Is it just me or has British politics gone crazy this week? We have been busy the last two days – to be honest it has been a busy week altogether – so I have not had chance to keep as up to date as I usually like to. Lyn and I got home yesterday evening to hear some kind of controversy about Cornish pasties and storing petrol in your garage. Why on earth has the government decided to tax pasties? Indeed, have they, or have I misheard something? Surely I have misheard it, as no government could be that random. Why pasties rather than, say, pizza? And what is that kerfuffle about petrol? What minister in their right mind would advise people to store petrol in their garage? I heard today that woman seriously injured following that advice, yet francis maude, the MP who gave it, refuses to resign. This is absurd.

As I say, Lyn and I have been quite busy of late; glancing at the news, I have half a mind to stay busy and ignore all this bollox. Besides, it now seems that Lyn and I have much to look forward to, but let’s just say I’ll have to leave you to guess at what such things might be for now.

I have a feeling today and tomorrow are going to be rather busy, so while I have time, I’d just like to send you all here. It’s a brilliant website about New Wave Film: I stumbled onto it yesterday when I was looking for a definition of Hitchcockio-Hawksian. I haven’t had chance to explore it in any depth yet, but what I saw of it yesterday made me nostalgic for Alan’s office back at uni, being surrounded by books about people like Godard and Trufault. If you’re properly into film, this site is a good one.

Now though, It’s time to get cracking. The New–Wave will have to wait.

Rarely if ever do I agree with the daily Mail. I usually see it as the paper of bigots who think themselves too posh to read the News Of The World. After all, it has the idiot Peter Hitchens writing for it. but this article is one I think I need to link to. It clearly and chillingly spells out the effect the government’s reforms will have for people with disabilities. It doesn’t make comfortable reading for me at all; scanning through it, I gulped in fear for the future for me and my fiancee. Times like this depressions – tend to hit people like me and lyn hardest. When rancid pro-tory rags like the daily mail start questioning the government’s policies, it’s a clear sign that folk like us should be very, very concerned.

I just have a tv programme to flag up today. I recently had a couple of ideas which I’m keen to get working on, including a video involving forks, but I’ll write more about those in due course. Last night Lyn and I watched a very interesting, and somewhat inspiring, programme called ‘We won’t drop the Baby’ on bbc1. It was about comedian Lawrence Clark and his wife and their newborn second son. Both parents have CP, thus giving rise to the title of the show. They both appear to be excellent parents, and despite a moment when I almost shouted at the screen ”For fuck’s sake get a PA to do it”, when Mr. Clark was trying to change the baby, it is clear that they would never let their child come to harm. Thus I thought it was a reasonably good bit of television, showing that we crips can be parents too. I must admit, though, that it made me wonder whether I could be a daddy too one day, and I think it made Lyn Broody as well, but in reality I have long known that is a moot point for various reasons.

Anyway, time to turn my attention to forks.

Not having much else to write about tonight, other than to note the fact that Lyn and I just watched avatar (excellent film, even if it is slightly anti-disability in parts), I think I’ll just direct you here. It really did amuse me to hear that, after a young lady from Kazakhstan won a shooting competition, the spoof Kazakh national anthem from the film Borat was played by mistake. I bet there were a few red faces when they realised that they were playing a song written by a british comedian. I’ve yet to hear what Sasha Baron-cohen himself thinks about this, but I suspect he’s as tickled as the rest of us, apart from the Kazakh shooting team,, of course.

Thanks to my brother and webmaster Luke, the glitch in my website is now fixed. It apparently occurred when the website hosting company changed hands. I can, at last, print the picture I wanted to yesterday.

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Glorious, isn’t it? I’m now happy, so in honour of that, and to commemorate the fact that this being entry number 2222, as in tutu tutu, I think I’ll post a link to this again, too!

Despite the sun, today is fast turning out to be a pretty fraught day, not least because I just had my first dental appointment in two years. To cheer myself up a bit, then, I thought I would show you a picture taken on my birthday up in Congleton on sunday. It was a picture of me, lyn, my mum and dad and our PA John sitting on or next to a sofa in the conservatory. That was a truly special day for me, the day I finally took Lyn ‘home’, and the memory of it, I think, is going to be enough to brighten the gloomiest of my days for quite some time – even those involving dentists. Only, due to the bug my website seems t have contracted, I can’t seem to post pictures. It will have to wait for me to reprint it here, and You’ll have to take my word for it. Mind you, it just demonstrates the power of a good photo to cheer one up, and as good old Roland Barthes observed, photos can only do this on a personal level. That is to say, a photo hat means so much to me wouldn’t mean much to anyone else. In that respect, I suppose it is a good thing I can’t reprint it here, as it means I have to describe the impact it has on me, which is much better blogging than me lazily reprinting an image. It also forces me to reflect on the image and why I like it, which makes it all the sweeter.

