I would like to post an appeal. I know I don’t usually use my blog for such matters, but I would like to ask if anyone knows of any good, reliable wheelchair suppliers in south London. I have been without my electric wheelchairs for about two months, and while they are being repaired, I cannot send them back up north every time they break. I had been using a company in Welling for minor repairs, but while they can fix straightforward things they are not specialists in my type of chair. I need to find a good reliable company which sells and or maintains electric wheelchairs. If anyone has any experience of this or anyone they could recommend, I would appreciate it if you could contact me.

Believe it or not I am still intrigued by the sketch in the Olympics where bond escorts her majesty to the opening ceremony. While most would just say that it is merely a superficial bit of fun, I would argue that there are things about it which need to be pondered. I am interested in the power structures involved: before now I was incredibly amused by this sketch, but it occurs to me that, on another level, something quite sinister is afoot. What were the makers of this sketch trying to say? Were they trying to reinforce and uphold dominant power structures, or parody them, or both? By having the queen appear with bond, were they trying to claim some credibility in popular culture for her? Sort of trying to jump on the bond bandwagon in order to make the queen and thus hierarchy as central to mainstream British culture as the Bond franchise, thereby reinforcing and attempting to legitimise ideas like class. After all, Ian Fleming placed bond in a world where the decline of the British empire had not happened: he wrote as if Britain was still a world power. Bond, in this sense, is a figure of imperialism, just as her majesty is. In a way, then, this sketch maintains a nationalistic, imperial narrative, partly created by Fleming, in which the queen is the head of a superpower able to control world events. From this viewpoint, the sketch is quite sinister, as it tells the world ”we British still have a right to control the world just as we did a century ago.”

It also occurs to me that, now that Bond has been used in such a mainstream piece of culture, it could be argued that it has lost something – that some of its ‘street cred’ has been lost. That is to say, the franchise has been usurped by the mainstream in order to support something which, to many fans, isn’t very cool; the character was made to appear in something not really in keeping with Bond’s persona and the rest of the Bond franchise. In doing so, bond looses some of his cache as a rebel. However I’d say to such bond fans that you can’t get much cooler than seeing ones hero cough at a reigning monarch. Only 007 could get away with that.

It can also be argued that by having the queen appear beside such an overtly fictional character, this piece functions as a nod to the fact that ideas like monarchy are a fictional construction too. As I wrote here, if Bond is fiction, wouldn’t this sketch make the queen seem part of that fiction too? The queen is a real person, but it could be argued that, on one level, her position is as much a construction as the bond franchise. They are both pieces of the iconography we associate with britishness, both tales we tell about ourselves, so having the queen appear beside James bond can be read as an allusion to the fact that, at the end of the day, the queen is just as ephemeral, just as much a cultural construction as Double O Seven.

Therefore what interests me about this sketch so much that keep returning to it is that there are two ways of reading it which are directly opposite. On the one hand we can read it as speaking to and reinforcing the dominant political structures: it simply accepts the queen’s position and authority as read, using or even usurping a prominent piece of popular culture to lend it a legitimacy it may or may not have. On the other hand, the piece can also be read as an admission of the queen’s true position in our culture, as one of many pieces of entertainment. By uttering the immortal line ”Good evening, Mr. Bond” as so many caricature villains have done before her, the queen, in a way, enters herself into a fictional space and thus acknowledges the very constructed nature of her own position. Read like this, the film is quite politically radical.

Which is it, then? Is this short film part of an oppressive state apparatus which usurps parts of popular culture to make dominant hierarchical systems seem more legitimate, or does the film actually reread those very systems, admitting their fictional nature? I actually got quite perturbed about this the other night, when it occurred to me that I had been obsessing over something quite oppressive, manipulated into accepting hierarchy. But it seems to me that both readings are just as valid, and that as much as the film can be seen as presuming an automatic acceptance of authority, to the same extent it admits that that authority is a construction. That is what so intrigues me: this film plays with concepts like power and culture, what is real and what is fiction. There is a lot which can be read into it. Yet, on another level, it is just a six minute bit of fluff played at an Olympic opening ceremony.

Check this out. It is a blog entry by the Charlton Champion about Lyn’s gig tomorrow. She will be playing at Cattleya’s restaurant on Charlton lane tomorrow evening. It will be her first gig since the paralympic closing ceremony. It should be a good night, and I’m really looking forward to it. Come if you can!

