I just returned from my second wheelchair excursion of the day. It’s a nice day, if a little breezy, and I like being out and about. This morning I went shopping,,, visiting the wine shop, book shops etc. this afternoon I had a look in a few charity shops for clothes, but returned empty handed.

I noticed in the park that my batteries were getting low, so I decided to head home. Now, one off my oldest memories is of my dad showing me the weir on the path from the park up jewson’s hill. This is a waterfall with an old mill by it. I was in my buggy trying to get dad to push me closer and closer to the edge of the river. I was a fearless little brat!

I was going that way again today; there was the mill, whose wheel had long stopped moving. I don’t suppose it has been used for centuries. Yet it was then I heard a bagging: on the wheel, a man was working. The ancient trap door was open to the platform. This could only mean one thing – restoration.

I’m not sure what anyone would want to restore a mill for today – maybe its for a museum, maybe for gryff Rees-Jones. We seem to have a strange relationship to history – our desire to restore ad preserve the past almost indicates a desire to stop time, to live within history. Perhaps because the world is progressing so fast we desire to make stand still. It’s rather ironic then that the paddle-wheel of that mill,, which has stood still for so long, should, in a way, make time stop by turning once more.

Two days ago, I went out in defiant to tell Ian brooks about Richard. Ian was at Hebden, but I wasn’t sure he would know. I know he’s in contact with a few of his friends there, and I suspected he would have been told, but felt it my duty to make certain. He and his younger brother, Rory, are the only other survivors of Hebden green school I’m in contact with.

So off I went, picking up a beer en route to soften the blow, just in case. Fortunately, he was in, and answered the door. He didn’t know about rich, though. A curious experience, really, having to tell someone of a death. Quite shitty, actually. Either way, we had a long talk.

I resolved, then, that I need to trace my old friends. At uni, I have more friends than I can count: people who I really like, many who I love. Folk I know I could trust with my life. Yet I need now to track down my older friends; I need to keep contact. The news of Richard’s death knocked m for six, and it still hurts every time I think about it, so I have been apprehensive to search more lest I receive more sad news. But not to search is not to know.

Ian told me Dave Giles had died, but the others may still be about. I must now find them for the sake of my old class at school.

I’m rather pleased with myself. I already have 2000 words of my 4000 word essay, so I can do some relaxing. Mind you, to progress much further with it I’d need the film itself, which Amazon is yet to deliver, but I’m not too worried – there’s time. So now, half way there,, its time to unwind.

Do you know this is the first extended period of time that I’ve been at home since last year, since Christmas was spent in Australia. I find myself at something of a loss of what to do, other than reading and working. All my favourite items of clothing are at college, so I have a weird type of withdrawal: does one get spandex cravings? Anyway, I keep wanting to go out, only the weather’s not good today. Thus I’m both sad and happy, or rather bored and happy. quite a difference from the excitement of newquay

What I’ll be like over summer I have no idea.

I’m too much of a critic these days I think. Last night my parents and I went to see ‘Charlie’s Aunt’ at the regent theatre, handley. It’s a Victorian farce by Brandon Thomas, and I must admit it was pretty well performed, but I think I disliked it because it lacked the panache of Wilde. It was, to my mind, devoid of subtlety and wit, and full of coincidences (mind you so is Wilde’s earnest). I just couldn’t get into it until the second act.

The problem is, I wobble; the more I know I have to stay still, the more I wobble. Thus every time I go to the theatre, where I know I have to stay still, the more I worry about my body and so the more I wobble. This is, needless to say, highly irritating, and probably gave rise to my critical eye.

It also doesn’t help that I have been used to highly intellectual stuff at uni – plays and prose which demand thought. Ten minutes into watching this play, I had decided it was clich ridden and vapid, lacking of much artistry, and slightly pantomimic. I could spot the plot coming a mile off. However, mum and dad seemed to really enjoy it: to be honest, it did have it’s funny points – such as someone pouring tea into a top hat – but, somehow I just felt negative. The dialogue, for instance, seemed too much of a parody, or an attempt at one by someone who doesn’t really know what he’s doing.

