Stop 43

I like taking photos. It’s probable that you, whoever you are, also take photos, either with a camera or cell phone. It’s just as probable that you upload them to the internet. To Flickr, Facebook, Picasa, Instagram and other photo sharing sites. We all own our own photos. If your photo was taken after 1978, it’s automatically copyrighted for as long as you live and then a further 70 years after they put you in the ground. Which, incidentally, I hope is many, many years from now. So, in summary, the photos we take are our property. Except, they’re potentially not. Not anymore. Not in the UK.

I took the photo below, and shared it on Flickr. Now I’m sharing it on my blog. Want to use it? Fine. I’m pretty easy going. All my photos are licensed on Creative Commons, and anyone can use my photos for non-commercial purposes for free. Want to use it for a commercial purpose? I’ll probably be ok with that. Get in touch, and we’ll agree a price, providing I’m happy with who is using it and how. Actually, the image above perhaps isn’t the best example, because it’s a photo of artwork by Damian Hirst, and he might have copyright issues if I sold it commercially!

What if someone uses my image for commercial purposes without telling me? Well, that’s called theft and I will seek recompense, and plenty of it. Far more recompense than had they just asked in the first place. But here’s the problem. There’s every chance that in future I might find myself unable to negotiate or demand a fee or damages. I may not even be able to get them to stop using the image. Why? Because, under the UK Enterprise and Regulatory Reform Act, they may well be using the image legally. Yes, it is still my image, yes it is still in copyright. But no, copyright doesn’t actually mean anything.

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Here’s the issue*. Random people out there in the world do have a habit of using images that don’t belong to them. Let’s say a chap called John Doe decides to start a blog. He writes a half dozen posts, and then gives up. In one of those posts he used your photo. Can John Doe be contacted? Nope, he used a pseudonym and never did get round to putting contact info on his blog. Anyway, along comes some ad company, and they see that photo on his blog. They like it. They try to contact him and, of course, fail. At that point, the photo is considered ‘orphaned’. And now that it’s orphaned, the ad company can use it. They have to pay a fee to a Collective Licensing Organisation. But you, the owner of the photo, get nothing.

Your photos can become orphaned almost instantly. The moment you upload them to the internet, they are exposed. If one is used under the new Act, then it’s your job to find that out and to claim a fee from the Collective Licensing body. And as I understand it,  they’ll tell you what you get paid. And if you don’t like it, then tough. And if you don’t want it used in the way it is being used, there’s a big question mark over whether you can put a stop to it. This is a genuine and serious issue. I know for a fact that dozens of my images have been used across dozens of sites on the internet. These are just the ones I’ve found or come across and therefore know about. Some of them credit me, many don’t. Some asked my permission (technically unnecessary), many didn’t.

As a photographer, this irks me, to put it mildly, on three main counts. Firstly, as a point of principal. If the photo isn’t yours and can’t be purchased from the owner, then don’t use it. If it’s a digital image, then it’s clearly been taken after 1978 and is therefore still in copyright – fact. Secondly, I may well not want a particular organisation to use any of my photos. For example, if the English Defence League, or other extremist group, found a photo of a flag that I’ve taken and decided they liked it, I would reject their offer. Thirdly, every time an orphaned photo is bought through Collective Licensing, potentially two photographers are robbed of their rightful dues. The guy or gal who took the photo. And the photographer of an alternative image that would otherwise have been purchased.

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*There are actually many issues. I’m not going to pretend I’ve gone into all of them, let alone understand all of them. I still have many unanswered questions myself. Many of those questions, it appears, currently have no answers. Some parts of the Enterprise and Regulatory Reform Act are poorly defined, and we will have to wait and see how it works. How will this work internationally? If an orphaned image belongs to an American, for example? How on earth would any one know the nationality of a photographer? There are positive benefits to the bill too, though,  in that cultural entities such as museums and libraries need legislation in order to allow them to preserve important photos.

But it seems to me to be another shoddy piece of legislation, part of the Digital Economy Act, that’s been rashly thought up by people with little concern for their constituents and maximum concern for big business. It’s been rushed through parliament without proper debate and it’s just yet another sorry chapter of government and business not understanding what the digital age is or means. There’s plenty of research you can do if you’re interested. There is an organised protest group called Stop 43 (Clause 43 is the relevant part of the Act), and articles on the BBC and New Statesman. The Act has been referred to as the Instagram Act.

