I gotta see this and no more picking fights with LJ users. bad medicine.

For some time now I have found myself getting rather annoyed at people who call their livejournals Blogs. I’m not sure why, but it irritates me: Livejournal.com is rather cliquey (to use the word of my writing tutor) and most users are attention-whores. MOST. Livejournals are not blogs, but livejournals.

Perhaps I’m too snobbish about having my own domain. After all, I’ve been recently writing lj-ish entries, but I keep intending to write a proper article or two. The essential motive behind Blogging is the same motive as keeping a livejournal, so the only reason to differentiate between the two is pure electronic snobbishness.

On then other hand, the two are quite different. Livejournals are one site – a network of pages which no one contributor owns. However, a blog is owned by the sole writer, who can do anything with it. To don my pseudy hat for a moment, the reader is entering into the domain -pun intended – of the blogger, and thus has to show deference to the writer. it is he who has power over a blog, after all. Therefore blogs are separate entities unto themselves, rather than being a mass of often poorly written junk. Hence, even though there not be much different in content, there are subtle differences between the two, and it is indeed fair to differentiate between the two.

I’m currently watching Johnny Vagas arse about with all the zeal of a campaigning politician on his own show. I’m dispairing at the state of brittish t v;. well, if a fat slob can get his own show, then so can a crippled slob. theres hope for me yet. wish michael palin will go traveling again. I’m looking forward to the next david attenborough series, life in the undergrowth, out 2006.

up early tomorrow. goodnight.

Avryl LaVigne – complicated has just started to play on my mp3 player, instantly taking me back to new York, and breakfast with mark and Luke. This morning, despite a pair of sore knees, I feel better than I have in a couple of days. Of course, this is entirely due to last night, and the match wherein Liverpool made the comeback of all time! I was watching it in the bar: at half time, I naturally thought it was all over, but obviously the fat lady didn’t feel like singing.

I was thinking about not going last night – in the swell of the disco, I had very little chance of communicating with anyone sans lightwriter, but I decided to go as it was the last disco, and I felt like getting blotto. I felt lazy, so I stayed in my chair all evening, except when Liverpool scored that third glorious goal. When I simply had to get up and dance! My dance – a weird, spastic twirl – went well the first time but at the end of the evening, after another pint or two, I tried it again, fell, and promptly cracked my knees. Luckily, I was surrounded by friends, who helped me back into my chair.

Its funny, even without the means to communicate, my friends – just about everyone on campus – still seem to adore me. They seem to think I’m clever, probably due to the hawking “Crippled genius” effect. Either way, I am truly happy, hurt knees or not.

Two nights ago, I was feeling down. Quite desperate in fact. Lying In bed on Tuesday night, some words came to me, a half remembered song: “When you walk, through the storm, hold your head up high, and don’t be afraid f the dark.”

An omen?

Not much time to blog now, having been to the football part to end all football parties (yay Liverpool!). In sum, i have been working on videos using windows movie maker, whichh is fun, but tiring. Will write more on this soon. nite all.

It’s interesting to note that communication aids have not only a physical advantage, but a psychological one, and that the loss of ones communication aid can have a profound effect. My reading o n the internet tells me that, time after time without access to communication aids people have been condemned as having severe learning difficulties; my fear is, without my lightwriter, which broke over the weekend, people will think less of me. With it, I can make the entire football team laugh, take morning coffee with my tutors, tell rude jokes, but without it, I am stuck with a monosyllabic “hi” to friends, lacking the confidence to do much else.

Of course, this is not always the case – I have a letter chart and the stubbornness requisite to make myself understood, and I know peoples opinions of me will not diminish just because I can’t communicate. Trish and Dave still welcome me at their table, but the footballers may be a problem. Either way, I’ll get by, often with help from Esther who is now as accustomed to my speech as anyone.

With that in mind, I’m off to speak to my friends.

I was getting ready 4 breakfast this morning, my home helper putting my socks on, when the subject of this weekends theatre came up, “how was it?” she asked.

