This afternoon I watched Casino Royale for the umpteenth time. I just fancied a bit of 007. o.k, he’s a misogynist pig, and lord knows what he’d think of me ad my girlfriend, but there’s something in Flemings character which appeals. That is the nature of cinephilia: it is a love which goes beyond comprehension and articulation, yet paradoxically forces one to reflect. I cannot explain why I love bond, but I feel the need to explain my love to legitimise it. So in effect in the process of the explanation I must explain that I cannot explain. See why I’ve taken 2 years ant 31500 words to write this thesis.

Physics is easy!

Our van has its MOT today, so dad dropped me off here at uni nice and early. It’s good, because it gives me a chance to jot a few things down before the day starts – I don’t like not having blogged, if that’s grammatically correct.

Now, something happened this weekend online which has been playing on my mind. A week or so ago, a guy from school by the name of Simon M* added me on facebook. This guy was two or three years above me, and I knew him mostly by reputation. At first, I thought it was cool; even though Simon and I had never got on at Hebden, a lot of time has passed since those days, and I assumed we would both have grown.

However, I soon noticed something was not right. On his page, this guy spoke of being proud of being British, and keeping the land ‘ours’ (whoever ‘we’ are supposed to be). On its own I could let that slip – perhaps he’s just patriotic. Yet yesterday I noticed this guy had signed up for being a fan of Adolf Hitler.

I sent him a message saying that I found that neither witty nor intelligent. I like jokes; my sense of humour can even be fairly dark at times. But I find nothing funny about the cold-blooded murder of six million innocent people. moreover, I find nothing worth glorifying about fascism. The way in which this guy then deleted me from his friend list would seem to imply that he didn’t just do it for laughs though: something tells me that Simon M actually believes this crap. Truth be told, from what I remember of him, I wouldn’t put it past him.

What gets to me is the sstupidity of it. A few days ago I saw a picture of a bunch of scallies giving the nazi salute. I truly doubt that these people have any idea of the true implications of their politics. They seem to have a few outdated ideas concerning masculinity and nationalism lodged in their peanut-brains, but seem unable to perceive the ramifications and contradictions inherent in them. They listen to people like Nick Griffin talk about protecting the rights of the British people over immigrants, but haven’t the intelligence to realise that what he says has no basis in reality. For example, I saw griffin on T.V a few weeks ago saying that, if every culture mixed they would all loose their distinctiveness. WRONG. Rather than all turning grey and muddy, they remain distinct but blend at the edges. Chicken tikka masala anyone?

Thus I am becoming very concerned about how many people – mostly uneducated white males with short hair – have latched on to these baseless ideas and refuse to listen to any opposing argument. To them, of course, we’re the wrong ones or the sell-outs or the traitors. We haven’t realised what they have. How do you talk sense into people who refuse to listen?

*A different person to anyone mentioned on here befdore.

I suppose one of the worst things about forgetting to go to 1voice on Saturday was that I missed out on he social aspect of things. The truth is I like being in the company of other crips; there aren’t many around alsager. I have a great many friends, and they accept me for who I am. Yet in the company of able-bodied people, I’m always the odd one out – the one who needs help, or the one who slows down the conversation. While neither I nor any of my friends have a problem with this (I’m not complaining, just stating facts) it’s nice sometimes to be in company where you aren’t the odd one out. I think that’s partly why Lyn is an ideal partner for me. At Onevoice I’m not the only crip in the village. In fact I’m in the majority for a change, which is a rather nice feeling. I like conversations with people in similar positions to mine. This is complicated, and relates back to the old ‘us and them’ debate; it could also, I suppose, be distorted into an argument against inclusion, so we must be careful. But the bottom line is, I get a sense of belonging at Onevoice.

Something happened earlier and I’m feeling rather guilty about it. Around two this afternoon, I was sat at the bus stop outside Crewe campus. I was quite deep in thought – about Lyn, my thesis, 1voice, lunch – and generally minding my own business. Suddenly, this old woman comes up to me. She took me by surprise enough to make me jump. She had this dog in her arms which she wanted me to pat. It was a small thing; the type which most call cute and dad calls rat-dogs. Now, I have no interest in dogs, and so the way in which this woman had assumed I wanted to pat the damn thing just because I was sitting in a wheelchair struck me as highly patronising, this, together with the shock, elicited a string of ”fuck offs” from me.