I feel really guilty about writing all this. it has been absolutely ages since I went to the theatre with my parents, and had been really looking forward to it. But it somehow missed the mark for me. Sorry guys.

I got back from newquay yesterday, and me and Charlie slept at a friends last night, so I only got home for Easter this morning. Dad just set my pc back up ready for three weeks of working on my Heimat essay, talking on msn and listening to mp3s. This sounds like fun, but not as fun as newquay was! There is something terrific abut going away with 17 good friends: everyone was buzzing with energy; there was always fun to be had.

Right: first things first. Heads up my roomies – Scott (hereafter referred to as camel) Becky, ness, Emma and the wonderful Charlie. Before I go much further, I better say how impressed I was with c this weekend – I asked her to do some personal assisting this weekend (makes sense to employ someone already going to help you eat, dress etc) and she was so great! I’d just like to express my thanks to her! This is a human being I respect in the utmost, and one of the finest people I’ll ever meet.

Now, time for the detail. No chopper rides this time, but something even better (well, in a way) – a club! Woohoo, did that rule! Saturday night we all got together for a social, then headed to a pub, then a club, then a second bigger club. I was determined not to be a lightweight and be taken home before midnight after two pints of bitter, so I paced myself as well as drinking red bull (something else to give to grandma?). as it turned out, I lasted till half three, outlasting most if my friends. It’s all about the red bull. I’m so pleased with myself for exorcising my lightweight reputation.

As for what happened in said club, I’ll just say it involved pretty 18-year-old girls in nurse outfits, more Tetley and red bull, and oxygen! Oh, and dancing – lots of that! Get this – I outdanced some big fat bald guy! He was trying to show off, which, if you ask me, is asking to be outdanced by a cripple full of red bull andd beer.

I’ve never felt so alive (except in said helicopter). It is a long time since I thought my life was limited by cp; I’m still learning how wrong I was though.

I can never sleep the night before an adventure. Tomorrow me and about 17 of my friends head off down to newquay for jo’s birthday, and I can’t wait. I’ve n early start tomorrow – up at 5 to begin the 7 hour drive at 6 – so I’ll be in bed by ten tonight, I think. Although it’s of a quite different nature to the trips I take with my family, it still constitutes travel, the one thing I love most. The thrill of the open road; new places, and new people; eating in restaurants and trying new food; new experiences. I love it all.

As I say, I’m going with friends. They all know me well – well enough to take the piss anyway – so I’m not worried about this. as a cripple you tend to worry; I’m not quite as adept at getting out of scrapes as I might be. Yet not to go would be hypocritical – I preach all this stuff about inclusion, so why not put it into practice. That’s my excuse anyway. Things may get messy here on in: let them!

Its time to live!

Jim greeted me with some seriously cool news today: uni have asked us to put my exhibition up again, this time on the Crewe campus. I must say I am overwhelmed; apparently my exhibition has had a very positive effect, and the response I got was thrilling. Next time I’ll certainly make it bigger and better.

I must say things are looking bright tonight. My one big worry is the Heimat essay, but I should be able to handle it. Now I have another ego-fest to look forward to, things really are looking up.

I’m much happier today. It’s been quite busy, and I’ve only just finished work – although I had a swift pint earlier. I’ve handed two of my final assignments in today, leaving just two more, one of which I was just working on. Its odd to think I’m nearly there.

Anyway, its high time I stopped using this place as a mere journal. Pretty soon, I’ll start posting about disability issues, as I feel that’s pretty much my remit, unless you guys don’t actually want me to stop blogging about drinking and stuff. I’ve always felt that I need to use my blog to illustrate life as a disabled person. Either way, soon I’ll be exploring the possibilities of my site, getting new functions in, perhaps a message board. As they say, watch this (web) space.

I am not proud of everything I did this weekend. It was my birthday, and should have been a great time, but for some reason most of the time I had an enormous temper. All the family were there, but I just felt bitter I’m not sure what’s wrong with me, but I’ve been feeling it a lot recently. Just angry and frustrated and unjustly belittled. Undervalued. Sorry guys

Did anyone else listen to the Ireland Zimbabwe match last night. I get home late Thursdays, and put it on after dinner. I was streaming it while finishing off a script, and I’ve rarely had more fun, it was the closest run race ever, with zim needing 222 to win. In the end it was a draw, the last wicket falling as Zimbabwe equalled Irelands target. Very tense, very exciting.

