Just so you know, I haven’t began ignoring my blog. It’s been a hectic few days. Last night I went to a burlesque show with charlotte, and I’m about to go home for the weekend. Last night ruled – photos will be on facebook soon.

I must admit to feeling a little sorry for Stephen Hawking. Not because he’s a cripple, or anything like that, but because he’s not one but two figureheads. He’s like a double caricature; the personification of two communities. Think cripple and most people think of hawking; think scientist and most people again think of hawking.

Many VOCA users, myself included, kind of idolise him; for the general public he’s the archetype of a physicist. Its almost as if the poor man can’t just be himself. I’m glad he’s there though, standing up for us voca users.

My brother Luke sent me this article by Hawking today. It’s about his relationship with ALS – quite illuminating really. It seems to have fallen to him, or perhaps he has taken it upon himself, to become the spokesman for disabled people. he seems to explain everything concerning his disability as if to a child. As far as spokespeople for the disabled community go, I can think of far worse, but in a way I still kind of pity the guy. After all he didn’t ask for that position.

Check this out. It’s an unusual article on bond, written from a Mexican perspective with respect to Mexican culture and literature. I find it a somewhat fascinating example of how one can engage with film, and use them for self-reflection. Mind you, that’s more than what can be said of most of the current journalism on bond.

Yesterday was a buzy day. Well, that’s only half right – yesterday morning was spent catching up on t.v on iplayer. There was a time when I liked nothing better to park myself in front of the telly and watch whatever was on. These days I’m more selective, and the great thing about iplayer is I can just watch the programmes I like. These happen to be both on America – one by schalma, the other by fry.

Yesterday afternoon was, of course, rehearsal. Rage is coming on nicely, I think. It’s fascinating to watch Ricardio in action: he is, to be honest, quite a strange guy, but it’s a strangeness that comes with intelligence. Many people just don’t get him, and think he’s an ass, but I’ve liked him since the moment I first told him to stop talking paranoid crap. Thus he has an odd ability to get superb performances out of people.

His master’s thesis was on rehearsal techniques. These days I’d maintain that in many respects the long slow process of rehearsing is far more interesting than the final play – what the audience see is only a minute part of what goes into a play. It reminds me of Christopher Tolkien’s ”History of Middle-Earth” which enable the reader to see how JRR Tolkien arrived at Lord of the Rings by a long process of drafting and re-drafting. I love seing how things evolve; how they are distilled down to the end-products. You get that in film, too, with making-of documentaries.

Anyway, talking of thesises, mine won’t distil itself.

My girlfriend Lyn came today. I find the fact that she comes all the way up from London just to see me amazing, but I also feel ashamed that I haven’t tried harder too go to see her. I mean, she and her p.a come up, at no small cost, on the train, just to stay for two or three hours, then go back. I need a way to return the favour.

Lyn frankly amazes me. She is one of the most unique individuals I have ever known, and I feel I am fortunate to have her as a partner. I feel it would be great to introduce her to my old university friends, and indeed to the guys at Onevoice, as she uses a lightwriter and would be a great, if unusual, role model.

Anyway, I’m going to bed happy and for filled. I hope Lyn and karolina get home safely. The thing is, though, I can’t help thinking I’m not doing my fair share in this relationship.

Someone should really show my film lecturer Alan this

Perhaps yesterday was not the best of ideas. I know my parents would certainly say it wasn’t, but it was certainly worth it.

On Wednesday I went to see a show called ”That’ll be the day” with Esther and her family. It’s quite a cool little show – sort of a compilation of tributes to singers from the fifties, sixties and seventies mixed with sketches and bawdy jokes. Utterly proletarian; very cool. Esther invited me to go to see it, and, on many levels I’m glad she did. Esther is one of my best friends, but I do feel I kind of neglect her!

After the show, I stayed the night at her place – I’m now quite adept at the art of sleeping on sofas, even short ones. The next day, though, Esther had to work at south Cheshire collage, and, as I suspected that organising a lift home would be logistically impossible, I stayed the day at the college before Esther took me home just before teatime. I had bought a book to read – mulvey’s ”Fettishism and curiosity” [pause while my brothers snikker] – but the college proved to noisy to read. In the end, I spent the day trying to find people I knew, and watching the students (please say I was never that young and aimless). In all, I guess it was a good day; I just didn’t get much work done.

