Closely following his appearance at the olympic opening ceremony, James Bond can be seen in the new skyfall trailer, available here. what a busy guy bond must be?! this new trailer looks excellent; they seem to be continuing the themes started with casino Royale and Quantum of Solace, making for a grittier, more realistic bond. Definitely something to look forward to, although, as I wrote here, I’ll probably be squealing over the sight of 007 jumping out of a helicopter with the queen for quite some time.

[img description=”undefined image” align=”centre”]/images/aniversary 1.jpeg[/img]Today marks the first anniversary of my brother Mark and Kat. It does not seem a year since I wrote this entry. Anyway, happy anniversary, and have a great day guys!

A few weeks ago I wrote that there was a rumour that Peter Jackson was going to make three hobbit films rather than two. At the time it struck me as daft – given that the hobbit is a single book, making two films rather than just one seemed overkill. Yesterday it was confirmed a third film is to be made, and I must admit it seemed to make more sense: he has too much material to just put into two films. Moreover, I suppose you could have written the same of Lord of the rings: that is a single narrative which only ended up as three due to the printing restrictions of the fifties. PJ may have made a single film that, or two, as was the plan at one point. Then again, the hobit is shorter and more straightforward dramatically than it’s sequel, so it will be interesting to see what material he has mined from tolkien’s appendices and notes.

I was sent this last night by my friend Johnboy. It’s a very well written blog entry looking at the daily mail’s racism and hatred of the NHS in the wake of the olympic opening ceremony. The mail is a paper which already pisses me off intently – every time I see anyone picking it up at the co-op or carrying it in the street I have to fight hard against the urge to shout Prepare for ramming speed! – and so to see it spewing so much bile about things I am very proud of fills me with rage. I won’t comment further as the entry can speak well enough for itself, other than to say ‘go read’, but be prepared to be appalled at what hateful racism one of our most popular papers is spewing these days.

The American right are not happy about our opening ceremony. They’re calling it propaganda because it sang the praises of our NHS. Apparently, we have no right to be proud of having universal access to free healthcare; their draconian system where, if you can’t pay for care you are fucked, is so much better. They found it ‘appalling’ that we should praise a system with death panels, and we just supported it because our media (presumably a reference to the beeb) is ‘controlled by the government’.

As a man who has many friends who owe their lives to the NHS, and who lives in the comfortable knowledge that, should he or his loved ones ever fall ill, he need not worry about paying for first rate care, I say this: stop parroting the mindless gibberish you hear on Fox, stop just assuming your way is better and look at the facts. We have good reason to be proud of the NHS, and if you just stopped swallowing the capitalist shite you are fed every day like the sheep you are for one moment, you would realise why. I am proud of that segment of the ceremony; for you to call it propaganda only goes to show how ignorant and arrogant you are. The NHS is our legacy, of which I am bloody proud. Insult it, and you insult my country; insult my country and you insult me. Keep your unfair, barbaric system if you must, but do not for one moment think it better than the British National Health Service.

I must say I found the olympic opening ceremony truly remarkable. Of course, my favourite bit was the sketch where James Bond collects the queen from the palace. I had worried that the rumours of Bond’s involvement were a hoax, but it is testimony to the british sense of humour, and indeed the queen’s, that I can now send you here. I find the idea of the queen being accompanied to the stadium by 007 a masterstroke, and this clip will probably have me squealing with glee for a few weeks.

Who knew that her majesty could parachute so well?!

Genius!

KC has a point: in a reply to my entry about our trip to Brighton, she asked me ” why do you make such a big thing having a average time?” her inference being that we were not doing anything particularly extraordinary in having a day trip. That is certainly true: many people, disabled or not, go on such trips all the time; I suppose a few of them wake up on beaches far more exotic (and less stony) than bighton’s. that is all part of regular, normal life – there is no reason to make such a big fuss about normality.

