Tuesday, 19 January 2016

SHARKS

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I have just written a piece about sunken treasure in the waters off that island paradise called the Seychelles.
Then a couple of days ago, on the news, there is a report of man who was snorkeling just twenty meters from the beach being taken by a shark, and there is another report of a French tourist being taken just two weeks prior to this latest incident.
A belated word of warning , if you go looking for that treasure…BEWARE OF THE SHARKS.
I spent a lot of time swimming offshore in the Seychelles and often got a scare when a clump of seaweed on the ocean floor some twenty /thirty feet down, would seem to move. It does put one off a little.
All of the diving instructors that I worked with assured me that the sharks were not a problem, one or two hammerheads, well out at sea, but nothing in the bays.
I do not for a moment think they were lying but maybe they should have a re-think and install some nets on the popular beaches. It would be a great shame but it keeps the tourist trade happy. No one wants to go on holiday and finish up as shark shit.
No one can blame the sharks. It is their environment and they are hungry, humans are just a snack to them.
Humans do not move too well in the water, no matter how graceful we think our freestyle crawl is. The hungry shark sees a slow moving target with few signs of danger, in it goes.
I often think sharks have no taste buds because most of their human targets must taste of polystyrene or latex rubber, but it must be worth it , humans do not put up much of a struggle after the first hit and then its easy to consume.
I must admit that I am a pool person after seeing “Jaws”. The only way I want to go underwater these days is in a submarine, preferably a nuclear one.
The most vivid example I have seen of the capacity of sharks to consume huge chunks of matter was on Norfolk Island. Another island paradise, this one in the Pacific , but a paradise for entirely different reasons.
Not many beach umbrellas and sandy floored bars there, mainly because there is only a tiny beach and the shark population residing just offshore puts off any swimming adventures. Not that we knew that when my crew went for a swim when we filmed there.
I won’t do a tourist brochure thing here, you can Google the place, but it is a small rocky Island about 1000 miles out in the ocean from mainland OZ, the most direct route is from Sydney.
It was at one time a notorious penal colony, anyone of the bad lads sentenced to go there never left, that was it.
At a certain time of the day, when the sun is very low the outline of a circular prison compound is revealed. The prisoners were kept in underground cages that formed a huge circle. Nice place
Today the Island attracts what would at one time been considered a Hippy crowd, easy come, easy go, and they have developed their own tourist industry. Well worth a visit.
When I was there we filmed the islands refuse department, yes they do have one, with a very smart truck. They collect the garbage from all of the little settlements in the hills and take it to the refuse tip. In this case, the Pacific Ocean
Yep, they actually tip all of the assorted rubbish into the sea. The tipping place is high on a cliff , about thirty metres above the water, the truck tips up and all of the white, council provided, rubbish sacks drop into the sea, slowly fill with water and then begin to sink.
I was naturally outraged at this appalling pollution of one of the worlds most beautiful areas, and voiced my opinion.
The Foreman Refuse Collector calmed my fears…’Just watch this mate” he said ”this stuff never reaches the ocean floor”
He was right.. As the sacks descended through the clear water, large dark shapes approached at lightning speed and ate them, yep, these critters would take a full sack of rubbish, tins, bottles, garbage, all in one bite…There were hundreds of them.
The Norfolk Island Refuse Disposal Unit, Marine Dept. (TNIRDUMD). Trash snacks a speciality.
That would look good on a T shirt.
Want some advice…never go swimming where you are considered to be the main course for a BIG fishes dinner.