I do not think I have ever recounted this story on my blog before, or, if I have, it has been a long time since I did so. Either way,it is a good story, and good stories deserve periodical retellings. Lyn and I were just at the cafe, enjoying a mid-afternoon coffee. Mitchell, our PA for today, started humming You Sexy Thing by hot chocolate. I hadn’t heard that song in a while, but it always reminds me of a chapter in my life now quite bittersweet.

Back at school, in about 1999, my class were involved in a wheelchair dance competition. I’m not sure how we became involved – I think our PE teacher, miss stoolberg, entered us into it. The class, mostly boys, weren’t that interested, but we thought we’d give it a go. We decided to have a bit of a laugh, and to base our display on The Full Monty, which was quite a big film at the time. We did our display to the tune of You sexy thing, at one stage ripping off our shirts to reveal T-shirts with things like ”you should be so lucky” printed upon them. Thus, as soon a Mitchell started to hum the song earlier, I automatically felt the urge to spin my chair to the left.

That competition now seems a lifetime ago. I still have the trophy for the disco competition that followed the main display competition; it’s still on the shelf in my parent’s conservatory, where, incidentally, it caught Lyn’s eye on Saturday. She and Dominic asked how I won it, so dad recounted the tale to her. Yet that tale for me is tinged with sadness, as three of that class have passed on, including the two ‘leaders’ of the display, rich Simpson and Andrew fox. Drinking my coffee outside in Charlton earlier, I remembered the day when my friends and I danced to Hot Chocolate with great glee, but those memories cannot help being tainted by events since then, by regret that my friends are not here to reminisce with me. I suppose it’s a consequence of going to a special school. I suppose, too, that most of all, such memories must be recalled with happiness – after all, not man people can say they performed the full Monty in a wheelchair.

Link

Lyn was looking at me and chuckling earlier, as we watched the budget together. I’m sure she thinks I must be mad, I get so worked up about it. I start shouting at the tv and everything – I can’t seem to help it. But the truth is I’m furious about what CaMoron, clegg and osbourne have done today: how they can claim to care about the less well off of this country is beyond me. They are slashing services so vitally needed just so they can give the rich a tax break. There was nothing fair or just about this budget; it was designed to reward greed. Of course, the Tories claim that setting taxation too high drives away business: I have always seen that as an excuse with which to justify the selfishness of capitalists. If everyone saw themselves as part of a community rather than individuals, they wouldn’t care how much tax they paid. The problem, then, is the Tory individualist mindset itself: that argument only washes because there are greedy people, and there are greedy people because such arguments justify their greed. The government shouldn’t pander to greed by keeping taxes for the rich few low, but encourage the most able in society to see themselves as part of a community that they should contribute more to. As it is, however, we have a Tory government intent ion starving the poor just so they can appease the wealthy few. They, and the minority of people who voted for them, should be ashamed of themselves; I have no words with which to describe my contempt for such selfish scum.

Please note that, due to some kind of technical glitch, the list of entries in my archive has disappeared. They are still there, but the links just aren’t displayed. this should be fixed shortly.

I was thinking earlier, as I once again zoomed the roads, lanes and pavements of Charlton, about the various worlds I now inhabit. Charlton feels very different to Congleton: they are, of course,, very different places, one rural, surrounded by fields and grass-topped hills; the other urban, a place of concrete and brick. Yet, more than that, they feel almost like different worlds, and I feel like a different person in them. I grew up in Congleton, so I feel like a child again when I go there, and once again become drawn to things I liked when I was growing up. Charlton is the place of my adulthood – a much more rough and ready place, so I feel more rough and ready. I catch myself thinking differently here than I do back up north, expecting different things of people. Indeed, I do think people behave differently in London than they do up north. It’s just one of those odd things to note: I’m still getting used to life in this great metropolis, and although I still love it, it felt good to once again walk among streets that seemed wider and less crowded, and between buildings that seemed cleaner and less crammed in. Mind you, walking the streets of Congleton town centre felt even better this time because Lyn was beside me. My new world finally got to see my former one, and that felt brilliant.

