Esther, possibly my closest friend, wrote this. It comes, in part, from a mutual love of james bond, and my overriding desire to assassinate the campus pet. That cat is evil, I tell thee! Nice one esther!

I saw with some considerable interest yesterday how the Tories have chosen to consult Geldof on their policies concerning debt relief. While I am totally behind geldof’s campaign, this made me very scared and angry. I should welcome this move, but something tells me not to be so optimistic.

For one thing, what tells us that the conservatives are really behind debt cancellation? They are a party of business, and it is in the capitalist’s best interest not to cancel this debt, but to keep Africa poor. Thus this is, I think a mere ploy by David Cameron: he wants his party to appear nice, friendly and delectable.

What scares me is he’s succeeding. His party is gaining fast in the opinion polls: he is approachable and jovial, and the British public is fed up with Blair. To recruit Geldof will surely make this effect even stronger. And this is dangerous.

I seem to have become politically idiotic these days. I have become focussed on a single issue, and seem to have become blinded to most others. I know this is foolish, but I care very strongly about inclusive education. To focus so strongly on a single issue is naive, and especially one so remote from the mainstream (forgive the pun). Yet the fact remains Cameron is on record saying, if elected, he proposes a moratorium on the closure of special schools, and intends tot build more. Sorry if I seem monochrome here, but this must not happen. Simply must not!

This is why I got so scared. Elect the Tories, and the thing I care most passionately for dies.

My relationship to clothes is rather odd. Usually I hanker after girl’s clothes, but recently I have been hinking about getting a suit. A good suit. Something cool and very male for contrast. Something one can order a martini in.

Well, today me, mum and Chris went shopping, ad that’s exactly what we got. A black suit, white shirt and bow tie. Mum is going to elasticise the trousers so I don’t have to bother with the fly, and the shirt has poppers. I had to try it on. It fits almost perfectly, so next I want a walther PPK.

Well, I’ll settle for a martini.

Possibly the best indicator of the quality of ones Christmas is the state of ones room on boxing day. If one has had a good Christmas, with a large haul of gifts, one’s bedroom should be a mess. This is because one dumps the pile into one’s room after the unwrapping has ceased, then goes back downstairs to rejoin the family. The presents wait till the new year to be allotted places, so for a while one’s route to bed is fraught with pitfalls and booby traps.

At the moment, this place looks like a bomb has hit it. Of course, this is not helped by the fact that Luke, my little brother, is staying on my top bunk, so there are clothes and wrapping paper strewn over my floor. I am not complaining, but for a person with mobility and balance problems, it can be a challenge, especially last thing at night with a beer or two in my belly.

In short, however, this Christmas is shaping up to be one of the coolest. Of course, I miss my older brother, but it is only fair that he went to Kat’s parents this year. The place is packed anyway, and one can barely move without bumping into a relative.

As predicted, the conversation has been rather academic at times. This morning, Christina was describing that she might find new species of fish in the Amazon; yesterday, Luke and Cyril were discussing the Turing test. We should probably get out more, but my family still amazes me.

Right now, most of them are out walking. The house is quiet, giving me a chance to write. I haven’t been all that involved really – I just watch and listen. It takes ages for me to say anything, and I hate slowing everything down. I know I shouldn’t. when everyone is waiting for me to say something, I just get tense, making it ten times harder. Oddly, this happens more with the in-laws than with a lecture theatre full of students. Odd, no?

Anyway, everybody will be back soon, and the place will once again be thronging. This afternoon, we have games planned, which, with my uncle Aki being the incessant cheat that he is, despite my cousin Chris’s attempts to keep him in line, will almost certainly be a good laugh. Watching my family is better than any Christmas TV show any day of the year.

Things, I suspect, are going to get interesting around here. In more ways than one too. Come this evening, we’ll have eleven or twelve people around the place – the most people at home I can recall – and mum has already started to cook. In fact poor mum seems already slightly perturbed, and even at this early hour I smell onions frying.

As the crip of the family, and having no household chores, I take the role of flaneur at such times. That is, ii merely observe things as they unfold, then write about them. The forthcoming few days should supply me with enough material for the next three terms of writing class (not that I plan to divulge any family secrets, of course).