I do wonder how the photo above stands in copyright law. Of course, I did not take it. That’s me in the photo. It was taken prior to 1978. But I scanned it, with permission, and processed it through Photoshop, creating a new and discernibly different image.

 

 

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School of Churchill

When I was a wee boy I went to a private prep school in North London, called St Johns. It’s grown since then, when it was a smallish school housed in a beautiful old mansion set atop a lofty hill with panoramic views across London.  The grounds included a small pond, some woodland and acres and acres of fields. We played rugby and cricket on those fields. I liked cricket, but loathed rugby. My first day was in September of 1979 and I left in the mid 80s. I just browsed through their website and I see just one teacher remains from my day. He started on the same day I did.

I have fond memories of the school, although I was not a model pupil. School bored me. To tears. Education should have an entertainment factor to it. To keep one interested. Unfortunately, I can count on my fingers the number of teachers who kept my attention. Most of them were from St Johns. It was an excellent school, and I hope it still is. I can still smell the freshly cut grass of the cricket fields. I can still remember the pain of returning from ninety minutes of rugby on soggy pitches in sub zero temperatures. I distinctly remember the agony of trying to warm my frozen hands up by placing them on the radiators in the changing rooms.

Summers were the best. If the sun was warm enough, shirt sleeve order was allowed. Off came ties and jackets, and our sleeves could be rolled up. We might, on occasion, be allowed to wander through the woods down to the bottom fields at lunch time to play. Id’ play football. Every break, every lunch hour. On the fields in summer, but usually in the car park with a plastic airflow ball. I loved football, and was ever resentful that the official school game was rugby.

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I’m there in the photo above. Twelve years old? About that. It was posted on the old schools website, now only available on the Web Archive. This photo sums up my school life. Everyone has their books open, hard at work. I have an empty desk, scratching my head as I probably think up that day’s unlikely explanation as to why I’ve done sod all work. You can also tell that my mum scrimped on the cost of a barbers – a classic bowl cut. The boy to my right was my best friend at school. He lived just up the road from me, and we spent many days playing in the woods that sat between our houses. We got up to plenty of mischief. We don’t keep in touch, although we’re Facebook friends. He got married, had kids and seems to be doing very well. The boy in front was also a good friend. I spent a fair amount of time round his house playing console games and football. He was sentenced to double life for murder in the early 90s, and I have no idea what he’s doing these days.

At St Johns we were split into four Houses. We were allocated a place in a house on our first days. There was Lawrence, presumably the one of Arabic fame. Oates, of Antarctic fame. Lincoln, the token American. I can imagine our old headmaster, Mr Norman, being the embodiment of our ‘special relationship’. My house was far more British. My house was Churchill. Although pedants might want to bring up his US ancestry. But in every sense, he was very British. He was a war hero. A national hero. A global hero. Also an irascible racist, fan of eugenics and colonizer.  He was a product of his age, and a good example of the complexities of humanity.

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He was also a big influence in my life, in many ways. Introduced to him at school, I was always bound to look up to him, take an interest in him and his story. On that first day of school, he’d only been dead 14 years, The war had ended just 34 years earlier. He does embody everything good about Britain in the popular narrative and represents a largely rewritten account of what it means to be British.

He also represents much of what was wrong about Britain in the less popularized accounts of his life. He’s been in the news lately. His face is going to bless the reverse of the five pound note in a few years time. As per the photo above.  His funeral has also been news in light of the ceremonial departure of Margaret Thatcher. There have been the predictable comparisons. But in truth, there was no comparison. Of the many positive influencers from my school days, Winston Churchill was most certainly amongst them.

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Save the Flag

You may accuse my of bias if you wish, and you may have a point, but I happen to think that the Union Flag is the best looking flag in the world. All flags are unique, true, but the Union Flag is more unique than most. For a start, it’s not simply three stripes. Far too many countries employ the three stripe rule. Bland. Secondly, it has three colours. Flag should have three colours. Two colours is too plain. Four becomes messy. Lastly, it has no tacky symbols tacked on, be they stars, sickles, suns, crescents or flora and fauna.