It gives me great pride to announce that one of Lyn’s tracks, Love Me, can now be purchased on Itunes. If you ask me it’s one of her best works. To buy it, just go here or search Itunes for ‘Lyn Levett’.

Can someone tell me what the hell david CaMoron is doing on American talk shows? Last night he appeared on Letterman, the first sitting prime minister to do so. Is it just me, or does that not strike you as cringingly, gut-wrenchingly crass? The UK is in the middle of it’s worst crisis since the war: people are fearing for their jobs; they are worrying about how to pay the bills, and CaMoron, rather than staying at home trying to sort the mess his government has caused out, is answering David Letterman’s vacuous questions as if he were an actor promoting his latest film. CaMoron seems to think his position makes him some kind of star, allowing him to swan about on the world stage, when in fact he is an extremely unpopular leader and his actions last night make it abundantly clear that he is not a fit and proper person to lead this or any other country. Some may overlook this episode, ignoring it as just a sign of the times or claim CaMoron was ‘promoting Britain’ or some such bullshit; but to me it shows CaMoron is more concerned about his own image than the wealth fare of the people he claims to lead. Not even Blair, who most people think was a terrible self-promoter, was shallow enough to go on a talk show when he was still in Downing street. Thus this really does piss me off: how can we allow any man so demonstrably shallow and egotistical, a man who values promoting his own image and swanning about with the American glitterati over carrying out the job he was elected to do, to remain as our Prime Minister?

I didn’t think I would make a blog entry today, but I just stumbled onto this. I was googling james bond stuff, and It seems I’m not alone in thinking the moment when james bond met the queen squealworthy. It has been voted number one in a list of all-time top tv moments. I know the idea of any such list is silly, and the article draws our attention to that very fact, but I thought I’d point out that I’m not alone in thinking that moment was rather special.

I am now officially chairless. To tell the truth I have been without both my electric wheelchairs for a couple of months now, but it wasn’t until this morning that the guy from the shop where we bought the chairs came down from Cheshire to pick them up. With any luck I will soon have them back. I have, however, noticed something odd: part of me really misses them, of course. I am far less mobile; I cannot go out on my own; when Lyn and I go shopping, say, or when Lyn plays at an olympic ceremony, I have to walk as our one PA cannot push both our manual chairs. This exhausts me, causing my legs and feet to hurt like hell. Within a few steps I am craving my chair as a crack head craves his next fix.

And yet – and here’s the odd part – a few steps more and it’s okay. I start to enjoy it; the pain somehow eases. I hold my head up, remind myself to put my feet flat on the ground, and walk alongside my fiance. I cannot zoom ahead as I usually do in my char, and instead walk beside my girlfriend as any other couple would, an that feels right. I cannot go gadding off on my own as I used to either: it used to be a habit of mine to take long walks, something which thinking about it probably contributed to the damn things packing up; nor can I just decide to go down the pub at a moments notice. Instead I stay at home with Lyn, something far better when you think about it. We have really been hanging out together, spending time at home listening to music and watching the odd film in the evening. This is where I belong, not pickling myself in a pub, and certainly not hanging around with some prick called chopper who was full of shit and who rarely, if ever, paid for the beers.

(I have not seen him in months, by the way, which is probably a good thing.)

Thus, having no wheelchair is, without doubt, a pain in the arse, yet in a strange way I must say part of me likes it. Yes my legs hurt, but they also feel stronger. Of course I am longing for my wheels back, but I’m finding having to use my legs isn’t so bad. In fact even when I have them back I might consider leaving it behind sometimes, but then, why walk when one can ride?

I think I’ll post the following simply to ensure that we all know what a certain politician actually meant when he recently used the term. Aparrently, it’s perfectly okay with Camoron for his staff to look down on police officers and the rest of us in the inferior classes. [b]Pleb:[/b]

[quote=”online dictionary”]Actually defined as a member of a despised social class, a commoner, a member of the plebs of ancient Rome. Also low-born, undisinguished, vulgar, and my personal favourite: vulgar-looking.

