It has already been a highly productive morning: I have started my final film essay, and have 500 words already (about 20%). Witting the introduction, I find, clarifies what I am doing, so I now know where I’m going with it. I’ve also done a couple of other things which were hanging over me yesterday.

I was in a right mis yesterday afternoon. Basically, making the exhibition had lead me to reflect on certain things – about school, and stuff. It’s hard to explain concisely here, but I’d given my scripts tutor the script of the sketch about Andy, and her feedback kind of struck a nerve. It was too accurate, too sentimental, too goddamn sad.

Anyway, its Wednesday; a day of sport, fun. I’ve been at my pc since before 9; time to go to get a coffee.

I had to do a double take when I saw this headline. More people watched top gear than the final of big brother! Now that’s funny. Could it be that, despite all the hype, nobody cares about BB? Mind you, top gear featured a high speed crash, although I must say I found Mr. Hammonds message of thanks genuinely touching.

(yeah, I went to the TV room to watch it)

In the absence of anything better to write, I think I’ll post a link to this blond joke. I was going to write something on inside I’m dancing, but need to mull it over some more. There seems to be a dialectic in that film for disabled viewers: kind of like us watching you watching us, which has some repercussions I need to think through. Okay, the film itself is almost complete lachrymose twaddle, but still interesting.

My recent realisation that travel on busses was both accessible and free for cripples inspired a little adventure today. Saturday afternoons are boring, and usually see me twiddling my thumbs in my room, or wheeling into alsager. However, I’m bored of both these things, so ii did a little experiment: could I get myself to Crewe and back on the bus, alone? Besides, perhaps I can find something to eat in Crewe better than pizza.

It sounds silly, really, but it was quite a risky endeavour: what if my chair got stuck? What if I got lost? Of course, there are risks associated with everything; if I couldn’t muster the courage to get to Crewe, how could I ever get to Calcutta, Cairo or Cairns?* So, first I researched which bus would take me to Crewe, whether I could get on it, and where it stops. This turned out to be the 20 from the bottom of church road, going to Crewe bus station, leaving every 20 minutes.

I went to the bus stop and alighted, after a short wait, the twenty, and less than twenty minutes later I was in Crewe bus station. I better say it’s rather difficult manruvering an f55 onto a bus, but nevertheless quite possible.

What I hadn’t realised that there’s nothing to do in Crewe that late in the day, and, in the end, I decided to eat at MacDonald’s. even so, it’s the fact that I did it that counts. Given that it is free, this may be just the first of many such adventures.

*mind you, i’ll take a p.a when going to such places

Just a short one today. I’m not commenting on this, except to say that this girl better get out more, and that it’s funny as.

and the same applies to her cat.

Sometimes principles suck. Yes, they may be necessary, if not vital, but they still suck. My university is on two campuses, with buses running between them. As with last year, I have lectures on both campuses, but until recently couldn’t get on the bus as it was inaccessible. Instead, I had to get my own taxi between the two.

This was all very well and good, as well as convenient, but I had a problem: I want to be as ‘regular’ student as possible, but the taxi was another thing that set me apart from the rest of the student body. Besides, surely it was more cost efficient just for the bus firm to send the wheelchair-accessible buses. Moreover, I couldn’t get my electric wheelchair into the taxi, which I saw as a big problem. I thus asked uni if wheelchair-accessible busses could be arranged.

I still think the principles behind this are great as I type this in a lovely, warm room, but was quietly cursing it earlier, waiting for a late bus at 6pm tonight in the freezing cold.

I have finally got round to my Parent’s diary of the Australian holiday. It comprises of the emails they sent home while there. As such, it’s a fascinating document which both excites and depresses me. It depresses me as they miss a lot out (like one of my favourite memories, drinking my first ‘real’ martini in Sydney). They don’t describe the spectacular nights sky at Uluru – a sky which simply fills ones heart with wonder and awe. They don’t mention peter, etc. however, I’m more excited than depressed – it just brings back so many memories. It helps trigger a billion good thoughts.

What shall I tell you guys about tonight? [thinks, then laughs]

HELICOPTERS! Oh, man, do those things rule! In the south of Australia, about a day’s drive from Melbourne, are the twelve apostles – twelve spires of rock sticking up from the ocean. Two or three have recently collapsed, so they no longer number twelve. One can get helicopter rides along the shore for a better view of these natural monoliths. They use small choppers, so we had to hire two, and I went up with Luke (my kick-ass brother). I sat up front, next to the pilot, and it was one of the greatest moments of my life. The moment when the craft leaves the ground is unbelievable. And the view, is a view… just incredible. Watching the ground whiz by 30 metres below is exhilarating.

As if one is not enough, I had another chopper ride! King’s canyon is a truly beautiful area, a cleft in the ground full of exotic plants, animals and birds. One can, if you rise early enough, walk it’s rim on a guided tour, but by no means is this wheelchair accessible. So, while dad and Luke went on this walk, mum and I flew over it! How cool is that. Okay, we didn’t get up close, but I loved it all the same and the feeling of being left out wasn’t there (I think I had the better deal, in a way).

