I watch with revulsion as an unstable, possibly insane old man tries so desparately to cling to power – and I’m not talking about brown. Things in Zimbabwe look grim, and you have to wonder A) how could we have let things get this bad, and B) if e invaded Iraq because saddam was so bad, why don’t we invade Zimbabwe? Oh yes, there’s no oil in Zimbabwe is there?

On top of this we look towards nelson Mandela to do something. Isn’t it ironic that, amid the war on terror, we call a former terrorist a statesman, and look to him to solve our problems. Don’t get me wrong: I respect Mandela, but hate hierocracy.

this story, about a man caught driving his wheelchair while drunk, could be bad news for me. It is technically against the law for me to drive my wheelchair while over the limit. Boo. That’s half the fun! Especially when my eyes automatically close driving home from the pub.

Seriously though: I am sensible, flipping it to manual when I’ve had too much and asking my friend for a push. Either that or I just take my manual chair. Either way, I have never gone down any motorway access roads, drunk or otherwise.

Back at home, in our conservatory on the opposite side of the dresser to my degree certificate, hang two drawings. They are quite extraordinary: very bright and vivid, made up of swirls which combine to create recognisable features. They were given to my parents as a Christmas present from Arina Zinovyeva, a friend of my brother’s who came to stay. Luke emailed today to say that arina now has her own website. He wrote: ” If you see anything you like, be sure to pass a link on to your friends; Arina could do with more publicity.” I must agree, and therefore suggest you check arina’s artwork out here.

I went shopping this morning. Nothing unusual – the wes is now closed at the weekends, so I needed lunch. On the way back from the village centre, I spotted one of those scooter things for old folks going my way, and decided to have some fun. I waited for the old guy in the scooter to draw parallel, then floored it…only something unthinkable happened. The scooter – quite a big one, mind, not a flimsy fold-up – started to pull away. How could that be? It gradually got quite a sizable lead.

DAMN IT!

i am still working on the answer to Katie’s question. The truth is, that even though I see the use of such language as, in a way, counterproductive inasmuch as it sets up rhetorical divisions, I still enjoy the irony in referring to myself as a cripple. I love how people react; I love the sense of power it gives me. I suppose too that I need to remember the history of disabled people, and how, by using such language, we right the wrongs of the past. This brings one back to that paradox, which I’m still uneasy about. Part of me wants to embrace it, but part of me thinks that to try to have our cake and to eat it politically stymies us.

I need to think more on this.

There is one thing that unites humanity – we are all unique. To two people are alike, save for identical twins, and even they differ in terms of personality. Thus the idea of normal is a paradox: nobody is normal, and everyone is; basically, there’s no such thing as normal, and therefore, cp or no cp, I have as much right to brand myself normal as anyone. This is why I am extremely hesitant about the idea of freakism – of deliberately branding yourself not normal. It is a politics based on difference, which strikes me as essentially conservative. To see any one character trait as the core of one’s identity leads only to the internalisation of difference. To say ”I am black” ”I am Jewish” ”I am a woman” instantly sets up barriers, leading only to a separatist mindset. People talk of pride – disability pride, gay pride, black pride – but pride to what end? I am proud to be me, proud of my achievements, proud too of my friends and family. Why should I be proud of my disability any more than my brown hair.

This is coming from a guy who wears girl’s clothes and zentai suits. That’s just part of who I am, neither a source of pride nor disgrace. I say let everyone be who they are; take pleasure in the differences between all people, but remember too that everyone is equal.

I guess what I’m trying to say is don’t stereotype. To internalise any one aspect to the core of one’s being is to conform to one’s stereotype. There are some people who hold that if one has a disability, one must emphasise that aspect of yourself in order to reclaim it; one must enact disability stereotypes, to ‘be proud’. However, I see this as a type of conformity – to embrace the stereotype is to conform to it. Rather, I think we need to break free from the stereotypes, but not in a way that conforms to an arbitrary norm. anticonformity is a type of conformity. Thus the only way to break free from the stereotypes, to extend the concept of normal so that it embraces us, is just to be ourselves.