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Wednesday, 13 January 2016

Riots I have known

Riots I have Known

This is an old post but still pertinent today.b

by
Along with most of the world I have been watching the riots that took place in London last weekend and on until Wednesday.
Quite apart from being appalled by what appeared to be inept Police action which allowed severe looting, arson and murder to take place, the images made me cast my mind back over civil disturbances I have been involved in and how the various Police forces handled them.
Probably the first riot I was involved in, purely from a spectator viewpoint, was in Paris in 1968.
At least I was a spectator at the outset but when the Gendarmes and riot police appeared and seemed determined to hit everyone in sight I too fled along with thousands of students..
I was in Paris to film a medical documentary, finished up staying in a Chateau outside of the city with some of the riot leaders.
The Police seemed to be very effective and no-one showed them their bare buttocks as I witnessed on a newsreel last week from London, they might have received a hot round just where they didn’t want one.
The UK Miners strike, which paralyzed the country for months, had some hairy moments too, it is difficult to get out of the way of a rampaging crowd when you have a massive camera slung over one shoulder, however I did manage it.
You seem to develop a sense of where not to stand.
A Polo match in India turned really sour when one of the competitors knocked the puck into the crowd causing some injury to a little boy..
From being a supporting cheering group of several thousand fans they turned within seconds into a bloodthirsty mob and were coming towards me.
I was actually filming the match and was just to one side of the VIP stand. The stand seemed to be the main target for the mob and they were coming fast.
Then the Police just seemed to appear from nowhere, hundreds of them, all armed with weighted bamboo canes. Very effective weapon against a crowd.
After a moment or two of nervous stand off the commander ordered his men to charge. They didn’t move, but the mob did…back to their seats in the stand..The game re-commenced.
Another incident in India was at the fish harbour in Mumbai. I was filming the processing of mountains of freshly caught prawns. The work was mainly carried out by very elegantly clad ladies in colourful saris, and it was this contrast that I wanted to capture on film, except the ladies took exception to me getting too close to them and started to pelt me with prawns, then stones, then knives and anything they could lay their hands on..
Sometimes I think I could have made it into an Olympic sprint team, this was one of those occasions. You realise that you are not going to win a verbal debate with the mob and that you might get seriously damaged, so like all heroes, I ran.
There is a suggestion from the Prime Minister of the UK that a policeman from the USA should pop over and give us the benefit of his experiences in dealing with gangs in LA and NY.
We certainly need some advice and this man seems to have some of the good stuff.
I was on a patrol with two female Police officers in a tough part of LA when we passed a crowd of youths on a street corner, as we drove by we got some verbal abuse and lots of finger signals. The patrol car circled the block and we went back for a visit.
I am five feet eight inches tall and both of the policewomen were shorter than me. The shortest fella in the gang was about six three.
I had barely gotten my camera out of the car when there were three of the gang, handcuffed, on the floor, another one was on his way down and the rest were heading for Olympic glory.
It took seconds. No consideration of Health and Safety there.
Another patrol took me to an apartment block in NY where a domestic violence was taking place, the man involved was reported to be armed with a shotgun.
Being high on adrenalin and naturally stupid, I raced up the stairs with the two patrolmen to the apartment and filmed them banging on the door, they both stood to one side and I stood in the middle..
Stupid eh, this guy had a shotgun, the first thing he would see if he opened the door was a man pointing what could be mistaken for a weapon at him.
The door burst open and there he was, the arch villain, a little Italian man, in his shorts and vest, holding the gun, pointing down. It must have taken two seconds for two of NY’s finest to have him on the floor, disarmed and cuffed.
Which in a rather disjointed way brings me back to the riots in London and what should one do if you get caught up in it..
My motto is..If you see an angry, looting crowd, move off in the opposite direction as fast as you can…