Looking down from the front seat of a helicopter, you see for miles; there is a feeling of power, of weightlessness. It was just sublime.

I want one.

not much to say tonight – its been a bit of a long day full of ups (having a great idea for my film essay) and downs (getting a relatively poor mark for a story). So tonight I’ll just post a link here , to the video of a great song by pink.

While the details of our circumstances are rather different, I think I’ll post a link to this article tonight. It’s a very well written and thought provoking article by a man with DMD and his use of a prostitute. My first reaction is ‘so what?’ the guy obviously felt the need to use a whore. As far as I’m concerned, that’s his business. But it does raise certain issues, like how ‘we’ get sexual partners. Now, I’m quite sure that if I wait long enough, I’ll eventually find a sexual partner. But I could be waiting a very long time, as right now girls don’t seem to fancy me, although most of my friends seem to be girls.

But what if I lost patience? I think I would indeed consider using a prostitute. As long as the lady in question is consenting, why should things like this be a problem, or even taboo?

I hate these dark evenings. It’s been quite a bitter day, and I haven’t done much. During breaks in the weather I managed to drive into the village and back: I seem to be able to think more clearly when on the move, as it gives my hands something to do and my eyes something to look at. I need to decide a few things about one or two forthcoming essays.

Right now, it’s probably morning back in Sydney, and Monday morning or not they’re probably having fun! while this may dishearten some, it kind of cheers me up. At least somewhere is bright and sunny. Sydney is a very cool place, and the harbour is beautiful, but I think I actually preferred Brisbane, with it’s long wide river and very cosmopolitan feel. It was also just about the only place where I got a real beer – one night we found an irish pub which sold guiness. I must admit, however, that I drank a bit too much of this. I noticed, too, that it’s university had a pretty sizable film theatre, so no prises for guessing where I want to move to

Oh well, to travel is to come back, and university is a cool place too. I better crack on with work in the morning, but whenever I get too bored, I can always look through the diary my parents kept while in Oz, or go for a drive into the village.

One final thing: I found out what ‘waltzing matilda’ means. Matilda is a name for one’s bag, and so to waltz it is to travel with a bag on your back. In short, it’s a travelling song!

I have been looking through some old blog entries today. I think I’ll use some for my exhibition-thingy in march, and deciding which to use will be hard. It does, however, astonish me to think that it’s now almost five; when I started keeping a blog I didn’t expect it to last very long, but it has, and I certainly intend to keep it up.

Admittedly, it’s been crap recently. I’ve been busy with other things, and haven’t thought much about blogging. It will get better, I promise. I need to tell you all about

Australia: About moreton island; about Uluru; about flying in helicopters and riding monorails. Need to tell you about my new friend Rozie, from the states, and Peter (who I’ve mentioned before), and about Simon and joss, my parents’ friends, who live in the coolest house in the southern hemisphere (bit like the burrow but with a kick-as basement). The question is, where to begin – how can I possibly tell you about the coolest journey over the most awesome, awe-inspiring place on earth?

Well, slowly. There’s too much for one entry; to be honest, I have enough material for several dozen. Where to begin, though? That’s the hard part.

There is, however, one part I need to put down from the off: Australia is wonderfully accessible. There are ramps everywhere, and folk are incredibly friendly. That is not to say that oz is wheelchair friendly, however: there is a difference between wheelchair friendliness and accessibility. Quite often, for example, lifts were tucked away in corners, and took ages to find. A good example of this is the lift up to the bridge over darling harbour, which took ages to locate and when you did it was being used, more often than not by people perfectly able to use stairs.

Mind you, this is my only gripe; I now have a plethora of great memories – enough to keep me blogging for another five years.

It seems its all going pear shaped for Blair. Given he’s had ten years in office, its not surprising. One of his aides has been arrested for fraud.

I don’t like the bloke. He’s lead us into a disastrous war. And now we are a country which virtually endorses execution. I do not care what the Americans might claim

– capitol punishment is barbaric. Saddam was evil, yes, but to resort to something so base, and for us brits not to object in the strongest terms possible, is utterly disgraceful.

Yet I remain stuck between a rock and a hard place. I hate Blair, but I loathe Cameron. He’s a conservative, and conservatism, rather than being a well-thought out political stance, is just a series of id impulses based on greed. Its about preserving the status quo, despite the fact that the status quo is unfair. Free market economy is wasteful. But conservatives want to preserve it out of greed. Then, there’s Cameron’s stance on special education; this, too, is poorly thought out. Special schools are disastrous in terms of education. The only way for us crips to be fully accepted is for all children to be taught together. Cameron’s plans to reintroduce segregated education is the mark of a man who blinds himself to long term repercussions while wanting to mollycoddle disabled kids. He thus doesn’t understand the issue.

Hate Blair. Hate cam-moron. I think I’ll move to Australia.