This is a complex issue, and I’m not sure I’ve explained it well enough. i am not saying we should abandon our wheelchairs; nor should we be all drawing attention to the fact we’re disabled, for the two are in a way the same thing. We should just be doing what comes naturally.

Surprisingly, there doesn’t appear to be much coverage of this, even on ouch, but on the breakfast news this morning there was a story about a group of lads with duchenne muscular dystrophy going to protest at downing street. They’re demanding more money be given towards stem cell research. Having lost three friends to DMD, I completely support them, and kind of whish I could be there. It was quite a painful experience, you know, having to watch your school friends pass away one by one; when I hear of l.d’s passing – and I know it’ll come – I don’t know how I’ll react. In my opinion, this is the worst aspect of the special school system, and renders moot any arguments against inclusion. Yes, disabled kids may be bullied etc by their able-bodied peers etc, but with all due respect this is nothing compared to what special schools make you go through. Either way, I hope that protest succeeds – call me medical model, but there’s little I want more than a cure for DMD.

Not that it has much to do with disability, but apparently the new out from animals album is now available to download. This is an up-and-coming technoband from Chester, whom I know through charlotte. They aren’t a bad group, so why don’t you go have a listen?

link

While I broadly agree with Laurence clarks article here, it’s about five years behind the times. Indeed, it’s quite passe. I used to refer to myself as a spastic, then a ‘toid, but then I realised if we crips are ever going to achieve true equality, why set up a linguistic barrier? The reclamation of language, while lauded by some in the disabled community, looks from some angles like counterproductive political agitationism. It reinforces barriers rather than breaking them down. Only from certain angles, mind.

I know I was kind to the Tories on Thursday; I was trying to take a balanced view. I am aware that I must not get too blinkered, putting the party name before their policies and not listening to what they are saying. But what the fuck is David davis doing?! It is one thing to be opposed to this stupid 42 days thing, but quite another to use it as a springboard for some attention-grabbing stunt. We all know brown’s a dead duck, but what is davis quitting for? Principals my butt. The whole thing is nauseating.

Politics seems more and more childish these days.

Dad just dropped me off after a fairly good weekend at home. We got here just in time for my p.a, enabling me to have a much needed shave and shower, so now I smell of aftershave and am quite looking forward to the day ahead.

It was quite a good weekend: dad got back from a business trip to the states on Saturday at lunch, and Saturday afternoon was spent polishing off ‘Devil May care’, the new 007 novel by Faulks. He’s done a really good job in emulating Fleming’s style – not that I’m much of an expert – and the book was hard to put down between lunch and tea on Saturday. I must ask Chris Flackett about it, as he’s much more expert than I am on such things. Mind you, I needed to get it out of the way so I could get on with reading Mr. Barthes and Mr. Bazin.

Is it me, or is Barthes’ Pleasures Of The Text impenetrable gobledigook?

Sunday was cool. It was both father’s day and Mum’s birthday, so Luke came down with Yan (I hope that’s spelled right) and we went to watch the new Indiana Jones Film. I must say that, despite it being rather far fetched in places (tip of the day: when an atomic bomb is about to go off nearby, hide in the fridge) I think we all enjoyed it. There are genuinely touching moments in this film, and I left the auditorium feeling quite satisfied…until I fell over in the car park, which is another story.

After that, it was up the lane to the black swan for lunch, and a delicious piece of salmon and some very good wine. I don’t usually drink white wine, but the one we had with the meal yesterday was first rate, although I’ve forgotten it’s name. dad?

Thereafter, home, feeling quite content. Life is good.

Anyway, time to get on.

I just took a look at the news from parliament, having been recently so engrossed in personal matters. I must admit I am liking Mr brown less and less. I disagree with him on the issue of ’42 days’ – it seems he is sacrificing civil liberties in favour of the cause of the war on terror. The moment we start to do so, the moment we start to change our way of life and our laws, the terrorists win. CaMoron (perhaps I should spell it Cameron for once) pointed out ”isn’t it cleat that terrorists want to destroy our freedom, and when we trash our liberties we do their work for them?” I can’t help but agree with him. I understand that the intelligence services sometimes need more time to question suspects, but surely the basic principles of freedom and democracy must come first?

