Accents Which Stick In Your Ear

I think I’ve written before about what I called a strange juxtaposition in the architecture of East London. There seems to be a weird mismatch between the old Edwardian and Victorian buildings, and the increasing amount of very modern, expensive, twenty-first century buildings that you would expect to find in any modern metropolis. As I said here, this mismatch is especially noticeable in areas such as Woolwich. Alongside that, I would like to point out an equally interesting dissonance in the cultures that are found in the area.

Perhaps dissonance isn’t quite the right word, but there seems to be two rather distinct groups of people in the area that are easiest to tell apart by their accents. More and more these days, particularly in areas like Eltham, I hear people speaking with articulate, educated accent- the kind of accent you would expect to hear on the BBC news. Of course, people in London have accents from across the globe, as you would expect from a vast, global metropolis; yet the style of English they almost always use is the articulate, informed kind you often acquire through higher education. Alongside that though, from time to time you still come across a far thicker, broader East London accent- the accent that you associate with Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins (although that could just be me resorting to a ridiculous, outdated stereotype). On the bus this morning, for instance, I rode alongside a couple who used such accents: very working class East London; not quite what you would call cockney, but a very old way of speaking. It caught my attention because you hear it less and less. To be honest it was a bit like coming across a terrace of Victorian houses amid a complex of modern multi story apartment blocks. Resolutely urban and proletarian, I got the impression that it was an accent people around here were using long, long before East London was transformed into the bourgeois capitalist hub it now is.

Such accents are obviously being drowned out as East London becomes more and more gentrified and multicultural. Yet such old, working class communities still exist, even though we have reached the point where it strikes you as a rarity to come across it. When you reflect that such accents must once have been widespread and even typical in the east of London, surely it strikes you how much the cultural DNA of the city has changed.

Old Urges On Dull Days

It’s a grey, miserable, autumnal day in suburban South-East London. After a bit of a relaxed morning, I just got back from a short trundle up to Eltham and through a couple of it’s parks. As I was going along, I started to reflect to myself how, in times past, it would have been the type of afternoon when it would have been impossible for me to overcome the temptation to have a beer. The day would have seemed so dull and boring that I’d have decided that the only way to add a bit of excitement to it would be either to go into a pub and spend a couple of hours drinking three or four beers, or to buy a few cans at Tesco to drink at home…or to do both. Obviously, now I have stopped such silliness, I’m glad to say I feel a lot better, so the temptation to grab a drink today was extremely negligible.

A few metres of trundling later, however, another thought struck me: there would also have been a time when, on dark, dull days like this, I would have got home, headed to my room and dressed up. I’d have taken off my normal, masculine clothing and struggled into a pair of tights and pink leotard, or a tutu, or a short skirt and top – something frilly and feminine. Looking back, I’m not completely sure why I did this, but I found it exciting and sexy. Perhaps it was a form of unconscious escape; perhaps it was an expression of my desire to be someone I wasn’t; perhaps it was my misplaced desire for girls. Either way, I used to spend hours struggling into such clothes, only to take them off a few minutes later, my desires usually satisfied.

I haven’t dressed up in years – it simply doesn’t attract me any more. Or rather, it seems too difficult to be worth it. Today though, going along the path by Eltham Palace, the sky growing darker and darker, I suddenly felt that old urge again, more or less totally out of the blue. Beer was obviously out of the question, but I started to wonder where those leotards were. I felt that same old, once familiar, urge and desire to escape: to temporarily become something or someone I am not. I probably still have my trove of girl’s clothing somewhere. But then, trundling a bit further, I reflected to myself that I’ve probably grown too fat to fit in any of it. Ultimately though, both were forms of temporary escape which, at the end of the day, lead nowhere. While dressing up was harmless, sexy and fun, and of course I would never have met lyn had it not been for my transvestic tendencies; continuing to drink as I was would certainly have lead to far larger problems. Yet the fact is, no matter how dark and dismal the here and now may seem, retreating into such spaces is no real alternative to holding your head high and trundling on through the storm.

Online Safety and Princes

I was just watching the breakfast news as usual, and alongside the normal stream of doom and gloom, there was a story which I must admit really got on my nerves. So-called Prince Harry has gone to represent the country at an online child safety conference in Brussels. I’m sure I won’t be alone in finding that more than a little disquieting, if not problematic. Online safety is obviously an issue of increasing importance: it is vital that children are kept safe while on the increasingly dystopic free-for-all which is the web. Surely the last thing we need is such so-called royals muscling in on such events and using them for their own publicity and esteem. After all, Harry Windsor has no degree. He has no particular interest or expertise in online safety, so why the smeg should he be suddenly representing the country on the issue, if not just to get his grinning, cheesy face into the press, and to divert attention away from the crimes of his father in law? He, like the rest of his family, clearly thinks that if he frames himself as some kind of national ambassador or force for public good, we’ll forget that they’re just attention seeking chavs who have been leeching off the state for the last two centuries. It’s just a big entitled scam, and as a society we need to call it out and grow out of it. Given the importance of the issue on the table, surely we should be represented by someone either properly qualified in the field, and/or an elected Member of Parliament.

Absolutely No Depths

I tried to watch Laura Kuenessberg yesterday morning, but when this p’tahk appeared I had to turn it off. The BBC should not give that lying embarrassment to human civilisation airtime. I think the debauched spectacle is summed up quite well here, although frankly Farage should just be on his knees begging our forgiveness. Anything else he has the audacity to utter just adds insult to the damage he has already done to the country. Kuenessberg herself may not have said much to call him out, but I’m glad to see some of the press are holding the dissembling little weasel to account.

To later have to suffer the spectacle of this scumbag laying a wreath at the Cenotaph yesterday, when he is the embodiment of the very fascist totalitarianism so many people died fighting to resist, was even more sickening.

Phoning Krakow

Something happened late last night which struck me as so profound and humbling that I knew I had to record it. In fact, for a moment it made me want to cry. My friend Rudy is currently with me, helping me with breakfasts and dinners and stuff. Like John, Dom and Artur, he’s Polish. At about eight or nine last night, having just seen the evening news, he stepped out into my back garden. Nothing unusual of course, but a few minutes later he came back in, a look of relief on his face: he told me that everyone he knew was okay. It turned out he knows about five people in Krakow, including his brother, and had just phoned them to check how they were. To be honest in that moment I wanted to hug the guy with all my heart. To have come here as an immigrant to this vast, sprawling metropolis must be so alienating sometimes; yet it is only thanks to guys like him that it can continue to function. That’s why we must always remember that they will have family and friends back home too, as important to them as they are to us.