In the dining room of my parent’s house there now hangs the most beautiful photograph I have ever seen: an enormous pint of a picture taken at my brother Mark’s wedding. All the family is there, including me and Lyn. As soon as I saw it I fell in love with it, and it made our long-overdue entrance into our family house all the sweeter.

I’ll probably writ more about this in the next few days, but Lyn and I just got home from a trip up north. We went to celebrate my twenty-ninth birthday. It had been over two years since I had been to the old family house, and Lyn had never seen it so it was high time we made the trip. It was well worth it: between at last getting to show Lyn the place where I grew up, eating mum’s cooking (in copious amounts, I must add) and watching Midnight in Paris (I want Woody Allen’s babies!) this year was the most wonderful birthday ever. Now, though, I’m tired, and need my tea, but tonight I’ll be going to bed a very, very happy man indeed: my world now feels complete.

I don’t usually like just reposting images I find online, but this one seemed particularly astute.

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I had one of my better ideas last night. Possibly because it was Wednesday evening, I was feeling rather nostalgic for university, thinking about the Wednesday evening discos in the campus bar. The nights when I used to dress up and go to brandies now seem a lifetime ago; the building itself will have been demolished by now, or soon will be. That thought made me rather sad – my friends and I had many a wild night there, many of which are recorded in the archive of my blog. However, it was then that I was struck with an idea: why not create an online version of brandies? Of course, it won’t be the same: it is impossible to replicate the alcohol-fuelled chaos of a student bar on the internet, but that’s how the Facebook group ‘Virtual Brandies Bar, Alsager’ came into being. I’m quite pleased with my creation – it already has about eighty members, probably mostly former MMU students just as nostalgic as me for the place that was, at one and the same time, the best and worst bar on earth. I’m pleased to say that my online friends have reacted very warmly to the online echo of our old campus bar, and I hope they use it as a place where they can reminisce, swap stories and keep in touch.

There are a couple of things I could write about today. I could say how galled I am to see CaMoron lapping up being a statesman with Obama, as if he deserves to be there. That should be a real prime minister representing our country in Washington, not some smug, unelected Tory jackass. But I suppose, putting my serious head on, the bigger picture is that the special relationship is obviously alive and well, which must be a good thing for the UK. Mind you, I could also write about being just as galled to see nick clegg at PMQs, lying, dissembling and betraying a once great political party for the sake of his own power. The sight of that wretched worm trying to justly his actions in propping up an unelected, failed government fills me with total contempt. His presence in it insults the party of Lloyd George and Asquith.

However, I was watching the news earlier when something which pissed me off even more caught my eye. The metropolitan police have been found guilty of assaulting a sixteen-year-old boy with severe autism and learning difficulties. Now, I don’t know the specifics of the case – it seems that the boy refused to get out of the pool, the cops were called, and they used quite a lot of force to restrain the boy and get him out. I can’t say whether the force was justified, although I doubt it; what gets me, though, is the fact that they are appealing the verdict. If they didn’t realise the boy was autistic and assumed he was just being unruly, then fair enough, they made a mistake – apologise, pay the compensation and move on. But by appealing, the cops are saying that they think they were right to use such force even if the boy has autism, which strikes me as extremely arrogant and disdainful of disability rights. They are saying they don’t give a rats about this boys disability, they should be free to act as brutally as they want. As I say I don’t know much about this case – I don’t know what this kid was doing – but surely the MET are at least guilty of a lack disability awareness and a refusal to acknowledge the severe harm they may have done to this boy.

I know I said once that I shouldn’t simply post links to stuff I’ve found on youtube, but ever since I saw Slash playing Jessica on top gear on Sunday evening, I’ve been itching to link to it from my blog. I know it’s a shortened version (I’d kill to hear him play it in full), and there is not much I can say about it other than to convey just how awesome I think it is. But given that today has been an ordinary sort of day, and the only other thing I would consider writing about is the fact that CaMoron apparently has an Ipad which cost twenty grand, I think we could all do with something awesome to watch. At least the vision of a rockgod playing a classic while standing atop a mountain of cars might just be enough to make us forget that, at a time of severe cuts, our prime minister is wasting tax payers money on little more than a personal toy.