Yet, at the same time, there is. I need hardly lecture KC (if those initials correspond to the name I assume) about disability history. I may never have woken up on a beach, but in a long stay hospital bed, day after day. Thus to me such events are worth celebrating, worth writing about. That is especially so given it was my first ever night out. To me it is essential to record such things, to show others that our lives can be just as normal as any other. I get great joy from being able to sit here and describe my life – somehow it makes the experience whole, more complete. Mind you, part of me worries what Lyn feels about me broadcasting almost every part of our lives to the world.

How can I blog about the events of last night without giving too much away? Part of me is even loathe to tell you where we were, as I’d have to explain why Lyn and I were there, which is a secret. I’ll just say it ruled, and you’ll all see what we saw last night tomorrow.

(god I love being mysterious)

The last few days have been crazy: crazier than Paris, crazier than Newquay, crazier than ever. Lyn and I seem to be going through a particularly hectic period, with almost every day filled with something new, some new great adventure. I can honestly say I have never felt so alive, and the best part is there is no sign of it stopping.

As I reported yesterday, on Monday we went to Brighton. That, mind you, was after we had come back from a friend’s house the night before, where we had been since Saturday afternoon. Basically – and this is worthy of a blog entry in itself – Lyn and I went to a house party in Blackheath and decided to stay the night. I woke up Sunday morning wondering where the devil I was. We did not get home till about ten, and then in the morning we set off for Brighton.

What a place Brighton is! I had been there before, but I had not had chance to see it properly in the rain. Within minutes of getting off the train on Monday, I was contemplating moving there. I fell in love with the windy little streets, so different to those of London. Our principal aim in going there was to buy a didgeridoo (what else?!) John needed to buy one for Dominic to replace the one he broke, and us two crips just went along for the ride. That aim was soon completed, and we set off to explore. As soon as we found a fancy dress shop which sold zentai suits, I knew I was going to like it there. Dom said it was best not to buy one though, as we would probably find somewhere cheaper.

We wound our way down through the streets to the beach. My first sight of the sea in what felt like an age took my breath away: clear blue water under a cloudless blue sky, it was simply beautiful. We walked along the seafront, taking it all in, watching at one point as john and dom took a swim. Trying to account for everything that happened thereafter seems pretty pointless, as it would simply form a list of events. However, at about eleven we decided not to go home, except for Jikki, Dominic’s mate, who needed to return to London to see his girlfriend. Little did I know we had began the longest, coolest night of my recent life.

We bought some supplies and walked on. The plan was to stay up for a bit then find a hostel to sleep. We shortly came to the park outside the famous pavilion, where we found a group of Spaniards. They were students I think, probably here for the Olympics. Lyn, john and Dominic played them some music, and they took an interest in Dom’s Didgeridoo. So it was that I came to see one of the most random events of my life: a polish guy teaching a Spanish guy to play the didgeridoo outside Brighton pavilion at about three on a Tuesday morning.

Some time later we walked on. By then it was about four in the morning, and the sun was rising. We needed somewhere to sleep. We looked around a bit, at one point asking a man who professed to be a Jedi, but by then the hostels were all shut. I was tired and irritable. We eventually went down onto Brighton’s stony beach, and, using wheelchair cushions for pillows, slept there.

I woke up some time later, the sun beating down and the beach filing with people in swimwear. Lyn lay next to me asleep. I was sore, hungry, and needed a poo, and yet happy: I had just spent my first night under the stars. Had I been in a bed, I would have slept on, but given how busy the beach was getting, I felt it wise to wake everyone up. It turned out it was about ten, and, after a poo and a coffee on the pier, I felt surprisingly refreshed. We then spent the day drinking pimms on the pier, in no real hurry to head home. At about four, we headed back into town, eating at the Bath arms, a pub serving excellent food where we had eaten the night before. Then, stopping only for me to a last buy my suit (a red one this time), we made ur way back to the station and then home.