Other words with similar meaning: Scrut, Townie, Kappa-Slapper, Rude-Boi, Scum, Greb, Scav, & c[/quote]

I do not understand economics so before now I have held back from saying this, but today I think I’ll say something which I have long suspected, and which will make me either look very clever or very stupid: the emperor has no clothes! That’s right – the emperor is stark bollock naked! We are all caught up in a fiction; all beholden to an economic system which very few of us understand, but, when you look at it, amounts to a few arseholes in places like Wall Street and Canary Wharf moving numbers around on computer screens. It has no basis in reality; no natural event causes the Dow Jones to go up or down, so why is all our happiness dependent on such things? What is stopping us simply doing away with the entire system? Where does the current depression exist except in our minds, or rather the minds of those who want us to believe in it? They want us to believe because some people make vast amounts of money out of this system, but what do they do other than move numbers around on computer screens? But how does that contribute to humanity? How the fuck does that make our lives better? What is stopping us from crying game over and restoring ourselves to prosperity? The entire economic system is based of fiction – it is bullshit. The emperor has no clothes!

Today is september the twenty second, the fictional birthday of bilbo and frodo Baggins, and also coincidentally and less fictionally of my good friend marcie (happy birthday rocky!) To celebrate this, I think I’ll simply direct you here, to the newest and most awesome trailer for The Hobbit. It really does look like we Tolkien/jackson fans are in for a treat this winter.

Earlier I watched nigel Farage giving his speech to the UKIP conference. If there is anyone in british politics I detest more than CaMoron, it is the slimey bigot farrage. And he is indeed a bigot, despite his protests and self-delusions to the contrary: to turn our back on the EU would make the UK irrelevant; America would just trade with our European neighbours, as would the growing eastern economies. Why would they continue to trade with us after we cut ourselves off, both economically and politically, from our closest neighbours? Farage says we would trade more with the commonwealth powers, as if he wants to revive the old British empire, but that’s a fig-leaf for isolationism and xenophobia: he wants a pure white british isles, isolated from the larger world, the complexities of which he and his moronic UKIP followers cannot get their tiny little mind around.

Believe it or not, I have actually met the git. Some of you may recall my account of my trip to crewe during the famous bi-election. As well as bumping into CaMoron, that day I also met farage. I put it to him that his policies were based purely on xenophobia. The arrogant arse did not even have the respect or humanity to challenge my presumption, but just snorted and walked away. To me, that says all you need to know about he man and the type of people who vote for him: we spastics are inferior to them, not worth wasting one’s breath on. The type of people who think their needs come first, who think the planet is theirs to pollute as they wish; who object to windfarms because they are eyesores; who through their bigotry refuse to see the economic and social necessity of immigration. To me such people deserve to be either ignored totally or informed of the repercussions and true nature of their views. People like Farage want us to step backwards to a world akin to that of the latter half of the nineteenth century, a world of division, oppression, empire and distrust. We cannot let such stupidity prevail.

Everyone will have noticed that there is a lot going on right now in the middle-east concerning amateur films said to insult the prophet mohammed. I haven’t seen them in full, and I haven’t looked them up, but I think I inadvertently saw an ad for one on YouTube a couple of days ago. They look very amateur and very crude: the work of some guys pratting about with cameras and computers. Had they been on any other subject they would have been ignored like all the other crap you find online.

I was thinking about that last night. It struck me that, had they been about jesus, a few people may have called for their banning but there wouldn’t have been riots or the kind of severe disturbances we are currently seeing in the middle east. Look at what happened when Monty Python’s Life of Brian came out. That film was much more mainstream, but as far as I can see lampooned jesus no less than this current film lampoon Mohammed. But whereas it appears that our western culture can accept films like Brian, even to the extent that we play its main musical number at the closing ceremony of our Olympics, the lampooning of Mohammed is not acceptable to muslims. Of course the cultural differences are vast, and I’m not trying to gloss over them, but I do think it is interesting to compare the two instances. Two very different cultures giving rise to two very different cultural reactions to two similar stimuli.

In a way, a similar thing can be seen when comparing the reactions to salman Rushdie in the east and Richard Dawkins in the west: dawkins may be hated by the religious right in America, but no leaders have called for his assassination. You can of course argue that the difference is Dawkins is writing from within whereas Rushdie was writing from a position outside the religion he was criticising, but when you look at the cases objectively, they are similar, so comparing the reactions is very interesting. It also occurs to me that, if we ‘liberals’ are going to defend people like dawkins and rushdie for writing as they do, we have no right to attack videos like those lampooning Mohammed, and should we not be aghast at the violence of the protests against them in the middle east?