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Monday, 11 January 2016

Lorenzo,s Oil Documentary

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Here is a short amusing story from Virginia USA..
Some time ago there was a movie released called “Lorenzo’s Oil”. The movie starred Nick Nolte and Susan Sarandon and was based on a true story about their severely handicapped child and their struggle to help him survive. The film was made after I had shot a documentary on the family some time earlier and it was aired on TV in the States.
The family were truly remarkable people and they had a house up in the Virginian Mountains, the location, which is secret , was in a winter sports area.
We made the film at the height of the skiing season, very deep snow, five or six feet of it, and it kept on coming down in almost white out conditions.
One small anecdote from the mother. Their house was on the side of a mountain and on the rear terrace they had a spa pool, they tended to use this all year round and it was constantly on a simmer mode in the winter, very pleasant ..and that’s what the local wildlife thought too.
One evening the family, mum and dad, went out onto the terrace for a bit of a soak and found two old brown bears sitting in the tub, as if they owned the joint..It took about half an hour of yelling  and banging metal pans etc to persuade Mr and Mrs Bruin to push off, which they did very reluctantly.
Apparently the tub was out of action for a long time due to the grease and dirt  that had  entered the filters..
However we finished that part of the doco  and the time came to drive down to Richmond for the filming of another section.
The soundman and the Director were chain smokers and we opted for them to travel in their own vehicle, a large van, along with the equipment and baggage….the rest of us, myself, my assistant and the Producer would travel in a normal saloon car.We had a walkie talkie in each vehicle for on the road communication…good planning ..
Where did it all go wrong
When we flew into the States we knew we would be going into the mountains and attempted to hire some FWD vehicles…no chance, every one of them was rented out. So we opted for a normal vehicle.
Perhaps that was the moment..
On our way down the mountain we ran into another small snow storm and as we rounded a bend the car just kept on travelling in a straight line…straight towards a flimsy fence and what looked like a massive drop..
This was it, the driver had no control whatsoever and we were about to smash through the barrier when we were saved.
We ran full tilt into a large truck coming up the hill.
There is a sequence of events when two vehicles collide. .The small screams from the passengers as they see their lives flashing before them and then there is the awesome sound of metal tearing…this is followed by  a strange silence..
And so it was with us.
No-one sustained bad injuries, just a bruise or two. We pushed and kicked the doors open and stepped out into the snowstorm. It was possible to hear the flakes of snow hit the ground…that’s how silent it was up in that mountain forest.
The drop at the side of the road was several hundred feet into a ravine.The four of us stood in some form of shock at the fate  we had cheated and all gave a silent little prayer of thanks for our saviours.
And then the door on the truck slid open and six of the biggest mountain men I had ever seen slowly began to climb out. They were very quiet and very peed off., you could tell that by the way they just glared and flexed their fingers.
I had the sudden and bright idea to call our other vehicle and get them to drive back up the road to offer some form of assistance. They had gone ahead and had also switched off the radio, so that they would not be bothered on the journey.. Clever eh.
The mountain men were still silent and still glaring. The two groups stood facing each other, then one of them spoke.
“You fucked our truck”
That’s when I knew we could be in some form of trouble.
Let me describe these fine mountain fellas. Did you ever see the group Z Z Top?
The three foot long beards, the pulled down droopy felt hats and the overcoats that trailed on the ground.
Thats what they looked like and these boys were not going to start singing, you could sense they wanted blood, an Englishman’s blood, particularly mine. .at least that’s what it felt like to me.
Suddenly they started to shuffle towards us and in spite of the rather high pitched and plummy apology from our lady producer they kept on coming.
At that moment another miracle occurred. in the shape of a State Trooper.
Out of the constant dumping of snow a police car emerged, A very tall man , made taller by his wide brimmed hat climbed out..The mountain men stopped and the trooper took charge of the situation, he restored order to chaos, helped us clear the road by pushing both the vehicles to one side and then arrested us.
We were vagrants, technically. Our bags were in the front car which was now many miles away, our passports and ID papers were in a bag in the back of that car. We had no means of identification. Bingo…  Arrested.
The trooper piled us into his station waggon along with a mountain man and took us off to his local lock up. .about twenty miles away. And he put us in a cell.
Yep…behind bars, just like in a western movie.
The mountain man tried to curry favour with the cop, “You remember me trooper” he said “I fixed the shingles on your roof last year”
The trooper, who was sitting at his desk never even looked up at our fellow prisoner, he just said “Yep, you charged me for it and the darn roof still leaks”
I think that brought the plea bargaining to an end.
As it was a Sunday  it took some time for  the trooper to find a judge to come and say wise words or sentence us to the electric chair, whatever they do in Virginia but eventually one turned up, still wearing his pyjamas under his top coat, he arraigned us and then fined us, except we had no money or credit cards, yes, they were all in the other car.
As it was a Sunday in the UK also we could not raise an executive at the TV station to vouch for us  either..The judge eventually relented and let us go having extracted an I.O.U from the producer to cover our fines when she could eventually be reunited with her credit card, which by now would be in Richmond.
Before we left we had some fun,we had our pics taken wearing  handcuffs, locked in the cell  and  with the trooper pointing his gun at us, but now we were free to go.
Except we had no money and Richmond was about 120 miles away.
The trooper eventually got us a ride with a big black guy who turned up in a battered old station waggon  and asked for 200 bucks for the journey..We had no option  we took it, payment on delivery.
 The snow was still coming down and it seemed we drove down that freeway sideways, first this side and then the other side.. It was a 120 mile skid. .But we made it..
 What happened when we caught up with the rest of our team is another story..
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Saturday, 5 December 2015

Worth another look

A Bizarre Adventure Aboard The USS Nimitz

 by
This is a short tale, but it sticks in my memory so maybe you will also enjoy it….
A day out on the ‘USS NIMITZ’ ..as you will see from the picture this is one Mother of a ship…one of the biggest tonnage vessels in the USA Navy.

