While I have my newer chair back, for which I am now very, very grateful, I’m sorry to have to report that my older chair had to be scrapped. It was a purple Quickie F55 which I called the Defiant, after a small agile ship on Star Trek, and I must admit I was rather attached to it. She was my first chair: before I was about thirteen or fourteen, when we went out I had to be pushed everywhere in my manual wheelchair. One Saturday, however, my parents and I were walking down chester Road in Macclesfield when we passed a mobility shop, and I suddenly had an idea. I convinced them to take me in, and, to cut a long story short, a few weeks later I had my first powerchair.* To be honest it was a very logical step, as I was getting older and would soon need more independence.

At first, though, I treated it as little more than a toy: we kept her in the garage, and I just used her to ridde around the housing estate. But my excursions gradually got longer: soon I was able to go into the town centre on my own for the first time ever. My favourite trip, however, was up Giantswood lane, to the north of Congleton. This is a long country lane heading towards the tiny village of Swettenham. It is a good distance, but not too long for a cripple taking his first steps into a brave new world. I still remember that lane with great affection, winding through fields and over streams, passing ancient cottages with barely a car in sight. It took me about an hour to get to Swettenham on Defiant, and it was in the ancient Swettenham arms that, one day, I ordered my very first beer.

I also have fond memories of using defiant at university. At first I didn’t dare use my electric wheelchair on campus, but, of course, it soon became the obvious option. I have written here before about how uni was very much my awakening – in large part that was down to the fact I had Defiant. In the secure environment of campus and the safety of Alsager village, I began to find out what I was capable of, and thus a timid home-loving boy became…well, me. It was on defiant that I made my first trip into crewe, and it was on defiant that I one day decided to go looking for my friend Richard. I have many memories involving that chair, some good, some not so good, but just as my communication aid freed me by allowing me to communicate with others, my first electric wheelchair freed me by allowing me to move around.

In a way, then, that chair helped shape me. Of course, I have it’s replacement, the Bat’leth, and it will soon be time to look for a replacement for that too. Yet defiant was always the sturdier, more reliable chair – the one I was less nervous of breaking down; I suppose you could say I have a soft spot for it. It was getting old and decrepit, and I had probably crashed it one too many times, but I will miss her. She was the chair upon which I truly found myself, what I was capable of: on her it was as if, for the first time, I felt if I needed to go somewhere all I had to do was get on my chair and go. What the enterprise was to Kirk and the Stargazer was to Picard, what the DB5 was to Bond, what Endeavour was to Cook, Defiant was to me. May she rest in peace.

*Incidentally, there is, or was, a dancewear shop on the same road, so that’s also how I got my first leotard. That, however, is another story.

This amazing picture was apparently taken this morning in manhattan. After the storm, peace returns to the battered city.

[img description=”undefined image” align=”centre”]/images/manhattan rainbow.png[/img]

I have my chair back! After about three months of being chairless, dad dropped my fixed electric wheelchair off here this morning, no mean feat as it meant an eight hour round trip on his part. I didn’t think I missed it: I stayed in more, of course, but that’s no hardship as I have a wonderful girlfriend, the internet, plenty of books to read and films to watch. The last three months haven’t been that bad, especially given Lyn and I have been so busy. However, I just took my chair for a short test drive, and the moment I hit the pavement, the wind in my face, I realised how much I had missed the freedom my chair gives me. The simple freedom to follow ones nose, to meander around the area seeing what there is to see. That’s what I missed.

Of course, I also missed it on days when I could have really used it, such as the day of the Paralympic closing ceremony. On the other hand, having it then would probably have meant I would have decided to go wandering off around the Olympic village, which may not have been useful for Lyn. In other words, in a way there were advantages to being chairless. I certainly have relished staying home with Lyn more, which is why I resolved to use my chair a bit less, even now I have it back. I will use it when I need to, of course, such as when Lyn and I go out, but I don’t need to go out on so many of my solitary walks, and there could be times when it is easier for me to go in my manual chair. I think that is one of the lessons of the last few months, or rather, that’s what I thought before I went out on my test drive. The moment I cleared our threshold, this started to play in my head, and I thought ”Fuck I’ve missed this!”

