It is the calm before the storm. Me, Lyn, Charlie and denny have spent a nice, quiet-ish day in my flat. We ate lunch in the plough, and now everyone’s taking a nap before everyone gets here at seven. Last night, there were about eight of us in my room, having pre-brandies drinks; I’m expecting fifteen to twenty here later, given that we didn’t get back till half one last night, and Charlie didn’t get in till half seven, a nap seems very wise.

Today is old boys, and I feel like it’s Christmas. All my old friends are going to be here tonight, except for Emma, and it is going to rule. Well, truth be told I’m not sure exactly who is going to show up: Lyn and Charlie I know are coming, but apart from that it’s a case of wait and sea. Either way, it should kick arse.

This Seems appropriate.

I almost forgot with the excitement of my new chair and the hassle of the internet: today is my brother Luke’s twenty-third birthday. Luke is a top bloke, an excellent website administrator, and all round good egg. Happy birthday Luke!

The internet is very good, especially for cripples, at helping you keep in touch. That is, until it goes down. Then you’re screwed. Like a junkie trying o get his next coke fix, you search desparately for ways to get online, paranoid that somebody is trying to contact you, or that plans have changed and nobody could tell you. Of course, when you finally do get online, you see that nobody has sent you much, and that no plans have changed.

Anyway, back to blogging. First, my new chair arrived. It is a black f55 with tilt and lift, and looks as cool as hell. I mean, sub-zero! Its sleek and shiny, like Darth Vader’s helmet. Also, I don’t know how, but she looks like a predator. When I first saw it, I thought of something keen and sharp. I named her The Bat’leth. When I meet him tomorrow, I can, at last, look down on Alan.

Much more seriously, I would like to express my deepest condolences to David Cameron and his family. I know I often ridicule him, but all politics aside, no parents should have to go what they are going through.

The guys in the mechanics department have began to take the piss. My wheelchair is getting old and certain bits keep falling off. Just little things, like the screws in the footplate. However, one of the benefits of living on a uni campus is that there are workshops with things like screws and screwdrivers. So, whenever a screw falls out, back I go to the workshop. Mind you, I must be going too often, as the guys have began to say things like ‘oh, not again’ and, rather more sarcastically, ‘see you next week’.

In other news, today I produced 3900 words for my thesis, mostly from old stuff. And did you notice that, funnily enough, Short Circuit was on Channel 5 last night.

I am in an abnormally good mood, but don’t quite know why. Dad dropped me off at university earlier, and I’ve just come back from roadwork rehearsals. I feel optimistic – almost excited – about work this week. I know what I’m going to write, and it’s very interesting ground I’m covering. I have a lovely girlfriend to chat to online, and most of my friends are coming on Friday. God, that’s going to be so much fun.

I’m not sure what I’ll get up to this evening. I’ll probably stay in and talk to Lyn, or I could play follow-my-nose in my wheelchair. Life is good/

I was surfing the net yesterday with Esther looking for our favourite childhood films. I think we were both in a retrospective mood. We first looked up back to the future, and found this bit of silliness. I then remembered one of Luke’s favourites: short circuit. I googled it.

What I found was truly stupid. They’re re-making the damn thing. I wouldn’t mind a sequel at all – I’d love to see the return of Johnny five. But to remake it seems pointless. The producers claim it’s so they can update it with today’s technology. I assume that means that they will make a third version in twenty years, then a fourth in 2048, as technology progresses even further.

Why can’t Hollywood just leave things me? Why can’t they think of films as works of art, and not tools for making money. Why not re-paint the mona Lisa using photoshop, or re-write Shakespeare using modern language? Idiots!

As you probably know most schools are on half term this week. When I went to see her with Lyn, Charlie said I should visit her during the break, so that’s where I’ve been since yesterday. Charlotte now lives on the other side of Chester to her parents, in a nice houce with a lovely social worker called Kathy. Charlotte came to meet me at the bus station at 5 yesterday, although I had got there rather earlier and had already been zooming about Chester City centre for a few hours. It’s a nice city and worth exploring. I found a shop which sold swords – replicas of course.

I was just expecting a quiet evening at Charlie’s family house, but Charlotte had other plans. We got a taxi into the city centre to save my wheelchair battery. There we had a curry. I’ve been craving one for a couple of weeks and it was delicious. We shared a bottle of Australian red. We then went to the Frog and Nightingale, there I met Holly for the first time since Charlotte’s birthday. It was great to see her and she’s doing really well. They have great music at the Frog and it really is lively place. Most of Charlotte’s friends were there and it was good to see them too.