I was sent down to Naples in Italy with a crew to do a short documentary on this naval titan as it set off on a patrol around the Gulf of Libya…in those days the Libyan state, controlled by Col Ghaddafi, (Still is)..Was not considered to be a friend of the Western world and it was constantly monitored by Allied navies.
After an eventful night in Naples..(Another story) we were picked up at the dockside and transferred to the Nimitz which was moored out in the bay.
Once on board we were shown to our quarters and invited to the Officers mess to meet our press liaison Officer. We all enjoyed our welcoming drink of a cola
Yep..  all USA Navy vessels are dry. .no alcohol whatsoever, ever, nada, zilch.. this was a three day trip but it already stretched out ahead of my near alcoholic crew like a lifetimes sentence.
OK, So, parched, alcohol free and already showing anxiety levels akin to those who go cold turkey on any addiction we set off on a filmic tour of this leviathan of the waves.
IT IS BLOODY BIG.
A one point I was able to stand at what can only be described as a crossroad of gangways, one in each direction. they all dwindled off into the distance for what seemed like hundreds of bulkhead doors.
Then there was the storage and engineering deck. This is immediately below the flight deck, its like several football fields joined together and it is stuffed full of aircraft, of all shapes and sizes but mainly fighter attack planes as one would expect, but the thing that really amazed me was the number of engineers who live down there, it seemed like thousands of them, all beavering away on engines and broken bits.
When we talked to some of these men they all said they had never been on the flight deck, they were on board for the two year mission and their aim was to work, pump iron in the vast gymnasium, eat, pass exams, eat some more, pump more iron and SAVE MONEY…these were serious people..and they had a lot to be serious about.
On our mission there had been a dog fight with a couple of Ghaddafi’s Migs out over the Gulf and both of them had been brought down. Time for a modest celebration in the Officers mess, modest it certainly was as we downed copious amounts of Coca Cola, but for these steely eyed Top Gun boys it could have been the best champagne or beer in the world.
The operation of Jets taking off and landing seemed to be a 24/7 task as jet after jet catapulted off the flight deck and the incoming hit the deck with a thump and were then taken down to the maintenance deck for a mechanics  rub down.
We met and interviewed the Captain of the vessel, this man was a USA Hero going back to the Vietnam war, it was reputed that he had been shot down on two occasions behind enemy lines and fought his way back with just a small hand gun, a tough cookie indeed, if it were me then one time being shot down would have sufficed.
The interview was arranged to be filmed on the flight control deck, the Captains Bridge, that’s the tall spiky tower in the pic  All was set up, the skipper arrived and we began, except we couldn’t..
Every time we started the interview the  sound man would shout “Cut”…he had a problem with his recording machine, in those days it was a Nagra,  A state of the art recorder  and a reel to reel ,very reliable, but this one would only turn round in short bursts of a couple of seconds. It didn’t take long to work out that the signal from the large rotating radar dish, just above our heads was sending out such a strong magnetic field that it actually stopped the recorder from working.
We quickly found another venue for our chat but it did give me food for thought that if the signal was that strong it could stop the recorder …what was it doing to the personnel who spent hours working on that deck every day…just a thought.. They all seemed quite normal..
OK..we did the usual documentary stuff for a few days , nice pics of the aircraft taking off and landing, some little escapades and near accidents but it all went relatively smoothly.
And then came the day of our departure.
The ship can stay at sea for over two years without re-fuelling and personnel rarely got to go on shore leave but for those in an emergency they can be flown off.
Not many volunteered.
At the appointed hour my crew assembled at the detailed departure point on the flight deck.
All equipment boxes securely fastened and stacked neatly, Navy style.. Then I looked around the deck. It was completely stuffed with fighter planes, row upon row of them, dozens of them, it was all you could see..
What I couldn’t see was a flight deck for my plane to trundle along to take off.
And where was our transport plane. .nowhere in sight.
Then a huge hole in the flight deck opened up and like the Phoenix from the ashes our twin prop driven aircraft arose. Its wings were folded up like a broken bird. They were soon flattened out and now it looked as though it was capable of flight…except.. there was no runway.