I love cricket.

Go look at this, and then think about it. He must have sat there, probably in his bedroom, musing over what he could do with his nose. It’s a complete paradox: simultaneously very creative and a total waste of time. (quite like this blog)

And why did the yank bother to record it?

My exhibition came down today. By most accounts it has been a great success; I’m thrilled at how it turned out. Sadly, my blog was not up in there for all the time as the tekkies needed their laptop back, but hey you can’t have everything. Everyone I know went to see it.

Taking the photographs and writing down at about half four today, I thought about what an adventure it had been. It had it’s ups and downs: had it not been for this exhibition I would never have gone looking for Simmo, and…well, you know that story. The bottom line is it has been a tremendous experience – one which I might well repeat.

I must say it wouldn’t have been possible without the help of Jim burns. He did much of the organising – I only did the creative arty stuff. He helped me put it all together. I am in his great debt. Thanks Jim!

Nevertheless, seldom have I been more proud of myself than I am now.

check this out and look for the green arms waving energetically near the stage.

Everyone keeps telling me how great I am, so it must be true! I am a genius! My exhibition seems to have been a great success; both strangers and friends have been coming up to me and congratulating me on it. Apparently, it took up the majority of the discussion in a drama workshop, and I wasn’t even there. Best of all, my parents came to see it last night and loved it. All this makes me extremely happy, and my ego is now the size of Jupiter.

Send me the concubines now please!

Today is not a good day. Being woken by one’s father come to take your electric wheelchair for repairs is not a good thing, especially with my choice of night attire. I have great respect for my father but I seem to disappoint him more and more these days. Not academically, as I used to, but with my conduct. He seems to think I’m a lazy pervert who doesn’t look after his equipment, which is more or less true, but I would maintain I get my work in on time, and it is up to a high standard, which, here, is what counts.

Anyway, yesterday did not disappoint. Pool, No Water was marvellous: rocky did a great job, for what she created was simultaneously balletic and violent. Mind you, she had three of the best actors of our year to work with. I would bet a pork pie they’re in for a first.

Air Swimming with tally and Nicky was wonderfully poignant and beautiful. It concerned two women, locked up in a mental institution for about fifty years, their friendship, or perhaps their love. Oh yes, and Doris Day.

Perhaps the most striking piece of the whole weekend was one about a cancer patient – a professor of literature with terminal cancer. It concerned her final weeks in the hospital. It deeply troubled me, for, excellently acted though it was I kept thinking ‘tomorrow, she will not be dead, but will drink coffee in the wes.’ These are just plays, where death is not death; they are not real, but games. In a passing moment, I hated the whole business for it. Perhaps prose, pure symbolism, is the only way to represent reality, but this is a debate for another time and another blog entry.

I better get on with work. I have a script to read through. Before I end and post this, I want to say how much I love my dad and hate disappointing him.

The freaky geeks I found on Friday evening were still there yesterday morning, and they were still there playing their games yesterday afternoon. This LAN party seems tot have been an all weekend thing, since they showed no sign of going away last night. They have taken over brandies! Tres amusing.

As for myself it’s actors weekend, so I spent yesterday going to performances. Most of my friends are actors, so I should support them by watching their shows; after all, most of them came to my exhibition in Thursday night. It must be said, I saw some great things:

First off I saw god’s island, directed by Ben. A great piece which seemed to humanise the bible, satirising it and make it real. I liked it because it actually admitted that Jesus was a bastard.

Next over to ps1 for the blue room, directed by Steve carn (god). to be honest I found the plot hard to follow, since it was very broken and abstracted. Seemed to involve a lot of sex and wit – always a good combination in plays I think.

