this reminds me of the time I tried to roll down the mound behind school on a rolator, and ended up in hospital. go watch

My parents bedroom is next to mine. In the mornings, I can hear their radio. This is good because I can listen to the today program as I dress. They also have it on in the kitchen, while we eat breakfast. This morning I caught the end of the 7am bulletin – it did not start my day well.

The Tories have launched their education policy. They describe inclusion as disastrous. This, needless to say, made me swear out loud. Those bunch of morons do not realise the damage special schools do. they would rather disabled kids be taught in special schools, but do not realise the damage such schools do. I find their approach to the whole subject condescending and patronising, for they would rather listen to a few idiotic parents wanting to protect their little diddums rather than the survivors of such schools. I whish I could show them what happens at such schools. I want to show them all of it. Some liken it to torture.

Despite many years at Hebden, I, in part at least, see myself as a product of inclusion. My best achievements were those that Hebden had very little hand in – GCSE English at Woodford lodge, A-levels at maccc and south Cheshire college, and my crowning achievement – my first class degree. These were all situations where I was included, especially at university where it’s hard to see how I could have been included more. I was speaking to the brother of an old school friend of mine, about to start his degree. He was saying about how his little bro was concerned he was going to be bullied or ostracised at uni. I too once had such fears; I told him how I cried my eyes out the first night at university, but on the second night found brandies and never felt homesick again. I was never once bullied, simply accepted for who I was (leotards, dresses, lightwriters and all). I have written here before about how, at university, I have met friends I never want to lose contact with, and made memories I never want to forget. I told him about the good times – about Newquay, and brandies discos. Its funny how wrong I was once about being accepted. The advantages of getting past such an assumption are huge, for I now feel more confident than ever: weekends away are nothing, nights out rule! What once seemed huge hurdles are now nothing – all I need, more often than not is a p.a (and/or a few good friends*), my lightwriter, cash for beer, and my toothbrush. The sky is the limit.

All this stems from inclusion. The psychological effects of being included allow one to see that one is, in effect, no different to anyone else. On the other hand, being segregated reinforces the idea that one is different. One thus thinks one is limited. Often, kids are told that they won’t be able to do gcses etc, and hence are taught to accept a place in life ultimately below their potential, and ultimately not as happy a one as it may have been. Looking back over the last three years, and reflecting that some kids may be being denied such experiences because of the misconceptions and biases of the powers that be – often parents and special school teachers – ii feel my blood boil. Inclusion must proceed.

Inclusion, mind, not integration. There is a difference, and an important one, as it is the stumbling block for many people. it can be explained thus: imagine a circle on

a piece of paper. There’s a dot just outside the circle. Integration means moving the dot to inside the circle, whereas inclusion means expanding the circle to accommodate the dot. What people object to is integration: just to dump the dot inside the circle is wrong. Just to dump a kid with SEN inside a mainstream school without any support is wrong. If that had happened to me, I strongly suspect things would have been very different. However, if we expand the circle so the education system can accommodate the needs of all kids, everybody will benefit. I believe this is what happened to me, especially at university: with every adaptation, every electric key fob, expanded keyboard and box of straws behind the bar in brandies, the radius was enlarged. Mind you, I think when it comes to people this circle expanded naturally. People, especially students, are very accepting: not once did I feel fundamentally different. If this red shift occurred at university, it can sure as hell happen in schools.

The Tories are therefore grossly misguided, and must be stopped. It is segregation, not inclusion, which is the disaster. I saw it’s effects first hand, and have felt them. I once felt different and alien; I once pitied myself. I will not allow the Tories to return us to the dark days of segregation, with kids being given a second rate, half assed education; with kids being stood for so long that they fainted; with classmates being illiterate age 16; with having to watch half your classmates wilt and fail. I will not allow the return of such things to appease a few overprotective parents. Inclusion must proceed.