Then it dawned on me.
These lunatics were actually going to catapult us off the deck
And we were lunatics for agreeing to it…not that we were ever asked.
They were really going to sling us off the very short flight deck on a catapult..
Most people today have flown, the plane taxis to the end of a VERY LONG RUNWAY
They then run up the engines to high revs and start rolling down several hundred yards of concrete runway. .at a certain speed lift is achieved and the aircraft powers serenely into the blue yonder..
As aircraft went, ours was quite small, but it was much larger than any of the fighter planes that we had filmed taking off, these massively powerful war planes had been hooked up to the sling. Run their engines up to max power permitted, held back on their brakes and when ready the deck man would give a signal to both pilot and the catapult man and the combined forces of engine and catapult would throw the plane into the sky, an awesome operation.
Best seen from afar as a spectator.
Like sheep unto the slaughter my crew were herded across the deck and quickly kitted out in flight survival jackets, flight helmets, goggles.
Then we were boarded on the rear of the plane, the seats were all facing the tailgate ..we were told to take a brace position on take off and we did. The gear was stowed. The door was locked and now there was no escape.
The plane was trundled over to the end of the catapult section and attached. Looking out of the very small window I noticed we had attracted quite a crowd of onlookers.
Dozens of Navy folk were standing around peering at us, thumbs up signs etc were in abundance. I had the feeling that I had suddenly been invited to go into a big stone circular ring with some hungry lions licking heir lips at the other end.
I watched through the small window at the deck control man who I had filmed many times over the last few days giving his usual signals to the pilot, it normally consisted of spinning his index finger at ever growing speeds. This digital movement was copied on board the plane by the engines being revved to ear splitting level, the plane was threatening to tear itself apart as the engines reached maximum revs  and then came the executioners moment. The deckman stopped his murderous spinning and pointed forward with what I thought was a flamboyant gesture .At that moment I hated that man.
But I had no time to dwell on how I wanted to kill him as I was being propelled into the air at a limb wrenching speed ..and suddenly we were airborne, we soared away from the deck which I could see rapidly dwindling in the small window..
Brilliant…no doubt this was an exhilarating moment.
And then we stopped flying…
Apparently this is normal. .But I didn’t know it.
As we went rapidly down towards the ocean the aircraft made a valiant attempt to reach airspeed, it transpired that the catapult actually throws the plane off the deck at a much higher speed than the plane can fly at and it really just starts  to fall into the sea.
The screeching from the engines was now overwhelming and the plane appeared to resemble a million rivets flying in loose formation.
The glistening ocean was fast approaching and I made all of my prayers, in Urdu, Hebrew, Christian , Rastafarian and all of the rest…this was it, the end. The Big End…it was just a few hundred feet away and arriving quickly. Bye Bye life, Sex, Boozing, Watching Footie, and then as we were about to impact we started to lift.. we were actually flying… we seemed to just skim over the top before we began a stately ascent to a safer altitude.
Now it became clear to me why all those big body building, gluttonous, money saving mechanics never left the ship on its two year cruise. This was the only way off. They should all retire as rich men.,
Two short footnotes to this story.
The Cargo master who had flown with us told me they had lost two of these aircraft recently and it always drew a good audience of ghouls on the Nimitz to see if we could make it. He happily confessed that he had a death wish… Thanks fellas.
We were landed at an airbase on an Italian island, Sicily I think, and we were transported to our hotel by a Navy driver who had a big blue bus. On the way into the town, in the local rush hour we were struck a number of times by other vehicles. Our driver seemed completely unfazed, I asked him why. He said “Its always like this, none of these guys have ever learned how to drive, they have been driving like this FOR SEVERAL HUNDRED YEARS and aint got the hang of the motor car yet”
I guess he didn’t graduate with a major in history from his high school..
Still, as usual ..it was a pleasure to have completed another little adventure with the American Forces.