As I’m a confirmed Mac convert now, this just seemed too funny not to post

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

How can assholes like Michael Gove be allowed to call themselves members of parliament? How dare such pieces of scum undo a quarter of a century of progress in education, turning the clock back to a manifestly unfair system biased towards elitism? I am appalled at what this unelected prick is doing: in effectively bringing back the old O-Level, he is effectively restoring class division, turning his back on every shred of evidence on the subject and reinstating a system favouring only the few. Words cannot describe my disgust at this piece of shit’s arrogance.

I sat GCSEs. I began my GCSE English in 97 and finished two years later. That seems a lifetime ago; I don’t think I’ve fully described my school education on here before, and it is probably worth doing so. I am what some call a ‘survivor’ of the special school system, an expression referring to the fact that I managed to leave school with a few half decent qualifications, but now imbued with a savage irony given the rate at which my old classmates seem to be dropping. The special school I went to stands next door to a comprehensive, so a few of the most able students could take classes there. That’s where I took my GCSE English, and where I first discovered that I could excel in something.

Writing is my first love – it always has been. It is the reason why my office is so full of books, and the reason why I keep typing blog entries. I had always written, but it wasn’t until gcse English that I realised that I could be any good at it, for it was then that I started to receive my first proper feedback. Before that stage, when I wrote a piece of work it was either put on the wall or filed away: it may have got the odd tick, but that was it. At GCSE, Mr. Dale took the time to go through my coursework, explaining where I was going wrong and suggesting improvements.

That is the advantage of coursework. It allows candidates to demonstrate their true abilities in much more relaxed, realistic circumstances. Exams are artificial, taken in artificial environments thus producing artificial unrealistic results. We all know that some people are better at taking results than others; for people like myself hey can be tortuous ordeals. My three GCSE English exams lasted six hours each because I had extra time, and left me a physical wreck. I did, however, get an A in them, but the fact is that was only because of the marks I was getting in my coursework. Coursework both boosted my overall mark and gave me the confidence to sit exams.

Looking back, I suppose you could argue that the A I got at GCSE English set in motion a chain of events, beginning something which hasn’t yet quite stopped. I once wrote that my path to university and beyond started with a simple google search, but it occurs to me that I would never have had the confidence to even perform that search had it not been for my A in English. That was my first taste of success, the first time I realised that I was not a failure, and it was only due to the way in which GCSEs were structured that I received the result I did. In short, had I not done GCSE English, I might not be sitting here in south London wondering when my future wife would be ready to go to the pub, but still sitting in the same bedroom I had as a child feeling utterly valueless, wondering how best to end his worthless life.

I could never have passed a course based solely on exam results. What gove is doing, then, is consigning millions of young people, both disabled and not, to a scrapheap. He is saying that if you do not fit his narrow, elitist, essentially baseless criteria, then you are worthless. How can we let such bigots run the country? Why is this unelected fool allowed to ruin so many lives, dashing the hopes of so may children even before their lives have started? Standards might have been falling, and some reform was clearly necessary, but what gove has done in reverting to baseless Tory doctrine is turn the educational clock back a century. I am utterly revolted by the actions of this unelected little git, but I am more concerned about the children whose futures he has ruined. If he had any honour – and what Tory does? – his resignation will be covered in tonight’s news.

It’s lazy blogging I know, but today I think I’ll just direct you here, to Crippen’s latest, very astute, cartoon. It concerns a pastor in america who somehow links disability to women having abortions, an attitude wrong on so many levels, but one with some parallels with circumstances here. As Crippen says, ‘It’s not a far step from what our own government are doing to the disabled people of this country – demonising us by persuading people that we Crips are all benefits scroungers, and soley responsible for the current financial crisis!” A valid point, I think, and very worrying: as the financial situation becomes worse, minorities always get more and more demonized. It is not unthinkable that we will soon start to see such intolerance in britain too.