This morning we were up rather late, got dressed and headed back into town to get breakfast. I was a bit worried because I couldn’t bring my wheelchair charger and the battery was getting a bit low. We found a French restaurant and had omelettes sitting by the window, watching people and talking about old times. I found it funny than every now and again Charlotte says things like ‘those kids are in year 10’; it seems we’re getting rather old. Then after the omelette and the best coffee I’ve had in awhile, it was time to get the bus home.

So that’s it, my account of where I’ve been for the last 24 hours. It was rather cool. I’ll see Charlotte a week tomorrow, for Old Boys. Lyn’s going to come up too. I really can’t wait.

Not that I want to jinx myself, but my thesis seems to be taking shape at long last. It has 5 sections:

1.An introduction and historical perspective of cinephilia – currently about 7000 words

2.an outline of fandom – 5000 words

3.a comparison of cinephilia and fandom – 5000 words

4.the application of the above principles to my own engagement with the star trek films – 7000 words 5.conclusion – 3000 words

parts one two and four are drafted – I just finished part two. Part one and four are almost finished. This leaves part three, which I’ll start quite soon, and my conclusion. I have allowed myself about 4000 words wiggle room, but that can easily be filled.

I used to think 30000 words was a lot, but it really isn’t. all the same, I’m pleased with myself.

I saw cloverfield over the weekend. I must admit to being stunned by it. For many years Hollywood, it seems to me, has been trapped into quite a formulaic way of making films. Or more accurately, it has had many – okay two – formulas. First there was the studio system. Then there was George Lucas, who screwed everything up.

Now, though, there seems to be a new kind of film-making. In cloverfield, we are supposedly viewing the hand-held camera footage of some kind of alien monster invasion, as filmed by one of the characters. Thus we have a diagetic auteur; the film is created within the film. This strikes me as the very opposite of classicism. The camera is not omnipresent; we don’t have any of the filmic grammar we are accustomed to; there is no satisfying ending. On the other hand, the film is introduced by the explanatory message, which frames the film in some sort of conventional fiction. nevertheless, this is an exciting departure from most of what has been before, and I cant wait to see where it might lead.

I go home this weekend for the first time in four weeks. At the moment I’m knackered, and definitely have that Friday afternoon lethargy. It’s been a productive week, and I’ve managed to write over 3000 words. Also, I went to an exhibition in the gallery last night about the artists relationship with others. It reminded me of mine, and I could do with exploring some of the issues he brought up. But now, I’m just waiting for Mark Kermode – who, incidentally, is referenced in a text I’m using for my thesis – to come onto the radio. He is now part of my Friday afternoon wind-down routine. Just want to slump down in front of the Simpsons.

A while ago my girlfriend Lyn posted a couple of videos to youtube. I hope she doesn’t mind me saying that one was of her in a swimsuit, another was about her transexualism, and so on. As such, as much as I don’t like using the word, I think they are brave art-works, and I feel Lyn is to be applauded for uploading them.

Yet it would seem that Lyn has received derision from fellow youtube users. This makes me very angry indeed. They seem to think that Lyn is something to be laughed at, and post crass comments. Would they laugh at a black man, just for being who he is and not being afraid to hide it. Such people strike me as illiberal and narrow-minded. They cannot accept that some people are different, and aren’t ashamed to hide it.

I whish I could charge to the aid of my girlfriend. She is probably the most unique person I know, and I feel proud to know her. She has had to go through a lot, just to be who she feels she is. Yet she told me last night that she regularly has to put up with such bigotry and intolerance.

Why can’t people learn to accept others for who they are? Why can’t they tolerate difference? Why can’t they accept the idea that not everyone is like them? The answer, I suspect, is a lack of education.

It now seems that if u get something wrong, and get found out,, you can go to Wikipedia to change the facts. Well, that’s what conservatives do. Rather than being exposed for the morons they are, they try to deceive everyone. The question is, can we trust a party which dos things like this? I don’t think so

It’s been ages since I went to the cinema, and I was feeling guilty about it. There are two or three good films currently showing, so today I went to see slumdog milliner, largely at my father’s suggestion. I think Mark Kermode was right when he said there’s a lot of slumdog and not much millionaire: Danny Boyle is good at showing us poverty. I got a real sense of what these slums are like, and yet the film has a certain beauty to it. Some of the shots are composed magnificently. Although the type of narrative structure (where the film begins almost at the end of the story) is nothing new, I think boyle constructs it especially well. Having said that, I found the way in which jamal got some of the answers from those scenarios a little far fetched. Also, he admitted to murder, yet ends the film free and very rich.