I love it when we have family round – there is rarely a dull moment. I come from a family of scientists, so dinner table conversation sometimes gets odd. Already this morning over breakfast Luke and dad were discussing interesting graphs. Being a crip-ranch educated arts-student, most of the time I do not have the foggiest idea what they are talking about, but it astounds me to hear everyone talk. Either it’s about whether zero is a number, or stuff about programming, or stuff about medicine. Of course, they all have their specialisms – Dad, electronics; mum, medicine; Luke biology and computing; uncle aki, philosophy of mathematics, Aunty Dinah, philosophy; my cousin Cyril, biology and computing… and so on. The result is an eclectic mix of technical gibberish and banter.

The above would imply that I am the dunce of the lot, which is not true. There is no dunce. I suspect I will have to explain the concept of flaneurie to them when this is posted. Just as I am proud of them, they are proud of me, and that’s how it should be. Hence there is already a feeling of warmth throughout this old place, and there is nowhere else I would rather be – nowhere else on earth.

Thus, tomorrow, I’ll be looking over a table of twelve, chomping sprouts and turkey, listening to the conversation, and remarking how lucky I am. It’s what Christmas is for.

A merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

The following just begged to be recorded for pposteritty.

1.a carol:

Deck the hall with boughs of holly,

Fa la la la la la, la la la la.

Tis the season to by jolly,

Fa la la la la la, la la la la.

Don we now our gay apparel,

Fa la la, la la la, la la la. Then we get a civil partnership

Fa la la la la la, la la la la.

2. a new word

Sudblx – that which matt speaks when talking of films. Psuedy bollocks without vowels 3.another new word

Smoergleburble – that language luke speaks when telling dad how to do stuff on the computer.

Well, they made me laugh.

in case anyones interested, here’s the outcome of the dover trial. itss a relief that logic and sense won the day. Must admit, I had no faith (forgive the pun) that the judge would rule in favour of science. there were quite a few kooky idea going around that courtroom. something tells me these religious fools won’t shut up though.

thanks for the link luke

I just read tom Shakespeare’s most recent article on ouch, and I would encourage you to do the same. It is a short essay on disability issues in the bible, and I was interested to note that Hebrews 12.13 says ‘Make a level path for your feet, so that the lame may not be disabled’, one of the earliest descriptions of the social model.

The problem professor Shakespeare and most disabled people have with Christ is that he went about his business in the wrong way. There is a supposition in the bible that disabled people want to be ‘cured’; most of us do not, for without our disabilities we no longer can be us. My cp is part of me, part of what makes matt matt. I think I would be quite lost without it. When I was very little, I asked dad if I could have a brain transplant in order to move properly; my father wisely replied that, were I to have such an operation, I would not be Matthew anymore but someone else inside my body. Although literally true, this can also be seen as allegorical cure my disability, and you eradicate matt.

Thus, in a way, Jesus did these lepers and blind people a disservice, robbing them of their individuality (and, in one case, their livelihood). As Shakespeare argues, it would be far simpler to fit ramps everywhere, and make VOCAs easier to obtain, rather than curing a select few. Then everyone benefits, not just a handful of people fortunate enough to meet Christ.

I just found this blog entry on intelligent design / evolution by Scott Adams, creator of Dilbert. I must say it is fairly well balanced: in fact, it is one of the most wellrounded articles I have read on the subject, which I think can be very polarising. Also, Scott Adams is one of my dad’s favourite cartoonists, so it’s worth a peek just for the satire.

How on earth I got his name wrong I do not know. The guy to whom I referred to in last Fridays entry is Michael leach, not llang. I suppose I assumed that he would have the same name as his wife. Anyway, here is a link to his fascinating site, full of some of the most extraordinary wildlife photography I have seen.

I just read this re-reading of a christmas carol on ouch. I must admit, tiny tim has always grated a little – I hate how the cute disabled person is used as a dramatic tool again and again. tiny tim, polyanna, etc. they’re all so cringeworthy and unrealistic portrayals of disabled people.

Hurrah, my blogs back. Praise be to Luke – greatest webmaster of all.

Anyway, normality having been restored and the evil forbidden sign being gone, let me tell you of my experience yesterday. As noted in the previous post, I intend to go to the ballet; I’m very thirsty for all types of art now I have been to the opera (something which I once saw as bourgeois and inaccessible) and thoroughly enjoyed it. Here at MMU, they do courses in dance,, one of which was staged yesterday. Needless to say I went, paid my £1.50 at the door and took a seat.