Lyn and I just watched the Paraorchestra documentary in full for the first time. Of course, we were out when it first aired, and although the production company sent us a copy, it was not until this afternoon that we both had a chance to sit down and watch it together. I just want to record how pleased I am with it: I never thought I would be in a Channel Four documentary, unless it was in something like ‘The UK’s strangest People’. More to the point, I found it to be a great piece of television well rounded, telling a good story, but not too sentimental. Some have accused it of being too medical model, and although I can see what they mean, I don’t think it overly suffers for it. However, I must say that the main effect the program had on me personally was to make me feel even more proud of the members of the Paraorchestra. Through Lyn I have got to know them over the last few months: to a man they are all wonderful people whom I am truly honoured to know. Again, seeing them up on stage with Coldplay last Sunday was just about the proudest moment of my life, and seeing the woman I love among them must make me the proudest, luckiest man that ever lived.

(The full version can now be seen here.)

I just watched an absolutely brilliant bit of radio. It has been ages since I listened to radio five’s film review show on Friday afternoon, but today they were doing a special program which involved the bbc philharmonic playing various pieces of James bond music. Although I feel guilty about exiling Lyn to the garden, albeit not intentionally, I decided to watch the entire thing on our TV via the red button. I really did fid it wonderful: as both a Bond fan and a student of film, I realise that one of the defining features of the 007 franchise is it’s music.

Of course, they couldn’t play all the themes, although I thought they could have fitted more in. they kept cutting away to stuff like travel and weather, which irritated me, but then it is five live and that is their remit. I was glad to hear the inclusion of ”Nobody Does it Better”, my favourite bond theme, which apparently came second in their poll. Live and Let Die, another awesome track, came first. Mark Kermode insisted that they play the theme from On Her Majesty’s Secret Service, despite nobody having voted for it. That’s something of a coincidence: a week o two ago, I set myself he task of watching all the bond films in order before Skyfall comes out, and OHMSS is next on my list. What Kermode said bout it was quite interesting, so I think I’ll pop it on soon. Now, however, enough geeking out: time to go make up for exiling Lyn to the garden.

Just a quick entry today to direct you here, to quite a wonderful article in the Telegraph about the Paraorchestra. It seems things really have taken off, and I suddenly find myself the boyfriend of a megastar who is being quoted extensively in national newspapers. Lyn takes it all in her stride – in fact she is working on her newest track as I type – but part of me still can’t get over the enormity of what happened on sunday.

Sunday was one of the coolest days of my life, but I should record that Saturday was rather cool too. Charlotte was in town for the closing ceremony, and, since yesterday was her birthday, she and her family were having a party over in blackheath. Lyn and I were invited, but rather sensibly Lyn decided to stay home and prepare for the next day. This meant that I went with Dominic, meeting up with the Jones family in a pub by the river. I had planed to just have a couple of beers with Charlie and then be sensible and come home, but I must admit once I have a beer or two inside me, sense gets rather lost somewhere. Besides, it had been over a year since I had seen my best friend from university.

In the end we had dinner with them in a lovely restaurant with it’s own miro-brewery*. I’m pleased to report that the joneses are all as I remember them: intelligent, energetic, but ever so slightly eccentric (in the best possible sense). I must say too that I had what must be the best pizza I have ever tasted, in a meal which easily ranks alongside these. I also had the opportunity to chat to Hugh.

Hugh jones makes his own instruments; in a way he’s rather like Rolf Gellher of the Paraorchestra. They both specialize in creating innovative ways of creating music, and I would love to introduce those two to each other somehow. Lyn had asked me to ask Hugh if he could make her something: at the moment Lyn uses her Ipad to create music, as shown here, but I think she wants a way of performing live more effectively. Hugh said he’d be happy to help, so now I think I need to chat with Lyn and bash out an outline of what she needs. Plus it would be a great excuse to get hugh here in order to catch up with him.

Anyway, it was not very late before we headed home. It had been a great evening, and, after a rendition of When The Night Feels My Song for old times sake, Dom pushed me back, my mind unusually not on what had just happened, but on the day to come.

*No prizes for guessing where I’ll be taking Lyn at the earliest opportunity.