Now, in comments, dad asked my opinion on the scene where the kids are blinded so they can become more lucrative beggars (it made me thankful for the fact I can’t sing, for once). I don’t think anyone in their right mind would condone that, not even the most extreme disability rights lobbyists. This is not to imply that I think blindness is bad, or any other disability, but come on guys: seeing must be better than not seeing, just as tasting is better than not tasting. If you have an ability of any kind, to get rid of it or to have it taken from you must not be good. Nor do I think that the director is being disablist by putting this in, for some would argue that he’s associating blindness with pity and inferiority. I can believe that some ruthless assholes actually do this to kids in India, and that boyle is merely portraying a reality.

I really should go to the flicks more often. This film had me on the edge of my wheelchair – I was almost shouting the final answer at the screen. It also reminded me how long its been since I had a curry.

I saw the news of the bush fires in Australia this morning, and I thought of this song. I know it’s a natural part of the country’s ‘life-cycle’, but it is rather ghastly. I found Australia a beautiful place, and it is rather upsetting to see it so ravaged.

I was hungry last night due to my habit of forgetting about lunch, so I decided to do some spaggy bog. Lee came round, and I told him of my plan. He then kindly offered to take me to sainsburies to get the ingredients. We took mum’s recipe, so we could remember to get everything. I think Mayer found the idea of putting beans in the mixture rather dubious, so he only got a small can of beans.

I only noticed that something was amiss when we got home. What my friend had actually picked up was some beans and sausages. ‘oh well’ I thought ‘More meat.’

Lee insisted he could cook himself, and it actually turned out rather nice. It was a little dry – I think the bean juice from the full size can has a purpose. And I definitely prefer it without the sausages.

Mrs Waldron, our old life skills teacher at school, would be proud.

Tomorrow it will be two years since I found out about Richard Simpson. I still remember it quite vividly: the trip to Weston, the two men outside the village hall, and the long, cold road back. It still hurts. Rich deserved a long, happy life. I was expecting an invitation to Richard and Michelle’s wedding. I wanted to discuss the lord of the rings with him one day. I had seen myself occasionally visiting them, growing old together, talking about school, remembering.

I still think of him, from time to time, but when I think too much about it, itt seems to grab my heart and squeeze it. I think about Michelle: she is still hurting, of course. I feel so sorry for her, but there’s fuck all I can do about it. Regardless of where you stand on the special schools debate, this is one of the consequences of growing up in such institutions: from time to time the ghastly question of which of your friends you’ll loose next crosses your mind.

Dad would probably tell me to stop being mawkish at this point. He’d be right, but posting entries like this is my way of remembering, reminding myself, and commemorating.

Today I decided that all writing must be art, whatever the purpose. Amusingly, this implies that all scientists, including my brothers, are artists. They write for a purpose: to get information across in the most direct, least ambiguous manner. This is nevertheless an aesthetic, and thus scientists make aesthetic choices. Trying to minimise style is still stylistic.

I’ve been pondering this a lot recently. What, exactly is the relationship between art and science? They seem to be the two poles of academia (the study of sport being pointless to me). How can these poles be reconciled? Do they have any commonalities? If not, why should one be privileged over the other? They sometimes seem totally different disciplines, yet without science there would be no art, and without the art form of writing, science would be unable to communicate itself.

Today has been dull as hell. I’ve mostly been in my room, where nobody has treated me as a second class citizen. I haven’t written anything, just looked at stuff by Jenkins and read some online essays about fandom. I found this most interesting essay, more or less precisely focussed on my area of study. If you’re interested, go look.

I am starting to agree with those who, before now, I have derided as paranoid and reactionary. If one needed proof that disabledism exists, one need only look at the bus system. I was in Crewe today, because I was pissed off at having no lightwriter and needed some retail therapy. Its amazing how buying something girly can cheer me up. I decided to go back to Crewe campus and take the intersite after visiting Trish as Alan had suggested asking her about my thesis. When I decided to head for home, the intersite was an inaccessible double-decker. Obviously, I’d have to take the twenty. One came without stopping; another came, stopped but refused to let me on. I mean, given it is no longer acceptable to make black people sit at the back of the bus, why are we disabled people only allowed on some busses, and then only when the driver’s not being a dick? I can think of no physical reason why all busses can’t be accessible, apart from cost. If double-deckers take more people, just put more busses on. This is not fair. Sorry mahatma, but this is pure discrimination – no more ‘trying to understand’ or ‘turning the other cheek’.