The Union Flag (it’s only the Union Jack at sea) is unique, classy and instantly recognizable. I also love the fact that people make so many abstract and imaginative variations upon it. You can mess around with the colours and add lacy edges if you wish to create something even more unique. Mexico could learn a lesson or two from the Union Flag. It is possible to go over the top when ‘protecting‘ your flag…

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But alas, the Union Flag is an endangered species. In little over a year Scotland will hold a referendum to determine whether or not to break away from the United Kingdom and form their own country. I am personally against such a breakaway but I will not have a say in this referendum. That, quite rightly, is an issue for the Scots themselves. I don’t believe that the nationalists will succeed. I don’t believe it would be good for Scotland. It probably wouldn’t have much impact for England. We’d be a little better off, but not so much so that anyone notices. The Scottish Nationalist Party have a real wishy washy view on independence, where they seem to be  wanting to cherry pick the bits of the Union they like, and ditch the bad bits. If it’s an independence vote, then it should be a case of in or out.

I am trying to find out what sort of turnout they need for the vote to be enforceable. I thought it scandalous that the Scots and Welsh were awarded self governments during Tony Blair’s tenure based on a handful of people turning up to vote. The previous referendum to that, in the 70s, required a turnout of at least 40%. Personally, I would insert a requirement for 50% of the registered electorate, regardless of how many turn up, to vote ‘Yes’ for the referendum to be valid. The default vote should always be for the status quo.

The consequences of Scottish independence are massive. For a start, the United Kingdom will cease to exist. After all, we will be left with England, Northern Ireland and Wales. Northern Ireland is a province and Wales a quasi form of principality. Only England and Scotland are/were kingdoms, and if one of them does the off….well there’s no ‘united’ to that, is there. Great Britain will also cease to have any political meaning to it and will once again solely become a geographical term. Northern Ireland, of course, has never actually been part of Great Britain.

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Back to the point at hand though. The flag. The Union Flag is a combination of the flags of Ireland, Scotland and England. It’s actually been around since before the union of England and Scotland. If there’s no Scotland what happens to the flag. This is an as yet unanswered question. It doesn’t just affect the UK. There’s a whole bunch of countries using the Union Flag in their flag, including Australia and New Zealand. Some Canadian states also use it, and one state of the USA has a Union Flag in the corner. That state being Hawaii. Ironic really, seeing as Hawaiian born Obama was accused of being ‘too British’ to be president.

Perhaps these countries will see this as the right time to ditch the Union Flag. Maybe those who are still technically ‘attached’ to the UK will see this as the right time to declare themselves full republics too. I’m thinking of Australia, Canada and New Zealand in particular. They could join other former colonies who have in the last couple of decades ditched the Union Flag – South Africa and Hong King. The repercussions of Scottish independence could be quite far reaching.

The Union Flag looks a bit bare in the image above, with the Scottish blue removed. Perhaps this would be the right moment to include a bit of Welsh in the flag. See the image below. I think adding the Welsh Dragon would be a bit tacky (see my comments from the first paragraph!) but why not add a bit of their green. We could market it as a promotion to the Welsh! Of course, another option, is to simply ignore the fact Scotland has gone it’s own way and just carry on with the Union Flag as it is.

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The Great Flood

When I arrived back in the UK in February 2011 the country was stricken with drought. That changed about a year later, when it began raining. It hasn’t stopped since. The country has been stricken with flooding for the last year as a result. A nightmare for insurers and home owners. The photo below is of a river going through a field near to my home.  I accidentally mapped it in Poland in Lightroom, but it is in fact in Dorset. I promise. I worked in a service station sited alongside the field for the best part of six years. It always flooded during heavy rains.

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I have to ask a few dumb questions when doing home insurance quotes. One of them is, ‘has your property, or any other properties within 3.1 miles previously suffered from flood damage’. I add a caveat, of sorts…..’to the best of your knowledge’.  I get some dumb answers to match my dumb question. Some people will tell me there hasn’t been any flooding since the great flood of 50, 100 or 200 years ago. They should probably just shut up. But they don’t, so I tick the box and send their premium shooting up.