Have you noticed that the guys who make the bond films always talk about making it more relevant or realistic, or clam to be ‘updating bond’ or some such crap? Well, I think that they have finally succeeded this time. I went to see Skyfall last night: I was rather apprehensive at first, but a short while in I realised I was watching a real film, by which I mean a film with believable, fleshed-out characters and a good, solid realistic plot. It was still Bond, but bond taken seriously. Even the baddie has a grievance you could believe in; as Mark Kermode pointed out in his review, you can even see he has a point. As I wrote here, I really think Daniel Craig is bond as Fleming intended; what I saw last night certainly cemented his standing as one of the best Bonds ever. His acting was superb: stripped of some of the cartoonish aspects of some of his predecessors, what we have here is a real man, damaged, angry, and even vulnerable. The same goes for Dame Judy Dench: M gets much more to do in this film, and she obviously relishes it.

I want to say a lot more: I want to write about the part that made me cry (gravestone) the part that filled me with glee (car) the joke that made me chuckle (health and safety) and the part I agree with Dr. Kermode about, but I better not. I don’t want to spoil it for others. I will just say it is a great film, and a great addition to the bond franchise. As a cinephile, however, I must also note that there is an incredible shot in this film – possibly one of the greatest tracking shots I have ever seen – in which two people move independently through a crowded room while the camera keeps them both in focus. It truly was a masterful bit of film-making, quite artistic, and completely unexpected in films like this. Again, this is bond being taken seriously, and it’s great.

It seems I have broken the tradition of going to see every new bond film with Charlie. With a cinema just down the road, I just couldn’t resist temptation, especially after listening to Kermode’s review yesterday morning. Oh well, I suppose that just means I’ll have to arrange to watch it again with her (and indeed Lyn, who decided to stay home yesterday). What a pity!

Last night was a hoot. It was our first proper night out in a while, and it was a special one. Together with Dominic and John, Lyn and I went to see a group called Dead Can Dance at the Royal Albert Hall. I had, I must admit, never heard of them before: they play slow, melodic music, using all kinds of musical influences from all over the world. It took me two or three songs to get into it, but after that I was engrossed. Toward the end they played a song I recognised, I think from a TV ad; I don’t know it’s name but it was rather reminiscent of Karl Jenkins’ Adeamus. It was utterly mesmerising – I loved it.

All in all, then, a great night out. They even did three or four encores. Once again, we got home tired and happy. I think that will teach me not to be so gloomy – in London, it seems, there is always the possibility of being whisked off on an adventure. I love it!

It is amazing how quickly and suddenly one’s mood can change. I started today feeling quite grumpy, for some reason. Lyn had a woman coming to see her at eleven – I can’t go into details, but we were both rather apprehensive about it. And when I turned on the news I was greeted with this story of the despicable abuse of adults with learning difficulties. In short, it looked like we were in for a rainy, miserable, humdrum Friday: the afternoon at my computer, a ready meal for dinner, maybe a beer or two this evening, Q.I then bed.

When the woman came, then, I opened the door with hostility. However, I need not have: the meeting went well, lasting only fifteen minutes, and leaving Lyn far less worried. She then suggested we go to the cafe for lunch, and I thought that was a great idea. However, before we went, our PA Dominik had an even better one.

Dom had been planning to go to a concert this evening. Mitchel was going to come at four to take over his shift. However, dom is the type of personal assistant who likes to take us places. The problem was, when he last checked, all the tickets had been sold. Just before we set out for lunch, then, he said he would check one last time. Of course, he would have been well within his rights to say ‘sorry guys’ and leave us in the capable hands of Mitch. Yet kindness beyond kindness, luck beyond luck, a few phone calls later and we had a night out on our hands! My mood instantly flipped from one of gloom to one of excited joy. Life seemed to regain it’s vibrancy in a fraction of a second.

I’ll let you know how this episode finishes tomorrow. It will soon be time for us to get ready to head out. I think a Friday night out is just what Lyn and I both need. Now, the question is, what to wear?