“Ok,” I said, “Very contemporary.”

It was true, the plays I had seen were very modern, quite unlike ones usual expectation of theatre.

“what?” she said, obviously not understanding my utterance “contemporary”. I tried again.

“Pardon?”

I gave up. “Weird.”

Success!

Living at a university which focuses on things like sport and drama means tat I have a chance to see a lot of stuff which I wouldn’t ordinarily see. This weekend I’m at university rather than going home, and so far today I have seen no less than two performances, a third I saw last night. The good thing is they’re absolutely free to get into, so when my friends say “We’re off to see a performance, coming matt?” I usually go.

However, before you get mental images of me going to some kind of theatre a la RNCM operas, I better explain these are not full plays. They are much shorter, lasting perhaps half an hour, and take place in cramped performance spaces which reminded me of the comedy clubs of the Edinburgh fringe. Thee pieces themselves are also often highly experimental, sometimes confusing and a little weird. Last night’s piece was about wife abuse, the only characters being female, so at one stage one actress rubbed her own face in her fictional husband’s supper. I think she’ll get an Oscar one day.

The piece I saw this morning was an extract from Hamlet. It was exceptionally well performed, making me reflect upon how much I miss the beautiful language of Shakespeare. It was performed in modern dress, and again had an all-female cast which made he fight scenes interesting.

This afternoon I saw a piece about three dead people in hell. Their hell, rather than being that of fire and brimstone, is to be trapped in a room together. Each person loves one but hates the other, so it is hellish for all concerned, but also rather funny.

There are apparently no more plays today but a few tomorrow. I look forward to it.

Heaven itself is comparable to tonight. I love to travel – the very act of moving allows me to ponder. Tonight, bill and I walked along the bank of a canal, two miles between the Broughton arms and the romping donkey. Cheshire is a nexus of canals and waterways, bounded on both sides by green fields filled with cattle. It was blissful – soon we were miles away from anywhere, not a person around, we sang under the sunset on the way home. I feel great, at last free. University has opened an endless horizon for me.

It seems wednesday discos are getting passe – seen one, seen em all. anyway, I caame home to update you all on how i’m getting fed tea. In short, bill has said he’ll do ll four evenings, which suits me and julia too, it seems. told you the answer would be simple! I really shouldnn’t worry so much time for bed

We all get days like this. Days when one wants the earth to simply stop spinning. Recently, I’ve been having problems with carers – I get homecare, but with the everenergetic bill as my PA taking me out all over the county, I often have to cancel homecare at short notice. Naturally this pisses social services off without whose help I could not study at MMU. So, either I stick to a strict timetable and stay at uni or I go with Bill, pissin social off. I am stuck between my disability and the urge to have fun like the other students. I really do not want to anger Julia, who has moved the world for me, but at the same time I want to have fun. I really do not want to let my disability get in the way, but I might need home car in the future and so cannot afford to anger them.

The fact that I do not know the solution really gets me down, yet I must bear in mind two things – firstly, I am among the first wave of disabled people to get to university, and so this very much is a trial and error process which still has bugs; secondly, it occurred to me that although I get depressed I have no enemies. Julia, mum, dad, Bill are all on my side, and so I must praise them rather than get angry.

So, perhaps the world can keep spinning. With luck, these things will be ironed out soon enough. All the same, I feel my usual in-trouble urge to remind mum and ad that I love them.

I’m giving serious thought to joining DAN or a similar disability organisation. I recently became aware hat there is a home for disabled people very near my home in Congleton. According to Julia my social worker, rather than simply being an old folk’s home, they keep young disabled people there too. I dropped by briefly yesterday afternoon on my way to a drive around the park and saw evidence of some very young people there. I believe all people have a right to live in the wider community, and so I am quite concerned.