After a brief interval during which I got into a discussion over the existence of good and evil with Pete (a supremely clever guy), I went into a rather disconcerting piece set in a mental hospital. The dramatis personae were both patients and staff, and it was about the interaction between them. It gave me a nasty, uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

The next one, however, actually was set in hell. Faustus! Well, a truncated version of Faustus anyway. It was very good, very gothic and dark. However, it was an updated version, wherein the director seemed to be drawing parallels between ‘the dark arts’ of Faustus and modern science. I better address this: science can be used for good or ill. Faustus may have sold his soul to the devil for science, but this in no way means that all scientists do so. There seems to be a deep mistrust of science in a few quarters of society, which I think is dangerous. Mind you, from what I was reading last night about cybernetics, we might one day become like the Borg.

Lastly – and it was about 6pm by this time – I went to see Trojan Women, directed by Emma. Now, I know Emma, and anything less than superb wouldn’t satisfy her. For one, she chose a great piece of tragic theatre, although, as a person with Greek blood, I feel it was biased. It made the Greeks out to be bloodthirsty baby killers, who took troy using trickery and then pillaged it. If you ask me it was the Trojans fault – I mean, anyone stupid enough to see a great big wooden horse outside their gate and instantly think ‘ah, our enemies have sent us a great present, lets take it in” deserve to get their arses whooped. Oldest trick in the book, innit? Anyway, the acting was great, the directing superb, and it had fire too!

I must say, however, that because my home help come late on weekends I missed the first treat of the day. I really wanted to go watch Steve as Elvis! I had heard quite a bit about the piece directed by rolfie: apparently it had a disabled man, in a wheelchair, being wanked off by an Elvis impersonator. However, they only told me this last detail after the performance, or I might not have let them use My Frigging Wheelchair! I hope they cleaned it up after!

Anyway, all in all, it was a great day, rounded off with a trip to the pub. Today promises to be equally impressive, and I’m especially looking forward to Pool, No water, directed by Rocky and with Switch, Fran and Charlie. Tonight we intend to eat dinner in a pub, and then there’s a huge house party tomorrow night. Given the success of actors weekend, as well as the fact that my exhibition seemed to be a huge success, I feel like celebrating!

Friday evenings, when there’s nothing special going on like Old Boys, are usually dull affairs. Campus is quiet – many people go home for the weekend. So, last night I’d thought I’d go out onto campus for a stroll. First I went into the sports hall to watch the end of a volleyball match. Then, fancying a nice quiet pint of bitter, I headed over to the bar, expecting the place to be deserted.

It wasn’t. what I saw was amazing; it was like a geek’s wet dream. On temporary wooden tables were set up hundreds of computers each with it’s owner – invariably a long haired Goth or suchlike – sitting in front of it. We’re talking some serious computing power here! Where these guys came from, I don’t know, but they weren’t university students. Someone had organised a – what did Luke call it? LAN party.

I was amazed. It was the coolest thing ever! They were playing death matches! When I got in, a bloke in a black top greeted me.

‘so much for my quiet pint’ I said. He laughed, an we got talking. I told him how we once networked a 486 to a Pentium to play doom 2, which quite impressed him. I got myself a Tetley’s, and spent the rest of the evening talking and watching. I kind of hoped they would let me join in, or perhaps give me some pizza, but neither of these things happened.

A couple of hours later, just after 11, I came home. I never saw anything like it, nor expected that anything so geekily cool could happen here!

My exhibition is now up and running; for the next few days you can view this blog from Alsager arts gallery. The opening last night seemed to go exceedingly well, save for a few glitches with the big screen monitor. A few days ago, I was very worried that either nobody would turn up, or that people would come and see an empty room. I was wrong on both counts – people came, and they loved it (or claimed to).

It’s amusing. This exhibition is all about me, and my relationship to disability – am I normal? Am I special? As such, one of my exhibits was my manual wheelchair, another was me eating a pizza with my neater-eater, and the subsequent mess. For me, these things aren’t special – in fact they’re quite mundane – but to others they’re special. Its an odd paradox, really, and something worth exploring. Either way, it’s very amusing – me eating dinner is art!

What kind of mark I’ll get I have no idea. Everyone seemed to like it, and I loved putting it on! I’m very proud of myself this morning.

If you’re reading his from the gallery, welcome. I hope you enjoy the show.