Apparently there’s a blind guy in big brother this year. Woohoo – at last everyone will learn that us crips can be as vain and moronic as everyone else. While this must be seen as a step forward for disability rights, however nominal, what interests me is the reaction from some members of the blind community, who fear that this person in big brother will show them all up. A young blind person apparently posted the following on the ouch messageboard: ”I hope he or she is aware that they are representing the visually impaired community and give us a good name. I hope that they don’t have awful blind habits, such as rocking or not looking at people when talking to them. I would like to hope that they will be normal”.

I have a problem with this. why should this person stand for all blind people? if a woman was in that house of idiots, would she be seen as representative of all women? Of course nit. Mind you, it could be slightly different given that cripples are such a minority, but I personally would hate to think I stood for everyone with cp, were I to somehow go on that show. Why should the actions of one be seen to represent the behaviours of the many? And how did we become so concerned with this idea of ‘community’?

link

Something kind of odd happened yesterday. I was going to Crewe, just to meet up with lee for some coffee. After lunch, I took myself to the bus stop, and, reading the timetable, realised I didn’t have too long to wait. Sure enough, a bus soon came, but only let the nondisabled man with me on. The driver asked me to catch the next one, which, oddly enough, was only a few metres behind, so I complied. However, this next bus refused to stop completely, and I was left waiting almost an hour for the next bus.

I must admit that the thought occurred to me that this was an act of disabledism – that both drivers simply couldn’t be arsed to deal with me and my chair – but I’m sure this wasn’t the case. I would like to think that both busses were dimply full, or something. It was hard to feel positive at the time tho.

Especially when the same thing happened on the way home…with what appeared to be the same bloody driver.

I am recording this here for the sake of posterity. Around campus there seems to be a peculiar way of using the expression ‘oh no’; there is a special way in which it is said, with a slightly elongated ‘oh’ and a shortened ‘no’. there is some debate over where it came from, but I would assert that the phrase is one of charlottes – she used it with reference to me last year a lot, for example when I fell off chairs or got particularly drunk. I would assert that the phrase can be attributed to her, but whither charlotte got it, I know not.

Anyway, its on the ‘net now, so it must be true.

Last week I was in Crewe town centre drinking coffee, when I noticed someone roll up and park in an odd three wheeled vehicle, the back of which then proceeded to lower for the driver to wheel out in a wheelchair. I was, naturally, intrigued. I went over for a closer look. The vehicle was open topped; the front looks like a motorbike, the back like a trailer. To be honest it looked like something men with beards and welding equipment make in their garages, but I nevertheless decided I wanted one. no mode waiting around for busses! No more relying on lifts. Just me and the open road…imagine the carnage!

link

I just had an ad hoc meeting with Alan. I was in Crewe anyway, on other business, so I thought I’d swing round. He decided it was a good time to give me an extensive amount of feedback, not all of which was positive, it must be said. My thesis needs a lot of work, but at least now I can start working properly again. My motivation is coming back.

Yeah, I know. Gotta stop using this thing as a diary.

It is odd how much a weekend a home can steady a shaking soul, worn out with worry. I was stressing out on Friday, concerned about the short and long-term future. I had not been home in six weeks or thereabouts, and frankly it was showing. I think I needed a weekend at home, where the tea is made in a pot and the morning papers are on the coffee table.

Over the years my parents have had some rows, but through these I have learned both that they are wise, and that their love for me is infinite. I guess I needed reminding of this, for the future now seems…well, not less uncertain, but more comfortable. I know I am not alone, nor will I ever be. My parents want me to stand on my own two feet, yet it is paradoxically only with the knowledge that they are there, on my side, that I can do that. This morning, although I still have much to sort out, I feel less worried.

Mum and dad made a few suggestions, which I like the sound of, such as living in Crewe rather than Chester, which makes sense for several reasons. They also gave me a much needed reality check. In short they’ve saved me from the mire of gloom I was descending into (not that Chester is a mire, just that crewe is slightly more feasable).

Well, the day has begun. Time to cease it.