”I just thought you might like to pat the doggy.” She said.

The use of the word ”doggy” rather than ”dog” pissed me off even more: ”Fuck off fuck off fuck off” I said. She did. I instantly felt guilty. She was just an old woman with a dog. I suppose I should have patted it like a good little cripple. On the other hand, would she have asked any other guy at a bus stop to pat her mut? Why do people just assume I like to stroke little animals? If you ask me, if we are going to show people that we are individuals rather than things to be pitied, such language is sometimes necessary.

I feel stupid and angry at myself. As you can probably tell from the comments to my previous entry, 1voice was Saturday. I’m crap at dates so I forgot. I guess I’ve become so wrapped up in this academic world that I let other things – things that matter – slip. Now I’ve let my 1voice friends down, wasting their money. I have emailed Tamsin and the two Katies offering my resignation (if that’s the right word). So much for being a role-model; after all, who would want to model themselves on someone who forgets something so important?

It seems a lot is happening here at once. I’m in the process of finishing my thesis (if Alan wants footnotes, I’ll give him footnotes*); Lyn is trying to find us a home in Chester, although I’m not being very helpful with that; I’m trying to find out how long I can stay at uni etc. I’m in two minds about this – part of me wants to go home for a rest and to forget about my thesis, but I tend to get bored pretty quickly. What I’d prefer to do is finish my thesis and go stay with Lyn in London until chester is sorted. But that would cause all kinds of problems with packing, transport, getting all my kit down there, etc. I’m not sure what to do, or how to go about this sensibly. Plus, I have Onevoice sometime this summer. What a mess.

* 20 in the first seven pages.

Smeg I am knackered. I just got in from Chester after a fairly long day. As planned, I met Lyn at Chester railway station, and together we went to the council housing offices. There we filled in a joint application for a home. So that’s it; what last week was a rather hazy idea in my head is becoming concrete. I know it’s not that simple, and this will take ages to come to fruition, but I feel more prepared than eveer to take up real independence.

Holy pigcrap she’s serious. The cross-eyed one and I are going to meet in Chester tomorrow in order to go see the council about finding a home. This has me in two minds: while I greatly admire Lyn’s enthusiasm, I’m not used to acting this quickly on anything, particularly without consulting dad and mum. Lyn seems to know what she’s doing, even if I don’t. I just thought we were going to just ask the council a few questions, but apparently I need to take my NI number. Oh my. Don’t get me wrong, I really wanna live with Lyn, but, you know.

Seems Lyn Levett is finally dragging me into adulthood.

Not much happened today, but I’d like it made clear that electric wheelchairs cannot go faster than bikes or those silly two-stroke scooters. So, if you own either of these things, and you see me, do not try to race me. I know you’ll win, and I don’t care. I will, however, think you are an idiot and ignore you, for you are a stupid little chav with an IQ of a rodent. Please stop pestering me – I have no interest in racing you. This is all. Good night.

It gets harder each time Lyn leaves. Every time I see her onto the bus or train, I feel a sudden emptiness. It’s as if everything suddenly stops and is still after being in action. We had a great weekend together – last night’s curry was delicious, but the live music I’d been told was on wasn’t, ‘though we had fun anyway. It’s amazing how quickly I get used to having Lyn around: so much so that when she goes, I really feel her absence. Oh well; tonight I’ll have a quiet night in, then early to bed. I’m shattered!

My girlfriend Lyn is up for the weekend. we’ve been busy – last night we went clubbing in Crewe; today I took Lyn to her first cricket match, a local game in alsager. Tonight, despite being rather tired and sunburned, we are going for a curry, then to a jamming session at a pub. Great fun!