What I saw, it must be said, was odd. La Rondine was in Italian but thanks to the surtitles was still understandable. What these dancers were doing seemed random. There were about ten pieces, some set to music, some with music but the movement taking no heed of it, and some in silence. He final piece actually took place on the seating, with the audience having to sit on thee stage. It was all quite odd.

So far, I may be appearing to be a luddite, which isn’t my intention. I love how my university experiments in terms of art. Last week, I went to a very disconcerting piece of theatre where the audience were shepherded around, and were supposed to be inhabitants of an asylum. That too made little sense, but does it matter?

No, I think not. What matters is that they’re stretching artistic boundaries: experimenting. I find it exciting, and cant wait to see what’s going to come next.

At the time of writing, my website is down: it currently says access ibis forbidden in big letters. I fear this may have caused some of you to conclude that I blocked you from my website. I assure you that A. this would go against every one of my beliefs apropos the freedom of information and speech, and B. I wouldn’t know how to block anyone, even if I wanted to. Rather, I suspect certain people have neglected to transfer certain monies to certain Web Space companies. [update – it was a nasty little virus that did it. Prase be to Luke for fixing it.]

Anyway, last night I went again to the opera. This was part of my ongoing ambition to experience as much culture as possible: I want to see as many art forms as possible, just as I would like to eat as many different types of food as possible and go to as many countries as possible. As john Donne once wrote ‘to live in one contrie is captivitie’; I have merely taken this slightly further. I want to remain open minded, never dismissing anything until I have experienced it.

The opera strikes me as a rather exotic, very cool art form. It is rather strange in that it’s communication system bears very little resemblance to the normal forms of communication. Baring dad’s tuneful, but often obscene, outbursts of tuneful displeasure, we do not often sing to communicate. Yet, as any philologist will tell you, language is beautifully tuneful, so the opera can be seen as a mere extension of a certain aspect of language. And how beautiful this extension is: a phrase, when spoken, may be beautiful, but a phrase, when sang, can be exquisite.

Last night’s performance of Puccini’s La Rondine at the Royal Northern College of music was indeed exquisite. The first thing to note is the sheer power of the performers on stage: they are all around my age, but they have vocal power enough to fill a huge auditorium without electronic assistance. Even though one knows these people are, for all intents and purposes, professional singers, I am still amazed by their sheer talent. But then, this is the RNCM – should I expect anything less? The sets were lavish, the acting faultless.

Now, in classicism it is often necessary to separate style and content. The content of Puccini’s opera is not the best. It is ostensibly the story of a kept woman falling temporarily in love with a young student, running off with him, and when his money is gone, returning to her sugar daddy in Paris. It is thus very cynical, which is why it was slated by critics upon it’s debut. Nevertheless, the denouement when Magda reveals she cannot marry Ruggero (”Let the grief be mine”) is quite simply astonishing in it’s beauty. It was quite, quite moving and it was impossible not to feel spellbound.

thus the style outweighed, I felt,, the content. I have a huge respect for RNCM: the whole evening was enjoyable, and the college is very professional. Even the interval wine wasn’t bad, although it was a little expensive. I intend to go to more, but not for some time – there are other art forms I want to experience. Next, I think, is dance.

Nevertheless, ii shall end with a quote, not from the opera, but a play: ‘If music be the food of love, play on.” [naff ending – ed]

I was handing a piece of finished work in at the writing room yesterday for my scripts tutor, dr. mariel land. I think she had an appointment to make, so her husband was there. I like mariel – as well as being a good teacher, she’s a pretty cool person. For one, she was giving away chocolate.

I got talking to mr lland – mariel introduced us. He was quite an interesting fellow, it turns out – an anthropologist. I asked if he was a scientist.

‘I’m a cameraman for the bbc’ he said. It turns out that this guy is actually a good acquaintance of sir David Attenborough. I went into squeal mode upon hearing this! Sir David is one of my all time heroes. Mr lland had been all around the world, to places like Borneo, the Amazon etc, taking the most wonderful photographs. He told me how his anthropology work has lead him to meet peoples who have only just made contact with western society. What an adventure that must be.

The mystery is I cant find his website: he showed it to me during our conversation, and I think I’d like to check it out. He said we could keep in contact, and I’d love to. However, I can’t find his site anywhere, despite several hours on google. The internet can be so frustrating sometimes!