I cannot describe how alive I feel. The past two days, and indeed the past few weeks, have been packed with so much fun. I feel utterly exhilarated. I never thought it possible for me to live this type of life – me, a VOCA using spazz. Yet now, the adventure seems never ending. Mind you, I suppose it hasn’t actually stopped since my first day at university. This summer has been packed with great times, and now that the sun has come out, a if some deity had just realised she had forgotten it was july and finally flipped the switch marked ‘summer’, it seems they have only just began.

[u][/u]this is my first entry made onn my ipad. lyn and I are sitting outside a pub in bbrighton, about to enjoy one last meal here before heading home. its been a crazy oouple of days – what started as a day trip turned into a full two day visit. my battery is getting low, however so the full account, including the tale of how dominik taught some spaniards to play the didgeridoo, will have to wait.

I have never felt so alive!

We got home rather late yesterday after quite a mad weekend. I popped onto facebook to relax, only to see my friend Paula had written this:

[quote=”Paula”]can anybody help my neighbour in charlton plz her motability scooter was stolen in the early hours of sunday morning ..anyone with any information can you please get back to me asap[/quote]

I think I know this woman – a nice lady who always waves in passing. what sick person would steal a scooter. If anyone can help, please contact me or paula.

[img description=”undefined image” align=”centre”]/images/lincoln pic.jpeg[/img]

I suppose I ought to post an account of the events of yesterday on here, but the question is, where to begin. How does one summarise what in the event turned out to be one of the best, craziest days I have had in a long time? The irony is, I thought yesterday was going to be one of those quiet days I spend on the sofa with m head in a book or watching TV. Lyn, however, had a much better idea.

At about noon she proposed we go out. The volume control on her Ipad was broken, and she wanted to go to the apple store up in Oxford Street to see if anything could be done about it. I thought it was a great idea: the sun was finally out, and I was in the mood for an outing. So off we went, myself, Lyn and our PA John, setting off for what I presumed would be a routine outing into London and back.

It always takes a while for us to get up there. We go to North Greenwich, take the tube and walk from Westminster. It is a pleasant enough trip, especially on a day like yesterday, and we stopped on the way for a coffee. When we finally reached the Apple store, however, we were told that the Ipad was out of warranty and so could not be replaced or repaired. Save for the volume control, it is still a fully functional machine, but, given that Lyn uses it as a communication aid, as well as for a host of other activities, we felt she needed one in pristine working order. There was only one thing for it, something I had been thinking about for some time anyway: buy Lyn an Ipad two. It was a great idea, especially since it meant I could use her old Ipad – something which, truth be told, I’ve had my eye on for ages. My lightwriter is wearing out and badly in need of repair, and given how tight money is right now, this seemed a great solution. We therefore went halves on the Ipad, and both left the store happy.

By then, however, I was hungry, and quite fancied a beer. Lyn, though, had other udeas, taking us first to HMV then to another apple store in Covent Garden, in search of headphones. I swear, headphones are to Lyn are like shoes are to other women: she has to try them all on. To be fair, john was not much better, but to cut a long story short by the time we had finished it was well passed dinner time.

That, however, was easily remedied, and in some style too. We found an Italian place not far away, where I had what must be the best pizza I have eaten in a very long time. It was delicious, as was, they told me, Lyn’s and John’s. I washed it down with a good glass of Hogaarden. But then there was a problem, as the place we were at did not serve Bells, which, mixed with coke, is the only alcoholic beverage Lyn likes. We had a choice between calling it a night – which, given how late it was, I expected we would do – or going to find another pub. We chose the latter, and it was at that point that the fun really began.

Bellies full of pizza, we headed off into the London nightlife. I felt alive, and couldn’t help reflecting to myself on how long it had been since my last outing into soho as ‘Becky’. After looking around for a while, we found an accessible pub. It was late, and we had not been there long when the bell for last orders sounded, but by then we had been befriended by a couple, an English man and a Spanish (I think) woman. They were friendly enough, and we chatted until closing time.