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Thursday, 12 November 2015

Hello and welcome to The Chelsy Swann Blogpost

Some of you may not be aware that the name Chelsy Swann is the pen name for two writers Mary Lou Brown/Clarke, and myself Richard Dodd, who have collaborated on two novels...

The Sandrunners..




A story about a young Egyptian peasant boy and his small runt camel who defeat all odds  tocompete in the New Olympics of 1896.

Maginty,s Quest.
A tale for the younger reader which involves Pirates, magic,treachery, and three sea creatures who have been given the power to carry out a quest which they have been waiting to do for several hundred years.The leader of this brave trio is an octopus called Maginty, a name given to him by Red Rufus Maginty. a renowned and feared Pirate.as a reward for saving  his life....Red Rufus was also a Magician.

There are another two novels written by myself under the name of RJ Dodd.

The Stack





This is a family saga set mainly in Australia but which starts of in the early 20th Century in England, which at that time was embroiled in a war with Germany.Two young men,survivors of that war, set out to Australia to begin a new life and set up family dynasties...but first they have to recover the gold they stole from a Turkish bank during the invasion of that country.....this is their story..

The Fiddler



This latest story relates the life adventures of a young farm boy who lives on the family farm in  18th Century Italy who, by chance, meets up with some of Mozarts Orchestra who are travelling to play a concert before the Pope in Rome.
The farm boy,Dante Gabriele, a talented player of the violin,taught by his uncle the  Parish Priest,decides he will renounce the rural life and join this group of troubadours.Was it a mistake..Dante meets life in the raw and suffers all of the pleasures and drawbacks of being a traveling musician in those times..which, just as today, was filled with adventures involving drugs,sex,intrigue,treachery...and in some tragic cases...death.

All four books are available worldwide on amazon... both on kindle and paperback .
All four books are adapted from our screenplays of the same names..and written with the emphasis of the pace of a movie..fast moving..brief dialogue..cinematic in style and delivery...go forth and enjoy.









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Thursday, 3 September 2015

RIOTS

Bizarre Adventures of a Cameraman – The Riots I have Known

Previously posted  by

Along with most of the world I have been watching the riots that took place in London last weekend and on until Wednesday.
Quite apart from being appalled by what appeared to be inept Police action which allowed severe looting, arson and murder to take place, the images made me cast my mind back over civil disturbances I have been involved in and how the various Police forces handled them.
Probably the first riot I was involved in, purely from a spectator viewpoint, was in Paris in 1968.
At least I was a spectator at the outset but when the Gendarmes and riot police appeared and seemed determined to hit everyone in sight I too fled along with thousands of students..
I was in Paris to film a medical documentary, finished up staying in a Chateau outside of the city with some of the riot leaders.
The Police seemed to be very effective and no-one showed them their bare buttocks as I witnessed on a newsreel last week from London, they might have received a hot round just where they didn’t want one.
The UK Miners strike, which paralyzed the country for months, had some hairy moments too, it is difficult to get out of the way of a rampaging crowd when you have a massive camera slung over one shoulder, however I did manage it.
You seem to develop a sense of where not to stand.
A Polo match in India turned really sour when one of the competitors knocked the puck into the crowd causing some injury to a little boy..
From being a supporting cheering group of several thousand fans they turned within seconds into a bloodthirsty mob and were coming towards me.
I was actually filming the match and was just to one side of the VIP stand. The stand seemed to be the main target for the mob and they were coming fast.
Then the Police just seemed to appear from nowhere, hundreds of them, all armed with weighted bamboo canes. Very effective weapon against a crowd.
After a moment or two of nervous stand off the commander ordered his men to charge. They didn’t move, but the mob did…back to their seats in the stand..The game re-commenced.
Another incident in India was at the fish harbour in Mumbai. I was filming the processing of mountains of freshly caught prawns. The work was mainly carried out by very elegantly clad ladies in colourful saris, and it was this contrast that I wanted to capture on film, except the ladies took exception to me getting too close to them and started to pelt me with prawns, then stones, then knives and anything they could lay their hands on..
Sometimes I think I could have made it into an Olympic sprint team, this was one of those occasions. You realise that you are not going to win a verbal debate with the mob and that you might get seriously damaged, so like all heroes, I ran.
There is a suggestion from the Prime Minister of the UK that a policeman from the USA should pop over and give us the benefit of his experiences in dealing with gangs in LA and NY.
We certainly need some advice and this man seems to have some of the good stuff.
I was on a patrol with two female Police officers in a tough part of LA when we passed a crowd of youths on a street corner, as we drove by we got some verbal abuse and lots of finger signals. The patrol car circled the block and we went back for a visit.
I am five feet eight inches tall and both of the policewomen were shorter than me. The shortest fella in the gang was about six three.
I had barely gotten my camera out of the car when there were three of the gang, handcuffed, on the floor, another one was on his way down and the rest were heading for Olympic sprint  glory.
It took seconds. No consideration of Health and Safety there.
Another patrol took me to an apartment block in NY where a domestic violence was taking place, the man involved was reported to be armed with a shotgun.
Being high on adrenalin and naturally stupid, I raced up the stairs with the two patrolmen to the apartment and filmed them banging on the door, they both stood to one side and I stood in the middle..
Stupid eh, this guy had a shotgun, the first thing he would see if he opened the door was a man pointing what could be mistaken for a weapon at him.
The door burst open and there he was, the arch villain, a little Italian man, in his shorts and vest, holding the gun, pointing down. It must have taken two seconds for two of NY’s finest to have him on the floor, disarmed and cuffed.
Which in a rather disjointed way brings me back to the riots in London and what should one do if you get caught up in it..
My motto is..If you see an angry, looting crowd, move off in the opposite direction as fast as you can…