Disturbing News From Poland

I just caught up with the evening news, including the appalling news from Krakow. Four women and two men were killed in the shooting in Krakow’s Main Market Square, according to local police. Given that I now have so many dear Polish friends, I would just like to say that I really hope they are all alright. With the world becoming more and more dangerous, surely it’s increasingly important to keep in touch.

Bądźcie bezpieczni, chłopaki

				


	



			
				


	


		
					
Charlatans aren’t as Invulnerable as they Might Think.
			


	
	
	

			

From time to time, it certainly helps to look through my old entries before starting a new one. Given what’s currently in the news, I thought it would be prudent to check what I had written previously about Russel Brand, and found this one from 2014. It concerns his tussle on Newsnight with Nigel Farage, and having reread it I think it would be dishonest for me to now dismiss Brand as an arrogant tosser who I never liked. There was obviously a time when I rather admired him for showing Farage to be the piece of shit he is – there’s no point denying that. At the same time in that entry I write that Brand seemed “too eager to score points and go on the attack than to deal with the questions at hand.” That is, he was there more for the spectacle and attention than the actual politics: he was obviously more interested in getting airtime than defeating the scoundrel who would later do so much damage to the nation. That, in retrospect, surely tells us everything we need to know about Brand. Like so many people these days, he will jump onto any political or cultural bandwagon he can if it will get him airtime or attention. For a while he was a cheerleader for the Left, but as soon as the political tide turned so apparently did his opinion. More to the point, he obviously thinks he should have the right to say or do whatever he likes with complete impunity, just because of who he is. It’s a type of self-centred narcissism which seems to be becoming more and more rampant; although it’s good to see that such charlatans aren’t as invulnerable as they might think.

				


	



			
				


	


		
					
Jimmy the Giant On Why Racism is still Bad
			


	
	
	

			

If you want to watch one of the greatest, most intellectually rigorous political videos I’ve seen in a long, long time, I would entreat everyone to go here. To be honest I started to watch it a few days ago but was interrupted. At about an hour long it isn’t a particularly easy watch, but having just sat down to give it a proper viewing from start to finish, it is one of the best deep dives into the current issues surrounding race, ethnicity and immigration I’ve come across. Jimmy the Giant does his best to unpack how the contemporary far Right are trying to distort the data in order to maintain an increasingly anachronistic racial narrative. As it becomes more and more obvious that disparities between communities are far more complex than any kind of racial hierarchy, their attempts to cling to such reductionist, intellectually moot ideas become more and more desperate and angry. Frankly, it’s good to see that people are taking the time to dig so deeply into such anachronistic notions, showing how little intellectual validity they hold in a format everyone can access.

				


	



			
				


	


		
					
Trump Gets Thumped
			


	
	
	

			

All that I have to say this morning is that it’s good to see America back: a glimpse of the sensible, sane US which we once knew, which wasn’t careering over a precipice into outright fascism. By all accounts, Donald Trump took a hefty thumping last night, and it was quite a relief to get up and find that the polls hadn’t been cataclysmically wrong again. Yet the fact remains that America is still a deeply divided nation. From what I’ve been hearing, both online and from people I speak to in person, the amount of political animosity there is absolutely chilling. We may see Trump as the vile charlatan he is,  and it’s good to see that not everyone in America is oblivious to that; but what worries me is that he’s only a figurehead, and that the appalling reactionary conservatism which we now tend to associate with the MAGA movement goes far, far deeper. Even if and when Trump is removed from office, it might not be the end of the issue as even more right wing monsters could just take his place. Thus, while this morning we might breathe a slight sigh of relief (and I note the scumbag is already trying to claim that this vote wasn’t a  verdict on him, after all), I’m concerned that it might not be time to restore our confidence and respect for the United States just yet.

				


	



			
				


	


		
					
Not Everyone With CP Is Funny
			


	
	
	

			

My evenings these days are almost always a matter of settling down after my dinner and watching either a film or documentary on TV before going to bed. Last night, however, before turning in, I was treated to something rather interesting: an episode of Live At The Apollo hosted by Tim Renkow, a comedian with Cerebral Palsy. While he could speak quite clearly, he was a powerchair user whose CP was fairly obvious. I had never seen him before, but as a comedian he put on quite a good set and made me laugh a few times.





One thing I raise a cultural commentator’s eyebrow at, though, is how the number of comics who have CP there are on the circuit seems to be growing fairly rapidly. I’m not saying that this is necessarily a bad thing of course, and it’s still very much the case that the more visibility we have as a minority, the better; but especialy since the appearance of Lost Voice Guy Lee Ridley, people seem to have assumed that just having Cerebral Palsy makes you amusing or entitles you to attention. I’m not saying that such vloggers are completely devoid of talent or that they don’t have the capacity to be funny, but, without wanting to name any names, they seem to assume they have a right to tell chavish, vulgar, unfunny jokes. And because of the way they speak, nobody is going to have the nerve to tell them how crap they are, or to shut up. They thus spew bollocks on their youtube channels, which I’m sad to say has began to irritate me more and more.





In and of itself I probably wouldn’t have too much of an issue with this, but the fact that they mix such misguided humour with fairly overt, right wing politics is what irks me. Say what you will about freedom of speech, but I find myself wanting to tell them to just shut the zark up. They come across as spoiled, unfunny wankers with vastly inflated senses of their own comic ability and political acumen. Again, I’m not going to name anyone in particular as that would just be crass, and in fact I’m thinking about more than one person; but the way that certain people seem to assume their CP automatically renders them as amusing as professional comics, when all they do is tell puerile, reactionary gags, is something I can’t ignore. Guys like Renkow and Ridley have started a wonderful trend in the rise in comics with CP, but unfortunately not everyone now trying to jump onto that bandwagon seems to share their talent.

				


	



			
				


	


		
					
My Three Framed Blog Entries
			


	
	
	

			

On the wall next to my computer, I have three framed printouts of blog entries. They each commemorate events which mean the most to me, and which I think about every day: One records the 2012 Paralympic Closing Ceremony, and the incredible evening when Lyn played alongside the Paraorchestra before the entire world. The second is about the amazing night in 2014 when Monty Python, the greatest comedy troupe to ever exist, reunited virtually on my doorstep and I was able to watch them live. And the third framed entry, of course, is about meeting Sir Patrick Stewart, also in 2014: about going to the Excel Centre with Lyn and Paul; being amazed at the huge Star Trek exhibition; about getting to meet the man I had written so much about in my MA thesis, telling him about my work, shaking his hand, and hearing him congratulate me on my “outstanding achievement.”