As we left the pub I expected we had began the journey home. I was mistaken – London had other ideas. It was rather nippy, and Lyn needed her coat on, but as John was helping her, we heard a voice, strong and commanding. We had been spotted, it seems, by a woman, who, seeing Lyn struggling with the coat, decided we needed her help. What happened then I cannot really describe: the woman, her rather bemused date in tow, invited us to a club with her. She was very excitable, middle-class and had a powerful, persuasive voice; frankly we didn’t have a choice other than to go with this loud, seemingly crazy yet somehow endearing stranger. The woman, whose name was Elsa, by turns annoyed me intently and fascinated me. I’m just glad john was with us. Yet to be honest we had great fun with her: we went to a LGBT club, and had a drink together – it turned out she had been born into a military family but now worked in the film industry. She struck me as that unusual type of person: obviously very intelligent, highly articulate, yet somehow different to the rest of us. She annoyed me, yet I somehow enjoyed being annoyed by her because I enjoyed her company. Her date, a much more down-to-earth guy called Edward, was also very knowledgeable about film.

We left about two hours later, finally getting home just before four. I had not had a night like that in a very long time. It was the type of night when anything went, and you never knew what was going to happen. For me the best part was that Lyn was with me: I think we both needed a night like that. I certainly hope we have more nights like that. I woke up this morning desperately wanting more sleep, but then the thought struck me that I have an Ipad to get to know, and Lyn has her Ipad two to explore. I also wondered if we would ever see Elsa again; she annoyed the hell out of me, but the strange thing is, I really hope we do.

I still volunteer at the local special school – I find it rewarding and insightful. Today was the end of term meal for the class I’ve been working with. We went to an old Jacobean barn which has been converted into quite a nice restaurant; definitely somewhere I intend to take lyn. I got home just after three, surprisingly tired: I must be getting old or something, as I used to be able to take such days with ease. Working with school kids is not as easy as it seems. It was all I could do to pop on an episode of Game of Thrones on my computer and settle down. I haven’t watched it in a while, and was wondering why I hadn’t seen it on telly – I’d prefer to be able to watch it while lying on the sofa in the front room. Of course, I remembered as soon as I saw the first nude body. That’s something I almost certainly won’t be telling the kids at school about, although I did become interested at the prospect of a character who cannot walk becoming involved somehow. Anyway, you can’t beat a bit of ned stark after a long day.

I would like to turn my attention today to a subject I have not looked at in a while. Over the weekend I started to think about disability again, how disability is defined and what constitutes the disability community. This was occasioned by my online discussions with my friend James: we had both read the views of a man who calls himself a disability activist and consultant, positing that the disability rights movement and disabled community has become infiltrated and saturated by people with ‘minor impairments’ who ”define themselves as disabled and regarded themselves as opposed by the benefits system for failing to accept they are disabled as they fight with obsession against the welfare reforms” but who have ” turned illness into a lifestyle and by failing to cope responsibility, they create the disability they clear find some sense of comfort from.” In other words, to him there are people in the disability community who he thinks do not belong in it, people whom he condescendingly and arrogantly terms as using their ‘minor impairments’ to garner pity and political leverage.

Of course most people rightly ignore such baseless gibberish, but I cannot. The guy is a loon, and part of me thinks I should get on with something else. But given this guy calls himself an activist, there is a danger that others might confuse these views with those of the mainstream or think they have some sort of validity. They emphatically do not, but to make such a statement I need to examine why not. To do that, however, I need to put forward a definition of disability, which, as I once wrote here, is not that straightforward.

Since I wrote my ‘us and them’ entry, my views have, of course, evolved. Disability, according to the social model, occurs when social constraints mean that, due to an impairment, one cannot act as you otherwise would. Having an impairment does not mean you are disabled: I use an electric wheelchair because I can’t walk far, but that in itself is not my disability. What disables me is when I cannot go where I need to because of the lack of lifts and ramps. Thus in this sense disability is a result of constraints on those with impairments imposed by a society reluctant to adapt, and can be framed as a form of oppression.