After watching a Culture show special on James bond last night, I decided to rewatch octopussy today. As I wrote here, when I systematically went through the Bond franchise, I didn’t like roger Moore at all – he seemed too unlike the other bonds. However, many critics seem to like him, so I thought I would give him the benefit of the doubt. To my surprise, I found it much better this time: I was able to follow the plot much more easily, and I found Moore far more believable, deeper, if sill a tad cartoonish. I think my mistake was watching the franchise in such quick succession; it clouded my judgement. After all, this franchise spans fifty years, so they cannot be all alike. Bond films come in vintages, so expecting moore to be like, say, Connery is like disliking a cote du rhone because it doesn’t taste like a Zimphandel, when all you have had recently is Zimphandel and think that is what wine should taste like! Thus I think I need to rewatch the Roger Moore Bond films, perhaps a little more slowly this time, and without the preconceived ideas of what constitutes James Bond I got from the other films. After all, he made seven of them, so he can’t be that bad. Mind you, I might skip Moonraker – I suspect that film will be crap no matter how many times I watch it.

From time to time, it occurs to me that, if you put aside all the political bullshit, things really area awesome. The last couple of months, when I think about it, have been among the greatest in my life. My girlfriend Lyn has brought me a type of freedom and happiness I never thought I would enjoy; living with her, in this homely little bungalow of ours, makes me feel complete. I have someone to share my life with – even better, I get to share hers! Lyn is an amazing person, and seeing her on stage in her performances this summer, not last at the paralympics, was incredible.

I am also getting to indulge all of my obsessions too. It is quite remarkable, really. I noted the imminence of the bond and hobbit films the other day, but, best of all, yesterday I got to finally share my oldest passion with Lyn. I don’t know why, but I have always loved the travel shows of Michael Palin. I remember watching Shows like Full Circle with my parents on sunday nights, in my pyjamas after a bath. For me, there is a homely quality to them, as if Palin shows us a world which is exotic and colorful, yet also safe and friendly. There is something in his voice and style I find incredibly comforting, yet also possessed of the promise of adventure. His shows make me want to travel, and I cannot watch his shows without thinking of all the family holidays we went on – to america, to germany, to Australia.

Palin’s programs are special to me – very special. Watching the first episode of his new series about Brazil with Lyn earlier felt like a part of my childhood had finally been reconciled with the here and now, or that Lyn had finally been introduced to one of my best friends. Of course, I didn’t explain this to lyn at the time, and she probably just thought it was just another tv show, but, in a way I cannot quite express in words, watching Michael Palin with Lyn made me very happy indeed. As the credits rolled, an incredible feeling of warmth and security came over me: the feeling I felt on those sunday nights as a child combined now with a love for my girlfriend and the joy life with her has brought me.

Just a website to flag up today: Disability Horizons was founded by its co-editors, Srin Madipalli and Martyn Sibley who both have a physical impairment called Spinal Muscular Atrophy. As usual I stumbled onto it when I was looking for something totally unrelated, but it’s mixture of disability culture and travel took my fancy. Moreover, it seems to be written by people around my age, and I can easily see myself getting involved with it, perhaps as a writer. Check it out here.

this glorious photo was taken yesterday by our friend charlotte white. I just had to share it!

Lyn and I got back from the ITV studios a short while ago. It’s not on there yet, but when it is, today’s episode of the alan Titchmarsh show will be available here. It has been an extraordinary day, beginning early with a taxi ride; then there was the madness of the studio – long periods of waiting followed by bursts of frantic activity. Such places are truly mad when you think about it, running according to deadlines on a constant basis. I loved it!

I got to sit in the studio audience until the segment Lyn was in was over. She was there on behalf of the Paraorchestra, with fellow member charlotte. They did a fine job talking about music and music technology. Before their bit, however, they had a segment about Bond’s suits and drinks, so I was in seventh heaven. What an amazing, incredible coincidence – for a moment I wondered whether Lyn had actually organised it somehow, to give me a treat! Anyway, we got home tired and hungry, but I think neither of us can wait for more days like today. Nor can we wait to see the actual programme, but for now I can send you here to the Paraorchestra documentary, finally online. I must add, too, that the orchestra is now looking for new members, so if you are an experienced musician with a disability age sixteen or above, or you know such a person, please go here.

Following on from my entry yesterday, I would like to direct you here and here. The first is footage of a speech by sue marsh, made in Hyde park, (I think) detailing the sheer horror of what Atos is doing on behalf of the government and their cuts. The second is footage of disabled protesters outside Hyde Park blocking the road. I think it’s great stuff, and now wish I was there, although I daresay I would probably have tried to decapitate the moronic prick who came up an called the protesters ‘freaks’.