I just watched inside I’m Dancing. It’s been quite a week, in terms of my meeting with Alan and the episode with the school kids. The first thing to be said about Inside is that the acting is pisspoor; it actually caused great controversy in certain areas through it’s use of non-disabled actors to play cripples. I also feel that it oversimplifies certain things in parts, and makes other things too dramatic. For instance, they make the ILF guys appear like a parole board, although that may have been the point. Homes are rather like prisons. Ultimately, however, I found the film uplifting, and that it’s portrayal of disability both positive and realistic.

The ending kind of got to me though. I have lost a few good friends to muscular dystrophy; the first when I was ten or so, another age 18. it is the only disability I want cured, although they wouldn’t have been the boys I knew had they not had MD. It’s good to see such dramas being played out in film: the cinema is the one place where you are allowed, and even encouraged, to stare. If kids stared at films like this, perhaps they wouldn’t stare at me.

Today was not as exciting as yesterday – the school kids behaved themselves as I rolled past. It really got to me, though, and I’ve been brooding over what happened yesterday. It’s unacceptable to laugh at black people or people from the Indian subcontinent; why is it acceptable, albeit nominally, to laugh at disabled people? as you can see in the comments, what I wrote yesterday has earned me quite some credibility. Kate teased me over MSN this evening that my blog had been hacked, and that whoever hacked it writes better entries than I do. I see her point: I should have made that entry a long, long time ago.

I am proud, I guess. I am proud of my work here at MMU, and proud of my achievements. I am proud, I guess, of who I am and of what I have become. I’m proud of my girlfriend, Lyn; of the things she’s been through and the battles she’s won. I’m proud to know people like Katie Caryer, blazing the way towards inclusion, and Simon stevens, who I am only beginning to understand. I am proud to have known my friends from school who are no longer with us – the five of them. In short, I am proud, though I did nothing for it, of being a crip.

This struck me as I was going down church road this afternoon. There were kids around, on their lunch break, from the nearby high school. I passed a group, and they sniggered. I turned, and they fled. I decided I’d had enough – I am proud of what I have achieved enough to refuse to be a laughing stock. Why should we disabled people, after all the crap we put up with, have to bear being the butt of some snot-nosed kid’s joke? I went round to the reception of their school, and told the receptionist. The headmaster was called, and he apologised. There was a message waiting in my inbox to say that the matter had been dealt with. Good.

We live in a culture which values (or should value) diversity. Intolerance, of any kind, must end. Soon I will finish a 30,000 word research thesis, and I refuse to be seen as inferior to any child.

music

I met with Alan this afternoon, and guess what: he didn’t shout at me this tme! In fact he seemed very pleased with what I sent to him on Friday. I think I’m finally glimpsing the light at the end of the tunnel, and it looked good. Alan gave me a few ideas of what to include. Interestingly, he suggested he suggested I should put in a bit more stuff about my subjectivity as related to my disability: most film theory positions the viewer as a still, silent one, but viewers with cp are rarely still and silent, try though they might. This opens up yet more avenues to explore.

I think he wants me to do a PhD. Oh boy.

Most of today has been spent here at my desk. As much as I dislike staying in my room for too long, it’s not been bad. Got a bit of work done; watched some TV, but mostly I’ve been talking to Lyn. We’re thinking of moving to Chester now, which makes good sense. London, while exciting, may be too crowded. Chester, on the other hand, seems much better. Not far from friends, and should anything break, my parents can be there within a couple of hours. I like this idea. Plus, Chester is full of pubs, coffee shops and book stores!

The news of the election is predictably depressing. Fed up with the current government, they are falling for a smooth talking leader of an opposition; an opposition no less culpable of the current scandal than the ruling party. When this fact was put to CaMoron he tried to pretend that the difference between the Tories and Labour was that the Tories are more united. Ha! The Tory party is only united because they have this great leader who can appeal to the public. Mark my words: as soon as the Tory party get in – and I have no doubt this country is fool enough to do that – CaMoron will me gone and we’ll have a thatcherite dick in power. Dave, they’re just using you.