The disabled community can therefore be described as a loosely-affiliated group of people prevented from functioning ‘normally’ by social constraints of whatever form. These can range from the obvious physical constraints wheelchair users face to public signs written in language that a person with learning disabilities might not be able to understand. I must admit, however, this does strike me as problematic in some senses: where does one draw the line? Can smokers now be said to be disabled – they have a physical addiction to nicotine but are currently prevented from sating that addiction in public places. Under such a model, a cynic could say that anyone who feels prevented from acting as they like by a social rule could define themselves as disabled.

I think that that is, in part, what this writer is getting at. He is, however, still dangerously wrong. Yes, disability is now a broad church, and yes it is open to abuse, but I would ask upon what basis does he exclude those he terms ‘wannabe’ disabled people? He writes ”These people hide themselves in the social media where their true identity remains a mystery despite the media attention they received, but I have looked at the information they purport to have in terms of being disabled as it does not always add up.” In other words, he has made himself arbiter of who is disabled and who isn’t, who is a valid member of our community and who is not. Forgive me an ad hominen attack, but I find such a notion utterly arrogant and distasteful. As soon as we do that, as soon as we start trying to arbitrarily divide up the disability community from the inside, we start down a very dangerous road. Who is he – who is anyone – to tell someone they aren’t disabled? To seek to divide disabled people into subgroups – say, those with severe conditions and those with milder impairments – would irrevocably weaken what political power we, as one united group, may have. It may be a semi-self-selecting group but unless it stays united it is nothing but a group of cripples bickering over who is in and who is out. Frankly, to get Freudian for a moment, the fact that this blogger seeks to stratify disability while insisting on the severity of his own condition might suggest a certain insecurity on his part – he might be more able than he wants us to think. But then, never having met the guy, that is just speculation. Nevertheless, such a stratification is essentially as baseless as the attempt I made three or four days ago to stratify the blogsphere, although whereas the arrogant gibberish I spewed about blogs was harmless, I see great danger in putting forth the idea that some disabled people are merely wannabes, and cannot let it go unchallenged. Such tosh smacks of thatcherism, even social darwinism. Indeed, the idea that some people choose to be disabled as a ‘lifestyle choice’ is an insult to those whose conditions might be less obvious but who are no less oppressed. Coming from a person who calls himself a disability rights activist, this horrifies me, as does the absurd insinuation that some disability rights activists are actually able bodied people who merely have an obsessive grievance with the welfare reforms.

The disability community is blossoming at the moment. As I wrote here, there is a need for disability arts. Indeed, with the Paralympics and the Paraorchestra coming up, disabled people will soon tae centre stage. Part of the best parts of this wonderful community, though, is it’s vibrancy, variety, and acceptance. As soon as we stop accepting people for who they claim to be, as soon as we start questioning the rights of others to term themselves disabled because their conditions might not be as severe as ours, then we have lost our way. Smokers might not be disabled, and some may scoff at my example, but the incontrovertible fact remains that oppressed people, no matter the form of oppression, must stay united. Variety must be welcomed, difference accommodated, xenophobia, upon whatever basis, fought. In this era of cuts, with money tight and people with disabilities, no matter how minor, being seen more and more as an inconvenience, we must always be able to fall back on each other.

Yesterday afternoon I finished reading From Hobbits to Hollywood, a book of essays looking at Peter Jackson’s film adaptation of The Lord Of The Rings. I would have finished it long before now, but it has been a busy few weeks. It is, however, an excellent collection of essays: as a student of film, I was glad to see this trilogy treated with such a degree of academic rigour rather than being completely ignored. I always said Jackson’s was a remarkable achievement.