*this reminds me, need to sort out getting my crippled butt to Portsmouth for john’s party. Need to go to see Kate too

I hope it not too optimistic of me to say that summer seems finally to be here. At last bright sunshine is streaming through my bedroom window, and there is blue sky. It may be breezy, but it is sunny enough for beer on the patio. My parents and I went to arley hall this morning, for a walk around the gardens. It was nice. Great for bombing around on one’s electric wheelchair. I’ve been stuck inside for the past few weeks, but now dad’s home, and the weather is better, I can get out more. The gardens there are beautiful, and huge. There are many winding paths to follow.

On the way back we played pub cricket, and then had a beer on the patio while reading a very interesting article in the culture section of the Sunday times on westerns. With my degree, the memories it brought with it, and with my friends just the other side of email or facebook, life cant get much better. Bring on the summer.

I would be willing to wager that most of the country is reading one book. famously, it was said once of Tolkien’s books: the world is divided between those who are reading Lord of the Rings and those who are going to read it. No doubt the same can be said of the final Harry potter book. everyone is reading them, intending to read them, or waiting for them to be made into films.

Amazingly for something so new, Harry has become part of our culture. Everyone I know, adults and kids alike, is familiar with these characters and stories, and they have only been around 7 or 8 years. This is especially noteworthy at a time when kids are turning away from traditional occupations such as reading in favour of computer games, although, needless to say, potter is now also available in game form.

Now, I love these books as much as anyone; dad was reading them to us earlier and they seem to have great power. Forgive the pun, but they’re quite magical. I agree that they’re getting progressively darker too. However, I raise my eyebrow at the fact that jk Rowling is now in quite an enviable position. The world is reading her books, hanging off every word. She, it seems to me, now wields some considerable power.

Everything, every piece of art, is created to express ideas or a meaning. Everything is political, including, or perhaps especially prose fiction. books – ell books express a political view. Now, I have no problem with what Rowling is saying; indeed, I agree with most of what she says (overt or implicit), yet the fact remains Rowling has all our ears. She has everyone’s attention, and is able to argue whatever she wishes to an audience the size of which is without precedent. I hope it not too facetious of me to compare the potter series to the bible, for with it’s huge readership comes monumental power. Although this is testament to her skill, and also to the power of literature, we must never lose sight of the fact that such power can be abused. As moody warns: constant vigilance.

I’m posting this and dedicating it to all the flood victims.

Oh, how I love living up a hill.

I’ve been looking at facebook a lot lately. Most of my friends are on there, and the photos they post contain many wonderful memories for me: events like Newquay, the last brandies, graduation. I love looking at them, which is why I have many such photographs on my bedroom wall, but I do feel that me and cameras don’t mix! In most such photos my eyes seem firmly shut. Leaving aside the pictures where I am in fact asleep, whenever the camera comes near me I get the irresistible compulsion to close my eyes. I do not like doing this as I feel it ruins an otherwise brilliant photo – one which my friends also cherish – but I don’t think I can help it. It seems to be my natural reaction to cameras.

The problem is cameras make me self-conscious: every time a camera is pointed at me, all my attention is diverted to looking good. My face tenses, and I try to grin (I usually end up showing to much teeth). As a result, my eyes often close. Well, I think that’s how it works. Don’t get me wrong – I adore these pictures. Rocky gave me one of her, me and Vikki in brandies which is now pinned to my wall; on facebook, there is one of me and Emma I especially like; of course, there are the framed photos Charlie gave too me for my birthday, which I love. It’s just that photos rarely seem to get my good side.

I tapped mmu into youtube, and found this. not too clever, are they? rofl

One of the best things about being a film student is you can watch films without feeling guilty about wasting time watching films. Most afternoon TV is crap, but this afternoon on channel 4 was something of a gem – Powell and Pressburger’s ‘A matter of life and Death’. A lot of my final film essay was on p+p, but that particular film I hadn’t yet seem. Stylistically, you could tell it was theirs. It is very British, almost patriotic. Rather sentimental. Very sweet. In all a good, solid film though. Need to watch all the films I can for my masters! [great excuse, innit?]

The house is quiet again. Everyone left this morning. I’m just pottering about, doing this and that. I may start the final hary potter book, or just watch Jeremy Kyle, later. I should also do some research, I know, but it’s (nominally) summer, and I reckon I can chill a bit.