The first question for this entry is where do I start describing what I got up to last night, and the second is how much detail should I go into. It all started, I suppose, about mid-morning, when, during a coffee break in the film festival, I noticed a fairground ghost-train being erected at the back of the Wesley centre (the campus canteen). As you can imagine, this made my mid race: what, exactly, were they planning for the Friday the 13th summer ball? It certainly seemed extravagant. In short, I had deduced that the night was either going to rule or suck, but either way it would be a night to remember.

The sighting of the roller-coaster had me squealing with excitement all afternoon. At one point Esther asked what was up with me. I always have squealed like a child when excited, and I think some of my friends gave me odd looks of concern. I needed to calm down, but I could not wait. I had never been to anything like this before, never seen such a cultural event first hand. At about three, after the film festival had heard Dr. West-Burnham’s closing speech about the irony of calling film studies a “Mickey mouse degree”, I could not help counting down the hours until 7pm. This was a mistake, for when one does this, time seems to drag.

Nevertheless, seven eventually came. At that hour, Bill was busy coaching footballers, so I had arranged for a friend of mine to help me on with my costume. One could argue that I was inappropriately dressed, but the theme was ghouls and ghosts, and I doubt anything can be more scary than a spastic in a bunny costume. Thus at about quarter past 7, I was on my way to the wes, only to find the place deserted.

“where is everybody?” I asked Stuart the barman

“whoa! Just you wait, matt, they’ll be here. Have a free punch.”

The problem with rabbits is their ears. Luckily evolution has seen to it that a real rabbit’s ears are firmly attached to their heads. I was not quite so lucky, and the plastic headband with large ears kept slipping off my head. After about three attempts at trying to keep them on, and failing, I asked Luke, the burly barman, to place them behind the bar for safe keeping. I think they’re still there.

Even without the ears, girls seem to think I look cute in my bunny outfit. As the evening wore on, a great many girls wanted to hug, kiss ad have their photo taken with me. It was a beach party too, so many girls (and one boy) were in bikinis and grass skirts. It was very difficult to stop my head involuntarily swerving to look, and spilling my drink in the process. Nevertheless, I always seemed to have company last night.

At one point, I got talking to a guy in bright green fishnet tights. His name was Owen, and dad would say he was “as gay as they come”. If the truth must be told, I found him pretty. This has perturbed me of late, for if I was gay how could I have felt so passionately about Becca? Recently, I’ve come to the conclusion that I am bisexual, as that way it doesn’t matter who I fancy. End of internal debate.

I spent the night going back and forth between the Wes and Brandies, as there was a disco in both. In Brandies, there was a live band with a guitar player capable of some sublime solos. They played covers of everything from the Beatles to Queen to Robbie Williams. I simply had to dance to their cover of The Darkness’ “a thing called love”, making fool of myself in the process. The place was thumping, the house band ruled, and I was very happy.

Yet all of the above leads up to the main happening of the evening. On Wednesday nights I often see a girl from the Crewe campus. Until last night we had not spoke, but I had wanted to say hi for a while. She has CP too, although not as severe as mine. I had always been reticent of going up to her – after all, we only share a neurological condition and nothing else. I reasoned that she would not like to be singled out, so I let her be. Yet towards the end of the evening, I was sitting down, nursing a small burn from some accidentally spilt cigarette ash, when the girl came to sit by me. Ironically, she had been wanting to say hi to me all year too. I have always been of the opinion that, as a subculture, we disabled must stick together to remain strong, but was afraid she would not agree. Either way, Lucy and I got chatting over a beer, and thus became friends. I said we must do lunch together sometime – what a disgustingly American phrase that is – and she agreed. I’m looking forward to that lunch, for she seems intelligent and astute. For some reason, I have always been more comfortable with fellow crips – they have more of an idea of where I am coming from.