Gospel choir is back. It seemed to die last year – it disappeared into obscurity under Dom, and I didn’t hear anything about it. But this morning, I noticed a flyer for auditions stuck to the door into the Wes, so I thought I’d go along, just for old times sake.

The new guy, ryan, is quite good. He seemed able to get a tune out of the random mix of first and second years, from all over campus, pretty quickly. But he seemed to go about it like a job; it was as if he was only doing it for the extra credit. This may be my bias, but Charlie, when she was in command of the choir, seemed quite passionate about choir, caring for it deeply, organising extra concerts etc. the new guy seems currently to lack that enthusiasm. I think this is a shame, but then those mystical days of two years ago are long gone: this, in a way, isn’t my university any more. I miss those days as I miss the people within them.

Worst part is, the guy seems not to have heard of Bedouin Soundclash. Seems I have work to do.

Shortly after posting this morning’s entry, the lady came to give me breakfast. When the time came to put my coat on to go to the wes, we realised it wasn’t there. Nor, it turned out later, did rob have it. I must have left it in the pub.

I decided to go myself. Rob offered to drive me there and back, which would have been quicker, but I wanted the challenge myself. So I caught the 20, this time the other way, to stoke.

Despite being only about a hundred metres away from the bus station, I got lost finding the pub, and had to ask a bobbie outside the potteries shopping centre for directions. When I found the pub, there was a nasty little step which I didn’t notice last night, but which defiant couldn’t get up, so I knocked. The barman came; he recognised me, and I asked for my coat back. Luckily it was still there, as were a few bits of paper my friends had forgotten. He helped me on with it, and I set off home…but not before a spot of window shopping,

As part of our work on Roadwork, a steven King novella about the negative effects of urban regeneration, last night I went with Rob, Jo and Mark to meet Ricardio at the coachmakers arms, Hanley. Initially, we were going to meet a potential musical director there, but he didn’t show up. The coachmakers is doomed for closure. They’re going to build a whopping great car park in its place, but the pub is fascinating. It was unlike any other pub I’d ever been to, composed not of a big central bar area but four smaller, more intimate rooms. They have an enormous range of beers, changed as and when they run out. And by beer I mean good real ale.

I usually like new things, but surely to knock down such an historic place – 150 years old – is a herasy. We attended a meeting of their customers, who are trying to save it, and I got a real sense of community, and of that communities anger. We’re going to try to help them by adapting Roadwork so it’s more specifically about this pub; I hope it works; I now see why Ricardio is so interested in such issues.

I had to go to Crewe today to pick up a few books from the library. While I was there, I headed into town for a quick scout round. Needless to say, I didn’t find much, except one charity shop was selling the entire seven seasons of ds9 on vhs for seventeen quid; I almost bought it, but I realised I’d have trouble getting all 70 videos home.

What was odd about this trip, however, was that I was refused entry onto a bus not once but twice. It wasn’t as if they were full – the driver just gave some bullshit excuse and refused to let me on. I have a feeling it was the same driver both times, but I am not sure.

Now, I know some people who would cry disabledism at this. they would accuse the driver of hating disabled people, having a vendetta against them, and so on. I no longer think such talk is either accurate or helpful; for one, it smacks of paranoia, and for another making such accusations is hardly going to help the problem, or make such drivers more inclined towards letting people like me onto their busses. There are lots of reasons why those drivers wouldn’t let me on, only some of them to do with hatred. Perhaps the driver was unsure about the rules governing wheelchairs, or had had a bad experience with one.

My point is that we should look deeper than the obvious; we should avoid paranoia. Although I was initially very angry at the driver I must admit, we should never resort to the simplistic cry of hatred. If we do, we risk descending into a pit of bitterness, and the prophecy would surely forfil itself.

