Earlier I was wondering why Bond didn’t appear at last nights paralympic opening ceremony, and came across this explanation. The strange thing is, the dude in the video looks a lot like me, and even shares my name…

Last night I could not help thinking ‘this is us’. It was as if my people, the vibrant community to which I belong, had suddenly taken centre stage, and I have rarely felt more proud. I felt as if the eyes of the world have turned towards the disabled community, and the British disabled community in particular, and finally saw us for who we truly are. In short I found the Paralympic opening ceremony a triumph.

I had feared I would find it condescending; I had feared it would be full of patronising imagery and slogans like ‘triumph over adversity’ and ‘don’t they do well’, as if this was something which had to be done after the Olympics to keep us cripples happy. Instead, I felt last night’s ceremony was just as impressive, grandiose and enthusiastic as the first. This was no afterthought, no tagged on sequel, but a pre-planned second volume of an epic novel, the denouement of a tale started by norms but continued by us crips. To see the second event being taken no less seriously than the first felt very gratifying indeed.

Unfortunately, there was no grand entrance by the queen. I must admit to being mildly disappointed by that. After she parachuted in with double-oh-seven last time, I was half expecting something similar. I thought there was an outside chance that they might just replay that film, although I daresay that would have just looked lazy. It would have been cooler, in my opinion, to have done something similar but with a disability slant. What if Francesca Martinez and Matt Frazer had gone to collect her majesty in a dial-a-ride bus, or Steven Hawking had ‘beamed’ her in with his star-trek style transporter? In the event she simply appeared: not as cool as being escorted to the stadium by James Bond, but fair enough, the joke had been done.

I was glad to see that Professor Hawking did indeed have a major role to play in the ceremony. Proffessor Hawking has been one of my rolemodels for as long as I can remember, being the first VOCA user I ever knew about. I was thrilled to see him being featured so prominently. Mind you, it must be said that hawking is a bit of a living, breathing disability stereotype – that of the crippled genius – so his inclusion might have been rather obvious. Think cripple, think Hawking. On the whole, though, I think including him as narrator was a good move, and I must admit it brought a tear to my eye when he exulted everyone to look up at the stars and not down at our feet. When he said ” We are all different, there is no such thing as a standard or run-of-the-mill human being but we share the same human spirit. What is important is that we have the ability to create. This creativity can take many forms, from physical achievement to theoretical physics” I realised this ceremony was being used as a tool to ram home messages that disability rights campaigners have been trying to convey for many years.

I also liked the inclusion of Sir Ian Mackellen, not for any disability link but simply because he is one of my current favourite actors. Whenever he appeared, I couldn’t help but think ‘Mithrandir’. I had to raise an eyebrow, though, at the fact he was reading prospero’s lines from The Tempest. After all, in part The Tempest sings the praises of colonialism and imperialism: prospero is very much portrayed as superior to Caliban, the subjugated native of the island who in some ways can be seen as disabled. Miranda irritates me too, being a wimpish, naive girl always accepting her father’s word.

That aside, the latter half of the ceremony struck me as a great success, for after Shakespeare came something far more up to date. The moment Ian Dury’s Spasticus Autisticus struck up, I realised the ceremony directors had actually been listening to us crips, and if there is one thing we like it’s ironically playing with others’ perceptions of us. It was great to see that kind of self-knowing crip humour on such a major stage. The moment that song started, I thought ”this is for us!” as it displayed the same type of self-awareness I read in many disability activists. After that, I was kind of hoping that someone would say something about the cuts – after all, there is something to be said about the spectacle of so many disabled people performing in front of a prime minister who is depriving them of the means to live but that would have gone too far. It was just good to see a bit of true disability culture, rather than seeing the usual patronising images of poor crippled kids or disabled people who think they’re being provocative by playing pranks on the public when in fact they are reinforcing stereotypes.

All in all, then, I thought the opening ceremony of the Paralympics was a great success. For me, the greatest and most telling aspect was the fact that it was very much the equal to it’s predecessor: it was no less spectacular than the Olympic opening ceremony; no doubt it took no less effort to create and perform. It occurs to me that this is a sign that disability culture and politics may be about to enter the mainstream a bit more, and that the disability community might be about to raise it’s profile. After all, that’s exactly what happened in china after Beijing hosted the Olympics. I certainly hope so: who knows, these games could herald something of a renaissance for the disability community. If it does, however, we must work hard not to squander the political capital that would come with it: we must show that, while we have triumphed, it is despite and not because of the government’s current actions. The disability community now has a golden opportunity to take centre stage: we can ill afford to let it pass us by right now.