Oddly enough, broadly my area of research is on the news, or perhaps is the news. I am interested in filmic semiotics and grammatics – that is, how moving images can be manipulated in order to change their meaning. As we all know, the bbc is currently in trouble for changing the order of shots so that they convey a different meaning. They have, in short, turned fact into fiction. this, to me, is utterly indefensible: we look to the bbc for fairness and accuracy. Can we still trust the bbc? I’m not sure.

However, I am sure that it’s not only auntie’s problem. If this happens at the bbc, why not itv or sky. I daresay it’s only because of the way in which the bbc is funded that this problem was found. I was reading the Sunday times yesterday, and found Rod Liddle’s article on the subject. While liddle makes some good points, the article was glib, poorly written and sneering. The Sunday times, of course, is owned by Rupert Murdoch; this makes me very angry. For the owner of fox, the most biased news organisation since Goebells, to mount such an attack on the bbc, seems hypocritical to say the least. I also dislike the way conservatives dislike the bbc because it doesn’t reflect their values. All this means is that the bbc is open minded and unbiased. If the bbc was changed to reflect ‘their values’ we would get a highly distorted view of the world.

Yes, the bbc is liberal, but all liberality means is fairness and open-mindedness. To be as accurate and objective, one must present all side of the story. Only then can one know the truth. Given that the world can only be observed by human eyes, and there is no independent, omniscient observer, objective truth is a myth. There is only a plethora of observing-positions and therefore values. All values are valid. Surely, any news corporation should embrace this.

The bbc, in it’s liberality, does this usually. This is why it was the most trusted news broadcaster on earth. Is this still true? I’m no longer sure.

There are lots of smells in the house today, and for once they don’t all come from me. My parents have put new air fresheners throughout the place, and were roasting about half a pig earlier. As I said before, much of my family was here this weekend: my brothers have already left, and my uncle, aunt and cousins go tomorrow morning. For the most part, the weekend was spent sitting and talking, eating, or playing gonga. This is a card game; I can’t handle cards, so I just watch and sip beer. It is noteworthy, probably, that I increasingly choose to use my lightwriter to talk to guests. This is not because my speech has got worse, but I prefer to use ‘Colin’ (as my uni mates christened my voca). It feels as if I can be more fluent and precise, without having to have a third party to translate. I increasingly see my lightwriter as part of my identity; I’m proud of it.

Anyway, bedtime is near. It’s been a cool weekend, and I hope to see all my extended family again soon.

My family are here this weekend. Luke, mark and Kat, Cyril (who has stayed since Thursday) Alexander and his parents, uncle rich and aunt toula. Thus, all bar one of my maternal cousins and siblings are here,, and Chris’ll get here tonight! The house is fairly full, and we have much to celebrate. Indeed, taking pride of place on the sideboard in the conservatory is a photo of me in my cap and gown. On top of this there’s Cyril’s degree and mark’s doctorate to drink to! It really is quite cool.

Now here’s an idea…right, I’m off to teach my cousins and brothers about Cat empire!

Yesterday was probably one of the best of my life. What can I say about it? Yes, I can write here about what a long road its been, how my parents were once told that I’d never be able to do GCSEs, etc etc. I don’t feel like writing that today though. I just want to record what a brilliant day (and night) it was. Question is, where to begin?

Luke, I think, was right. At mark’s ceremony, we were discussing the correct music to be played. He suggested the imperial march from star wars. I agree – that certainly is a cool theme. My friends, however, suggested the theme from Harry potter, which would also go.

They were, of course, all there. It was great to see them. I hugged most of them as soon as I saw them, especially Charlie and Emma. Mind you, most of my friends hugged me first. There wasn’t time to talk to them all sadly, but it was still good to see them. I cant help thinking we will now drift apart…well, we’ll see. The photos on my wall tell me otherwise though. Anyway, there’s always old boys to look forward to.

