snails pace for now. My two main projects (and a third at research stage) are also on hold as a result (two are London based and one is local but waiting for the subject to find an appropriate couple of days), so I have a couple of weeks to spend in the purgatory that is Pantsville before I can even think of setting sail for London for what probably be a large amount of flying visits in August.

But what of plans A, B and C? I hear my only reader shout from the back of the internet? Well... Plan A (university) is in full swing, I am soon to become a member of the great student unwashed, digs are being prepared and there's a pile of books outside my bedroom door that rivals the Leaning Tower of Piza. Come September I will be packing my bags and moving to another anonymous town (name for use on the blog yet to be decided) in a shire far far away. Although it's not London and not the university I had originally banked on, the course seems great and there are plenty of big hills to thrash myself over and keep me occupied.

Plan B to take over the world head on is something I intend to continue with during during university, I definitely don't intend to be idle when it comes to carrying on, even if it means I spend a lot of time visiting London via National Express coaches (very cheap and sofas ahoy!).

And finally we come to Plan C, a few people out there know of Plan C and what it entails. This option is still alive and slowly ticking over, running in conjunction with Plan A, and indeed will compliment my poor student lifestyle (after checking I was informed that working during term breaks would definitely be possible).

Reading back through this post with it's oddball references, vague mentions of bits and bobs that only a few know and meandering style I think I may have lost the plot slightly... Regardless, things are moving forward and I know with all my conviction that I'm moving in the right direction (again).

Published!

Please note, as I received a full credit in the newspaper I need to avoid mentioning exactly what the event was, which will make for a very VERY random post... I can't even bung up the picture.

Living in a bit of a news dead spot, the majority of stories that make involve 'poorly' animals and local staffers grabbing grin and grips (I think the most newsworthy event Pantsville has seen would be back in 1998 when a friend opened his car door only to crack a visiting Jools Holland in the gentleman's vegetables*), but sometimes something odd makes it's way to float on the surface (but not like a Mersey Trout).

*Oh also, I think someone may have once knocked a policeman's helmet off, but I think he may have taken it off because he got a bit warm or I may just be suffering from early onset dementia.

Saturday was one of those days, stumbling around at 07:30 and getting ready to go out for a quick training session I was distracted by a call from the agency picture desk. There was an event taking place that afternoon and I was strategically well placed (also known as a coincidence) to pop along and grab a few pictures.

I left the house with reassurances ringing in my ears from the picture desk and a friend that, 'this will make', given that the event was held at the equivalent of a village fête I didn't fancy my chances...

Arriving at a pub for a quick pre-job drink and newspaper reading session I spied a man in a suit** who I immediately thought could be a tabloid scribbler (he was drinking the ale usually reserved for 'out of towners' and dribbling profusely onto what looked like an M&S machine washable suit).

**not a common occurrence in these 'ere parts - wearing a suit usually involves being run out of the town/village/local phone box by locals waving torches/pitchforks/shotguns/nearest pointy object to hand as they scream, 'this is a local shop for local people'/try to arrange a marriage between you and their hideously bloated and curiously hairy 'female' offspring/ask you to squeal like a pig. Not even going to say what would happen if you were female and in a suit... but it could end up like this.

After finishing up my beer and trying to ignore the now annoying HAMTHRAX paranoia stories available in most good (and bad) papers, I made my way to the fête to try and work out how I was going to take something interesting. Much head scratching ensued!




Default unknownsnapper postion #1 in Latin known as; Scratchiticus maximus
A rare picture of me taken as I pondered exactly why I needed a tripod that large.





The site of the shoot was a field complete with tombolas, scout run jumble stalls and local round table whack-a-rat stands, as I stood surveying the carnage before me (was hoping someone would go mad on the whack a rat stand (in a Hot Fuzz 'for the greater good' stylee) the man in a suit turned up (clearly the locals were having an off day). During the usual 'oo you workin' for' chat said he was from the Daily Times (mum's the word) and was waiting for his photographer to turn up, apparently the story was a regular funny and they featured it each year. After some conversation and some jokes about pointy heads and the local gene pool I wandered off to again scratch my head and try to work out what I was going to do (although scratching head is my default position I haven't discounted that I may just have dandruff). I was quite surprised when I found a bemused TV camera man, a German reporter and someone with tenuous connections to an African news channel standing in line with me doing exactly the same thing!

Soon others began to arrive, the photographer from the Daily Times arrived along with a couple of local rag snappers (who duly sniffed at my camera gear) and we all got to work trying to make things look as interesting as possible.

I didn't feel ecstatic about the pictures I filed, and not much was said by the picture desk (other than, "can you send the third one again, it's corrupted.") and I wandered off to get on with my life (aka filling in silly paperwork demanded by the Forces of Bureaucracy) knowing that as ever I'd learnt how to photograph something different.

So Imagine my surprise when the following Monday (incidentally the day the unknown snapper was hatched from his test tube and let loose into an unexpected and not quite ready world) I received a call from the picture desk telling me to look on page # of the Daily Times. For some reason the only image used in print was one of mine, complete with credit (yay tearsheet goodness - NUJ here I possibly come). It was also used in the online version, with a selection of images from their own photographer (which I think are rather good and probably deserved to be printed rather than my quite stock type shot).

Others have always stated that sometimes you can never tell what will make, even if someone has a staff photographer/arranged agency snapper on site sometimes you'll get in there; til; now I didn't believe it. I know I've had long chats with other photographers lamenting the fact that an astonishingly good picture of theirs didn't go anywhere when a published image of the same event was rather lacking, I guess it all comes down to the luck of the draw. Which web page/picture feed someone looks at first or if someone uploads their images a split second before the photographer next to them.
In a very regulated world, randomness and chance seem to provide another aspect to consider when pondering if something will go somewhere...

Again, this is another self indulgent post and I look forward to the time when I become blase about bits being published, but until then I shall continue to bore both of you with posts about it...