I noticed looking at the bbc news website this morning that there was, for the first time in ages, almost no mention of the Olympics on the front page. I suppose it is a sign that the party is indeed now over, and that ordinary life has resumed. But we in the disabled community cannot afford to let things return to the way they were. The Paralympics went a long way to opening peoples eyes and minds to ‘our world’. The world has been shown what we are capable of, from extraordinary feats of incredible speed in the wheelchair racing to playing alongside one of the biggest bands of our era. To paraphrase Charles Hazelwood, there cannot be an intelligent person alive who thinks that people with disabilities cannot rank alongside their able-bodied peers in any discipline. We cannot let the opportunity that presents to us slip. We must now capitalise on our new found recognition; we must make the world see what is now at stake for disabled people in the UK. As my friend James put it, ” after the truly inspirational Parraolympics [sic] Cameron MUST now reverse every single cut to disabled benefit”. Indeed, without such benefits none of what just occurred would have been possible. As Ade Adepitan, the Paralympic wheelchair medallist who presented for Channel 4 during the Games, said: “Without DLA I would not have been able to do what I did or be a top athlete.”

Thus we as a community find ourselves in an odd position. On one level, this has been a glorious summer after which people can finally see us as people, many of whom have extraordinary abilities. The old stereotypes about disabled people being useless has been smashed. Yet at the same time I fear we are about to enter a winter of great discontent and hardship. The cuts are barely starting to bite yet and already people are suffering: hundreds have been turfed off benefits and told to find jobs when it is obviously impossible for them to do so. The barbarity and callousness of Ian Duncan-Smith’s proposal to change the benefits system to ‘universal credit’ makes me shudder. The repercussions of the changes will see a huge drop in income for many disabled people. Thus we must capitalise on the current heightened awareness and profile of disability and make sure the legacy of the Olympics is a happy one.

The circus, as they say, has now left town. Things will return to normal: no more events to watch, no more queens jumping out of helicopters. The danger is now that we crips will be forgotten again – the stereotypes will creep back, and we will once more be seen as a burden. How can we let that happen? We must maintain our profile; we must show ourselves as active, productive members of society. And, above all, we must let the world know what is being done to people with disabilities.

I suppose it could be validly argued that I should have stayed home yesterday. Lyn and Marta would have gone to the Paralympic closing ceremony without me: Marta could have focussed on supporting Lyn without me getting in the way, and I would have been safe here at home watching it all on tv. That would have been the logical thing to do, especially given I still don’t have my electric wheelchair so I have to walk everywhere.

Well, logic can go take a nice long holiday in Rio! There was no way I was staying home yesterday, no way I was going to miss the chance to see my Lyn play in front of thousands alongside coldplay. Thus yesterday I went with Lyn to the closing ceremony of the London 2012 paralympics, the final ceremony of a festival the likes of which I doubt London will see again for quite some time. I must say how proud I am of my city and my country: what we have achieved this year is truly phenomenal. Politically things may be rather dire right now, and most people despise our current government, but that is no reason not to be proud of what happened in London this summer. This city has just put on perhaps the greatest Olympics ever, and seeing Lyn performing at it’s last ceremony last night, having been sneaked in just for their song despite officially having to stay backstage, was the greatest, proudest moment of my life.

I know I should write more. Part of me thinks I should try to detail every moment of the day, recording it for posterity, but I cant. How could any writer convey the excitement of being backstage, or the feeling of awe and admiration I felt when I looked at Lyn and her fellow musicians, about to perform in front of billions? I can’t convey how proud I am, as I doubt words exist in any human tongue which would come close. I can just direct you here, and say that I am now the proudest boyfriend that ever lived.

I usually try to avoid advertising tv programs, but I strongly suggest you watch this at 5.25 tomorrow afternoon on channel four. I’ll have to watch it on 4od though, as lets just say I suspect I’ll be rather occupied by that time.

Lyn and I have a very, VERY three days coming up. Although I’m now officially allowed to say what she is up to since it has been leaked on Twitter and in the press,

I sill don’t want to state it openly on here in order that those who don’t know still have a surprise on sunday (big hint there!) Today is the last day of calm before the storm, and even then L has a photoshoot this afternoon. Thus this morning I’ve just been mulling around on the web, checking up on things I check up on from time to time.

On such thing is the possibility of a new Star Trek series coming out. With the first Hobbit film coming out soon, and Skyfall due for release in October, the only thing missing to complete my trilogy of obsessions was a new Trek. I know the sequel to Abrams’ reboot comes out next year, but to me that doesn’t count as I don’t really consider it cannon. On the other hand, it will have Benedict Cumberbatch playing Kahn, which is an intriguing prospect.