The new reforms to the lords has thrown up some interesting debates. My gut reaction is they’re a good thing – why should the upper house be made up of antiquated old fogies not elected by the people? It’s undemocratic. However, in this article tom Shakespeare points out that the ‘other place’ is more likely to be peopled with crippled since it’s population is older etc. as such, the lords are more likely to be in tune with disability issues. As he says:

” For example, we’ve seen life peerages given to the broadcaster Rosalie Wilkins, and most recently, DRC commissioner, and independent living activist, Jane Campbell.

One of the real benefits of the Lords has been the opportunity to include people with expertise of different professions, or sectors of the population. The upper house has a vital role in improving legislation, and curbing the worst excesses of the Executive, so it’s good that disabled people are being represented and included in our parliamentary process.”

I’m in two minds about the lords. One half of me says it has no place in the twenty-first century, the other half is quite affectionate towards it. Do we now go back to calling Lord Attenborough Richard? I think scrapping it would be a mistake, for it is a vital way of keeping the executive in check (god forbid if CaMoron gets into power, they’ll hopefully stop him implementing his criminal plans for special education) but it must be more representative of the people.

I have decided I hate doors. They’re evil. Today I was going around campus, organising my exhibitions and investigating elevations. I decided to go into the union building. This apparently is an old ww2 airbase hospital block, believe it or not. Anyway, the first door was open, but through this threes a door into the admin corridor with all the offices along it. In my f55, I had just about got the door open, when I accidentally pushed the joystick left and OUCH! I trapped my left hand between the handle and the wall. God, did it hurt. It’s still hurting, but it’ll fade.

Why cant all doors be electric? Stupid norms with their stupid pushy pulley doors!

[incidently, its less than 24 hours till my exhibition – wish me luck]

I was travelling back from Crewe today on the bus when something must have happened to my chair, because when I got off the bus something was very wrong. The left front wheel shook violently when I got up to speed. Very violently.

Being a dumbass, I just thought it had come out of alignment and simply needed a nudge. WRONG: I got charlotte to look at it, and she noticed what I hadn’t. the nut was missing from the axel. It continued to shake, so, in desperation, I asked Steve carn, a mature student, to look at it. (older males = knowledge of wheels). Steve was aghast, saying it was dangerous, but he knew what to do.

He lead me over to a part of uni hitherto unknown to me – the metal workshop – and asked the supervisor to look at it. Instantly, he went to fetch a box of nuts, from which he selected a size ten, fitted it, and sent us on our way. The nasty shake had gone.

Steve has no idea how much trouble he has saved me. The chair would have had to go for repairs; dad would need to be told; no more mobility for days. As it stands, the defiant seems to be functioning within normal parameters, but I’ll keep my eye on it. I think it’s due for a service soon anyway.

I remembered I had a bottle of leffe in my room. I hope Steve enjoys it.

You know, I’m quite angry at myself for ever thinking otherwise.

Today we watched the opening speeches of the mmu union elections. If you ask me it’s just a shitload of rhetoric and grandstanding, with keywords such as

‘environment’ and discrimination thrown in for good measure. But it got me thinking: as far as I can see, we disabled folk are the most discriminated against, for we have to face things from heavy doors to highly patronising kitchen staff, but we scarcely got a mention. Most other minorities got a mention, but not us. Why? Obviously, there are so few of us in uni to bother about. This made me wonder why?

The answer, of course, is partly segregated education, but it was then I realised that this was only half the story. The other half is doubt. Most people in my position are not encouraged to go to uni; in fact, they are actively discouraged. At school, they’re described as having learning disabilities, a term which, I’d guess, they’d come to accept, and therefore not push themselves. It was then that I remembered that disability history is full of such tripe, of people being written off.

It was then I made a connection. If we want true academia representative of humanity, inclusion must not stop at school level. Before now, I’d been concerned that some people wouldn’t be able to cope at uni, but hold up old boy, isn’t that exactly the language used by the Tories? Further, to have inclusion stop at school level is completely arbitrary – if all means all at school, then all means all in higher education too.