There is something about all three of these memories which can get me through the darkest of times: merely remembering that they in fact happened is enough to remind me just how incredible life can get, and that the potential for awesomeness is absolutely infinite. And yet, paradoxically, that infinity seems to have now been brought to an end. Before a couple of days ago, I used to enjoy telling myself that there was a chance, however faint, that I could one day meet Sir Patrick again. I used to reflect to myself that, while it was hypothetically possible that London could host the Olympic games again in my lifetime, the chances of somehow getting to attend one of it’s great ceremonies like I did fourteen years ago are so tiny it is absurd. The same obviously goes for another Monty Python reunion: those great men are obviously getting on and gradually thinning out. Sadly, I think it’s safe to rule out any more epic comebacks. And if they did, it probably wouldn’t be up at the O2 Arena again, so I wouldn’t be able to just trundle along the Thames in search of tickets. That is what made these memories so precious to me – I know how monumentally fortunate I am to have them.





Thus, I used to tell myself that of all three events, there was a chance that another Star Trek exhibition could be held at the excel centre, so that I might – just might – meet Sir Patrick again. It is, after all, one of the biggest conference centres in Europe, the ideal space for such fan conventions. That thought used to lift me up and spur me on through the darkest days of the pandemic, Lyn’s death and everything else. If I could meet the man I derived such strength from once, perhaps I could meet him again.





We now know, however, that that isn’t going to happen: a day as incredible as that one in October 2014 can never come around again – and I write that with a devastating, absolute finality. That is what I meant when I wrote a couple of days ago that the days of awesomeness suddenly seem well and truly over. It’s not that there isn’t still light in the world or anything to hope for; but that memories such as the ones commemorated on my wall now seem more distant than ever. There will obviously always be new places to go to, shows to see, films to watch and people to meet. Every new dawn brings with it the potential for something awesome. Yet we must balance that against our sense of loss and regret at what might have been, as only then can we truly learn to cherish every moment. For as Captain Picard said, it will never come again.

				


	



			
				


	


		
					
Slavery Questions
			


	
	
	

			

I don’t think anyone in their right mind would deny the barbarity of slavery: the notion that one group of people has a right to rule over and force another group of people to work for them, based simply upon the colour of their skin or anything else, is simply repugnant. The thing is, slavery was ended two centuries ago, so the nagging issue I have now that there’s talk of apologies and reparations in the air is, why now? Why should the current generation be held accountable for the crimes and misdeeds of the generations which came before it? Why should the UK need to pay reparations to countries in the Caribbean at this precise moment, simply because they were previously home to enslaved people? I think I have said here before that I have a problem with the idea that trauma or grievance can somehow be inherited. And what’s stopping people in twenty or fifty years time making the same appeal again? Thus, as much as I know that this issue is a bit of a political minefield, I can’t help thinking the crimes of the past are being exploited by countries currently in need of money; and that people in the UK are now being asked to pay for crimes which we played no part in. Even if such reparations were more figurative than monitory, why should people today be made to feel guilty for crimes which we played no part in, apologising to people who were never themselves slaves?

				


	



			
				


	


		
					
Bursting My Hot Heart’s Shell
			


	
	
	

			

Quite frankly it seems that the days of awesomeness are suddenly well and truly over, leaving nothing but a kind of absolute darkness. I wrote yesterday that I was devastated to hear that Patrick Stewart had passed away, but I feel that perhaps I should explain just how much he meant to me as an actor. Of course, many are now praising his acting ability, and he was indeed one of the true greats of both stage and screen. His ability to deliver a monologue, to emote, to make an audience feel what he felt, was beyond comparison. Perhaps that was what made Jean-Luc Picard at once so relatable and so noble.





In the third chapter of my MA thesis I looked at some length at my relationship with what I call the Ahab Scene, the scene in Star Trek First Contact where Picard quotes Moby Dick, and realises that continuing to fight the Borg is folly. Out of all of cinema, I honestly think this is the scene that means the most to me. For a moment I think I glimpse in Picard’s eyes all the anger and frustration I feel at the injustices of the world: I read all the rage and hate that I felt about the death of my school friends. In that scene Picard releases such emotions on my behalf, so that all I need to do when the weight of the world becomes too much is to go back and rewatch it. It was just a seven or eight minute scene which had reverberated with me far more than any other since I had first seen it, which was why actually meeting Sir Patrick and telling him about my work meant so much to me. Yet now, the man I have derived such strength from for so long is no longer with us, and a day as incredible as that one in 2014 can never happen again; leaving what feels like a dark, empty, absolute void in which the bleak injustices of what I know to be reality echo louder than ever.







He piled upon the whale’s white hump the sum of all the general rage and hate felt by his whole race from Adam down; and then, as if his chest had been a mortar, he burst his hot heart’s shell upon it.

Moby Dick, page 156

				


	



			
				


	


		
					
Farewell Captain
			


	
	
	

			

I really dislike writing laments so I don’t want to labour this, but the news of Patrick Stewart’s death has come at quite a blow. I had settled down to watch a film last night when I suddenly got a message from my friend/comrade Katie suggesting that I check the news. It came completely out of the blue and was quite a shock. Of course, I have written here many times about my love for Star Trek and especially my admiration of Jean-Luc Picard. Meeting Sir Patrick in 2014 will always be one of  the highlights of my life, and is still something I think about practically every day. I grew up watching Star Trek The Next Generation on TV, and it has always acted as one of the guiding narratives of my life in terms of my sense of morality, justice and honour. The fact that this great actor, this great man, is no longer here is frankly devastating.










Farewell Captain Picard. You will be missed.

				


	



			
				


	


		
					
More Lift Issues
			


	
	
	

			

It hasn’t been the best of days to be honest. In fact when it first happened a few hours ago, I just wanted to forget the whole idiotic episode. But I suppose as a blogger I have a duty to record the crap as well as the cool stuff.





I thought I would pop up to Stratford again today. The weather was fairly good, and I’m still rather fond of the Olympic park. Not being in the mood for anything more circuitous, I thought I would just take the Jubilee line up to Stratford station. The thing is, that station only has one very overused pair of lifts, elevating people between Stratford town centre, the station and the wide walkway towards Westfield and the Olympic Park.





I have always had trouble with that lift ever since I started going up there: it is always full of people who are perfectly capable of using the nearby stairs. Today, however, really took the biscuit: I must have had to wait for ten or fifteen minutes, unable to get on to lift after lift, crammed with people for whom the stairs would not have been an issue. In the end I just lost a it, drove forward to prevent the lift doors shutting and and started demanding people made room for me.





What followed was simply repugnant, and in fact I’m still extremely pissed off about it five or six hours later. The people in the lift refused to move, and a couple of fairly young women took umbrage at me. Things became very heated very quickly. I began to shout and the bitches shouted back. They were highly patronising and insulting, but I knew I needed to stand my ground because otherwise I’d never get anywhere. It became a furious stand-off. I was using my mouth to shout, so I unfortunately bit my tongue and blood started to mix with my saliva; at that point someone summoned Westfield security.