I went home this weekend. To be honest, after the initial parental nagging, it was quite blissful. I hadn’t been home in five weeks or so – probably my longest period away – so it was good to have a nice rest and decent food. Now, though, I’m off out to the pub with Ricardio and Chris. Need to talk to Ricardio about a few things concerning rehearsal. Then, tomorrow, back to heavy research.

Life rules.

I find it rather weird that my friends are now all becoming things like ”miss branch”, ”miss Jones” and ”miss avery”, rather than Nicky, Charlotte and Emma. It’s mking me feel old – they’re all now teachers or teaching assistants. On the one hand I think ”aren’t teachers meant to be older than I am” but on the other I think it’s cool because my generation is now becoming the generation in charge. We’re starting to hold positions of power; we can influence young people. it’s quite a strange feeling.

I guess, when you go to a university like MMU, teaching is an obvious career move. Nobody pretends it’s up there with oxford or Cambridge, but it provides you with a fairly good knowledge base well suited for teaching. As for myself, I have decided that I would not be well suited for teaching, at least not the teaching of kids. I am still nevertheless interested in pedagogy; I’m starting to wonder if I could somehow link this with my desire to make film. Thus I doubt I’d ever be ”Mr Goodsell”, but education and issues surrounding it interest me greatly.

I stand by what I wrote on Monday evening. I think we all need to compromise. I did not say inclusion was unobtainable; I just liberalised my stance on special schools. We can all have these lofty ideals, but we must be cautious not to throw the baby out with the bath water. Sometimes, such schools work; sometimes they do a good job. On the other hand, we need inclusion to break down social barriers. Question is, which is the greater requirement?

I guess it has fallen to us – my generation – to find out.

I was on one of my now regular forays into star trek fandom earlier and found this. I’d guess it dates from the early 90s, when tng was still current. I knew tng was big but hadn’t realised how mainstream it was.

I went back to the nmc today. What I’d planned as a morning trip turned into a day trip, but at least I paid my fees en route. Why are busses so damn slow? Anyway it has been a monumental day: I saw a face, albeit with a trendy beard. Which yesterday morning I’d feared I’d never see again.

Phil apparently had a dental appointment, but Donno was there. I didn’t recognise him at first glance, but he recognised me. He’s doing very well indeed, and we chatted for quite a while. The nmc functions as a graphic design / printing company at the same time as supplying physio for the people who work there, most of whom have md. We sat at Lee’s desk – he’s quite expert at graphic design, and I watched him for a while. Ironically, there were gaps in the conversation where neither of us could think of what to say, despite having not seen each other for six or seven years. Frankly, I was just happy to see my friend; he’s much more cheerful than I remember, although that could just be because we’ve both outgrown adolescence.

We have exchanged email addresses, and agreed to meet again soon. It has been a great day. In a way, I feel like a dark cloud has finally been lifted.

What started this morning as my usual weekly trip to the bank, and coffee with lee, turned out to be a day of discovery and revelation – day which, in a way, stopped my in my tracks and made me question my beliefs. A day on which deamons have been put to rest. I think this will be a long one.

Before we start, let me assure you I am still working on my masters. It’s just today other stuff took priority.

I don’t know much about muscular dystrophy. All I know is that your muscles waste away, and people with it die early. It’s a bastard, and I have lost two good friends to it. Two of my other friends, donno and phiil, have it. I lost contact with these two about five or six years ago – possibly more – and this morning me and Mayer got talking about them. Turns out he had not seen either of them in ages; they hadn’t been at Rich’s funeral.

I began to worry. A dread came upon me: could it be that they, too, had…I needed to know. I needed to find out. Now! When I had taken my leave of Mayer, I got on a bus to winsford. When I spoke to them last, they were both working at a place called the neuro-muscular centre, winsford. I reasoned that, if my friends weren’t still there, the staff at the NMC would know what became of them – where they were working now, or if they had passed away. I am acutely aware that time is moving on and running out.

I was dropped off on the high street in winsford. Although I had been driven up and down that road every weekday during term time for 13 years, it took a while for me to get my bearings. When I did, I crossed the road and headed for woodford lane, west, home of both the NMC and, of course, my old school.

I must admit I was scared. I didn’t know what I’d find; frankly, I found it likely that I would be sitting here tonight bashing my keyboard reporting that they were both dead. That entry will come eventually…but not tonight.