When I stumbled upon the first clip earlier, though, it planted an embryonic idea in my head. These days, the disability community is hugely diverse: the title ‘person with a disability can be used to mean anyone from a person with cerebral palsy to a person with bipolar disorder. I’ve always thought that this diversity was one of the communities strengths, but it begs the question, what do we all have in common? A person with bipolar can do things I cannot, just as I can probably do things they cannot. What is the common ground between us; why can we say we belong to the same group?

The answer, of course, is that under the social model of disability, we are both constrained by disabling factors imposed on us by society. Yet it occurs to me that this model might be broadened: we are now both impaired, too, by what the government is doing. Atos kills disabled people, irrespective of whether their disability is cerebral palsy, bipolar disorder or whatever. In a way this gives rise to a new political model of disability. Of course, the idea of a political model has been suggested before, and by greater brains than mine; but what I mean is that a ‘disabled person’ could, in a sense, be defined as a person with an impairment who fights against the cuts. They who see themselves as impaired by the government.

I realise that, strictly speaking, this is not a model of disability. It is more akin to a model of a culture, one to which anyone who feels impaired by government cuts can classify themselves as belonging. Thus this model is also time-dependant – given that it only applies to this current epoch, it is not a model of disability in the truest sense, and will expire when things return to the way they were. Yet in a way it holds true, and at a time when those with impairments and disabilities are the hardest hit, I think we need it as a mechanism to unite our community.

In a way, of course, this model implies that one cannot classify oneself as disabled unless one feels impaired by and fights against the cuts. From a reductionist, biological perspective, that is absurd: one can be disabled irrespective of one’s politics. While it is not my aim to create devisions in our movement, which as I wrote here, are counter-productive, I do not think one can at present legitimately hold oneself to be a member of the disabled people’s movement or an activist if one does not oppose the cuts, or try to argue, (utterly without foundation, I might add) that the disabled people’ movement is being overrun by ‘fake’ disabled people who complain about Atos for the sake of it. How can such arrogant, ignorant twerps call themselves disability rights activists when the only rights they care about are their own? Clearly, such people do not rank among ‘us’; they do not feel the constraints being imposed upon us by the current government, and deny others feel them, so how can they be said to belong to our community? Under my model, can such people really be Disabled?

I whish to convey my solidarity with DPAC and all the other groups that marched against the cuts today. I still don’t have my electric wheelchair, so I’m pretty immobile. Lyn and I also have a new p.a starting work today, and it would have been rather harsh to have thrown her into such a deep deep end. Nevertheless, I would have really liked to be there in order to show my disgust at what this unelected posh-boy government is doing. From what I’ve seen, they don’t give a damn about people with disabilities and other disadvantaged minorities, as long as they and their rich friend can pay less tax.

About an hour ago I was feeling quite pissed off. Marta and I had just got back from the dentist, who had said that, while my teeth weren’t bad, I better go have them cleaned under sedation. Needless to say, I don’t like this idea – it seems a lot of fuss and bother just for my teeth. I asked if she thought it absolutely necessary, and the dentist naturally replied ‘yes’. Frankly the thought of being sedated scares me, but I suppose if it needs to be done then I better do it. However, when we got home I thought I better check with Lyn and then my parents.

Predictably, Lyn said it was a good idea. She has undergone such procedures herself, and assured me that I had nothing to worry about. We were talking in the kitchen, and, after the conversation about my teeth was over, Lyn informed me of something that cheered me up instantaneously: I have the pleasure of announcing that she will be appearing on the Alan Titchmarsh show this Monday at three. She will be accompanied by other members of the Paraorchestra. Looks like we’re in for a busy weekend!

With that, I popped into my office to Skype my parents. Now I needed to tell them about my teeth and Titchmarsh. I caught mum in her kitchen, sitting at the very table I grew up at. She was fine, and we decided, once dad had joined her, that having my teeth cleaned was probably a good idea. I told my parents that I’d start to make the appropriate arrangements, and it was then I should have told them about Lyn going on TV again. However, dad had just been listening to Mark Kermode’s film review show on radio five; he had apparently just seen Skyfall, and had praised it highly, although he couldn’t say much as he is due to give a full review next Friday. From the sound of it, Bond 23 is a doozy! Hearing this had me squealing spastically with glee, in my usual manner upon hearing about anything bond, Trek or Tolkien, so much so that I totally forgot to tell my parents my main bit of news.