Others just answer ‘no’. Even though I often know the answer is yes. The most responsible answer to such a dumb question? ‘What sort of a dumb question is that? Three point one miles? How am I supposed to know?’ It’s not, however, an acceptable answer. I need a yes or a no, and I either tick the box or I don’t. The insurance industry and government have a real headache on their hands with the issue of flooding, and it doesn’t look like being resolved anytime soon.

On the subject of home insurance, I have a project in the offing. A ‘dummies guide to insuring your home’ sort of a thing. An insiders guide cum expose. One thing that has become apparent to me over the last couple of years is that 99% of home owners haven’t got the slightest clue what they are doing. Customers will complain that insurers try everything to wriggle out of claims. Do you know how often I hear that? About the same amount as I hear people tell me that they haven’t read their documents because ‘no ever actually reads them, do they/  I haven’t got time to read all that stuff, there’s too much of it/ I just file them for when I need them/…’ etc.

So in summary, people who don’t know what they are insured for, and what they aren’t insured for, get upset when they find out too late what they are insured for or (more to the point) what they are not insured for. The sad fact is that the majority of home owners in the UK are dummies. They need the appropriate guide. I doubt they will read it. But for those that do want to know how to get a quote, the best price, the right cover and how not to make the silly mistakes I see people making every day, I will provide. At a cost, of course. The joy of Kindle publishing…

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National Trust Weekend

Last weekend the National Trust had a special deal going. Free entry into most of their properties. What an absolute bargain. We made the very most of it, on both the Saturday and Sunday. The National Trust is one of my favourite organisations in the world, preserving the historical infrastructure of the country for everyone to enjoy. We were members last year, and would have renewed this year were we certain to be here for much of it. We aren’t, so we didn’t.

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We visited the stately home and gardens of Stourhead, renowned for their manicured lawns and colourful floral displays. This was very much the wrong time of year to visit. The cold start to spring has delayed the fresh shoots of flowers and trees. It all still looks very bleak and wintry. But it was also still an interesting visit.

The photo above? An ice hut. I’d long wondered what people did for ice in the middle of summer in the days before electric refrigeration. I still don’t know what people did for ice, generally speaking. But I now know what rich people did. They had an ice hut. And when their lake was frozen over in the depth of winter, they’d send down their manservant to brings slabs of it back. It’d be stored in the ice hut between layers of straw. Ice could be kept frozen for up to two years. Ingenious.

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We also visited Poole and took the ferry over to Brownsea Island. Again, the scene was wintry and bleak. But then the sun came out. If I’m asked what the most beautiful thing in the world is, I have to answer ‘the sun’. When it casts it’s rays upon the earth, everything in it’s path is transformed into an object of natural perfection natural. There is nothing so ugly that the sun cannot bestow it with instant radiant beauty.

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Brownsea Island is a haven for wildlife. Birders have a feast of winged beasts to go spotting. Children will be entertained by the peacocks and roosters that strut their stuff around the lawns, demanding to be fed tidbits from visitors picnics. It’s also one of the last places you’ll find the native Red Squirrel out and about in the wild. The American grey squirrel has pretty much seen off it’s ginger cousin from the rest of the country.

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I did come back with a photo or two. For the Stourhead shots, click here. For the Poole/Brownsea Island ones, click here.

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Shard and the Skies of London

If you’ve been to these parts before, you might remember my rather scathing post regards the pricing of the Shard for a ride up its elevator, the Shark of Glass. If you’ve been reading my blog for long enough, you might have guessed that eventually my contempt would wilt and I’d cough up. I do like going up things, whether it’s a tower, a monument, a mountain or anything else that offers a view.

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So what’s the ride up the Shard’s elevator like? It’s as ear-popping as the price is eye-popping. It’s a two lift ride that climbs into the sky at 14 miles per hour. It’s a slickly organised ride as well, I might add, with an attractive foyer and well managed queues. Before you know it, you’re climbing a few wooden steps and out onto an enclosed gallery with 360 degree panoramic views across London.