Anyway, earlier I googled ‘new star trek series’ and hit what might well be the jackpot. there are reports that Michael Dorn is working on a series called ‘captain Worf’. I rather like worf, and certainly agree that there is plenty of scope in the character for exploration, so to me this sounds like a great idea. Mind you, there have been reports of such things before which came to nothing, and the project is far from being green lit. Whether anything come of it remains to be seen. However, at the conclusion of Deep Space Nine worf was made federation ambassador to the klingon homeworld, giving rise to the possibility that this series could be more political in theme and revolve around Klingon/federation relations. That to me would certainly be worth watching, for, as is often noted, such series usually act as allegories for politics here on earth. For example, the sixth star trek film, the undescovered country, was on the surface about klingons and humans making peace, but is actually about the collapse of the USSR. Thus such a series could function as boromiter for contemporary American politics, especially when compared to previous trek incarnations, which is an intriguing prospect. This is certainly something I am going to keep an eye on; I better stop writing before I get too geeky, though.

Yesterday I started the process of looking for a new chair. Given my rather gung-ho driving style, maybe this would be a good candidate, although I daresay getting it on and off busses and around corner shops might be interesting. The search continues, and I’d welcome any suggestions.

If you were in any doubt about how unpopular our current government is, go here. The booing of george osbourne at the Olympics yesterday surely demonstrates how little support there is for this tory government, and that is for one simple fact: it was not elected in the first place. at the last election, people just voted against labour, causing the split result we saw. In other words, most people did not vote tory because they wanted the tories in power. Thus this essentially tory government has no mandate to rule; it has no right to do what it is doing. It has no right to wreck peoples lives; no right to turn the education system back 25 years. The people of this country know this – no wonder they boo an unelected chancellor imposing deeply unfair, ideologically-inspired cuts.

In my entry yesterday I neglected to mention something very important which was also happening Friday. There was a huge protest by people with disabilities at the Atos headquarters in Euston. It got quite a bit of media attention, including this report from the bbc. Of course, these protests have my wholehearted support: there is no reason why one cannot get fully behind our Paralympics team while being opposed to the fascist organisation sponsoring the games. After all, the Paralympic athletes themselves had nothing to do with the selection of the sponsor. But seeing the Atos logo at the games does put a bad taste in my mouth: the Paralympics is doing so much good for the profile of disabled people in general, it is just a shame that a company doing so much harm to many disabled people will be allowed to benefit from it.

The more I think about it the stranger what happened yesterday seems. Lyn had a concert yesterday with the Paraorchestra, and, not wanting to be left home alone all day, I went with her. My chairs are still broken, so once again I was walking; it kills my feet, but even so it’s definitely better than staying at home twiddling my thumbs. So we both got up early and set off for the queen Elisabeth hall on the south bank, taking the bus then the tube.

It was quite a long day. We had to be there by nine, but the gig itself wasn’t until about seven in the evening. That meant a day backstage for me and our PA John, talking to people, using my Ipad and, in john’s case, making boxes out of leaflets (his new obsession to replace cigarettes). I get on well with the Paraorchestra guys and, although I don’t play, I think I’m seen as something of an honorary member, so it was okay. Now that I’m the boyfriend of a megastar, I suppose I better get used to hanging around in green rooms and back stage.

However, just before the show, something very uncanny happened. The artists bar was by then doubling as the accessible bar. At one stage a lady in a wheelchair came in to ask if there were any tickets left. At first I took little notice of her, but then I realised that she was Australian and her name was Stella, and I suddenly had the oddest hunch of my life. About seven years ago, an Australian lady called Stella used to comment on my blog, and I suddenly felt that this was the same person. Now that I think about it, it seems laughable: there must be many disabled Australians called Stella. The chances of this being the same person were tiny, but I was so taken with the idea that they could be one and the same that I just had to ask.

Yet that is precisely who it turned out to be. Before I could ask her, she was whisked away to the performance, but later I had a chance to chat to her. I showed her my blog on my Ipad, and, to both our astonishment, she recognised it! It was one of the oddest moments of my life. She is here covering the Paralympics for ABC Australia. That I just bumped into her, and recognised her from such scant details, is truly, truly uncanny. Where but in London could something like that happen?

The show itself went well, apparently: I couldn’t see it as all the tickets were sold. I stayed backstage, bought myself a beer, and tried to calculate the probability of what just happened while I waited for my megastar to return.