I met a nice fellow called Matthew. He asked if he could help, so I explained my quest, expecting the worst. He, smiled: ”they work here Tuesdays and Fridays.” He said, making it quite clear that I’d be welcome to visit tomorrow if I wanted. I think I’ll accept his offer. I also met a physio who used to work at school but now works at the NMC; we chatted, and I told her what I’d been doing these last seven years. It was good to see her. However, when it was time to leave, I asked her whether I should pop into school or not, and was quite surprised to hear her say that she didn’t see why not.

I couldn’t resist, in more ways than one. this was the place where I grew up, after all, and, all politics all the negative stuff aside, I still have great affection for the place – whether I or you like it or not. The staff there are good people who mean well.

I was greeted with surprise, but also warmth. I had made my views on inclusion known to them, and I could sense a kind of hesitancy from certain people – even a coldness. I have been extremely critical of special schools in the past, and believe in inclusion, and yet these people are not bad people. they want what is best for disabled children, and I think they might have a point. As Mrs. Whitaker said, inclusion is not black and white. Simply to dump a disabled kid into a mainstream school, unaided, often does more harm than good. There’s also something to be said for the resources special schools offer in terms of access to equipment and expertise. Hebden’s ”access team”, which equips kids with communication aids, is perhaps one of the best in the country – it could only work effectively at a special school, and I have reason to believe that it has saved lives. Kirsty dallow, I was told this afternoon, is now living independently with her own team of Pas, thanks to the work done at Hebden.

There was a time when I thought of school as an evil place. Where else, I reasoned, could a kid have three classmates die during his time there, and another after leaving? If they were included, I reasoned, then the pain would have been spread more thinly. Yet Hebden is not the cause of their deaths; it is not evil. I no longer believe, moreover, that a special school’s aim is to overtly or covertly repress disabled children, but to supply a stable environment where they might be educated. Disabled people are not hated; we are not being ‘kept down’ as the bourgeoisie once kept the proletariat down. I still believe that, in terms of equality, inclusion would be best for all; but I no longer believe it is that simple – it is not black and white.

I’m starting to worry that the disability community might be charging headlong into inclusion, without taking stock. Our former teachers are not our former repressors. For all my rhetoric over the years, I am still very fond of my old teachers. They have some knowledge, some expertise, and I think their views are valid, even for the time being necessary, until the best solution can be found for all kids. Today stopped me in my tracks, and made me think. are we going too fast? are we doing what is best for all kids, or are we simply settling our own grudges? We must be sure – absolutely sure – that we are doing the right thing. We all need days like these.

Lyn came up to visit me yesterday afternoon. She drove all the way up from London just to spend a few hours with me – it was the sweetest thing, and I’ll certainly be working on finding a way to repay the complement. The fact is, we do not spend enough time with each other -how can we when we live 200 miles apart?

Anyway it was a great evening. Lyn bought me some shoes and scents; I bought the wine, pizza and stuffed potatoes. I know it doesn’t seem fair and now I feel guilty about not buying her anything. We put some music on (I have got Lyn into Cat Empire) and spent the time chatting. I tried on my new shoes, which more or less fit, then Zita, Lyn’s PA, took some photos of us together. I think photos are very important to a relationship – they kind of cement it, make it more real. We then spent some quality time together.

It all went too quickly, and too soon we were saying goodbye. I don’t know when I’ll see lyn again, which makes me sad, but hopefully it won’t be too long. It was a wonderful evening.

Well, time to tidy up.

I was going to write this up and post it yesterday evening, but there was rehearsal, and the usual trip to brandies after, and I was slightly drunk…

Wednesday evening my left footplate fell off. The lower part just fell away on my way home from the post grad thing. It was too late to do much about it, so I picked it up and came home. One good thing about living on campus is there are people who know stuff about mechanics about, so after breakfast yesterday I went over to the workshops to find someone to help. There’s this awesome guy with a beard, whose name I do not know; he’s very good at repairing things. So I asked him to look at it. He said ”let’s see what you’ve done this time.”