I see no reason why this cannot happen. Syllabuses and assessments may have to be adapted, which was my prime concern – how to make things fair? I don’t want uni to give me less work to do, or reduce my wordcount, since this I felt would remove the point of my being here. How do we weigh the two? Disabled students must be expected to perform to the same standards as their peers, but the method of assessment might have to change. Why can’t assessments be given orally, or essays be written with symbols? I see no reason why not.

It’s high time things changed. Academia was started 4000 years ago to reflect human knowledge and therefore diversity. It’s high time it did.

hahahaha. if you type moby dick into youtube, you get this. where this cartoon comes from I dunno, but its fucked up. look out for the dolphin-boy-nazi!

I know it’s lazy, but today I’m just posting a link to this video about moneys, George bush and guns. Guns and monkeys are dangerous.

well, it made me laugh

I was speaking on msn last night to a chap called James, and to be honest I was very perturbed at what he was saying. He has cp, but is staunchly anti-inclusion, not to mention very conservative. No matter how many arguments I put forward, or how many pieces of writing I showed him, he refused to listen; however, he also refused to put forward any sensible argument of his own.

Moreover, he went on to say that some people with pmld should be placed into institutions, and that it was unethical to keep them at him. Now, I appreciate that it can be difficult looking after people with severe disabilities at home, but there are always alternatives to institutionalisation, such as having home help. To lock a child up is an abomination, but this is exactly what this guy seemed to be preaching. Historically, people were detained in ‘long stay hospitals’; I heard one story where a girl with cerebral palsy who was unable to communicate was detained in such a place for 13 years. I find, moreover, very little intellectual difference between segregated education and institutional care, for both are designed to keep us out of sight, and there is absolutely no need for either. All children benefit from playing and learning together, and the benefits of inclusion – increased standard of education, more social acceptance of disability etc – by far outweigh the costs. This mollycoddling attitude the Tories have towards disability is simply asinine, and they would put back disability rights thirty years.

This guy has made me very angry. To try to argue that there might be a need for any such place is unthinkable. After all, where would he draw the line? Would he himself be willingly institutionalised? I suspect not. What he was saying went against almost everything I hold dear, and if he starts trying to implement his backward ideas, I shall personally release all the power of Hades against him. Its not a case of freedom of speech, but freedom itself.

[this is a piece of writing due to appear in my exibition, now to be held next thursday]

Jaques Lacan posited that there are three modalities of being; the real, the imaginary, and the symbolic. We all have ideas of our self, what we think we are like. Our internal selves can only be represented to others via the symbolic – through language. Thus, language is integral to our existence in the world. According to Lacan, you are not a being or subject if you cannot access the symbolic, for how would you constitute yourself? We call ourselves into being with the words ‘I am’; we all have a representation in the symbolic – our names.

If language is this important, it follows that our voice is central to our state of being. In a sense it is the manifestation of the soul, or the imaginary in Lacanian terms, but what if you have no access to the symbolic or you have to access it through other means. The imaginary cannot be constituted fully in the symbolic, and therefore the subject is split completely. Moreover, the claim to subjectivity is lost. In a way you are not a person.

In part, this explains why people with no speech have historically been described as retarded, and locked away in institutions. To render this in Lacanian terms, this is because they have no access to the symbolic and therefore couldn’t constitute themselves as subjects. Furthermore, if you use a communication aid, you constitute yourself through means other than your natural voice. This is why when we first met, my film lecturer asked me why I had an American accent. If you think about it, a guy born and bred in rural Cheshire speaking with an American accent is pretty weird. This is not to say I dislike my lightwriter, after all, it is the means through which I constitute myself. I just think it raises certain quirks when one tries to reconcile Lacan and lightwriter.

I was wrong about yesterday’s social experiment – quite wonderfully wrong. It went down a treat, and the two socials ran alongside each other. At my uni, there seems to be a large divide between sports and arts students, but obviously I’d overestimated this by miles. We played our own games, and generally kept ourselves to ourselves until the disco started up. Then we all got up and danced as one group. The animosity I thought was there simply wasn’t. as for myself, I didn’t drink much, and had a good dance – the most exercise I’ve had in ages!

All in all, a great evening.