The interfaculty cup starts at two. I get the feeling all hell is going to break loose. This is the annual sports event between mmu Cheshire and mmu Manchester; it takes place here, and we compete iin many sports. I plan to go to girls hockey and girls basketball.

Thing is, the rivalry is quite fierce. Everyones quite pumped, and theres beer involved. Thus it’s a recipe for total chaos.

What fun.

I went home this weekend. After three weeks away and one week at uni, I just needed to sleep in my own bed. There’s nothing quite like going downstairs of a Sunday morning to find breakfast on the table.. the simple things, you know, like watching time team or David Attenborough with mum and dad. I love university, and I love my friends here, but home is still home.

Yesterday, as per my brothers instructions (he once famously wrote, aged about 9, that our Sunday ritual was to eat roast beef and to take grandma for a drive) we went down to Amerton farm. It has been ages since we visited my childhood joy: as a kid I used to love it. Back then it was a working farm where you could watch cattle being milked, hens being fed etc, but the thing I loved most was the tractor in the field. It was an old Massey, rusting away in the rain, but I loved it when dad took me from my pram, and later my chair, and placed me onto the old seat.

Yesterday we went down to see how much it had changed. Of course, it has changed quite a bit: parts have expanded, others shrunk. The milking parlour is gone, and there is now a petting zoo. I didn’t expect to see the tractor.

But, after a delicious ice cream in the restraint, we went walking. Dad commented on how much it had changed. We went into a barn, and there it was.

With a lick of red paint it stood there, unmistakably. The old tractor. ‘Hello, old friend.” I thought, patting it’s bonnet.

Life is good.

I’ve been humming ‘waltzing matilda’ all day today. I have been humming it all week, in fact. I have some very happy memories of that song.

It seems to be a symbol of everything Australian. Australians themselves seem to love it, and sing it regularly. While there, I had the good misfortune to go to watch two cricket matches; while we need not go over the result (I now regard English cricket as truly dead, and Rupert Murdoch the killer), I had great fun watching thee barmy army try to outsing the boony army, and vice versa. Surprisingly, we brits were more vocal than the ausies, singing our themes. However, after a rendition of ‘Jerusalem’, the Australian supporters decided to counter strike with ‘waltzing matilda’. The funny thing is, we joined in! this embodies the relationship between the two nations: the rivalry is a friendly one indeed.

But the most magical occasion when it was sung was on a bus. We were driving back from watching the sun go down at Uluru. If you ever have an opportunity to do this, you must. It is the most magical, beautiful thing ever, sipping wine while watching the awesome red rock glow. Our tour guide, Peter, one of the nicest, most knowledgeable people I’ll ever meet, had just finished talking, and the bus slowly made it’s way through the darkness. Slowly, quietly, someone started singing: ‘once there was a swag man…’ and others joined in. peter happened to have a tape of the song, so he put it in the PA system. That was quite a wonderful end to a wonderful day, and although the details may or may not be wrong, I remember it as being one of the happiest moments of my life. Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong,

Under the shade of a Coolibah tree,

And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boil,

You’ll come a Waltzing Matilda with me.

I’m afraid I won’t be able to write the article I intended to write tonight; I have had a lot of work given to me today, and, although it’s not due till march, its rather long and I’m eager to get it started. It is, however, a story, and for that I have plenty to write about.

Nothing provides one with more inspiration than travel. For my story I’m writing about one of the things I saw on holiday – the Endeavour. The replica of Cook’s ship is currently moored in darling harbour, Sydney; we got to that city on new year’s eve, and were planning to celebrate with dinner in our hotel, we’d flown in from Alice that afternoon, and were looking forward to a nice meal. My parent’s room looked out over the harbour, and, looking through their window I could see the National maritime museum, with three or four vessels ‘parked’ along side it.

There were two vessels clearly on the dock, and one sailing vessel to one side. I immediately expected this to be the endeavour, and asked someone if the sailing ship over the water was cook’s. he replied that it was, and I was happy.

A day or two after tat, we visited the museum. Oddly, the ship I had seen was not the endeavour; cooks ship actually lay with the rest of the ships in the museum, right by a destroyer and a sub. With my brother’s help (18th century barks are not accessible to us wobblies) I explored the ship. It was as if the crew had just left it. The captain’s uniform even hung in his quarters. Cook has been a hero of mine for quite some time, and it was amazing just to be in that ship/

However this left a mystery – what was the second sailing vessel? Secretly, I’d hoped it was called Enterprise, but it turned out much more spooky. On our second to last night in Australia, I went with Luke for a walk around the harbour; I asked him for a closer look at the mystery ship, and he obliged. At first, the ship appeared nameless, and we were about to walk past the ship when I finally saw her name, painted on her aft. I shivered. It was the most famous pirate ship ever to sail; Blackbeard’s ship.

The bounty.

This is just a quick entry saying I’m back. The lack of bloggage was due to me being in Australia over Christmas. Although they do indeed have computers down under, I was too busy to blog.

I have much to write about, but it’ll have to wait, as I’m basically shattered. I have enough material for several months of entries, and memories which will last a life time.