Oh well, I’ll tell them soon enough. In the meantime, I have plenty to spaz out about: the bond team have learned the lessons of Quantum of solace, and it sounds like we have another cracker coming; the first Hobbit film is due out imminently, and the first part of Michael Palin’s next travelogue, Brazil, airs next Wednesday. I don’t know why I get so excited about such things – it bemuses and amuses Lyn no end. Best of all, Lyn is going to be on tv again! These really re great days for fans of bond and Tolkien, as well as boyfriends of megastars! How can I worry about my teeth when so many cool things are coming up?

I just want to say, tonight, that I welcome this decision. What I don’t understand, though, is how the couple running the B&B could argue that they are the ones being discriminated against. After all, if you don’t feel you can welcome everyone, why open your doors in the first place? Is it not arrogant to demand others conform to your rules, based on your beliefs which are not shared by everyone? And is it not even more arrogant too demand that your right to be prejudiced comes before a couple’s right to share a bed?

What a day it has been. I don’t think I can write much because, to tell you the truth, I’m absolutely knackered. Lyn and I went to Naidex today, an exhibition for people with disabilities where the newest equipment is shown. We had a great time: I am looking for a new electric wheelchair, and while I didn’t see one which my gut demanded I get, I picked up a few brochures worth looking at. However, I did see one chair reminiscent of a land rover, which had back wheel drive and front wheel steering: I was impressed, but I would need to give it a thorough test drive. Other than that, to be honest I can’t say I saw much particularly worth reporting, although Lyn had a great time talking about speech apps for the Ipad, and we saw the new neater eater, which is automatic (the guys vetoed getting this, insisting that I must at least do some things for myself). Mind you, I was surprised not to see many communication aids there – there wasn’t even a stall by the guys from Toby Churchill.

We came back across the river on the new Emerates cable car, the first time Lyn and I had use it. The views, I must say, were fantastic, the ride was amazing, although part of me was just glad of the chance to sit down, having been on my feet for the past few hours due to lack of wheelchair. In all, then, a pretty cool day, and I suspect I’ll sleep soundly after it.

Given that I’m not a Scot, I’m not sure whether I have the right to express an opinion on Scottish independence. After all, how would it effect me personally if the scots broke away from the UK or not? I doubt my life would change much. Yet I have always had an instinctive feeling that nations should be coming together, not splitting apart; that humanity as a whole should be uniting, not dividing along essentially arbitrary lines. Granted, each nation of the world is different, and these differences have value. But if we are ever to solve our problems – global warming, depleting fossil fuel stocks, food shortages etc – we must work together as one people. That is why I see Alex Salmonnd as akin to the likes of Nigel Farage, perceiving things in the simplest of terms, valuing one group of people over another. To me, all groups of people have value, but we are also one group. Thus we should be working together, pooling our talent and resources, not reviving territorial divisions which last stood three hundred years ago. I know the scots are a proud people who have long suffered the barbarities of the English; that is why I will, of course, respect their decision either way. But I still see the bigger picture: we must work to come together, not divide and re-divide. As we are, we are just a bunch of (usually) bipedal primates squabbling over arbitrary territorial boundaries, but as one, we can go boldly where none of us could go before as individuals.

I, Matthew Goodsell, hereby declare my intention to give up alcohol. Well, maybe not completely – I’m too partial to a good real ale to do that – but I have decided to adopt a new attitude to alcohol. Instead of drinking a beer or two every night, just because I felt like it, I think from now on I will drink only when the occasion arises, such as at parties, or when one is at bond exhibitions where drinking martinis is obligatory. That way drinks remain special – you appreciate it more. I decided this on Saturday, when it finally sank in that my absences were linked to my alcohol intake. To be honest, my parents had been hinting at that for years, when an online friend of mine showed me this. My absences have been playing a lot on my mind recently; it’s not that I think they’re getting worse, just more irritating. Time, therefore, to take action: more vitamins, less booze. Besides, there is more to life than beer, and I think this way I will get more to life with Lyn. The beer-swilling days of my life, a remnant of university, are now over, and I already feel better for it.