Rarely have I seen a more aggressive piece of writing in a newspaper, but I really must link to this article about Atos by Mark Steel. It is openly one sided, sarcastic, combative and very very angry – I absolutely love it!

For some reason earlier today I was struck by the urge to find out about India. It might have been inspired by my friend Jonathon’s pictures, who, it would appear, recently came back from a holiday in the subcontinent. After seeing his pictures, I suddenly wanted to read up about India and it’s history. I have a habit of letting my mind go off on tangents like that; I wonder whether that is related to my cerebral palsy, but I digress.

I also just watched the latest episode of Himalaya with Michael Palin on bbc iplayer, currently being repeated on bbc four on Sundays. That only made matters worse, for it now appears my wanderlust has returned. Lyn has recently started to talk about going on holiday again: I may not have seemed that keen on the idea at the time, but, believe me, nothing makes me more excited than the prospect of having another adventure. I think it’s a brilliant idea, and it certainly is high time that we had a nice break in somewhere exotic. It feels like ages since we went away, and I miss the buzz of anticipation and excitement you get when you are sitting in an aeroplane ready to take off, bound for a place you have never been before. Lyn is working her arse off right now especially, and deserves a break: our eyes need new sights to see, our lungs fresh air to breathe, our noses new smells to sample, and our tongues new tastes to try.

I suppose that will have to wait though. We have things to do here before we can think about heading off to parts unknown; we’ll also have to save up cash. Thus I’ll have to content myself with continuing to explore the concrete jungles of south London until I get to see the more leafy jungles of Bengal. Besides, the events of Saturday were pretty cool, and it’s not as if we don’t also have some pretty exciting things coming up, although I can’t tell you about that yet. Travel, then, must wait, at least until adventures at home have ran their course, and then, who knows? Mr. Palin’s footprints might well be followed by our tyre tracks.

Today I would just like to revisit this entry. Over the weekend I was thinking about geography, and how living in London does weird things to one’s sense of place. I still can’t get my head around just how vast this city is: on Saturday, on the coach to Snape Maltings, we seemed to be driving for ages before we left the city. It is almost as if London is it’s own world: back in Cheshire I could easily leave the town limits of Congleton and go to another village or town which had it’s own character and was divided from it by fields. In the metropolis I rarely feel that sense of entering another place: London just goes on and on, so that in a way it feels like it’s own world. Indeed, inasmuch as London doesn’t resemble anywhere else in Britain, it feels like I live in another country or even dimension, with it’s own rules. People behave differently here; you even have to think differently about things like space, place and travel, and you seem to forget there is a world outside London so that London becomes the world. It’s as if the very texture of the word is different. Although I do still sometimes miss driving down country lanes through the fields, London fascinates me in terms of being it’s own mini world, where there will always be new places to explore, as well as the strange things it does to one’s psyche.

Yesterday saw the second official performance of the British Paraorchestra, in which Lyn plays. What can I say? Never have I felt more proud than I did yesterday evening, sat amongst a large audience, looking down at the stage at Snape Maltings, watching my fiancee play. I know that some will try to say that the idea of an orchestra made up of disabled musicians doesn’t sound very inclusive, but on the contrary inclusivity at it’s heart. This is an orchestra where each members ability is carefully nurtured; pieces are intricately tailored to showoff each players’ ability and talent. The aim is not to exclude musicians who don’t have a disability, but to showcase what musicians with a disability can do. The result is a first class orchestra making first class music which I have no doubt is bound for great heights.

I just want to post a short entry today expressing my regret at the passing of Niel Armstrong. I remember learning about the apollo missions in school, and in my opinion Armstrong was not just an american hero, but a hero for all of mankind. It is a shame that we have lost a person who made such an important piece of human history, but it is an even greater shame that his legacy – the continued exploration of space – now seems to be waning. Click here for details.