Then when I went back inside to ask people for help, I had to use a fucking letter chart. Degrading, drawn out, embarrassing. I felt like I was five. And I couldn’t make anyone understand.

For the first time in five years, I went to the student-staff forum today. Rob convinced me to go – I fancied a trip to Crewe anyway. I thought I’d see what they were about. However, now I remember why I’d never previously gone: I’d always suspected such forums to be mere talking shops, and I was right. Apart from the teaching staff and the guys from the union, there were about five or six students there, most of whom I’d never seen before. They talked and talked, without saying much, going round and round in circles. I, of course, couldn’t say anything due to my lightwriter being broken, so I just sat there, yawning from time to time.

One of the topics on the agenda was why were such meetings so poorly attended. It was obvious to me that only a certain kind of politically focussed, up-own-arse student would go to such a thing. Rob suggested solving the problem by opening the bar during the meeting, which if you ask me is a great idea, but I may have fallen asleep had I had a beer.

I just noticed something interesting under my nose, and I don’t mean a bogie. I’ve known the name futureshorts for a while, but before now have dismissed them as just another bunch of no-nothing amateurs who don’t know Bazin from Barthes. I just took a look at them though, and I think what they’ve set up is something truly novel. Bazin, author of ‘in Defence of Mixed Cinema’ would certainly have been fascinated. Go look.

In other news, my lightwriter is broken and has had to go to be repaired. I might not be too cheerful for the next week or so.

The initial plan yesterday was to go shopping in stoke, but I woke up with an idea: it would be far more fun to go to Chester. That way we could see a much more engaging city, and, with any luck, I could introduce Lyn to Charlie. Before we set off, we tried to phone c, but without much luck, so we took her number.

The trip there was uneventful. I expected Crewe to Chester by bus would take about an hour, but it took slightly longer, which would have a bearing on what time we could leave. We got to Chester, starving, at about half two, so we popped into m&s for a bite to eat. Everywhere was crowded. Before we ate though, we got Denny to phone Charlie, who said we should pop over at four, for tea. So we had some m+s toasted sandwiches to fill our rumbling bellies before setting off to find the burrow.

This took longer than expected – I swear those roads keep moving. They never look the same twice. Anyway, when we did find Charlie’s house – or rather Charlie’s old house, as she no longer officially lives there – we were welcomed in with open arms. It is always such a pleasure to go there, which is why I do it so often. Mrs Jones bade us sit by the fire: ‘you must be freezing’. And there we sat, with coffee and whiskey-macks, and talked. At one point, Lyn and Charlie were discussing music, and I had no idea what they were going on about – they seemed to get on really well.

The time to head off came too soon. we came up with an embryonic plan to go to Amsterdam together, which has got me really excited. Charlie’s half term is coming, so we agreed to see each other sometime then. I’ll probably pop over one afternoon, and stay the night. Mrs. J made us sandwiches and snacks to take with us, which I am now extremely grateful for. As she says: ”you never know when you’ll see food again”. She then guided us back to the station.

Traffic was less heavy last night, so it didn’t take so long to get home. It was still a bit of a hurry to get from Crewe bus station to the train station, but when we did, we had just enough time for one last drink. Then it was time to hurry to the platform. Randomly, I bumped into mike, Ricardio’s landlord, but was in too much of a hurry to say hi. I plan to pop over to theirs to explain later.

I managed to make a proper farewell to Lyn this time. Then Denny got his train back to Liverpool. And suddenly I was alone, there on the platform. I sighed, and turned for home.

I made for the bus stop outside Crewe campus. I must have waited at least 45 minutes. Then the bus came, and I put my arm out, but the bus refused to stop. I started to panic. I wondered about driving home myself, in by chair, but then I told myself not to be so stupid. I went back to campus and told security. They tried to get hold of someone who could take me home, but with no luck. The next bus would be an hour, so I sat in the bar and ate Mrs. Joneses sandwiches. Never have I been so grateful for a cheese sarnie and hot-crossed bun.

An hour later, feeling much better, I went back out to the bus stop. Ten minutes later, one of the security guys came and sat by me: ‘I’ll make sure it stops this time’. It is people like that, and people like the joneses, who re-affirm my faith in mankind. I got in shortly before eleven, checked my mail, blogged, and went to bed smiling.