I’m still extremely embarrassed about the whole fucked up episode. The two women who had been so obnoxious and arrogant towards me were apparently free to go, but I was escorted into a side corridor by three security men. They said they wanted to check I wasn’t hurt. I had heard one of the women tell them I had been racist, which was utter bullshit. They kept me there for about an hour, asking questions, by which time my patience had grown non existent. I was clearly not hurt, so it seemed very unfair that I was being detained while the women who had caused this row had been free to go. No matter how hard I tried to explain the situation to them, now using my Ipad rather than natural voice to communicate, they would not let me leave the corridor, making me feel like a naughty five year old.





Time wore on a bit, and I was eventually allowed to continue my day, by which time my temper had eased off significantly. Yet it had seemed so unjust to have been treated like that:   I have a right to use the lift and as a wheelchair user I should take priority. I felt I needed to stand up for myself, and the abuse and patronisation I received in return was unacceptable. To have then been detained like I was by security, spoken down to even further, just put a cherry on the whole frustrating, grotesque episode.

				


	



			
				


	


		
					
TfL and Films
			


	
	
	

			

Having just got in from quite an interesting afternoon in itself trundling around The City and Barbican, I got home and happened upon this extremely interesting video from TfL. I instantly knew I’d need to link to it here, as it is about all the films which have been made on the tube network. Of course, I use the tube fairly often these days – or at least the accessible parts of it – but when you look at it, it’s incredibly iconic. It has been used in films ranging from Skyfall to Transformers. Canary Wharf station was even apparently used in a Star Wars film, doubling as the interior of the Death Star. What I found especially interesting, though, was how disused stations such as Aldwych are being used for historic films: those old stations are so evocative of a bygone London, it’s great to see them being made the most of, rather than just being forgotten about.





Mind you, one thing I did raise an eyebrow over was the fact that TfL actually has a dedicated ‘Film office’. Had anyone else heard of that? So much for sleek, cost-effective public bodies. Then again, maybe I should try to get in touch with them.

				


	



			
				


	


		
					
Walter Koenig
			


	
	
	

			

Following the enormously sad death of Walter Koenig yesterday, I’d like to just direct everyone to this powerful, heartfelt tribute to him be Sean Ferrick. While I certainly think of myself as a Trekkie, I have never seriously sat down and watched the episodes of the original series of Star Trek, so I don’t feel I know it as well as The Next Generation or Deep Space Nine. Nonetheless, thanks largely to the films, Trek created a set of characters which I still have tremendous affection for. They showed us what was possible, and taught us to hope for a brighter, more collaborative future for humanity exploring the stars. Sadly, we have now reached the point in time when they are taking their leave from us, one by one. Walter, like his shipmates, will be missed.

				


	



			
				


	


		
					
Grotesque Duplicity Before My Coffee
			


	
	
	

			

This morning, having had to suffer the grotesque spectacle of Nigel Farage spouting bullshit on the breakfast news, I think I’m just going to state the blindingly obvious: he’s scared. Now that Andy Burnham has started to speak openly about our relationship with the EU and the possibility of another referendum, the xenophobic p’tahk is petrified of putting the question to the people again. Farage knows full well that we can see the damage brexit has done; he knows that only a complete idiot would vote to stay outside the EU. Such a vote would both end his career and render him a laughing stock, so he’s shit scared of having it.  Thus for him to come on national TV this morning and accuse Burnham of somehow being dishonest for re-opening the debate over Brexit really shows us what a duplicitous little weasel Farage is: the general election he was speaking of as some sort of alternative wouldn’t settle the issue, and would serve no-one but himself. That should be obvious to anyone who understands anything about politics, quite frankly; but given the damage he did to the country a decade ago and in the ten years since, that this vile charlatan still has the audacity to appear on national television and try to deceive us further still really is an insult to us all.

				


	



			
				


	


		
					
Life Inside MAGA
			


	
	
	

			

Probably the best place I’ll be able to direct everyone today is to this ARTE documentary on life inside MAGA and the shocking political extremism which has now taken hold of America. While you can of course point out that it has it’s own political agenda to pursue, what this film reveals is nonetheless utterly chilling: an extreme political cult which it is no longer hyperbolic to call fascist. We are watching such reports from America more and more though:  a far right despotism seems to have taken hold of the working class there, bringing about a kind of cult of personality which surely can only recall the darkest episodes of human history. Who knows where this might lead, and you still have to hope that there are still enough intelligent people there to put the breaks on before it’s too late. But if documentaries like this are anything to go by, I honestly think we should all be very, very worried.

				


	



			
				


	


		
					
Still The Naive Eyes of a Newcomer?
			


	
	
	

			

It occurred to me recently that, even after almost seventeen years living in the metropolis, I still view London largely through the eyes of a newcomer. I managed to go out today after a couple of days stuck at home due to the weather. It was just one of my regular trundles around Canary Wharf and the Olympic Park. The thing is, whenever I head to such places, I am invariably stuck with awe. Both areas are sites of sleek, modern shopping centres which I can cruise around in my powerchair with ease. They are connected by a state of the art public transport system which I still derive great pleasure from using. The truth is, there is still something about this place, it’s infrastructure, architecture and history, which I still find incredible.





I find myself wondering why. I have now been living in the borough of Greenwich for nearly seventeen years: ten in Charlton, seven in Eltham. The city around me still somehow seems new and exciting to me. Had I been born here though, would I feel the same? If I had lived in London all my life, would it still be so captivating? Is it simply because I came from somewhere where such things did not exist – where public transport is still largely inaccessible and you rarely come across a building taller than four stories – the reason why I find a metropolis where they do so incredible? Am I still so enamoured simply because I once did not live here? Heading out on my daily trundles, in a strange way I almost still feel the wonder and curiosity of a tourist. As familiar as these streets, buildings and busses now are, might I still be looking at them through the naive eyes of a newcomer? And might that taint my impression of it, hiding underlying truths which might be clearer to native Londoners from me?

				


	



			
				


	


		
					
Screwy Priorities on the Evening News
			


	
	
	

			

I just watched the BBC evening news bulletin, and suddenly really think I need to point something out. The country is about to face the worst storm we’ve seen in months, possibly years – there could even be a serious threat to life. You would presume that any responsible national news broadcaster would have that as it’s lead story, at the top of the bulletin. But, bewilderingly, no! First the country had to hear about Meghan Markle’s dad being investigated by the MET police, as if this ‘royal news’ was somehow more important. When I saw that I was utterly aghast. Surely we have a major problem in this country if we are more concerned about this idiotic royal soap opera than we are about an imminent natural catastrophe!