Within minutes he had turned the footplate pipe upside down, fixed the pedal to the other end and put it back on the chair, good as new. Jokingly, he said ”now that’s four beers you owe me” but I thought fair’s fair and set off to get him beer from Sainsbury’s. Six pints of Boddingtons for £5.

When I returned the man looked shocked. ”I can’t accept it,,” he said ”I’d lose my job. Just have a word with the dean and tell him what a good job we do here.”

Well, the day was beginning. I spent yesterday either working at my PC or in the library, working till five, going round in logic circles. It was then time for rehearsals, at six. First we played indoor cricket to warm up, then Ricardio set the guys a boring repetitive exercise which looked like it would take them all night to complete. Then, randomly, Burien showed up, and I had an idea. I asked Burien to help me fetch the beers from my room, and he obliged.

So there we were, watching the guys doing a team building exercise over and over again to the tune of right said Fred’s deeply dippy, sipping beer. The actors had to throw stuff to each other in a set pattern; if they failed, they had to start all over again. It was quite balletic really. The entire scene amused me greatly: I kind of felt like Hawkeye Pierce in M*A*S*H, sipping martini, watching orchestrated chaos. Life is good.

I have discovered why I never see my fellow postgrad students on brandies on Wednesday nights (other than the fact that they have more sense and taste). Every Wednesday night, they have a research program meeting in Crewe, from whence I have just returned. It was quite interesting – all about research methodologies empiricism, the difference between qualitative and quantitative forms of enquiry. I usually find that stuff dry as hell, but tonight was rather cool.

I’m currently using an autoreflexive methodology. Now, I know what you lot are going to say, but the only way to deal with things like cinephilia and fandom is from the inside. Fans are neither lab rats, nor are they diseased. Also, we are all fans of something or other ourselves. Thus there is a movement, started by people like Henry Jenkins and matt hills, that says to deal with something like fandom, the researcher can do no better than look at ourselves. Of course, the guys from the more traditional sciences, and even the psychologists and sociologists have all pointed and laughed at us aartists, but I have no problem with either this, or the practice-asresearch which is currently all the rage in places like MMU. Objectivity is a myth anyway.

It has been a good day; my first thousand word day in weeks. I think I’m starting to get back into the swing of things.. popped over to see Alan this afternoon, and apart from a howling error I had made (which can easily be corrected and used to my advantage) he was very positive.

I think I made a mistake in yesterday’s blog entry too. Well, I’d like to add a bit, at least. I was naval gazing earlier, and I realised that there is a reason for the correlation between conservatism and religiosity. It seems to me that one aspect of conservatism is the belief in the moral absolutes like right and wrong. If god doesn’t exist, then such absolutes are the constructs of man, and therefore morality is subjective. If you believe god does exist, you can appeal to a higher power – a fixed point – and therefore right and wrong are not just constructs, as in liberalism, but god-given facts. This might lead one to conclude that a belief in god would lead one to conservatism – the two seem to go hand in hand in America. A belief in god justifies a belief in moral absolutes, and vice versa – but on the other hand you could also the opposite because the god of the New Testament forgives all sins. Then again, this assumes you believe in an objective concept of sin. So I guess I’m back to where I was yesterday. I don’t think I’ve explained my thinking very well, and its giving me a head ache. Hmm…what do you reckon – is it possible for one to believe in both god and moral relativism?

I am still very much an atheist. My sense of logic means that, for me, atheism is the only ‘right’ conclusion to make. For one thing, what is this being known as god, and why did he make the world to look so convincingly like it evolved naturally? And why did he endow us with a sense of logic which could so easily fool us into thinking he didn’t exist? Why is he so ambiguous? For me, religion does not add up.

Yet recently I have been thinking more about it. I used to dismiss it as childish make believe; I now think I was wrong to do so. Religion offers people hope; it can give us reason; it can help inspire great acts. The bible speaks about being kind, about helping others. The bible says god loves everyone, and that we should love our neighbours. These are good values to live by, and if religion – not just the bible but the Torah and Koran and other such texts – can inspire us to live peacefully together, to help others and to help one another, then I am all for it. It recently occurred to me that religion has, at least in part, helped to inspire some of thee most wonderful things in my life. Thing is, religion can also be used to inspire genocide, war, and terrorism, which is why I have condemned it in the past. But I now see it as essentially neutral – religion is a tool which can be used for both good and ill, and to condemn the many for the deeds of the few is wrong.