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CLIMBING BOOTS AN ODE

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Yesterday morning, Mary Lou, who runs ReelshowInt, and I went for a long walk . From the small village in Northern Italy where we presently live, we made our way through some vineyards and began to climb up the hill through a large olive grove.We watched some hunters with dogs shooting hares and looking for truffles amongst the olive trees.
Eventually we arrived at the top of the steep hill and began our descent, down a different path. It was very gravelly and walking was a little tricky. I slid a couple of times on the loose gravel and Lou suggested I buy a new pair of boots as the grip on my old ones was not doing its job. The grip is fine..it was just a little tricky underfoot and getting rid of these boots would be like putting my granny in the waste bin..here is why..
In the Summer of 1968 I was sharing a holiday chalet, my former wife and young daughter, with another young couple and child.
The position was idyllic, perched on a steep cherry tree filled hillside in Switzerland overlooking Lake Lausanne.
We had been in the place for about ten days and were preparing for the drive back to the UK when we got a phone call, at least the other man did, he was a freelance cameraman as was I.
The call was from a Producer with a well known TV company in England ,and he asked us to go to Grindlewald in Switzerland to meet up with a group of climbers who were going to attempt a summer ascent of the North Face of the Eiger.
The climbers were driving out from England and had a van full of camera equipment, they needed to know how to use it.
We both said we would meet them and off we went…families as well..it was going to be a paid for extension of our holiday.
After meeting the climbers and going over the equipment with them we were then asked to film the ascent from the edges of the massive granite face (5-6,000 ft) of the most feared and awesome mountain in Europe.
I had gone on a holiday in a chalet..now I needed some boots that would do the job.
Needless to say that there are lots of boots to choose from in Grindlewald and after mulling over styles, fit, colour, grip, comfort I eventually settled on a pair.
SCARPA Asolo (TV)… ..That is the name stamped on the side of the boots.
They have since travelled the world with me. Apart from trudging over/through peat bogs, marshes, some canny rock climbs in my native Cumbrian fells. The Peak District and crags in Scotland and Wales they are still going strong, after 43 years.
They were packed for every trip I have ever made over-seas and have been in swamps, jungles, deserts, beaches, war zones and one or two posh hotels.
They have never worn, are still comfortable and have the original laces.
Not a bad buy for about six pounds.
Recently I was filming a drama on some sea cliffs down in Cornwall. As I dangled over the sea on a rope, one of the climbing rope wranglers noticed the boots. He was amazed. He had been in the Scarpa Boot company in Switzerland as a boy and helped to design this very same model.
Small world… and as I said to Lou, these boots go in the bin when I do and by the look of them that might be some reasonable time in the future..I hope..
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