Holy crap he did it! Austrian Felix Baumgartner has broken the record for the highest ever skydive by jumping out of a balloon 128,000ft above New Mexico. More importantly, he didn’t turn himself into pate in the process. Lyn and I have been spending a brilliant afternoon watching Peter Gabriel and Bob Marley concerts on Youtube, after putting the plan to go to Brick lane on hold (long story) so I only just got back to the headlines. While the very childish part of me is slightly disappointed he did not go splat all over the New Mexico desert, I am full of admiration for Baumgartner and what he has done today. We may not have an interesting new way to make pate, but we dew have a great new hero.

(ever the witty DJ, Lyn just played this on our sound system.)

Just a house-keeping type entry. It occurred to me that I have written blog entries concerning watching each of my three main filmic fascinations, Star Trek, James Bond and the Lord Of The Rings, in one go. I decided to collate them in one entry, just to make referencing them more easy (that, and I don’t have much else to write about today). Thus, my entry on the star trek series can be found here, the one on Lord of the Rings here, and the one about James Bond here. I’m quite proud of all three entries, although I could have gone much deeper in all three; it seems logical to group them together in one entry.

Yesterday was quite a cool day. It was one of great kindness. Mitchel was working with us, and one of his friends had offered to come and build Lyn a new desk. To be honest I’m not sure how this arose, or how he came up with the idea of building Lyn a desk, but nevertheless he did. Thus yesterday they came here bright and early, tools in one hand, bottle of rum in the other, and by yesterday evening, Lyn had a stunning new custom-built desk in her studio.

I’m not exaggerating when I write that the results of dave and mitchel’s labours yesterday were truly impressive. While we still need to varnish it, Lyn now has a serious piece of furniture under her computer. I reckon that if we were going to commission such a thing from a carpenter, especially one in London, he would have asked for at least five hundred quid. Dave only asked for a bottle of vodka! I think we have to pay him back somehow, but in the meantime I hope Dave comes round more often: we barely knew him before yesterday, so I think the least we can do for such a kind man is become his friend.

Blah, blah, Tory prick, how much bull do you speak?

A great deal, and these sheeple swallow every bleat.

Lying about the nhs, destroying the wealthfare state

Misleading us all about the jobs he’ll create. —

Blah, blah, Tory prick, what untruths you tell:

Advantaging the wealthy, the poor can go to hell

‘Compassionate’ you claim to be, but do you really believe

That without state help the poorest can achieve?

—

Blah, blah, Tory prick, basking in the acclaim

Of the very people we should all blame How they applaud you for cutting taxes

While so many workers face so many axes.

—

Blah, blah, Tory prick, my how your sheeple chuckle

At the jokes you tell while others around fires huddle

Trying to keep warm in this climate of cuts

For the wealthy doors open, for others every door shuts.

I just watched Boris Johnson’s speech to the Tory Party conference. This might sound harsh and juvenile, but I find myself wishing every person in that hall, every selfish, self-centred arrogant fop, a slow, agonising death. Of course, I don’t actually mean it, deep down, but it goes to show the revulsion i now feel for this party. I find myself thinking they deserve it for the pain they are inflicting on the less fortunate of this country; they deserve it for arrogantly believing they are doing the right thing; they deserve it for driving so many people with disabilities to suicide by forcing them into work. The number of horror stories I have heard is staggering, but what appals me about the tories is that they don’t give a damn. As long as they can lower taxes and decrease regulation so their rich friends can get richer, people like Lyn and me can starve. Thus to see Johnson, like Osbourne yesterday, stand there in Birmingham, patting himself on the back trying to legitimise and justify what they are doing, chilled me to the core. While it was right to praise the Olympics as a great success, and while Boris may amuse us, we must not forget he is a member of a party currently inflicting great hardship on the most impoverished and needy in this country. I cannot forget that, and that’s why I can’t help wishing that bunch of arrogant snobs such ill.

I think it is fair to say that I do not like maths. I have always had trouble with it, so much so that I had to take my GCSE maths twice. This is kind of ironic, given that I come from a family of scientists and mathematicians. I don’t know why but numbers, especially large ones, confuse me: I tend to get all mixed up between thousands and millions. While I am a bit more confident these days, I used to get terribly confused in my youth. I used to feel embarrassed when I heard people talking about maths and I couldn’t follow he conversation – I felt like such a dunce. Mind you, the irony is these days, instead of counting sheep, I ponder mathematical problems in my head to get myself to sleep.