Anyway, it was a typical graduation: we got to Bridgewater all, picked up my robe, had a bite to eat, and then went to have my photo taken. Problem is, I’m no good at photos – my head kept wobbling, and my hat kept falling off. Fortunately, the photographer was very patient, and we eventually got a pretty good photo. After that, however, we decided not to bother with the hat.

I think it was then we went to meet Esther and Cyril just outside the hall. Cyril looked very dapper, but I must say Esther looked quite stunning – although I may not have made this clear to her yesterday, of all the people I saw there, she, for me, was the most important. If she had missed it, it would not have felt right. She has been my constant companion through this degree, and it made me very happy to see her there.

It was my father, however, who pushed me onto the stage. I was in my manual chair,, as Cyril was going to be driving me home and my electric does not fit into his car. I was about two thirds of the way along the list of names. As usual, friends cheered each time a name was announced, which was great fun, but, for some reason, when my name was called, there was a louder roar then usual. The dean also spoke to me longer. Don’t know why…

After the ceremony came the drinks reception. As planned, my parents went home at that point, so me, Cyril and Esther went to the reception. This was held in Manchester town hall, which is quite an awesome building. There was much taking of photos here. It was quite emotional, as you can imagine.

It was after this that my aunts plan came into it’s own. We hooked up with the joneses, and went to the meal (my cousin’s car being used to good effect). We dropped Esther off at the station,, and me, Cyril and Mr. and Mrs j drove to the restaurant. Emma couldn’t make it to this, in the end, but we would meet up with her later. The meal itself was delicious. As I’ve said before, the Jones family are cool people, and make excellent company for dinner. We ate in a Lebanese place, and the food was delicious.

Then the fun started. Bars and clubs. Mind you, we had something of a fiasco getting there. Charlie and holly were driving with me and Cyril; en route to the club we drove to their new place in Manchester to drop something off, then to Cyril’s as I needed a fresh shirt owing to coffee stains. This took longer than anticipated. On top of that, when we were finally heading into town, we ran out of petrol and come to a shuddering halt. Fortunately, although I’m not sure why, Cyril keeps some spare petrol at his place. He ran back, got it, and refilled the car. The delay, although unavoidable, was irritating, for we were sobering up. Plus, I felt kind of guilty because holly and Charlie go back to Ibiza today, and this delay was eating into their socialising time. I’m sorry, guys. Mind you, ii hasten to add that this should in no way reflect badly on Cyril. He was quite excellent last night.

When eventually did get out, it was great fun. We went to a bar, where we met up with Emma, Scott and co, then to the print works. God knows how much I drank in all, but it was a good amount. I guess I should have had some red bull, for by 2.30 I was flagging. I felt guilty about this, for I had said I wanted to stay till Charlie went home, as I’m not going to see her for some time, but I was getting very floppy. It was definitely time to go. I’m worried too that I forgot to say goodbye to people I should have, but I’m probably being silly. Besides, I hate goodbyes.

So, that’s it. My undergraduate life has ended. It has been wonderful – without a doubt, the best thing I ever did. Yesterday, break downs aside, was a great day at the end of a great three years.

Tomorrow will be huge! It’s probably the biggest day of my life: graduation. You know, there was a time when I thought I’d never thought it would occur. Ha! What tripe. Now, not only will it occur, but it will occur under the best possible circumstances: I’m graduating with a first, and the people around me will be my best friends. How exciting is that? The past three years have been thee best of my life, filled with parties, trips, balloons, and fun; on top of that sits the glistening cherry of my result. How can I fail to be excited? Mind you, part of me worries that me and my friends will fall out of touch; this concern is irrational – yes, we’ll see less of each other, but I for one regard friendship as something life long. The guys are as welcome at my kitchen table as they were at the tables of the Wesley Centre.