My electric wheelchair is broken, and has been all week. Normally It would just mean a week on the sofa, but, as luck would have it, this week has been the busiest lyn and I have had in ages (see the latter half of tonight’s Paralympics show to see why). I’m rather tired, but oddly happy. I’ve walked everywhere: to begin with I dreaded it, but somehow I feel fitter. Today, for instance, has been a long active day, but I don’t think I’m as knackered as I expected to be. It reached a point where I actually began to enjoy being on my legs, especially getting to face forward on busses. That doesn’t mean, of course, that I don’t want my chair back: you should have heard the string of obscenities that came out of my mouth this evening when, getting onto a bus, nobody gave up their seat until after the damn thing started to move.

It has often been noted that adversity and struggle inspires the greatest art. Many of the best novels ever written, for instance, are those that argue against injustice or expose wrongs. This is also the case with the disabled people’s movement, especially now that we are being placed under so much pressure due to the current financial environment. I’d like to send you here, then, to a recording of a song by Dennis Queen. It was originally by Alan Holdsworth, and tells a story which is becoming alarmingly familiar. Such protest songs are now vital if we are going to expose what the cuts are doing to people with disabilities; the same goes for any other art form. The danger lies in our stories going unsaid, and thus unheard.

I do not have much to say today, but given that I commented briefly on this case a week ago, I’d like to extend my sympathies to the Nicklinson family. Tony Nicklinson died this morning of natural causes, having lost his case to be legally allowed to be assisted to commit suicide. I must say, though, that it does strike me as a bit odd, and I can’t help but smell a rat given that he died so soon after the case. That implies that he was quite close to death anyway: if so, why go through the stress of the case? However, given that the police aren’t treating his death as suspicious, the issue probably best be left alone, and I’ll just say my thoughts are with his family.

Sorry to resort to ad hominen bitchiness, but I think I need to note this. Having watched I’m Spazticus last night, this blog entry seems all the more ironic. The article I cite in it is by one of the actors in the show. In it he berates others for using disability a a ‘lifestyle choice’, but hypocritically exaggerates his own condition. On the evidence from last nights show, he can talk clearly yet insists on using a lightwriter, and can walk much better than I can but insists on using a chair. That alone I wouldn’t mind, but the fact he is so prejudiced against people he sees as pretending to be disabled, and then parades himself on channel four as a paragon of disability culture, really is hypocrisy beyond the pale. The rest of the show I did not have a problem with – infact I found it quite funny – I just cant abide either hypocrisy or prejudice.

Yesterday was another of those awesome days which were indeed awesome but I can’t blog about as it would give certain surprises away. It’s much too hot for sitting in here writing blog entries anyway. I will just say that we were with the sort of people who refer to the London Philharmonic Orchestra as the LPO, as if hanging around with such an illustrious organisation is just something one does, and that, if you can bear to buy a Murdoch paper, things will all be clarified in next week’s Sunday Times. Things right now are so exciting I really want to say more, but can’t. my urge to write must be suppressed, which is difficult, but it’s made easier by the knowledge that, when eventually you do find out what Lyn and I have been up to, which you will not long from now, you’ll all be blown away.

After my two glorious days in Middle-Earth, it’s back to the real world and far less comfortable things. I think I ought to just direct you here, to a blog entry by Miss queen concerning the case of Tony Nicklnson, who yesterday lost his case to be allowed to ask a doctor to kill him. While I’m not sure I agree with everything Phoebe says, she makes some very valid points, especially about self-pity and the perception of disabled people in general – it’s definitely worth a read for anyone interested in crip politics. As for myself, I do not know what to think, but on the whole I guess that I’m glad that the murder of cripples was not effectively legalized yesterday.

I have just finished doing something which, believe it or not, I had never done before. Yesterday morning I was struck by the urge to watch all three parts of The Lord Of the rings in one go. It had been an age since I’d watched it last, so I decided that there was no other thing for it than to sit down and watch it. The problem is, all three volumes of the extended edition come to eleven and a half hours long, so in the event I had to split it over two days, and even then I began to worry about neglecting Lyn. While I did enjoy it, and now feell a sense of accomplishment, the fact that I simply could not view it in one go as I would any other mainstream film begs the question, can Lord of The Rings be seen as a film in the conventional sense? Of course, on the one hand it is a piece of mainstream Hollywood cinema, conforming to many of its conventions (including the overuse of introducing reinforcements when any battle seems lost). But on the other hand, this film is not just another part of mainstream post-classical American cinema: when viewed as one text, as I’m sure both Tolkien and Jackson intended, it is too long to be a mere entertainment, or a distraction. Films usually last ninety minutes, at the end of which everyday life resumes. This film demands a special effort to watch: it is too long to be classed as entertainment – it almost demands too much effort and time to be entertaining. Thus it struck me that, given that to condense the plot any more than Jackson did would make a mockery of Tolkien’s book, the old maxim holds true that the lord of the rings is unfilmable. It cannot be translated into film as the word is conventionally used. Remarkable though it is, and, as an adaptation it could have been far worse*, Jackson could not render Tolkien’s work just as an (entertainment) movie: it demanded to be rendered as something more, something special, and that, in my opinion, is what we got. But on the other hand it strikes me, that in a way it ceased to be a pure piece of entertainment in the process; a great story became more of a work of art, in a way changing it’s status to something Jackson might not have intended. After all his intention was to entertain.