I went into hanley last night rather than Wednesday, as, according to their website, the Pink bar shuts Wednesday. It was great fun – my first real time dressed en femme off campus. Well, I wasn’t really dressed, as I didn’t have any make-up, and I left my wig at home for fear it would keep sliding off, but I felt I looked cute and pleasingly ambiguous. I wore a padded bra to give me he right shaped chest. Every time I caught my reflection in a mirror or window, I felt a buzz, a thrill that I cannot explain.

Mind you, when we got to the Pink place, it looked dead, too quiet. So we went round to the Spareroom, which had rock music playing. We stayed there for the evening – it’s a rock/Goth place, and I kind of like Goth fashion. Short skirts, torn tights, fingerless gloves etc. we caught the last bus home and I got the last bus home dying for a pee but very very happy.

I woke up with an idea today. Perhaps some things should remain mysteries. If we try to look too hard into something, we destroy the fascination. Perhaps the point about my fascination with femininity is that it is a mystery to me. Girls are, lets face it, quite unfathomable; I’ve tried to work them out, to see what it feels like, but if I go too far down that road, the mystery vanishes. I’m not saying I’m going to stop my cross-dressing or experimentation, but I guess I should recognise that I am a guy, and I’m happy as a guy, and as a result of that womanhood will always be unfathomable. That is not to say I am not fascinated by those who do make that leap and cross that threshold and step fully into that other world.

As a crip, the same applies to talking clearly and the riding of bicycles.

Or cinephilia.

I have plans for tonight – big plans. Inspired, in part, by what I found on Monday, I plan to dress up and go out in Hanley. Ideally, I’d want to go all out – make-up, wig etc – but I’m not sure I can tonight. Not with Rob, anyway. Ultimately, I’d like to be treated as a girl, mostly out of curiosity, but I don’t think I can be that convincing. I know from Lyn that it is possible, but unlike her my ‘normal state’ is male, and I’m happy as a guy, so I have no intention to take the next step, as she has. Having said that, I’d like to see just how far I can take this little fascination of mine.

Yesterday afternoon I was board, so I decided to tap my girlfriends name into google, and I can say that what I found was revolutionary. It turns out that, a few years ago, Lyn worked with Mike Pearson on a couple of projects at the uni of aberystwith, Wales. Professor Pearson is an theatre practitioner; I looked him up. I found his 2001 article, devices and desires, co-written with Lyn, and it blew me away. It articulates something I’ve been wondering about for years – the question of whether I, as a disabled man, am a subject or an object in relation to others. Moreover, it places this question in the wider context of cultural and theatre studies. The article struck me as ground-braking, as well as setting me in awe of Lyn. I think I’ve fallen in love with her all over again – her strength, her vibrancy, what she represents. I cannot do justice to the article here; nor can I yet fully explain why it fascinates me, but it was like finding my own personal G.U.T right under my nose.while i’m not saying that her decision to become lyn was artistically or politically motivated, it has both artistic and political ramifications: it says that all barriers can be crossed; that masculinity and femininity can be re-read; that disabled people are not just people with disabilities. As professor pearson wrote, people like Lyn force us to reevaluate our beliefs, and make us question our very subjectivity.

My big brother mark was over this weekend. he and Kat came over from Paris with my parents last Thursday, who were in France giving dads new car a proper test drive. It had been ages since I’d last seen them, and truth be told I didn’t see too much of them this time, as they had a wedding to go to on Saturday afternoon. Luke was also supposed to be home, but he had work to do, which meant he stayed in London.

As for myself, I just pottered around the house, talking to Lyn and making occasional demands for beer. It was ideal weather for a barbecue but mum, being mum, had other plans. I also voted, by post. Who I voted for is my business, but it was neither labour nor the conservatives. Personally, I’m fed up with politics in general and like many people think we need a general election, or – even better – a revolution! I have very little confidence in any member of parliament.

Other than that, and the fact I watched some tennis (go Murry!) that’s about it. It was quite a good weekend. I’m still not sure who won Britain’s got talent, but I’m hoping it was Diversity – the street dance guys – for they were awesome. My eyebrow was raised at the Scottish singer, though – does anyone else suspect she has mild Down’s /Syndrome, as my dad posited.