Clive Harris: Gunged but not forgotten

Very sad news today that my old friend Clive Harris has died. Known to the world as “Bill Shipton” – a nom de plume (or nob de plume as Clive would almost inevitably have termed it) he adopted partly to spare his parents’ blushes and partly just because he enjoyed assuming other identities. He was “De Forest Hill” for a number of his contributions to Mayfair, the soft-core girly mag we both worked for at the end of the 1980s. All of his aliases used elements of places he had had lived, though I am not entirely sure when he lived in Shipton. Forest Hill, though, was his home throughout the 80s and until he moved to St Leonard’s. 

It was at Mayfair that he first hit on the idea of launching Splosh! (variously Splush and Splash before he settled on the final title). It was this magazine and its various video/event/photoset spin-offs that dominated the last quarter century of his life. Although he claimed never to be an enthusiast for all things messy in the way that his many readers were, most of us had our doubts, but never pushed him too far on the subject. Despite his very public showman persona, he could be quite a private man. 

Splosh was to prove a real adventure for him and he recounted many of the more outlandish episodes with typical aplomb. There was the German photographer who visited him as part of a pilgrimage to the home of Messy Fun and, as a parting shot, pointed to the rear of his car and offered: “And if you are interested, Mr Shipton, my boot is full of pissing videos”. Surely a sentence not found in many phrase books. 

Then there was his injunction from a well-known high-street chain when his spin-off foot fetish line, Toes R Us, reached the attention of the nationals. He made the nationals again when he, a film crew, a bunch of scantily-clad young ladies and several gallons of custard were forcibly evicted from a Manchester hotel one evening. Knowing the hotel in question, it was probably one of the more innocent pursuits going on there that night. 

Despite his long association with Splosh, it was comedy writing that was Clive’s true love. I suspect that it was this element of sploshing – surely the most comedic of fetishes – that actually appealed to him. He was extremely proud of the sketches sold to the Two Ronnies and the two (I think) humour books he had published in the 80s. I suspect, he would have loved to have done more of that. 

His bawdy, carousing image was partly one of his other characters, but it was one he had played so long and so well that it was sometimes hard to tell where Bill Shipton stopped and Clive Harris started. The real Clive was a diligent son, resigned to spending Christmas and birthdays with his aging parents and never missing out on his filial obligations – though subsequently recounting these inevitably teetotal occasions with more than a touch of the Alan Bennetts. 

His sense of obligation and his obvious genuine affection for his parents was heightened by the early death of his brother. This was a person that remained clearly hugely important to Clive throughout his life and who he would sometimes namecheck with a sense almost of guilt that it was he that had reached adulthood and not his sibling. Typically, it was a birthday visit to his parents that stopped him attending a reunion of the last generation of Mayfair boys in April 2012. Had I known it would have been a final chance to catch up with him, the date would definitely have been changed. The fact it wasn’t is was something I will long regret. 

Although we failed to meet on that occasion – and it must be 17 or 18 years since I last sat down for a pint with him – we talked more in the last 12 months than we had since he last put together early issues of Splosh in my then house in Kidderminster (92-95). Always via Facebook, we caught up a lot on some of the intervening years. He seemed happy with life in St Leonard’s, though I sensed he sometimes missed the wider landscape of his London days.

Health – his own and his parents – was a forcible preoccupation over the last year or so but – in his own case at least – it seemed that he’d come through the worst. Obviously, that was not the case. Clive made an impression on everyone who knew him. His unconventional looks, on/off showman personality and his genuine wit and humour made him impossible to ignore. This was a man who was never going to be in the background (except in Viz where he has appeared in its comic strips as the token pervert/porn vendor since 1989 when he first interviewed its creators). He had a very competitive wit, hating to be out-ad-libbed by anyone and, in truth, he seldom was. 

As we talked of his health scares on line of late, we even – little knowing its imminence – joked about his epitaph and immediately agreed on one. It’s cheeky, a bit corny, but memorable never the less – the perfect farewell for Mr Harris/Shipton. 

“Clive Harris 

1957-2013 
Messed in Peace"
 

Downes and Out

Cheekily namechecking me on Facebook as some sort of print recidivist, Steve Downes (latterly of Juice Digital, but more famously co-progenitor of Paver Downes) asserted in his blog that recent events in Egypt have proved that conventional newspapers are finished, with citizen journalists now ultimately setting the news agenda via Twitter. Typically, I demur. Ish.