I am sure I hardly need to state my position on gay marriage and the current hubbub surrounding it on here. I am, frankly, extremely pissed off at the way these cardinals from the catholic church have presumed they can pass judgement on who can and cannot marry. Who gave them the authority to do so? Surely if two people love each other, and want to go through the marriage ceremony to show their commitment to each other, the should have a right to do so regardless of their gender. In this day and age, what gives the church the right to decree what does and does not constitute marriage? And if it thinks it still has the authority to do so, it is gravely mistaken: we live in postmodern, democratic and enlightened time – why should we listen to old men in funny hats who claim they speak on behalf of some invisible being?

People could say I am once again merely towing the liberal line, but that’s because the liberal line is the logical line to tow. The daily mail has it’s knickers in a twist about people it terms ‘militant neo-atheists’ and the erosion of religion, but as we as a society become more enlightened and open to new ideas, it’s natural that older, outdated ideas, like those surrounding marriage, will be swept away. The problem is not with gay people getting married; the problem is people failing to accept progress.

I was just browsing the internet. To be honest I was actively looking for something to post here, as I didn’t post yesterday and the subject I could have written about today, my meeting with Jodie, didn’t materialise. I was just taking gander at the bbc news website, then, when I stumbled on to something which frankly appalled me: this video-article, about the use of scantily clad women to sell stuff at tech shows, is shocking. Now, I have nothing against nudity,, and try to be open minded, but it seems to me that such practices turn women into things rather than people. What’s more it conveys the message that the gizmos on show are only for men, and that women are irrelevant the market, which seems a very misogynistic message. At the very least, if they must sell things that way, shouldn’t there be men in boxers and baby oil as well as women in bikinis? What pisses me off the most, though, is the elderly American guy on the tape trying to tell the reporter it is a non-issue, and that they are in the wrong for making a story out of it. Stupid old letch!

I know that I flagged this up last week, but we just watched the second part of make Bradford British, and would urge anyone reading this to do the same. It is a truly great piece of television, tackling head on thee racial and ethnic stereotypes which seem endemic in british culture. This is a program which asks what it means to be british, and for once finds an answer: britishness is not how one dresses or speaks. Nor is it defined by the colour of ones skin. To be british, this program suggests, is to be tolerant of everyone – it is about mutual respect. It is a simple point, often forgotten today, but for making it this television program has my utmost respect and admiration. Surely such things are what tv was made for.

Sorry I did not post an entry yesterday. It was something of a farce of a day, more than a little stressful, more than a little embarrassing. At about noon I decided to go over to chopper’s to see how the Lightwriter was: he was still drying it out so I decided to take a walk to Woolwich. I had things on my mind, and I find whizzing along in m chair helps me to think. I’ve taken that trip hundreds of times now, and although Woolwich is no Cairo, its somewhere to go to look about.

To begin with all was going according to plan – I was beginning to feel a lot better. I’d made it across the town square though when I noticed something was missing: my bumbag. I shrieked and started to retrace my steps. Halfway back to Charlton I was really beginning to worry. I headed back to chopper’s as that was the last place I knew I had it. I was hoping I had dropped it outside his house, and he would emerge holding it and calling me a stupid northern cripple, but no luck. When I told him, he immediately sped off in search of it. He didn’t tell me what to do, so I decided to follow, and that’s when things got interesting.

I headed back to the spot where I noticed the bag was missing, to no avail. By then, of course, the problem of battery power was coming in to play. The batteries on my newer chair don’t have the longevity of those of my old one, and she was starting to slow down. There was also no sign of chopper. Woolwich has a community centre called, appropriately enough, the Woolwich centre, so I decided to head there, going ever more slowly. I asked where I could go for lost property and was directed to the police station, which luckily wasn’t too far away. I knew I was being absurdly optimistic, but I was hoping against hope that someone had handed it in.

Woolwich police station has steps and no ramp, so wheelchair users have to ring a bell and wait for someone to come out. When they did, I explained my problem and the officer went back in to check if someone had handed a small black bag in. By then I was feeling very stressed, tired, and I wasn’t thinking straight, which is probably why, in a moment of madness, I drove off.

I didn’t get far: around the corner my battery ran out completely. Some passers by took mercy on me and, after I had explained the situation, they helped me back to the police station. There, to my great astonishment, I was told my bumbag had been found, handed in, and that chopper had picked it up. He did give chopper’s real name, but I dare not state that on here, for various reasons. I then realised that I am the luckiest bugger alive – not only had the bag been found, but it’s contents were still inside, including my cards.