I’m currently looking at the photographs on my wall. Most are of me, or of me and Charlie. She gave me some framed photographs for my birthday – two small ones to sit on a desk and one to hang. The latter I had dad nail to my wall, and one sits on my sub woofer, presently thumping out Beanie by Cat Empire. You know, I used to look at these photographs with regret – those times are gone, never to come again; yet, a few days ago, I remembered a line from Barthes: ‘the camera cannot say what is, but only and for certain what has been’. The past thus remains unchanging, and no matter what happens now, I will forever recall these past three years as the happiest of my life. I no longer feel regret when I look into these pictures, but great joy at the happy times they make me remember, combined with a wonder for what my friends are doing at present. They will serve to remind me to contact them from time to time.. Even in the highly unlikely event that I may never see my university friends again, even if they somehow totally forget about me, the photographs on my wall, in telling me what has been also tell me what is yet possible.

Of course, this is not to say I’m some kind of fatalist, that I now think that the good times are over. On the contrary, they’ve only just began. Indeed, I have a new girlfriend; I have my masters to look forward to. Yes, life is good. The past is a constant and welcome companion as we walk resolutely towards the future. Tomorrow will also be sad, for there will be many partings, but in the photographs on my wall, and in the messages on facebook, I see that friendship never truly ends.

The Onevoice agm was on Saturday night. I went. In the back of their report, in the list of the donations, are the words ‘Manchester metropolitan university gospel choir’. I just want to record how proud of my friends I was at seeing those words: it was a wonderful thing Charlie and the choir did, and I think they are all amazing,

For Onevoice itself is amazing. To me, it isn’t just a charity – it is, as Beth put it, a world. It is a world where these can be themselves – confident and self assured. There, they can meet kids and adults just like them, who face exactly the same problems, yet have overcome them. Here, they hopefully see that there world is only limited by to things: their imagination, and the boundary of space-time itself.

Things like Onevoice are thus vital inasmuch as they show these kids and their parents what can be done. Me and my fellow role-models are all highly successful. Indeed, the speeches they all gave were all truly inspiring. With luck and a fair wind, maybe, in a few years, some of those kids will go to uni, befriend the leader of the choir (or, in Ian’s case, rock band) and the whole thing will start again.

I’ve written here before about how the right to communicate is often overlooked. People don’t realise just how central it is to life. I just found this video on youtube. It says it all, really.

I just got back from the Onevoice weekend, and I’m quite frankly knackered. It feels like years since we left home on Friday, for quite a bit happened over the weekend. Despite the best efforts of the weather – I’m convinced someone has stolen summer – all the kids seemed to be having fun. one of the highlights for me, of course, was the fact we had a film crew with us, filming the kids in action. I got to watch a music video being made, virtually from scratch, with the kids helping to compose the music, as well as appearing in the video. I kid you not, when you see it posted on youtube, you are going to be amazed. It is genuinely cool, kind of rap, rather funky. I loved it. I had to leave before I saw the finished video, but from what I did see in the small editing suite (working with the guy who made the ‘behind the scenes’ documentary on casino royale) it kicked butt.

It was so invigorating working with these kids. Me and the other role models all gave small talks this morning – mine was basically on university. Talking to these kids and their parents, telling them what can be done and what the future may hold, as well as listening to the other role models, is incredible. I’ll probably tell you more later in the week, but now I’m going to flop myself down in front of the TV. Life is good.

Waiting sucks. I hate it. Later I go to Onevoice; Steve gets here at about half one, then dad will drive us both to the venue. We should be there before four. The thing is, I can’t wait. Its only half nine, and I’m already packed and ready to go. Why does time go so slowly. Mark should find a way to speed it up by somehow manipulating gravity! Apparently, gravity bends space-time.. also, the more stationary you are, the faster time goes, which is just as well given I’ll be mostly sat reading in the conservatory this morning. It doesn’t seem to have much effect though, but then time for me goes at a constant pace. There is thus no way I can speed time up. Grr.

Oh, I know. I’ll go try to read mark’s thesis again. That should kill a couple of hours.

Did anyone else see The Alistair Cambel Diaries on bbc2 last night? To be honest, I found them quite fascinating, not just for the entries themselves, but for the archive footage. I had forgotten how much I liked Tony Blair back then – I think we all have. His reputation has since been muddied by the Iraq debacle, but what really struck me, looking again at this footage from 97, was his sincerity. He seemed to truly believe in what he was saying. He genuinely intended to improve the lot of the people of this country; he was passionate and forthright.