				


	



			
				


	


		
					
Could a Northern Olympics be In The Works?
			


	
	
	

			

As both someone who is still strangely interested in the Olympic games as arguably the world’s biggest cultural event, and as a man who was born and brought up  in Cheshire, I must admit to finding this news oddly exciting. “A £7m fund to explore how the Olympics could be brought to northern England will be announced in John Healey’s first Budget on Wednesday, the BBC has learned.” Having been fortunate enough to be living here in London in 2012, I think that is great, great news. I still remember what the metropolis felt like and the almost palpable sense of optimism in the air. If there is even the possibility of doing something similar in the north of the UK, then surely that is to be welcomed. Of course, it hasn’t been revealed what this ‘northern Olympics’ would look like, and exactly which cities and towns would be involved; but you can rest assured this is an embryonic possibility I’ll be keeping an eye on. There is a very long way to go and it could still come to nothing, but this might – just might – be the beginning of something awesome.

				


	



			
				


	


		
					
Why I Need To Go Out
			


	
	
	

			

Needless to say, today is a pretty good example of why I need to go out and trundle around London every day. Due to the rain, I’ve been stuck in all day, mostly at my computer, mostly on Facebook. The problem is, what I’ve been coming across has been making me more and more agitated. I’ve written here before about how wound up I get about things like politics, and today has been no exception. To calm myself down and cool off, every day I like to head out in my powerchair at about eleven or twelve to explore the metropolis. I find the change in activity really helps me refocus and think. Today, though, I’ve been stuck in due to the rain, getting more and more wound up by the increasingly idiotic things I’ve been coming across.





The thing is, it kind of makes me wonder: can a more general problem be read into this? Many other people have noted how we as a society all seem to be becoming increasingly uptight and adversarial with one another. Tempers seem to be growing shorter and shorter; people seem to be loosing their cool more and more easily. I wonder, could the rise of social media have something to do with this? I am no psychologist of course, but it seems to me that the way in which the Internet has made interpersonal communication easier than it ever has been, allowing billions of people from across the globe to exchange messages, thoughts and opinions in a way never seen before, may have had an adverse effect. On the web, we are just as likely to come across opinions which we don’t agree with than those we do; it also gives us the ability to comment on anything we come across, whether we agree with it or not. The problem is, we all seem to be finding this increasingly infuriating, and I can’t help wondering whether it could have something to do with the rise in right wing politics across Europe.





As for myself, I certainly hope the weather is good enough for me to go out tomorrow. Rain and powerchairs really don’t mix, but an afternoon at my computer starts to drive me bonkers. More broadly though, I suspect that is part of a larger issue. The internet may have brought everyone together in a way never seen before, but the downside of that may be a rise in echo chambers and political antagonism, the consequences of which might not be quite so cool.

				


	



			
				


	


		
					
A Chilling TV Experiment
			


	
	
	

			

I’m not sure how I didn’t notice it was on when it aired last night, but The Experiment must be one of the most important yet utterly chilling pieces of television I have ever seen. Ostensibly an investigation into Nazi eugenics, I would even go so far as. to call it essential viewing for anyone concerned with disability rights, equality and representation: in the documentary, facsimiles of the Nazi T4 extermination camps are set up in order to see how people today might react to ideas around the forced incarceration, sterilisation and extermination of people with disabilities. Quite frankly I found it horrifying to see how many of the people being shown around these fake institutions accepted what they were being shown. I wanted them to react with white hot rage, and I was glad to see some of them did. Anyone who knew anything about contemporary disability rights would have known that such a place would be totally unacceptable, and frankly part of me wanted to see one of them lose it and start demanding to see the place’s immediate closure. Needless to say, the relief shown on the participant’s faces when they are told it was all a fiction is a joy to behold.





We obviously need televisions like this. Attitudes towards disability are hardening and growing far more extreme. It was horrifying to see how easily people could accept the forced institutionalisation of disabled people, if it was presented to them as somehow humane. I must say, though, that I wasn’t sure I liked how the program towards it’s end segwayed into debates around assisted dying. I’m not saying the two issues are unrelated, but to overtly map quite a contentious political topic onto another might open the program up to accusations of political  bias. Those in favour of assisted dying won’t see themselves as akin to nazis, but in the program they were conflated fairly overtly, which I fear opens up a completely new kettle of fish.

				


	



			
				


	


		
					
Writer’s Block
			


	
	
	

			

For a while now, I have been trying to start some sort of weighty writing project about Lyn. As a writer I think it’s more or less my duty to pay tribute to the most incredible person I know I’ll ever meet. I simply feel the need to sum her up in prose. Six years after her passing, I also feel it is time to start such a project. The thing is, I seem to keep hitting walls.





I really want to do this properly: I respected L enough to know that she deserves a proper, well researched piece of text. However,  that raises the question, where to begin? The truth is, I don’t that much about her early life. I heard a few fragmentory stories, but I have no real substantial, reliable sources. I haven’t been able to get in touch with her brother Paul. I would really like to explore how Lyn came to be who she was, but to do that the academic in me is crying out that I need far more information than I have.





Then there’s the question of how to structure such a text. A straightforward biography would seem insufficient; but to go a step further and explore ideas around disability and gender would mean straying into notions of psychology, politics or both. To do so would seem to me to do a disservice to Lyn, who was never that concerned with such things. Above all, I think I need to convey what an amazing person Lyn was, and how much she meant to me.





I am thus confronted by the question of how to balance such a text: how do I even begin to sum up the most incredible, intriguing person I will ever meet in simple prose? To tell the truth this question has been frustrating me for a while. Lyn was an awesome person, and deserves something truly awesome written about her. The thing is, as I trundle every day around the world’s greatest city, thinking about the amazing times we shared, as well as the incredible debt I owe her for the life I now lead, I’m not sure I can do it.

				


	



			
				


	


		
					
We Need To Thank ITV
			


	
	
	

			

I just finished catching up with this ITV documentary exposing Reform as the xenophobic vermin they are. At about ninety minutes, it’s fairly long and involved, but I would entreat anyone even remotely concerned with UK politics to give it a watch. Mostly composed of undercover footage, it gives us an idea of just how sickening and abhorrent the views of the members of this party really are. I can’t deny being enraged by much of the xenophobic bullshit they are caught spouting. They can try to deny being racist all they like, but the fact remains there can be no room for the sort of disgusting regressive idiocy exposed here in any enlightened political discourse. Views like the ones exposed here will hold any modern society back, and I think we should surely be thanking ITV for showing us the truth of this putrid party. Naturally, there will be accusations of selective editing, and people will say we were only shown what the film makers wanted us to see; but the fact remains we surely should not have bigots like the ones displayed here, spouting puerile, sickening, xenophobic crap then claiming a kind of victimhood when they’re called out on it, anywhere near our political system. If anything, we should surely pity these people for being so unenlightened and misinformed; but it’s hard not to think they are an embarrassment to human civilisation in it’s entirety.