Downes: A friend of Mr Cairo?

Newspapers, like a kind of wood-pulp Michael Myers, have frequently been assumed to be dead, only to rise and continue stalking their prey, oft stronger than before. Telephony, radio and TV have all taken a turn as nemeses. Telephony, of course, became a sometime abused tool of the trade and radio, I suggest, has not proved the greatest medium for extended analysis.

Of course, until recently, radio was also rather hamstrung as a medium by listening opportunities – while great for car owners, its utility on the tube remains somewhat limited. Technology, of course, could change that, though probably more to the benefit of Nick Grimshaw than James Naughtie.

Myers: Non-wood-pulp version

Up until the digital dawn, TV was undoubtedly seen as the great newspaper slayer. As with radio, it wasn’t really suitable for in-public consumption – though the combination of smartphones and free Wi-Fi on the Hong Kong underground seem to be boosting someone’s viewing figures – but it was (and is) great at delivering complex information in a memorable, comprehensible and, often, affecting manner. It didn’t destroy newspapers though.

Instead, as has been widely documented, an unexpected symbiosis between telly and the press sprang up, with TV life bursting out of the listings section and cross-migrating to the news, fashion, comment, gossip and feature sections of virtually every UK newspaper. While The Star may front-page Big Brother lesbian fisherwomen on a self-serving daily basis, The Guardian et al still have their higher-browed weekly analyses of significant motifs in Les Revenants. TV, for its part, repays the debt with its daily review of What’s In The Papers.

Cross-media ownership – Channel 5/The Express, News International/Sky etc – only fuels the beast, driven by cross-promotion, faux exclusives and the desire to push a multi-platform world view. While it’s true in the UK that TV channels are restricted in terms of the political bias they can manifest, anyone who saw Sky News’ coverage of the 2010 election will remember the Fox-lite chicanery the channel adopted, much of which saw the channel get its knuckles rapped, somewhat lightly, long after the ballots were well and truly closed.

In light of this, you could argue that the internet (or one of its many manifestations) was just one more minor obstacle to overcome in the 400 year-plus history of printed news. I wouldn’t argue that though. The combined effect of twitter, Facebook and other websites is, of course, hugely transformational. There is barely a conventional news operation in the world that doesn’t now have its own online presence.

In fact, I suspect only three factors keep the presses rolling – the lingering preference of an older generation of (cash-rich) readers, the difficulty of monetising on-line news sites and the institutional habits of press organisations, some of which, like The Observer, have been killing trees on a weekly basis for 350 years or more. Unravelling such an organisation – printers, distributors, paper suppliers etc – is a massive operation, dwarfing even the 1987 revolution that sent typesetters into premature (but much-deserved) retirement. Of these three factors, the second is by far the most important, with the other two merely being transitory diversions.

As with the 1987 Wapping-led transformation of the newspaper industry, there is a huge pecuniary incentive for proprietors to embrace the on-line world. If advertising rates could be maintained, then the industry would flourish, suddenly free of virtually all distribution and production costs. Sadly, advertisers are not playing ball, with on-line rates still a fraction of the real world equivalent. Proprietors are thus obliged to maintain their print editions, both to retain their ad revenue and as a form of brand protectionism. Launching a printed newspaper is expensive, while online entry is comparatively cheap. At present, it is the off-line entity that both legitimises and funds its online equivalent (with one or two notable exceptions – the Huffington Post springs to mind).

All of which lengthy (but necessary) preamble, leads us belatedly to the main assertion – newspapers have lost their political sway in the face of the first hand, non-journalistic clout of Twitter and, to a considerably lesser extent, Facebook.

Not everyone in Trahir Square quite got the hang of social media

First of all, Egypt is a poor example. Although its press (and internet) is relatively free by Middle-Eastern standards, it is way behind the UK (for instance) in terms of absolute freedom. The majority of its newspapers, television channels and radio stations (though admittedly not all) are government owned. Even the so-called independents have suffered from heavy-handed treatment when they refuse to toe the (increasingly confusing) party line. In this environment, Twitter (et al) is not necessarily the medium of choice, but rather the only means open – especially if you want to play to the international gallery.