It occurred to me that Mr. CaMoron is trying to imitate Blair in 97. he too is trying to appear passionate and honest, but, unlike Blair of yesteryear, it seems just that: an act. It seems hollow. Indeed, it is hollow because his task is impossible. Conservatism runs contrary to the beliefs most in this country hold most dear: multiculturalism, fairness. At the end of the day, whereas liberalism requires a modicum of thought, conservatism is merely a set of base instincts disguised as a political ethos. For example, as children we care only for ourselves, and do not share, but as we grow, we hopefully realise that we belong in a society and position ourselves as part of a whole. Tories do not realise this, and so, child like, continue to care only for their selves. Their belief that a free-market economy will benefit all is a misguided excuse for this childish selfishness. It is therefore impossible for conservatism to appear fair and rational because that would be an oxymoron. This is why it is so blatant that CaMoron is merely performing an act. Anyone with an iq over 10 can tell this.

It is quite interesting to reflect on how central communication is to our culture, and indeed our species. We often take it for granted how important communication is; surprisingly so, when you look at it. It is all-prevalent and thus all powerful. If we take all forms of communication into account, it is incredibly important. This is probably why Lacan incorporated the symbolic in his tripartite – without the symbolic, the imaginary cannot access the real. Basically, your screwed.

Some examples may illustrate my point, but the problem is, where to begin – communication can be anything. For starters, I am of the opinion that academia can be boiled down to, and seen in terms of, one huge conversation: one person suggests an idea, which can be supported by or countered with other research, just as people in everyday life talk through ideas which may be argued or agreed with. Of course, there are differences in terns of content (what academic literature reviews a choice of breakfast cereal, and who talks about One loop phenomenology of type 2 string theory: intersecting D-branes and noncommunicativity over the garden fence?) but the point is they both employ the same structures. They both employ language, grammar, etc, the rules of posit and counter. They are, in the broadest sense, the same. They both are reducible to the ability to communicate. The same applies to virtually every situation, from parliament to the local pub. Hell, even this blog is a form of communication: at the moment, I am communicating my ideas on communication (not very well, admittedly). It also seems highly plausible to me, by the way, that it was the development of complex language that ensured human development over that of H. Neanderthalis. While I’m certain that odour nearest cousins had basic language, ours was more complex, paving the way, perhaps, for higher brain function (although it must be said that this gives rise to questions of the chicken and egg type). Either way,, language was quite central to human evolution. (go here for father reading)

It is thus obvious to me how important language and the ability to communicate is. I have written here before here about how, historically speaking, those without speech or other means to communicate have been written off as having severe learning difficulties, and, historically, institutionalised. If we juxtapose the centrality of communication in our species with the fact that access to the symbolic real is not universal, we can see why this happened.

This is why I believe the right to communicate should be inalienable. After all, what good is free speech without the ability to speak? This is why we need such things as the communication aids project, and 1Voice: in a species which seems to prise communication above all, all voices should be allowed to be heard.

Oh, now I know what’s wrong with me. I think I have post-bachelor disorder (go here). I too am becoming obsessive about my emails, but, unlike the girl in the cartoon, I would quite fancy free chocolate. Oh, wait – I have a packet of mars bars on my desk.

[stoled from a reference on mark’s facebook]

Nothing is impossible: I keep worrying about this and that, but worrying solves nothing. I find it leads to defeatism, which is never healthy. I was worrying about this post-graduation meal, when all it took was a simple question and a few emails and the solution was found. I have misplaced Cyril’s email address so I’ll just use this entry to tell him I would like him, after the graduation and drinks reception, to drive me to the venue of the meal at 6.30, help me eat there etc, then drive me home after (if need be, he can stay at my place the night, as can Esther if she goes). We should, I imagine, be home before 12, but you never know I suspect he’s in for a treat.