I was thinking about this over the weekend. It would seem that I’m not alone in having issues with maths: many people with disabilities do, and a friend of mine had raised the subject on facebook. Is that any wonder, though? Most of us would have had the most cursory of mathematical educations; many people with disabilities don’t often need to think numerically. Thus, when we do need to do maths, it takes us so long for us to get our heads round the issues at stake that we feel like something is wrong with our ability to calculate. Of course there is no reason to feel that way, and we shouldn’t blame ourselves for the failures of the special education system, yet we invariably do. I was, however, relieved to see that I was not the only cripple with such mathematical issues.

Like all great girlfriends Lyn frequently surprises me. She just put on an absolute gem of a film for us to watch, called Victim (alex phillal, 2011). At first, I just dismissed it as just a run of the mill gangster flick, glorifying crime and violence. In fact, I was beginning to wonder why L would put such film on, when I suddenly noticed a building in the background that looked rather familiar, then another. Then I noticed street crossings and junctions that looked like ones I had used. I then realised that the film was set in south east London, and suddenly began to pay attention. It’s funny how things will take on another layer of resonance when they contain details which are familiar to the viewer: often, such details are things like shared interests or experiences. Films about love, for instance, speak more to those in love. I suppose the same applies to place.

Lyn and I had a great time, then, pointing out places we knew. The film also struck me as rather familiar culturally: I have been living in south-east London for three years now, and the film makers seem to have got the local mix of urban, west-indian, African culture down to a tee. Their use of local slang and spelling was especially striking, not to mention some of the local patriarchical attitudes. I was reminded of my first year of university cultural studies, where we looked at Walter Benjamin’s work on the urban maelstrom: there was the same sense of alienation and disenfranchisement – indeed of victimhood – in this film that he spoke of. Moreover, I soon realized the film was not a glorification of crime and violence, but an exploration of it. Thus a film I had at first casually dismissed turned out to be an unexpected gem on two levels. In a way you can say it bridged the gap between my university life and my life as a south Londoner. It was strange to see places I now know rather well portrayed on screen, especially in quite a pessimistic tone (mind you, pessimism seems almost endemic around here these days), but it was fascinating to see the local culture being interpreted filmically. All in all a great watch, and one well worth a second viewing: full marks to Lyn for putting it on.

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I don’t usually comment on such matters – after all, how can a blog entry help find a missing child? – but I just want to say how shocked I am by the case of April Jones. Of course, I probably feel more strongly about it because april has cp. That sounds a bit wrong: it is a tragedy when any child gets abducted, disabled or not, yet once I heard that april and I have something in common, I paid much more attention to the case. I keep wondering what kind of monster would take such a child, and whether she was taken because she would have been less able to fight back. I hope as we all do that she is still alive, and wonder where she is and worry that she would be in pain. But tragically I think its now unlikely, and my thoughts go out to her family.

On a far less happy note, if anyone still doubts the extent of the damage the government cuts are inflicting on disabled people just go here. It’s so sad, so appalling that I don’t want to believe it – I wish I had the luxury of being able to dismiss it as propaganda, yet it seems chillingly true, and that 10,600 sick and disabled people died last year within six weeks of their benefits claim ending due to atos. Just have a read.

Apart from quantum of solace, which I do not yet own on DVD, and Skyfall for obvious reasons, I just completed my task to rewatch all the James Bond films. It has taken me about a month, and I’m quite sure irritated Lyn, who does not seem to share my interest in double O Seven. I went through them in chronological order by year of release, watching one every day or so. That way I thought I’d get a pretty decent overview of the entire series from which I’d be able to draw some insightful conclusions. The bond franchise has fascinated me for quite some time, but I’m not sure why. I thought viewing the entire series in one go might shed some light on it: who knows, I thought it might finally help me get passed my fascination.