It says: "I've just un-friended Morsi"

While the world may have been kept informed of events in Tahrir Square via Twitter, I suspect the majority of us read about said tweets in the press (print or digital) or heard them read out on the tellybox. Most of us wouldn’t have been following tahrirbrickchucker37 personally and nor would we have understood his 140 Egyptian characters or less. True, we could have been alerted to events by re-tweets or even followed a trending topic. In the latter case, though, this was probably after we first became alerted to the events taking place.

While those with a particular interest in Egyptian politics may have set up a search column or followed a certain hashtag relating to the events, most of us would only have learnt of them on an incidental basis. With a general awareness of the situation, though, it would not be beyond most of us to focus our Twitter radar in that direction in order to keep abreast of developments.

What of genuine breaking news though? The kind that comes completely out of the leftfield? One of the few items of news I learnt of first on Twitter was the death of Michael Jackson. My reaction – probably exactly the same as everyone else’s – was to check if it was true via conventional media brands. That, in essence, is one of the key problems with relying on Twitter for your world view – verification.

Goldblum: Not dead, just irritating

It’s open access and the difficulty of authentication has led to a number of fraudulent reports of deaths – Jeff Goldblum for instance. In most cases, unless you actually know the tweetee in question, any Twitter report is essentially unsafe until it has been confirmed by ‘proper media’. Even should we know and trust the twitterer in question, few of them are above a little occasional mischief or immune from ever being hacked.

The second problem – and it’s admittedly a related one – is impartiality. While we all know the politics and the prejudices of The Daily Mail, our man in Tarhir Square could be a sympathiser, a plant, a rebel, an opportunist, a man with a grudge or a transvestite barber in Colorado having a laugh.

In short, we still need trusted information brands to give perspective, context and authenticity to tweeted bulletins. This is surely where our newspapers are heading. The Guardian already clearly regards itself – possibly quite rightly – as more of a brand than newspaper. The Daily Mail, perhaps counter-intuitively given its conservative stance, has arguably achieved one of the most successful online migrations of any newspaper in the world. It has shelved its more obvious partisanships (well buried them at least) and created a digital monster, becoming one of the most-well read newspapers on the net along the way.

"Blimey. That lesbian fishwife faces eviction..."

If we zip forward 20 years (maybe less), it seems unlikely that all of our newspapers (if any) will still have printed counterparts. They may well still command powerful on-line parishes, perhaps enjoying a far wider global reach than they do today, but will they still be able to prod the electorate Cameron-wards at their proprietor’s behest?

That, of course, pre-supposes that they ever could. The changes in allegiance demonstrated by the Sun for instance (Maggie, Maggie, Major-ish, Blair, Blair, Cameron) show the paper is, arguably, as keen to stay in line with its readers shifting values as it is to try and lead them by the nose. There is a tendency by the media-ocracy (particularly those on the left) to patronise the masses as blind fools spoon-fed propaganda by The Mail, who will always obligingly toddle off to the ballot box to cast their pre-programmed vote. I think that was always bollocks.

What Twitter and Facebook clearly add to the mix are other voices, other streams of information, and that can never be a bad thing. They are, however, only part of the media mix and play a role alongside newspapers and broadcasters.

In the end, I suspect, paper will prove no more of a core property of newspapers than hot metal did 30 years ago. The essential news gathering functions – and the attendant prejudices – will stay in place, but the means of distribution will be very different. We will certainly see the last printed editions of the broadsheets in our lifetimes (even, I suspect, in yours, Steve). The tabloids will, I expect, have a longer lifespan, insulated by reader preference and the ability to retain sufficient circulation to remain viable for advertisers.

Twittering individuals may emerge as reliable brands in their own right. I can see no reason why a an affiliated group of verified tweeters could not form a Reuters-like network, spanning continents and specialist areas, though funding might be an issue here.

Our passive approach to being “newsed” at by trusted sources would have to change to usher in a truly twitter-centric world, with apathy likely to count that out. Ultimately, Twitter etc will be incorporated into the way we evaluate the world. Its current pre-eminence is at least partly down to its novelty, but that will fade. In 20 years’ time, presidents might still be tweeting urgent declarations of state, but most of us will still be reading about them on secondary platforms, albeit few of them tree-related.

So yesterday's news: A tree recently