*Tolkien purist have reservations about Jackson’s many changes from the original, as do I, but just imagine what a car crash it would have been had Disney got the rights and decided to make a ninety minute version.

As well as being a musician of the highest order, Lyn seems to be fast becoming a great director. Today she finished her latest music video, which can now be found here. I think it’s great, of course, but I am also quite interested in the elongated transitions. You will see what I mean when you watch the film, but it’s a technique never seen in the mainstream. Cutting is almost always invisible, but here Lyn has drawn attention to them by making them longer, so for a while you have two separate images on the screen, two things to look at, one slowly seeping over the other. I find that cool because it makes you realize how much of film editing is stylized artifice. Anyway, enough of my babble, go watch!

I don’t always agree with Mark Mcgowan, the artist taxi driver, but his video about Atos and the paralympics is surprisingly well informed about disability politics and absolutely spot on. It is also very very funny. It is great to see we crips have such an astute, eloquent ally unafraid too pull his punches. Just watch This!

Given that I wrote about the Olympic opening ceremony on here, I should probably blog about the closing ceremony last night. The problem is, I did not find it that inspiring. It was okay, I suppose. I think it was more oriented towards music this time, which is fair enough, but I found it less spectacular than the opening  ceremony: there was less humour in it – no bits with bond or rowan atkinson. Also, to my ear some of it was out of tune and/or distorted. I found the inclusion of Eric Idle singing ‘Always Look on the Bright Side of Life‘ a good touch, but apart from that I wasn’t that enthused. Oh well, at least we still have the Paralympic ceremonies to look forward to.

I just created a Facebook group called brits for Paris 2024. Boris Johnson recently joked about London hosting another Olympiad within the next twenty years. Such a suggestion is, f course, quite mad: no doubt london now has both the infrastructure and expertise to host the games, but we simply could not afford it. It also struck me that, while part of me does like the idea of living in an Olympic city during the Games again, if london were awarded another olympics in the next twenty years, you’d have to feel sorry for the french. After all, they bid for the games of 2012 too; therefore now that the first part of london 2012 is coming to a successful end, I say we brits should get behind the paris bid for the 2024 olympics. It seems only fair, given their bid for the 2012 games lost to us (much to their chagrin, having also had their bids for previous olympics turned down) and that, by then, it will have been a full century since Paris last hosted the Olympics in 1924. So given that we can’t really expect to host another olympics for another fifty years, and that we had so much fun with these ones, we might as well get behind the bid of a city which we can get to easily, but whose games we won’t have to pay for. And anyway, if we had to put up with this shit, so should the french!

Today is my brother Mark’s 31st birthday. Happy birthday bro! Mark is a physicist, always joking about one ay making a warp drive and exploring space. It is in his honour, then, that I share this astounding picture. It is a view from Mars; the three dots are Jupiter, Venus and Earth. Never before has humanity in it’s entirety looked so small and irrelevant, and never before has an image amazed me as this one does. Anyway, Happy birthday Mark. I hope this picture inspires you as much as it does me.

Our PA Marta has recently learned to drive, so today Lyn and I went for a short trip with her. We just went to one of the local parks, but one where we don’t often go because it is rather out of the way. The park in question, Oxleas Wood, is on a hill and has an amazing view of south London: I reckon you can see beyond the M25 and into the farmland beyond. When we got there, we settled down outside the cafe there to admire thee view; I noticed a few army trucks behind a ringed fence and, assuming it to be some kind of fair, paid it little heed.