Now, as with any collection of essays, some are better than others. However, overall, the quality of these essays was very high. Of course, I was mining the book for material I could use in my never ending Master’s thesis, and I am pleased to say I think there are one or two useful bits. Surprisingly, an essay of the architecture in these films by Steven Woodward and Kostis Kourelis might be the most useful for my purposes, as it explores background details, something which links nicely into Cinephiliac Moments. There is also an essay by Murray Pomerance exploring the dramatic aspects of disappearing in relation to cinema history. Pomerance, who also edited the book, also wrote The Horse Who Drank The Sky, a fascinating text about filmic love. Also noteworthy is Golum as Golem by Tom Gunning, the essay which took me the longest to read: I was not that enthusiastic about it, and I kept getting distracted, but the last few pages proved interesting. It examined the philosophical aspects to CGI, which might also be useful in relation to my thesis.

There are about twenty individual texts in this book; summarising all of them would take far too long. I found most of them quite fascinating even if they were not relevant to my thesis, although it was clear from some that their authors, having been asked to write an essay for this book, had merely watched the films once or twice and dashed off something general.

I’m currently keeping a keen eye on Jackson, the release of the hobbit being only months away. He did a superb job with Lord of the Rings, and my liking for those films has only deepened since reading these essays. That’s why I’m quietly optimistic about the hobbit, although the current rumour that he’s now making three films rather than two seems rather odd. Mind you, I don’t think one should ever underestimate Peter Jackson.

The official Paraorchestra blog is not yet up, so I think I better record this here. It’s very cool anyway, and definitely blogworthy. I don’t remember feeling as

intimidated or out of my depth as I did yesterday since my first day at uni; I felt like I should have been wearing my suit (or, perhaps, my best evening dress). Lyn and I were at the meal welcoming the Paralympic team: the Paraorchestra played during the event, so we were backstage rather than at the meal proper. Nevertheless, I was rather awe-struck: we were at a posh venue in central London; big guys in suits were everywhere; the British Paralympic team were all there; Jeremy Hunt was due to give a speech. And there was I, wondering how on earth I had stumbled into all this.

The performance itself went well, and I’m pleased to say was very well received. Charles gave a short speech introducing the orchestra, and I watched from the wings as the group played a short version of their ‘Greensleeves’. There was huge applause at the end, but I think the audience was expecting them to play another song, as then there was a sort of expectant silence. I think they were surprised to see the orchestra leaving the stage, and indeed disappointed. I think I’ll mention the idea of expanding the repertoire to Lyn and/or Charles.

All the same, it was a great event; I don’t know about Lyn but I got home shattered. There were apparently a few A-list celebrities there, but I didn’t notice any – I was too busy resisting the urge to go and have a firm word with Mr. Hunt. Mind you, at one point during the build up, I wondered if Boris was coming – now that would have been fun.

Yesterday was quite a day; a fantastic day! It started ordinarily enough, but when she got up, Lyn proposed we go to the current 007 exhibition in the Barbican. Bond usually isn’t her thing, but I had been yearning to go for a few days, and I think she thought it best to get it out of my system. So off we went. I have such a great girlfriend!

I must say I was quite impressed with the exhibition. It focuses on the stylistics of the bond films – the sets, the locations, the cars, the costumes – and it was interesting to see such things deconstructed. You might say it was about the mise-en-scene of the bond films. I felt like a child in an amazing new playground: I got a thrill from seeing Scaramanger’s infamous Golden Gun (made from a pen and a cigarette box, apparently), but sadly I don’t recall seeing any jetpacks.

To round it all off, they had a martini bar, where I enjoyed my first authentic martini for a while. It reminded me of the one I had in Sydney, and I was able to say ”one medium dry vodka martini, shaken, not stirred” for the first time without the barman looking at me like I was some kind of freak. Lyn did not like hers, so I finished hers off. I then thought, perhaps foolishly, that I would try a Vesper, which I found I preferred. After that, feeling rather light headed, we started for home. I was thrilled at having seen this fascinating exhibition, and would highly recommend it to any bond fan or film student.