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But the best view is yet to come. There’s another staircase that leads on to a higher viewing gallery, which is partly open to the atmosphere. It was a nice day, not too much wind. But at this height, the winds are that much more fierce, and it’s quite a noise. The video I took, which is below, was shot from a compact camera. So noise is easily picked up. But don’t be fooled into thinking what you can hear is just down to cheap mics. It really does blow a right racket up there.

So. Was it worth £25? It’s a tough call. I don’t think it offers value for money, that’s for sure. But they do seem to be selling plenty of tickets easily enough, for the moment at least. I guess it just comes down to how much you want to see that view. It is a very special view. Unique. On a nice day, perhaps it’s just about worth the entrance fee if you’ve got plenty of time to spare and have seen everything else you wanted to see. I pity those who book well ahead and get nothing but a view of the clouds that regularly inhabit this capital city extraordinaire.

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If you don’t want to pony up quite that much money? There’s always the London Eye. I did that this weekend too. Or St Paul’s Cathedral. Oh yes, I really did treat myself. Thank you Auroras Encore. The London Eye isn’t much cheaper at about £18, and you only get half an hour in a capsule, once you’ve battled through the queues. Although we got an hour long ride this weekend, because we’re special it broke down. Whilst we were at the top. Bonus.

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St Paul’s Cathedral is the shortest building in this trio, but still offers a fairly lofty perch to shoot a photo or two from. Of the three it is the only one where you don’t have to shoot through tinted glass, which helps. Although truth be told, the view from St Paul’s isn’t quite as dramatic. Not least because it’s the one place where you can’t see the most beautiful building in the whole of the city….St Paul’s. But you can’t have it all.

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Rather disappointingly, photography is no longer allowed inside the cathedral, due to crowds gathering under the dome to get their snaps. That’s such a shame. It’d be nice if they’d operate a more friendly photography policy. Perhaps allow people to shoot on weekdays when it’s not so busy. Or place a charge for photography, like many European venues do. I’d have paid a few pounds extra. It;s a win-win situation, for both the visitor and the treasurer.

I did however, take a whole bunch of photos from the three venues. Some of the shots are just so-so. Others are a bit meh. But it’s tough shooting through tinted glass at full zoom to pick out distant objects like Wembley Stadium. Still, the Shard photos are here, the London Eye photos here and the Cathedral photos are here.

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Thatcher’s Child

I am, possibly, the definitive Thatcher’s Child. Well, me and all those of my age. Margaret  Thatcher won the first General Election I remember, when I just just six years old and about to enter education proper. She was still PM when I hit the age of 18. I grew up in a Britain that was riven with division, evolving from a manufacturing economy into a services based economy, and those my age finished our education having known no other leader.

Some will tell you that she saved Britain, transforming a bankrupt state in decline into a prosperous world power once more. Others will decry her tenure as one that destroyed our industries, sold off our assets and threw millions onto the scrap heap. Both sides are quite correct. I’d offer counters to both sides. Our national prosperity was created at huge human cost, based on unfair and short term deregulation, funded by credit that laid the foundations for our current economic malaise. On the other hand, the unions had become so powerful, so militant, so detached from reality that they were destroying the very industries they were supposed to be trying to safeguard – someone had to stop them. They made quite clear that it was death or victory, comrades. Thatcher heard the cry, and obliged.

 I sometimes enjoy sitting on the fence. As I’ve made obvious in some of my recent posts, I don’t believe that anything is black or white. I neither think of Thatcher as a savior or a monster. She was, very clearly, one of the most important Prime Ministers of the last, or any, century. I’ll jump off the fence for a moment. Despite my reservations, I’d rather have had her win the 79 and 83 elections than someone else. She served a purpose. It would have been an idea if she’d stepped aside in 87. Eight years was enough. On the other hand…maybe not. She is everything that the current incumbent at No 10 is not.

Britain is better off today for her having triumphed. I admire any politician whose policies I believe to be a product of their convictions rather than a product of a popularity contest. Even when I don’t agree with them. Margaret Thatcher most certainly did not sit on the fence. She was certainly easy to look up to. Especially for a six year old boy curiously observing electoral history being made.  I liked, and still like, Margaret Thatcher. I wish her well, wherever she is going now. She was never one for turning.  If she can see a white light, I might suggest that now is not the best time to start…

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