A little while later, though, I noticed there were some heavy duty guns there. ”Holy shit,” I thought ”what is this about?” Half aghast half excited, I pointed it out to Lyn, who stated what I should have realized: these were the defenses for the Olympics. No less excited, I spent a while watching the antiaircraft gun swivel automatically, robotically following planes across the sky. Call me a big kid, but part of me wanted the thing to suddenly fire, yet I know, of course, that had that happened, it would herald something far from cool.

Lyn finished her latest track, flying On Sound, today. I heard it for the first time this morning, and if you ask me it sounded magnificent. It can be found here – let us know what you think.

Just to follow up on this entry, here is a quick but helpful discussion of why the third Hobbit film is necessary, and why most Tolkien fans, myself included, are jumping with joy at the news. As Peter jackson himself says, in a quote cited in this very article, ”The richness of the story of The Hobbit, as well as some of the related material in the appendices of The Lord of the Rings, allows us to tell the full story of the adventures of Bilbo Baggins and the part he played in the sometimes dangerous, but at all times exciting, history of Middle-Earth.” Again: Yay!

I was out for a stroll again today. I don’t like taking the same walk twice, and always try to vary my route. Today I thought I would take a look at woolwich barracks where they are holding some of the Olympic events. I was hoping to brag myself An Atos lanyard, for reasons that I hope will be made apparent soon. Anyway, it was a pleasant enough role, but the sight was almost deserted so I thought I would press on. I turned down a road which I had never explored before. It was a wide enough road, running between the barracks and Woolwich, but about halfway down I came across something which fascinated me.

I found a church, or what remained of one, by the road. It had no roof, and it’s walls were crumbling. Yet there was a beauty to it: you could still see the ornate decoration on it’s inner wall. According to a plaque on the back wall, this church had been hit by a flying bomb in the war and, being consecrated ground, had been left as it was. There was thus something ghostlike to it, something ethereal; not frightening, but timeless. It was as if on this spot, time had stopped.

I was struck too by the way I had just happened upon it. London has that habit – it surprises you. Every now and then, this city springs something on you, something beautiful and fascinating. It is a strange mix of old and new, beautiful and depraved, which has caused me to fall in love with this city. There is also a timelessness to it: you can walk along streets lined with ultra-modern shops selling the latest fashions, yet somehow you are also aware that those streets were once trod in Elizabethan and Victorian heels. You can never forget this place has a past: modern apartment blocks loom over ancient terraces; walk up one street and you find an office building, walk down another and you find the burned out shell of an ancient pub, where the last pint was pulled a century ago but which still bears it’s signs.

Such juxtapositions, such contrasts of modernity and history, fascinate me. I used to think I loved the country. Coming from a small town in rural Cheshire, I loved the fields and woods and rivers and small winding lanes. Part of me still does. But where I was once intimidated by cities, fear has become curiosity, and curiosity has developed into love. There is so much here to explore, so many contrasts, an almost endless variety. I can see now how one can love a city.

I completely forgot that NASA was due to land a rover on mars today, but when I got up and went to the bbc news website this morning, I was greeted with this incredible story. Amid the sound and fury of the Olympics, such events seem to have been eclipsed, if you ill forgive the pun. Yet, in terms of human history, I find such landings much more important, and impressive though the Olympics have been, I am much more impressed with the fact that NASA got this machine down in one piece. I can’t wait to see the pictures that will soon come back from mars and the results of the experiments: I find the prospect of at last establishing whether there was once life on mars far more captivating than any race or competition. Mid you, this landing brings the possibility of teraforming and colonising Mars one step closer, so as our PA Dominic wryly quipped earlier, maybe one day the Olympics could beheld on mars; now that would be cool.