				


	



			
				


	


		
					
Finding a Palin Philippines Book
			


	
	
	

			

It seems that I have been happily corrected. Yesterday I wrote that I didn’t think there were any books to accompany Michael Palin’s new Channel Five programmes. To be honest that disappointed me slightly, as I feel the books add a certain depth and background to Palin’s travelogues. I was trundling through Lewisham a bit earlier though, and thought I’d pop into Waterstones, and to my surprise came across his book covering his journey to  the Philippines. I didn’t buy it as I thought I had better pop home to make absolutely sure that it somehow wasn’t already on my bookshelf; but given that the book has only just been published, I think I’ll be heading back there soon to pick up a copy. Frankly, it’s good to see this televisual highlight staying up to   form.

				


	



			
				


	


		
					
Channel Five has Nicked Michael Palin
			


	
	
	

			

I noticed something which I think is slightly odd recently about one of my favourite TV personalities: Micheal Palin seems to have been stolen by Chanel Five. I used to love his travel documentaries, and grew up watching series like Full Circle and Pole To Pole. They really made my feet itch, and want to go out and see the world for myself. The thing is, they were all made for and aired by the BBC, usually on Sunday evenings, and they all had books accompanying them. The odd thing is – at least, I find it odd – Palin has now started making very similar programmes for Channel Five. I noticed them a couple of days ago and naturally started to binge-watch. It wasn’t the first time I’d come across his C5 output of course, but I had had no idea he’d now done so many short, three or four episode series for them.





On the face of it, they’re very similar shows, and it was good to see Palin once again doing the travelogues I’m so fond of. I found his programme on Iraq especially interesting. The thing is, I can’t help noticing a difference in format. These new series seem to be a few episodes shorter than the ones for the Beeb, and focus on one specific country rather than a journey across several; there also doesn’t seem to be any accompanying book. More to the point, Palin himself seems less energetic than he used to be. Overall, then, I’m afraid I can’t help getting the impression that these shows are essentially knock-offs. As interesting as the places they focus on may be, this is just a commercial television channel gobbling up a well loved and respected presenter and getting him to make the same type of programmes he once made for their non-commercial rival. Whereas I seem to recall the BBC series had a bit of a cultural buzz about them, including hardback books, book signings and primetime Sunday night airings, these new shows have no such aura: I personally barely noticed they existed, and took them in casually on Channel Five’s online viewing platform. There also seems to be no mention of them on Palin’s official travel website, where you can still read his text accounts of his BBC series, although they are referenced on his other site.





To be honest, this departure seems rather sad: a man whose travel documentaries I once loved seems to have been gobbled up by a commercial TV channel to essentially make echoes of his past series. While you could say it’s a fair enough move for a man now in his eighties, and it’s good to see him still making travelogues, I can’t help thinking it fits a pattern of commercialisation we’re seeing more and more of these days.

				


	



			
				


	


		
					
News From America: Three Sickening Stories
			


	
	
	

			

I was just watching the morning news over my usual Saturday morning doughnuts, and I think I  need to point out a striking – if not rather chilling – correlation between three of the top stories. First there was this news that White House press secretary Katie Zacharia has been fired after just five days in the job. They can dress it up all they want, but she was clearly unqualified, and surely it should be blatantly obvious that Trump just hired her because she looks good, and he wanted an attractive, pretty woman speaking for him at press conferences. He doesn’t give a flying fuck that geopolitics is now probably at it’s most critical point in eighty years – as long as he looks good.





On top of that, there was this story that Trump has waived sanctions on Russia in the wake of his row with Vlodimir Zelensky. Frankly, when I first saw that news when I turned my computer on earlier, I almost cried out in disgust. The international community should be defending Ukraine against the abject aggression of Russia, but instead Trump wants to buddy up to Putin in an effort to keep oil prices low. They are only as high as they are because Trump attacked Iran, but the disgrace to human civilisation prioritises them and thus his poll ratings over defending a European democracy from an imperial aggressor. How any democratic country, let alone the world’s leading economy, could let it’s president run so roughshod over international protocol and basic human decency is beyond me.





To cap it all, there was this story of yet another horrific American school shooting. A sixteen year old has gone into a school in Oregon and killed a five year old child and twenty-five year old teacher. I’m sorry but such news makes me want to puke: how can Americans keep hearing of such massacres, but still do nothing about their gun control laws? If such an atrocity happened in the UK, I would certainly hope we would do something to prevent it from happening again; yet the Yanks seem too wedded to their guns. I frankly find it totally unfathomable.





I really don’t like saying this, but as I wrote here  a few days ago, I no longer see how we can respect  America. It used to be an awesome nation: all the greatest films came from there. Yet now, since it re-elected Trump, it has descended into a global laughing stock: a nation of arrogant bullies and pseudo-fascists. I’m afraid these three stories on the news this morning just cemented that view. To be hit by all three in one bulletin made it clear how far this once great nation has dropped. It’s not that I now hate all Americans, or blame them for their current government; but I don’t think they have any right to be as proud of their nation as they often appear to be.

				


	



			
				


	


		
					
Hovering Cars
			


	
	
	

			

My jaw quite literally hit the floor when I news of the car written about here. I’ve always been a fan of new tech, but can’t help thinking things are now getting silly. “A new version of Tesla’s Roadster electric sports car, equipped with thrusters which apparently allow it to hover and turn in mid-air, has been unveiled in Texas.” The sight of the car quite literally jumping from the ground was enough to kick-start my day. It’s just a demonstration model of course, and probably won’t be road legal, although I can’t help wondering whether they plan to make a powerchair version.

				


	



			
				


	


		
					
Degrees as the Political Default
			


	
	
	

			

I glimpsed earlier, just on a friend’s facebook thread, that Reform councillors have now launched a campaign to introduce Christian prayer into council meetings. Of course, like any thinking, rational person, I find this utterly abhorrent: not only do I object to the imposition of religion into politics, but it is also a blatant ploy to exclude any non-Christians (and thus people whom they don’t perceive as British) from the political discourse. It is a sickening act of xenophobia and nothing more. Well, if they are going to do that, then we should also have a rule saying that only people with degrees can be elected to councils. That would obviously exclude every one of those barely literate Reform bigots.