Bloggers seem to carry more and more weight these days – it’s quite an interesting phenomenon really. I as just reading this article about the Hobbit, where I saw Peter Jackson mention the influence of the so-called blogsphere: ” There is a huge audience waiting to see ‘The Hobbit,’ and any positive press from Comic-Con will truthfully have little impact on that. However, as we saw at CinemaCon earlier this year, with our 48 frames per second presentation, negative bloggers are the ones the mainstream press runs with and quotes from.” Reading that, it suddenly struck me how much power bloggers now hold. Writers have always held power, of course, but historically that was an art form reserved for a select few with publishers and editors acting as gatekeepers. These days, anyone can write and have their musings read by a potentially vast audience.

Yet I don’t think this has brought about the democratic parity you might think: not all blogs are equal. A few blogs have risen to the top, and their authors have become very influential, reaching vast audiences. Below them are a vast amount of blogs written by guys like me, harping on about anything that interests them; they usually have their own domains, and moderate readership (mind you, apart from my immediate family and maybe a few friends, I have no idea who reads my entries.) They are also written by people who call themselves bloggers..

Lowest in the blogsphere hierarchy are guys who write stuff on things like Livejournal or Blogspot. I don’t think they should be called blogs as that connotes a specific personal site. While no doubt some of the writing on those can be brilliant, most constitute the inane rantings of hormonal adolescents. There are too many of them for any one to stand out, so I tend to see them as a mass of irrelevant drivel. They usually aren’t updated frequently, aren’t written by people who call themselves bloggers – ie writers who specifically intend to impart their world view to others – and so I don’t think should be taken as seriously as other blogs.

But that’s only my view. I suppose I am spoiled by having my own domain. Yet I do think there’s a certain blogging hierarchy which is part of web culture, and that interests me as a student of culture in general. Nevertheless, it is fascinating to note how much power the blogsphere now holds, and especially the new type of miniblogging on twitter.

I have been pondering a blog entry about the lords reforms all day. This morning in the bath I was all set to write a fairly long entry about it; the subject certainly deserves looking into in some depth. Yet, now that I have sat myself in front of my computer and started to write, what can I say? On the one hand we have the fact that the upper house functions as a fairly good safety measure in case the commons ever goes too far. On the other, we have the fact that it is undemocratic, and that some lords are lords simply through birth. Then again, he fact that some lords didn’t choose to be there – ie, they are not motivated by personal ambition – may in fact be a good thing. I like too how certain members of the public can be appointed to the lords on merit, like Lord Winston and Lord Attenborough, bringing their expertise and wisdom to the chamber but without having chosen to be there. That, perhaps, is the way to go: not an entirely elected chamber, but a chamber with some members appointed on merit. Nevertheless that is not to say I find the idea of hereditary peers at all palatable: the notion that some people can be ‘born to rule’, holding power simply through accident of birth, has no place in a modern western democracy.

I just stumbled onto this oddity, a cartoon-based blog about a family whose members all have disabilities. I don’t know where they’re going with it, and to my mind this first entry is written in a wierd, over-explanatory way – ie, they [i]tell[/i] rather than [i]show[/i] – but it seems to have huge potential for highlighting the plight of those with disabilities in britain today. Definitely worth keeping an eye on.

I don’t have that much to say today. I am, of course, rathe disappointed with the tennis result: Murray gave his all, and the nation should be proud of him, but Federer was just too good. I did however come across this interesting article about the research into communication systems which are controlled directly from the brain. It seems systems are being developed which would allow one to control a VOCA just by thinking. An interesting prospect indeed, although I’m not sure I like the idea of others being able to hear my thoughts: my brain can be an awfully fucked up pace at times – believe me, you do not want to go in there. Mind you, the question does arise over how they would control which thought remain thoughts and which ones are actually said. I sometimes consider five or six ays of saying something before saying it, whether on my Lightwriter or vocally, so how would such a machine know when you have decided on your final utterance?

I love this city. I hate this city

It’s size thrills me. It’s size daunts me.

I find it’s complexity intimidating. I find it’s complexity intriguing.

I love it because of it’s endless variety. I find it’s variety hard to comprehend.

I love it’s motion, but hate it for never staying still.