Remind me not to go to Greenwich for the foreseeable future. I was just on a walk over there, and even on a Sunday afternoon, the place is bedlam. However, as often happens, while I was on my walk I got round to doing some thinking, and began to mull over something which I think I’ll sketch out here. I was pondering the Olympic opening ceremony, and the sketch with the queen and James Bond. When you think about it, some quite interesting things are going on there: we all know that James bond is a fictional character, created by Ian Flemming in 1952. Yet last week we saw him interacting with a real person, the queen, at a real event. Of course, it is testimony of the impact of the Bond Phenomenon on our entire culture that they chose to use this particular character in such a prominent way, but on another level something weird is going on. The queen is real, and she addressed bond as if he were a real person. Does this mean that bond is a real person too? If that is so, why would the queen need escorting to the Olympics by such a highly trained government assassin? Why would they film such an event, presumably breaking his cover? Most worryingly, if bond were real and double o agents do exist, then that implies this country has a highly secret group of government assassins running about the place who are above the law – something totally undemocratic and very, very scary. On the other hand, if bond is indeed fiction, would that not imply that her majesty is fictional too? The only things which usually interact with fictional characters are other fictional characters, after all. Yet if that is so, it implies that the Olympics is not real either, at that was the event this entire sketch was a precursor to. When you think about it, there are some very complex rhetorical structures in play here.

What we have, then, is a strange postmodern blurring of fiction and reality, where real people have entered fictional spaces and fictional characters are treated as if they were real at the highest level. Does that not strike anyone else as odd? I might be slightly crazy, but it fascinates me. As I say, I’ve sketched out the bones of the debate here, but I think I’ll continue to ponder this and return to it in other entries. I wonder if there are any other instances of such blurring. I’m sure there probably are, but has such a device ever been used at such a high level, and what does it say about British culture, royalty, power, the bond franchise, and everything else?

I was speaking to my parents yesterday; my brother Luke is up there too at the moment, so I was able to catch up with him as well. Luke mentioned a guy called Zach Anner, recommending that I google him. To be honest I’m now puzzled over how I had not come across him before: Anner is an American comedian with CP who posts travel guides on YouTube. He and his able-bodied friends travel from city to city, asking viewers of the show what they should do in each stop; they then record their exploits. I must say that is a great idea, and a good way of highlighting accessibility issues – I had been thinking about doing something similar myself, but it looks like I have been beaten to it. I suppose I’ll stick to writing about such matters on my blog, but you can watch this excellent and very funny crip travelogue here.

I realize I’m a bit late in reporting this, but I found out with glee this evening that David Attenborough’s new three part series, marking sixty his years on tv and concerning the history of natural history o tv, will be broadcast in october It will be called ‘Attenborough, 60 Years in the Wild’. Click here for more info. Yay!

I feel I need to say something about Atos. I have been feeling fairly positive about the Olympics on the whole: to be honest I never thought I would have a chance to live in such a great city as it hosted the games, and there is something awesome about living in London right now. Yet, at the same time, I have a very, very nasty taste in my mouth. The Olympics is being supported by Atos, which, as you may or may not know, is a highly controversial company that assesses people’s capability to work.

From what I have seen, both on Monday’s Panorama and through the internet networks of activists, Atos is the closest thing to an organisation of pure evil I know of. They are brutal in their judgements, taking no heed of the hurt they cause or lives they ruin. There are reports of amputees being deemed fit to work and stripped of their benefits. The company has no sympathy – it’s staff are trained to force people off benefits at all costs, working to quotas (despite the barefaced lies of Chris Grayling to the contrary). Through their judgements, people have been forced to suicide, just so that the government can slash the wealthfare bill.

How can I be so enthusiastic about an Olympic games propped up by such barbarity? The government seems to have something against disabled people: on panorama, it became brutally apparent that Grayling believes too many people are being deemed fit to work and that doctors are somehow being too soft. How can I support an Olympics at whose end such fascists get the credit? Indeed there’s a question in the first place over how I can support an Olympics which has cost the country billions when everything else is being cut.

When I think about it, the whole thing sucks, yet I cannot help being carried away by it. Earlier I squealed with joy as Britain won it’s first gold: Lyn looked at me with a mixture of bemusement and scorn – she is far more cynical about this whole farce than I am. Yet it always happens! I say I loathe sport and jingoism, yet never fail to get sucked in. but now the stakes are higher, and things are far more political and more relevant to me personally. Can I still cheer when Britain wins gold when I know that the company whose name is on the lanyards of the organisers is responsible for so much suffering? As I watch double oh seven parachute in with the queen for the umpteenth time, can I forget that the money used on carrying out such a stunt could have been used to buy countless new wheelchairs, communication aids and so on, at a time when budgets for such vital things are at their lowest? Yet somehow I do cheer, and I do forget. I think most of us do. I feel so conflicted about it, angry at myself for cheering. It feels as if I am being a traitor, betraying principals far more important than the outcome of a few races.