Now, I realise how reactionary and draconian that may in itself sound; and also that I’m making quite a broad, unqualified assumption. But there is a reason why higher education and progressive ideals go hand in hand. University not only educates you about your given subject, but also how to actually think and engage with the world. At uni, not only do you come into contact with new ideas, but also vast arrays of new people and new cultures. Such an environment is inherently antithetical to the reactionary, exclusionary politics of Reform. More to the point, I would prefer anyone in the political sphere to have a degree because at least then we would know they have the critical thinking skills to engage with a given issue, rather than clinging dogmatically to any pre-conceived ideas that they might have. 





Thus it seems to me that making having a degree some kind of default standard for being an elected politician would be a prudent way to go, and almost infinitely more sensible than forcing politicians to pray to a god which can not and does not exist. After all, if we expect doctors and teachers to have the level of education which comes with a degree, then surely we should expect the same standard of our politicians.

				


	



			
				


	


		
					
Stumbling Over a Sickening Delusion
			


	
	
	

			

Quite some time ago, I began to think about what I called the Paradox of Liberalism: the contradiction at the core of liberal/progressive philosophy which says one must be open to and tolerant of all views and perspectives, apart from the perspectives which say you cannot tolerate any views or lifestyles apart from your own. Of course, it still seems to me that this is still a valid problem for those who call ourselves liberals – how can one tolerate intolerance, or accept bigotry as a valid point of view like any other? The thing is, yesterday I came across something which is far more paradoxical, hypocritical, and even insidious for those currently in the opposite camp.





I was out and about as usual, trundling around the estates near Plumstead. It’s a fairly affluent area which I hadn’t really explored. Many of the roads were named after great writers like Chaucer and Keats. All of a sudden I came across something which really got me going: a well maintained, semi-detached house flying a Reform flag in the front garden. That in itself would make me want to vomit, but what I found truly objectionable was the fact that there were also several Help For Heroes banners and silhouettes in the garden too. It was quite clear that this was the home of someone who thought of themself as a patriot, but had confused, like so many other fools are currently doing, extreme right wing politics for patriotism.





What I find provocative is the fact that the ‘heroes’ and veterans who this person was obviously demanding we support all either died or risked their lives resisting the very political forces whoever was flying this flag also advocated. The Second World War was fought against people who espoused the very grotesque nationalist notions Reform now promote. Indeed, the EU was created specifically to ensure Europe never lapses into such brutality again. By flying this flag, this person was insulting every one of the heroes they claimed to support; that they had the gall to obviously be so proud and vocal about it made it even worse. It was a contradiction and juxtaposition which I frankly found truly vile when I came across it on my trundle yesterday; yet it is clear evidence of the sickening delusion at the heart of current right wing, reactionary politics. Liberalism may have it’s paradoxes, but they are nothing compared to such perverse self-deception: you can’t claim to support veterans while advocating the very politics they were fighting to resist.

				


	



			
				


	


		
					
Burnham Gets Real About Brexit
			


	
	
	

			

I’m extremely glad to hear that our politicians are getting real about Brexit. In the news yesterday evening, we heard that ‘Andy Burnham has said it is “inconceivable” to think that Russia did not try to interfere in the 2016 EU referendum’, adding that it was clear that there had been interference from Moscow. Of course, that is more or less a statement of the blindingly obvious: anyone who knows anything about the crime of 2016 knows that it was all a ploy by Vladimir Putin to weaken the European Union. What has really wound me up last night, however, is the fact that Nigel Farage has the barefaced audacity to call Burnham a liar in response. This is a man who, backed by his Russian handlers, knowingly mislead the country into voting to leave our nearest, biggest market. The consequences of such idiocy are now becoming clearer by the day, yet p’tahks like Farage still have the nerve to defend what they did. I’m just glad we finally have a PM who is unafraid to get real about Brexit, so the crime of 2016 might just be undone before it’s too late.

				


	



			
				


	


		
					
Time To Restore My Friend Count
			


	
	
	

			

This will probably be a bit of a lament (or moan) but I’ve been reflecting quite a bit  recently on the fact that, since moving to Eltham six years ago, for some reason I don’t seem to have made many friends. When I was living back in Charlton there were various people who I used to see and interact with quite regularly, such as at the park, who I counted as mates. These says, though,  I have no real regular acquaintances. Of course, I count my three personal assistants, John, Dom and Artur, as firm friends – if not almost brothers – but apart from them and the guys I keep in touch with online, I have no real frequent mates. I daresay the pandemic made quite an impact on this situation, and things have never really recovered. Well, there’s obviously only one thing for it: time to make an effort to restore my friend count.

				


	



			
				


	


		
					
The German-American Bund
			


	
	
	

			

I just came across this quite long but interesting PBS documentary on the German-American Bund, a fascist movement in America in the 1930s. Of course, it rose in large part out of the aftermath of the First World War, Jim Crow Laws, the great depression and so on, and the historians speaking in the film go to some length to emphasise that it was very much a minority movement. They also stress how much opposition there was to it. Yet to be honest, in the light of what is currently happening in the US, I can’t help thinking that this dark chapter of American history is suddenly becoming very salient, and that the Bund could well have been more popular than these historians will be comfortable with. In the film we see pictures of huge parades with people waving swastikas alongside American flags, and rallies in Maddison Square Garden. As much as mainstream liberal society may want to deny it, there always seems to have been a dark, racist or xenophobic undercurrent in American culture, stretching back to their civil war and beyond, which is sadly currently enjoying a resurgence.

				


	



			
				


	


		
					
Omega Nebula in Brixton
			


	
	
	

			

I think it’s safe to say that last night was the best I’ve seen in a long, long time, and one I certainly needed. When Dom and our friend Sergiusz proposed going to see a band called Omega Nebula in Brixton a couple of days ago, I was slightly in two minds: I had never heard of them, and from the videos he showed me they didn’t quite seem my type of thing. Yet, the Bond Prom a few weeks ago aside, it had been an age since I had been to see any live music, and the vast majority of my evenings these days are spent at home watching TV.





I certainly wasn’t disappointed. Hootananny, Brixton, is one of those awesome little venues which remind me of university: not that large, but space enough for a couple of hundred people to dance around in. After a bit of the usual faffing about with public transport, I got there early, rendezvousing with Dom in time for an alcohol free Guiness. Then, after a quick chat outside we went into the venue itself, and I instantly felt like I had been flung back ten or even twenty years. The music was throbbing; people were dancing all around me; lights were flashing. This was something I definitely needed but hadn’t realised.





Omega Nebula are a very interesting group. An electronic dub duo with hints of reggae, they reminded me of The Cat Empire minus the trumpet. As soon as they started playing I was hooked, and the evening seemed to pass in minutes. The lyrics of their songs seemed somewhat political, so there felt like there was a bit of an edge to the evening, which seemed to suit those dancing with me. It seemed the kind of venue where music fuses with political activism in a heady, intoxicating, urban way.