I may sometimes hate London, but I’ll always love being a Londoner.

It has been another long, busy day, and I’m quite tired. I don’t think I’ve had such a busy couple of days in quite a while, and it feels good. The thing is, as often happens not much happened today tat I can blog about in short, so I’ll just direct you here, to a rather excellent article on Last night’s Newsnight about the cultural inapt and relevance of James bond, of which I am still a huge fan. I started to watch it about ten hours ago, then we went out, and I only just got round to the second half

Just so you guys know, today I was confirmed as the semi-official blogger for the British Paraorchestra. I felt I had to do something for the organisation, and, since I’m a writer rather than a musician, I volunteered my services as chronicler. I will, of course, continue to write my own blog – after all, the two have very different focuses – but from time to time I plan to link from here to my entries on there. After all, it’s hard enough sometimes keeping one blog up to date, left alone two! I’ll post the details when it’s all set up.

It has been a fairly long day. Lyn and I got home fairly late and I flicked on the news, hoping to relax before bed, when I saw this remarkable news. The higgs has been discovered – it is real! I’m not a physicist, and I can’t begin to understand the implications of this finding; I only know that this is a momentous day upon which history has been written (if i is confirmed, of course), and I would be a lax blogger indeed if I didn’t mark this event. Mind you, exploring what this means will have to wait until the morning for me – bed must sometimes take precedence over fundamental physics.

I do not have much to blog about today. Lyn has a busy few weeks with the Paraorchestra coming up, and I now really want to become involved in that in some nonmusical capacity too, so today I think was a chill-out day before the madness. I just read and watched tennis. I did, however, come across the beginnings of an idea which I think needs flagging up: Katie Caryer has proposed the creation of a monthly disability-based comedy club in london. I do not think such a thing exists yet, so I think it’s an awesome idea. I don’t quite know what Kate has in mind, so you, like me, will have to ask her about the details, but as an embryonic idea I think it’s fantastic and well worth pursuing.

I do not recall ever feeling more proud than I did yesterday afternoon – both proud of Lyn and proud of belonging to the disability community. I know I have written that elsewhere recently, but the events of yesterday were even more incredible than the recent solo concert the Paraorchestra did. Yesterday they played together, as one group, in front of a live audience, for the first time, and they sounded wonderful. A festival called Orchestra in a field at a venue not far from Glastonbury Abbey saw the debut performance of an orchestra composed entirely of musicians with a disability, and I now have absolutely no doubt it will be the first of many.

I had been worried that the idea of an orchestra exclusively for people with disabilities sent the wrong message. That, in an era where we are all working towards inclusion, in overtly segregated disabled musicians. Yet unlike the special schools, the Paraorchestra was formed through choice. It’s members choose to play for it. It allows them to express their talents which have been disregarded elsewhere. Thus, rather than being an effort to segregate, the Paraorchestra is an exercise in inclusion, bringing musicians with together all kinds of musical interests. On this level, I think it’s an expression of disability culture and vibrancy of the first order.

Indeed, after the performance yesterday afternoon, I had a chance to talk briefly to Charles Hazlewood, the man who set the Paraorchestra up, about just that. He shared my concerns, and had encountered them before from others. He was well aware of the potential dangers, but said that the Paraorchestra should be seen as just a first step, a platform from which musicians with disabilities could go on to other things. Moreover, as I found out from emma, the assistant producer, on the bus coming back, it has always been Charles’ intention to include able-bodied musicians too. That being so, I really hope the Paraorchestra is embraced by the wider disability community.

They really do first rate work: yesterday, they did two pieces, versions of greensleeves and ballero. It’s based on improvisation, where each member of the group, instruments ranging from harp to Ipad, picking up and playing variations on a set tune. Thus the music might be seen as a metaphor for disability itself, if not life in general, where diversity and variety come together to form a beautiful, melodic whole. I therefore truly believe that what I saw yesterday down in Glastonbury was the birth of something incredible.