It wasn’t sitting comfortably in my head. How could I, in the same breath, proclaim myself tolerant and liberal and then proclaim all religious people morons? It was wrong. I used to believe that religion lead always to a conservative stance, but I now think it is politically neutral, and can be used to back up whatever political stance one cares to take. For me, this renders it benign; while I don’t have faith myself, it is something I can live comfortably with, and even respect. Looks like my days of going up to religious people and trying to convert them are over.

Another long day. This time spent in ps1, rehearsing. We haven’t started on the text yet, just doing he preparatory work. Before u came to uni, what I hadn’t realised is that most of the business of theatre is not what is seen on stage. Fascinatingly, most of what goes on in the rehearsal space is like brain-storming – actors are set games to play by the director, through which they explore certain emotions. To watch it, its not always obvious what the director is getting at, but gradually it comes together to form a picture. At least that’s how graham works; I frankly find the process more intriguing than the end product. It isn’t a case of a director bossing actors about.

I was watching them in PS1 this afternoon. I must admit I felt like a loose end, especially when I ran into Chris during the game of American football. But at the same time, I was thinking that I couldn’t wait to see how Ricardio is going to bring this together. And he will – the game of football, the seemingly pointless exercises, all come together like the T1000 in that scene from terminator two. Gradually, a general picture begins to emerge. I must admit, this lesson, which is still kind of hobby, is one of the best I’ve learned at university.

If you’re interested in reading rage, the text me and ricardio are adapting for the stage, go here. It’s only short, readable in five or six hours, and, as I found this evening, quite fascinating.

Today I showed Mayer where rich was buried. He turned up at about half three – he has the habit of just turning up randomly. I do it myself to others, so I cant complain. Earlier in the week I had told him where rich was, and this afternoon he asked if we could go. So we went. in many ways, lee was even closer to rich than I was. Infernal, godawful business. I know I’m not the only one – many people my age have lost friends, including those from special schools. But I cant help the feeling that it’s all fucked up.

I read CaMoron’s speech last night, while I was eating dinner. I tried to read it with an open mind, honest, but the more I read the angrier I got. I don’t think I ever read a bigger piece of nonsense; no, scrap that – it can only be nonsense if it actually has substance. This was mostly rhetoric based on a few simplistic ideas.

For a start, it was built up of short sound bytes, like this.

For another, blaming brown for this current economic crisis is a clear sign that the guy’s a moron. If the Tories hadn’t screwed the banking system up in the nineties we would not be in this mess. And to criticise brown for founding a decade of prosperity on ‘borrowing’ is a clear sign that these are no more than the ravings of an idiot. Brown saved us from the economic doom and gloom major left us in. for CaMoron to then praise Thatcher as some kind of hero when she destroyed the livelihoods of so many people is, frankly, despicable.

He attacks the ‘short term initiatives’ and what he calls the beurocracy without understanding that we need the testing and the safeguards to ensure that nothing goes wrong. We need the paperwork; we need standardisation. He is clearly trying to appeal to those people bored of filling in forms.

And as for character and judgement mattering more than experience – give me strength. He only says that because he thinks he has character and judgement, as everyone knows he lacks experience. Well, his judgement is clearly flawed, and his character is so vapid, shallow and cloying it makes me want to vomit. Either way, he’s wrong – tried and tested and proven experience is what matters, unlike in 97.

I could go on, I could go through this speech line by line and tear it to pieces. I could spend pages just explaining why claiming that society is somehow broken represents a level of arrogance that makes me want to tear the guy’s head off. I mean, just because society no longer conforms to your narrow-minded, illiberal and paternalistic view of how it should be doesn’t mean it’s broken. But I have work to do and things to read. If you have time the speech can be found here.

If anyone is interested in an extraordinary bit of cinema history – science fiction from beyond the iron curtain – go here.

amazing, isnt it?