The problem was getting home. I haven’t yet memorised my home telephone number or chopper’s, as they are both on a list which I keep in my bumbag as well as being stored on my other Lightwriter. I was feeling stuck, stupid, and was wondering how much longer Lyn would put up with my silliness before she sent me packing back to Cheshire. Fortunately the cops offered to give me a lift home, and by about half five last night I was back here, counting my blessings: I was home safe; my money was ok, the chair on charge. Most important of all, Lyn ha no intention of throwing me out, although I daresay it’s only a matter f time before she tires of me doing stupid shit like this. Seriously, though, I must be more careful: perhaps attaching the bag to me is a good idea, pain though it may be. Given the level of crime in Woolwich, I had a very, very lucky escape yesterday; I can’t always depend on that luck to get me home. I also feel guilty about putting Chopper through so much: apparently he hade gone as far as Bexley or Elton to look for me when he’d returned to find me missing. What had began as a nice quiet strole had turned into a full-blown emergency, and it is only due to chopper’s kindness, that of the police guys, and a shitload of luck that that emergency had the happy ending it did.

For the last couple of days it feels like I have been reacquainted with a good old friend. Have been using my old SL35 Lightwriter rather than the SL40 Lyn gave me to use when she started using her Ipad. The truth is, I spilled a bit of beer on the sl40 on Friday night so chopper took it to give it a good clean. It should be back soon, but using my old sl35 made me realize how much of a soft spot I have for it. After all, this was the communication aid which got me through university – the machine my uni friends christened Colin. I still know every nook and cranny of it. The operating systems are slightly different, and it was funny how swiftly I reverted back to the old system. For instance, to chose the predicted words on the sl35 you used the bottom-right key, but on the sl40 you use the numbers; for a while I still automatically went for the numbers, but now I have reverted back to instinctively going for the bottom right key. I suppose that isn’t surprising having used the sl35 and it’s very similar predecessors for over ten years. I suppose it’s like using a computer running windows again after having crossed over to apple for a year or so. Mind you, although being able to play solitaire again for a while might be fun, you would soon start craving the sleekness of the mac, and for the same reason I can’t wait to get the sl40 back. Sorry Collin, but, quite simply, I can do more stuff with your successor.

I realise I haven’t written much of any length on here recently, and that most of my last few blog entries have been link-oriented. I’m afraid this one won’t be much different. I simply haven’t had the time to sit down and tap out a good long rant in the last week or so. I keep intending to let loose on the arseholes who wrote a letter to the telegraph this week arguing that tax for the rich should be abolished. Can you believe that at a time when people up and down the country are suffering due to the cuts, some people can be selfish enough to think those fortunate enough to be able to put money back into the system should be able to keep more of their money and to hell with everyone else? That attitude, the way which some see the world only in terms of being an individual rather than as part of a community, really gets to me. Do they not realise that they are the lucky few, and so should contribute back into society? One of these days I am going to sit down and outline my entire world view on here; I’m basically a socialist, but mine is a type of socialism relating to and born of notions surrounding physical ability. It seems to me that one’s social worth is still related to physical ability, especially in terms of having a job, and it shouldn’t be. But that’s a diatribe for another day, so I’ll just send you here to a very illuminating and in a way related guardian article on how the UK is at risk of breaching international obligations to disabled people, and go mutter into a cup of coffee.

This is probably lazy blogging, but given that I blogged about ‘Proud and Prejudiced’ three days ago I might as well flag another excellent programme about multiculturalism. Make Bradford British was on last night but I missed half of it because chopper came over. I just re-watched it, and the concept struck me as genius. It seems like Channel four are making a real effort to examine the relationships between the different subcultures in the UK. I personally think they’ve been rather successful in highlighting the hollowness of ethnic prejudice with these two films. Of course, whether the beeb’s series of programmes on disability next week is just as commendable remains to be seen.

I had not really intended to note that yesterday was a leap year day (interesting, but hardly blogworthy). But I was just made aware of something quite incredible: my friend James’ cousin, Emma, gave birth yesterday. That’s pretty extraordinary in itself, but she had quadruplets. Four boys born on a day which only comes every four years. Now, if that isn’t blogworthy, I don’t know what is. Although ten weeks premature, all four babies are well. I’d like to express my heartfelt congratulations to James and his family, and I promise to buy him a drink next time we meet up. In the meantime, you can read all about it here.