See? Sorted! I hope the rest of my readers don’t mind me using my blog to sort out my social life. I do feel, however, that for a person with limited speech, any means of communication is valid. You must use what is at your disposal. It is the only way to get past barriers.

I have difficulty using zips, especially small ones (like on a zentai, which are at the back). So what do I do? I don’t give up, leaving the suit in the cupboard, but either ask someone to help me put it on, or, if nobody is about, attach a chord to the zip so I can pull it up. It works a treat! To every problem there is thus a solution. My very first day at school, I was asked to take my coat off; ‘I can’t’, I said, only to be told there was no such word. These days, not only do I take my coat off, but I can even put it on too. All it takes is a little time and ingenuity. The same principle works for coats, zentai suits, and degrees.

This is precisely what I’ll be telling the guys at 1voice this weekend. Couldn’t email Cyril, so I used my blog; couldn’t do the zip so I used string; can’t talk clearly so I use a voca. No problem!

It’s funny how my mood can change in an instant. Most of yesterday I was feeling down about this affair of the post-graduation meal. Problem was my parents will probably want to go home after graduation, since dad will be tired having just flown in from a business trip. However, the joneses had invited me and my parents to dine with them and the Averys after graduation. Emma and Charlie being two of my best friends, I really wanted to go, especially given that I’m unsure when I’m going to see either of them again. I am still going to celebrate with my parents, but I can do that at the weekend.

This problem was bugging me. Uncle aki and aunt Dinah were here yesterday, and they could tell I was perturbed (frankly, it was obvious). Well, we were up in Manchester yesterday, visiting my cousin Cyril. We were in his flat, me brooding over some black coffee. Suddenly, my aunt, out of the blue, asked Cyril if he could help me out, coming to graduation and then taking me to the meal with my friends after. ‘Yeah, cool’ he said. My head lifted from the coffee, and I smiled. The solution was so simple. The details need to be worked out, but Cyril can take me to the meal, then take me either home or his place to crash thereafter. While I’m still waiting for an email from the joneses to confirm this is okay (I fear it may be too late), it reminded me of the simple truth that all problems can be solved.

It should be a top night. Cyril met Charlie at monster monster; I know Hugh and he will get on, I just know that Emma will love him. Why I got so het up about this god knows, but it was something to do with missing that party. Anyway, problem solved. I owe my aunt a beer!

I was at a loss for something to write here, but then I noticed something very important on facebook. Jen, who is hopefully going to be my new p.a in September, is 22 today. Jen is a great girl, and a good friend, so I just want to wish her a great birthday.

[wonder if she’s having a party I could crash]

Okay, I’ve been in a foul mood all afternoon, largely a result of frictions with my mum. We have contrasting ideas about what happens directly after my graduation. Also, I was feeling miserable about being stuck in on a Friday night. This mood gave rise to the rantings of my previous entry. It’s miserable, being so far away from your friends.

But then I realised: hey, what’s the point? I have no real reason to be down. Even if I go home after graduation, instead of staying out with my friends as I wanted, A. there was still fun to be had, and B. I’ll see my friends in the future. Anyway, I’m safe and warm and surrounded by family. My friends will not somehow divorce me if I cant go out after the ceremony with them (I hope not anyway). I was being irrational earlier. It just suddenly occurred to m what my friends would say if they saw me in such a mood: probably ‘don’t be such a stupid cripple’ or somesuch.

Mind you, I could still do with another bevy before bedtime.

I just found something funny: in Uganda, home brewed beer is drank through a drinking straw called an Epi. According to this article, a new one-man-one-straw policy has had to be implemented to stop the spread of tb. Personally, I prefer two straws. Straws are the way forward! Mind you, mum won’t let me drink much now I’m home, very much to my chagrin, but that’s another story… I mean, I’m an adult! Why should my alcohol intake be controlled by my mum? It’s fucking stupid; one of the disadvantages of cp.

