Today's photography

'Today' is a cornerstone of BBC Radio Four's morning programming. Billed as a news and current events programme it would also be fair to describe it as a retirement home for a certain type of irritable old journalist who, if they were a member of your family, would be the uncle who lives on his own, ruins Christmas every year by being so bloody miserable and only brings you joy at the moment when you realise that he is not in fact cumodgney yet loveable like some character in a Disney family feature, but is in fact a proper pain in the arse and hey, you don't have to invite him round again, ever.

The presenters on today have a reputation for being 'fierce'. This is because you cannot call broadcasters 'rude', even if that's what they are. In my house, they are referred to as 'the breakfast nutters' because of their amazing ability to get upset about inconsequential things, usually technology stories that are about making life easier for pets.

Because I'm a rational type I now restrain myself to simply turning the radio off in disgust about once a week, rather than tossing the thing out the window, which is probably a more proportionate response to some of the asinine opinions expressed.

It's not just news and interviews though, the show has a couple of hours to fill every morning and you can't do that just by being rude to politicians, although you can tell that the presenters would like to give it a damn good try. No, the show also seems to report on an alarming number of new surveys that reveal something or other about the spam buying habits of the great British public or something equally important, and medical stories about new cures for the sort of maladies that affect their listeners, like irritability and bouts of depression.

The behaviour of the presenters does perform the essential service of getting the heart rate of the listener up to anaerobic levels first thing in the morning, the way that usually only a really good alarm clock or an earthquake can. Carefully maintained, one can be in a simmering rage all day, lasting until it's time to uncork dinner.

One of the stories that caught my attention the other morning was an apparent growing trend in funeral photography.

Now, I thought that the only people that took photographs at funerals were either the police, looking to get some pictures of family villains for the files, or intrusive press photographers who know that grief sells, especially when it's somebody else's.

My first reaction was one of mystified spluttering indignation. What sort of person hires a photographer for a funeral? Obviously, I thought, this is an effect of celebrity culture. People see grieving celebs in magazines and, just like the red carpet, want to 'get the look'. But apparently not so. It's all down to people wanting to remember a day that, for most of them, passes in something of a blur. So the funeral photographer.


Even as I tee'd up a 'the world has gone mad' rant, they wheeled on some history professor from a provincial poly to explain that this is, in fact, simply a revival of a Victorian practice. That the Victorians used to have funereal photographs is not really that much of a surprise, they loved black, and plumes, and heavy wooden furniture and so were a natural society for really liking death. Somewhat like goths, but with rickets, a work ethic and a shocking taste for gin.

Indeed there was a gathering of goths in Whitby not long ago that had, as one of the events, a Victorian funeral. God knows I was a moody a teen as anyone but at least I had the good manners to confine myself to my bedroom and not hang around graveyards looking glum.

So funeral photography is nothing new, although the photos are now in colour. Problem is though, as everyone is dressed in black, who's going to know?