Since I last blogged, quite an important fact has been brought to my attention. Two facts, in actuality, and they both concern the new leader of the opposition. The first is that David Cameron has a son with cerebral palsy (cp). This alone does not worry me in the slightest: I initially thought this would mean Cameron was more in touch with the needs of people with disabilities, which is a good thing, especially for a Tory.

I was wrong, for the second fact I learned about Cameron is he is against inclusive education. This struck alarm bells in my head – given that this guy could well be prime minister in four years’ time, it would spell disaster for the inclusive education scheme. It might put us back to the days of segregation, and a second rate education for disabled kids.

You can’t blame him, of course. You can’t blame any parent in such a position, who wants to send their disabled child to a special school. Any child is precious to a parent, so there is, quite naturally, a tendency to want to wrap disabled kids in cotton wool and send us off to the warm, sheltered environs of special schools. My concern is, however, that this would be almost disastrous for the child in the long term: when he or she reaches eighteen or nineteen, he or she will be so poorly equipped for the real world, so used to the homely atmosphere of school life, that he or she will be quite unprepared for the often chaotic maelstrom that is modernity. If they are lucky, students will have four or five low grade GCSEs to their name. not many get a-levels, and I have not heard of any student going straight from a special school to university. Furthermore, nondisabled kids would benefit in that increased interaction with disabled kids will break down prejudices and misconceptions. You would be surprised how many people around uni still have no idea how to act around me.

Yet to a parent of a disabled child, inclusion represents a threat. Of course, there are exceptions – and I can point you to at least two who post on my comments – but many parents do not seem to think their child could cope in mainstream school. Thus, when they finally escape the linoleum carpet and the signs in Makaton, their kids hit the real world with a bump. This means, in my experience, that many are unable to enter higher education and get jobs. If, on the other hand, they are educated alongside their able-bodied peers, both socially and educationally they would be on a par with everyone else (providing, of course, they get the right support in mainstream).

Cameron therefore represents a threat in my eyes. He wants what is best for his son, and others like him. However, we have very different opinions on what is best for disabled kids. Having a parent with a disabled kid as opposition leader or PM might be beneficial, but if he acts on his views, it might also be catastrophic. As Justin R said, politics just got interesting again,

So, David Cameron is the new Tory leader. Unlike the past four, this is a leader I would vote for. He seems well rounded, and not too insane or right-wing. Yes, he is a eurosceptic and I’m pro-Europe, but at the moment he’s presenting a reasonable alternative to Blair, who, frankly, seems to be dying. I reckon the Tories have a good chance of winning the next election. – I never thought I’d say that!

link

Ever been to a place where you want to help, but aren’t too sure how? I felt kind of like that in Blackpool this weekend. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed myself thoroughly, but there were times when I did not know what to do. I was there to be a ‘role model’ for kids, but, unlike Lilleshall, the young people at this event were preteens, so I wasn’t quite sure how to engage with them. I found myself talking more to the parents rather than the kids.

I knew I was doing it. Kate challenged me to ask an open question to all the kids there, which ii attempted to do, but the parents were often answering for them. The problem was, the children were at a very early stage of communicative development, so I suspect it was nigh on impossible for the parents to resist the urge to do the talking. This, combined with the fact that the parents were as inquisitive about me as I was nosey about them meant that the kids had very little chance to join the conversation. Having said this hopefully when the kids see their parents talk to me so deeply, they will see that they too can achieve what I have. They will see that, just because you may use a communication aid doesn’t mean you can’t have fairly in-depth conversations. I think this, to a certain extent, is the whole point of the role-model project.

However, I daresay most kids there hardly needed encouraging. Like most children their age, they had much to say, and given half the chance, say it they would. All it needs is a little patience and these kids can chat for England, or will be able to do so soon, given patience and the right help.

Thus, although I have reservations about how much I helped, it was undeniably a great weekend. The kids were super. If they invite me, I’ll definitely be going again.

Just blogging to say that the one voice blackpool event seemed to be a total success. It was knackering, but it was also great fun. Once again, I hope the kids we were being role models for got as much from it as I did. I’ll report more soon, but a huge congratulations go out to tamsin, thee two katies, and everyone involved.

the snow has cleared, the temperature has risen, and I’m nearly all ready to set off for blackpool. I should have a cool weekend. anyway, there’s not much time to blog, so allow me to direct you here, to a page which points out the alarming stupidity of the ‘theory’ of intelligent design, as sent to me by Luke.