The evening frankly passed all too quickly, and as soon as I knew it the gig was over. To be honest I’d been slightly concerned that the temptation to ask for a beer might get too much, but I’m glad to say it wasn’t an issue. As I rode the bus home perfectly sober, Dominik beside me, I felt very happy to have enjoyed my first proper night out in ages: music, dancing, friends. Now I have established it’s still possible, I’m suddenly ravenous for more.






				


	



			
				


	


		
					
We Can No Longer Respect America
			


	
	
	

			

Like most people I suppose, I grew up with American culture: watching American films, cartoons and TV programmes. I suppose I have always had an affinity with our friends across the Atlantic. However, I take no pleasure whatsoever in saying that that respect has now been torn to shreds, and I frankly view America and Americans as utter embarrassments to humanity. I know how reactionary that might sound, but this news this morning has put the country far, far beyond the pale. Capital punishment is barbaric enough, and the news of the failed execution of Christa Pike earlier this week was already absolutely sickening; but any nation which would televise an execution can only be regarded as little more than a cesspit. Obviously, my disdain for Yankland had been growing since the re-election of Trump, and I had been becoming less and less comfortable with the news coming from there; but I fear this morning’s news drops them over the precipice into the swamp of outright fascism.





I know how reactionary this might sound; I also know that not all americans support their current government, or advocate vile things like this. Yet as it stands as a nation, the USA can no longer be respected and can only be seen as a fascistic cesspool which deserves little more than our collective disgust. Far from being the greatest nation on earth, it ought to be viewed, for the time being at least, as little more than a self-important backwater which should never have been allowed to rise to the prominence it now enjoys. Any nation which would make such a spectacle of death has no claim to be civilised let alone great, and for all it’s cultural ubiquity now deserves only our revulsion. Of course, as a country it may one day redeem itself, and I profoundly hope it does; but the news we received this morning absolutely dashes any standing the United States ever enjoyed. Any culture or society which could even contemplate something so abhorrent surely deserves nothing but our collective disdain and revulsion.

				


	



			
				


	


		
					
Busses, Kids and the Passage of Time
			


	
	
	

			

Here’s quite a weird realisation: every day I go out as usual, exploring London, hopping on and off buses. I’m now quite used to it. At certain times of day though, children also ride the bus, obviously on their way to or from school. The thought I currently can’t get out of my head, however, is that those kids would have been born after I moved down to London in 2010. Most are obviously now quite able and independent young people, yet the realisation that I’ve been living in this great metropolis for longer than they have been alive is one I must admit to finding rather astonishing. I still remember when this city felt new and alien to me, but I’m now riding public transport alongside kids born after I moved here. It certainly puts things into a new perspective, I must say.

				


	



			
				


	


		
					
An Utterly Sickening Political Charade
			


	
	
	

			

Needless to say, what is going on in Birmingham today only has my utter contempt and revulsion. Essentially a party of rich, quazi-aristocratic white men is using the black woman who they currently call their leader to articulate their draconian,  right wing world view. At the end of the day, it’s an utterly sickening charade. Now, of course I realise how bigoted that pronouncement may well sound: obviously, there is nothing stopping anyone of any race or gender holding any political view they wish, or rising to the leadership of any political party, right wing, left wing or whatever. Yet surely the elephant in the room – the truth we all know to be true but dare not speak – is that the tories are just using Badenoch as their leader in order to appear like an open, tolerant, twenty-first century party while clinging desperately to the right wing views we as a society urgently need to grow out of. As I was saying a couple of days ago, low tax neoliberal politics boils down to greed: It is a disdain for sharing, designed to allow the wealthy, privileged few to retain their fortunes while those who need help are left to fend for their selves, often cap in hand. Thus Badenoch will argue today for a reduction in inheritance tax while saying that the state has grown too large and should be slashed.





I’m sure I won’t be the only person to find this perverse, even sickening. Here we have a party funded by and representing the most privileged people in society using a black woman to try to present their anachronistic intolerant views as somehow socially progressive. This is a group of people who think political authority should be their birthright; who think the wealth they had the good fortune to be born into is incontestable, socioeconomic class is simply part of who they are, and that they have a right to look down on everyone else. Never mind that such notions ultimately get us nowhere, and just perpetuate division, inequality and injustice. Never mind that they are simply a way to conserve authority in the hands of the few, while the rest of us go without. To the tories, their worldview cannot be argued with: class is part of who they are, social division cannot be contested, their wealth was earned rather than inherited and contributing to society via tax must be avoided wherever possible. For all their meritocratic pretensions (or delusions) the unwavering Tory belief in free market capitalism boils down to a mechanism of preserving wealth and therefore sociopolitical authority in the hands of those who are born into it: straight, white able bodied men.





Thus they will gather in Birmingham today and applaud Kemi Badenoch, thinking that they’re being oh-so-progressive and modern, while she simply spouts the same anachronistic Thatcherite platitudes they have always clung to. It is a spectacle I will find utterly obscene. Having a woman of non-European ancestry articulate such ideas does not change the fact that they are simply a way to maintain wealth, privilege and authority in the hands of the few while the rest of society is left to rot. I know we should avoid viewing things in such terms, and that someone’s skin colour should not matter. Yet how can anyone fail to observe that the tories are simply putting on a pantomime to make the views we rejected so vehemently last year somehow appear more up-to-date. Framed in that way, paradoxically perhaps, it is the use of a black woman as their leader which is in a way racist.

				


	



			
				


	


		
					
The Slob On The Bus
			


	
	
	

			

If there is one thing I can’t stand it’s littering. My parents always taught me and my brothers that rubbish should always be put in the bin, so I find the sight of people dropping litter utterly repugnant. I was on a bus earlier today: I was on my way home from my usual trundle, and the bus was becoming more and more crowded as it approached the centre of town. Sat in the wheelchair spot but facing towards the front of the bus, a man was sat in the chair almost opposite me. He carried a cane and wore quite an unusual bowler hat. I had to watch as he scoffed quite a large bag of crisps. That in itself was rather unedifying, but I didn’t say anything. However, what made me instantly furious and pushed me over the edge was the sight of him scrunching the empty crisp packet into a ball and stuffing it down the side of the bus seat. I don’t want to sound like a puritan or goody two-shoes, but it seemed so disrespectful that I couldn’t help shouting at him. There are bins everywhere in this city; it just takes a little care and respect to keep it clean. Needless to say the exchange didn’t end well: he obviously didn’t understand what I was saying, and I should probably have just kept myself to myself. Yet I suppose I’ve now grown so fond of London and its transport system that the sight of people treating it so disrespectfully really does boil my blood. But then, given that there is so little we can do to get such slobs to take more care of their surroundings, I suppose the most I can do is record the episode here.