I have finally got down to do some reading over the past couple of days: serious reading. It’s surprising how little time I’ve had for it recently. There was a time, in about 2000, when I used to read entire afternoons away, whizzing through Kenneth S. Lynn’s 400 page biography of Hemingway in about a week. These days I don’t seem to have the time or inclination to do that, always being distracted by friends, university and so forth. I still love reading, but it’s simple joy has of late been supplanted by other pursuits. Now I’m home, though, my bibliophilic side has returned.

I’m reading Bordwell’s ‘Narration in the fiction film’. I must admit I didn’t read it too thoroughly the first time, and I’m hoping it might help with my MA. As I was reading earlier, I was stuck by how concerned many film theorists are with the relationship between film and language. I am convinced, personally, that we must look elsewhere: I am still a structuralist, but I, like Metz, feel like film is alinguistic. It is quite different from and separate to all natural and synthetic languages; hence we must look elsewhere for a structuralist model of film. Where this model might lie I still do not know, but I’m very enthusiastic to find out. I’ve only just started the book; after lunch I’ll read more, and maybe once again read an afternoon away.

Is it me, or did I detect a stutter in Gordon browns voice at PMQs? I was watching it earlier, and brown did indeed seem very nervous. Mind you, who wouldn’t be under those circumstances? Yet, worryingly, CaMoron seemed to have the upper hand, with brown blatantly avoiding questions, and at times seeming unsure of himself. I have no doubt that once Brown finds his footing, he’ll be able to show the Tories to be the band of crooks and hypocrites they really are, but I just found today’s PMQs a little worrying.

the first point to be made in this entry is that Hugh Jones makes excellent bolognaise. I tried it this evening, and it was very good – I only hope I didn’t make too much mess eating it, although Jodie did an excellent job feeding me.

I have been in Chester, at the Jones house, since yesterday. Charlotte, of course, is still in Ibiza and I must admit I did feel her absence sitting out in the garden this afternoon, but when one is surrounded by such excellent people it’s hard to feel too down. For the burrow is how I left it: a warm, homely place, often buzzing with activity. There always seems to be music (even at half 7 of a morning, when one is prone to hear Will practicing his trumpet). Family friends are always popping by, to talk or have a drink

As a disabled person, I often feel self conscious when visiting people’s houses, but, oddly, I felt instantly at ease. The Jones family are kind warm people of whom, through Charlie, I have grown extremely fond. They share everything, and take delight in peoples company. they were as eeager to see me, I think, as I was to see them. I also found out that Mrs. Jones makes a chocolate pudding which would give mum’s chocolate yoghurt cake a run for it’s money! We were eating some of it last night, and I was forced to ask Mrs j. for the recipe. When one is in such excellent company, eating such excellent food, how can one not feel at home? Plus, last night, Hugh and Jodie took me to a nearby pub that sold the most excellent India pale ale!

While I would not like to impose myself too much on the joneses, I certainly hope I will be making more visits to ‘The burrow’ in the future. Being woken by Will’s trumpet practice is a tiny price to pay for such good friends.

I was just trying to read my big brother’s thesis. It was on the dining room table, looking all black and impressive, so I thought I would take a look at it. Of course, I knew I had no chance of understanding any of it, because I’m not a physicist or a mathematician, but I thought I’d give it a look all the same. Coolly, I noticed that I got a mention in the acknowledgements! Yay! I did notice, however, that Mark’s writing style has improved vastly since I read anything of his.

I’m still squealing with excitement about having a brother with a PhD. It’s just cool. I actually know a bona fide quantum physicist. Mind you, given that he’ll now be a smug git I’ll have to get my own PhD – I can’t let him get too big headed, can I? he’d end up thinking he’s the cleverest brother, when we all know that middle siblings are the clever ones.

That said, I better go read.

I woke up feeling much more positive about the world than I have done in a few days. Recently, I’ve been worrying about stuff – all sorts of crap; graduation, funding etc. while I still need to worry, I don’t have the sense of impending doom I once had. This is probably due to the break in the weather and my cold finally going. I feel like I can handle stuff better, and I feel more confident. I also feel like reading again (need to reread Bordwell). I would say life is good again, but it never felt bad, just slightly overwhelming. Life is as it always is – fun.