Hence, the six hours between seven and one flew by, as if the god of time had been saving his energy by going slowly the previous six hours for a sprint. As the lights of the bar rose, I went back home, wondering if beer washes out of nylon spandex.

tonight was the film festival reception. the rest of the day had gpone well, apart from my subtitle video not working, which had me in a rrage for about an hour. Howebver, a strange thing happened at the reception tonight in martin’s bar: i was sitting, talking to friends when the dke box started to play He aint heavy by the hollies. i found myself welling up, bottom lip shooting out. thatt was the opening song of andrew fox’s funeral. I had to come home, i felt so strongly. Yes, i’m melodramatic. sstrange how that song has such an effect on me, even after 4 years.

I have been having trouble adding my entry tonight. please bear with me.

tomorrow is the day of the mmu film festival, the climax of the year. we’ve been preparing it for months. It’s supposet to be a world film and tv celebration, so my seminar group was put in charge of the americas section. the rather cool bit is I get to say a few words about soutth park. Later this afternoon, all being well, we’ll record my piece onto video, which can be projected onto the screen with added subtitles. ha! I get subtitles. how cool. now I better go prepare the words.

I have just returned from dinner with bill. We ate at a local pub about 5 miles out of the village. I’m fast developing a taste for eating out, but it’s not cheap so I’ll do it once a week now I have bill. Living with my parents is cool, and mum remains the best cook on earth, but its as if I’m finally experiencing the cosmopolitan life I always dreamed of.

Ironically, students here complain that there’s so little to do here. This is probably true for people used to going out into big cities every night, and not having to face the hassle of mobility problems. But for me, the close environment of campus is ideal, with everything within walking / controlled falling distance. It feels awesome to be able to come and go as I please. Its great to have bill to take me places.

Ok, this may not be political and social commentary, but for a blog of a disabled person, it is entirely pertinent and should be said.

Many other commentattors have noted that blair got he slap on the wrist he so badly needsd yesterday/thursday. i agree with them – the fact that labours whopping majoriy has been slashed is that good in that blair can no longer every bill of his to pass aand thus he has to deal with parliament more. this means he’s more accountable, so no more stupid wars. He’ll now struggle to get through legislation like ID cards and tuition fees etc.

So, the tories did’t get in AND blair got an arse kicking he badly needed. A fairly good resuklt, if unsurprising. All we need do now is sit back and watch the tories once again reduce themselves to dust by in-fighting. And could this mean the return of three-party politics, as kennedy predics? i think it s likely.

So, today’s the day of the election. I’ve managed to totally evade it, not having a television or radio in my room. vvvery pleasant. it surprises me, however, how election free campus is: there isn’t a political poster in sight. maybe the politicians just take it as read that all academics are left-leaning-liberals and don’t bother. thus, I’ll probably only hear the resullt on the tv in the canteen at breakfast, which is a pleasant enough way to find out.

As to the result, I have no doubt that labour’ll be re-elected: he torie have a mountain to climb, and michael howard has given them all skiis rather than hiking boots. imgine boris johnson skiing backwards! that I’d pay to see!

talking about paying to see tuff, theres something called the magic fridge on in the dance studio. “like the magic flute but ccooler” declare the osters. this might be a chance to indulge my love of opera and compare the production values of the rncm with mmi. to be honest, I dont hold out much hope, byt its only £2 a ticcket for an evening out.

I just got in after having dinner out with bull. Its good to be able to do so, evenif it’s just at a local pub. ‘The plough’ has a two meals for a tenner offer, which suits the crip-with-PA. I adore these long evenings out and about, which is another reason why you all should vote labour or lib dem, becausee I haveno doubt that the tories will cut direct payment budgets. am I being paranoid?

Time, as my esteemed brother is able to tell you, is strange stuff. It speeds up and slows down, but it is only when one achieves lightspeed that time stops, which is a pity. I was writing a short story this morning for university about my family,, and I was struck by everything that happened over the years in this house. Then I was stuck by how quiet it is now – mum and dad are on holiday, and Luke is still asleep. All the games and fun had in this house will never come again.

oh scrap that. Luke just got up and put radio 1 on. So much for quiet, but I think I hear breakfast being made.