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 biit of a long day full of ups (having a great idea for my film essay) and downs (getting a relitively 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!