Predictably, of course, it had the opposite effect, and I’m more intrigued than ever. Mind you, my relationship with these films certainly has changed; I now feel I know them far better. I had thought, for example, that I’d come out of this experience having a favourite Bond, but I’m not sure I do. Connery was less violent than I remembered, but no less suave; I was surprised by how taken I was with George Lazenby in On Her Majesty’s Secret Service, as it was the most touching and emotional by far, and I thought Lazenby made a fine bond. He should have done more. Dalton was just as convincing, if more brutal and sullen. Mind you, I think I need to rewatch License to Kill, as I think I missed a few plot points. I think The Living Daylights was one of my favourites. Brosnan is the bond of my youth: I thought he made a very persuasive bond, an I enjoyed his four films more than I expected, although I found his last, Die another day, rather lackluster. He was then replaced, of course, by Daniel Craig in Casino Royale – bond as his creator intended.

All of these actors have similar traits; they all play Bond, to varying degrees, with some reference to the original character. The exception to this, of course, is Roger Moore. I was surprised how much I dislike Moore. I had been looking forward to Live and Let Die and The Spy who Loved Me, but once I started the Moore Vintage, I found his films formulaic and cartoonish. He seemed too keen to play 007 for jokes, and did not take the role seriously enough. Bond is a cold, murderous, womanising government assassin, not the tongue-in-cheek, quip-spewing reincarnation of The Saint Moore gave us. This is rather ironic, because in a way it was because of Moore that I first became interested in James bond. This may sound silly, but, lying in bed watching TV one night during my childhood, I stumbled upon the end of the Alan Partridge Show, where Partridge was reenacting the beginning of The Spy Who Loved Me. Something in his performance appealed to me, although I can’t put my finger on quite what. From that point on I was hooked on bond: somehow seeing that sketch caused my fascination with the entire franchise. From then on I counted the beginning of that film as one of my Willemeean/Keathlean ‘Cinephiliac Moments’, and adore Carly Simon’s theme for that film. I still do, and relished seeing that part of the series when I watched it last week. Yet, when I viewed as a whole, within the context of the other bonds, I found Moore’s bond gravely disappointing. In particular, I found Moonraker, his fourth, not only by far the worst Bond film but possibly one of the most appalling films ever made. The plot makes no sense, the effects naff; it lacks depth and intrigue. It was such superficial bollocks that I watched the next three films in one day, just so I could get past Moore. The next two, for Your eyes Only and Octopussey, weren’t much better (although I might give them the benefit of the doubt and watch them again, given that I had an absence during Octopussey, so it did not have my full attention), but I thought the last Moore, A view To A Kill, was a little better. In all, however, I found Roger Moore by far the worst bond.

Perhaps one of the reasons for that is that all the others have something in common: some resemblance to a character created by Ian Fleming. Of course, they are all different, but they all had something I felt Moore’s bond Did not. His bond had nothing to do with Fleming: he may have drank martini and introduced himself in the right way, but somehow his were not bonds.

What is it, then, about this character which draws me? I had hoped this project would help me find out, but it hasn’t. bond is a cold, heartless killer, whom I should despise, but he intrigues me. I could write a lot more about this series, chronicling its component parts – I’m sure entire books could be and have been written about what fascinates us about this cold, loveless, government assassin. Frankly, however, I wouldn’t know where to begin. I could make some general points, noting how the early bonds, say from Connery to Moore, all roughly follow the same diegetic formula: Bond introduced, baddy introduced, Bond goes after baddy, bond finds woman; woman and bond go find baddy, usually have dinner; bond kills baddy. Explosion! End. This formula, which in the early films seems part of the very definition of bond films, is broken with when Dalton starts to play Double O Seven, although some elements of it appear in some of Brosnan’s films.

I also think there is much that could be written about my experience in viewing these films. As I said, I viewed them in quick succession, sitting down in front of my computer on most afternoons for about twenty days. This had an interesting effect: I must record that I sometimes found my memories of one film merging into another, especially with the earlier, more formulaic films. This may have been due to the fact that I watched them so rapidly that they didn’t have chance to ‘sink in.’ It might be because I always watched them in the same place, usually around the same time of day. Maybe it was a combination. Either way, it is interesting to note that only with a franchise such as this that you can carry out such extensive viewing projects, and I would be interested in examining how such prolonged viewing experiences relate to established theoretical concepts like the rarity of a film and the ‘Aura’. It was only due to the advent of the DVD box set that I could just sit down and pop a bond flick on every day, something in stark contrast to the cinephiles of previous generations, fascinated by film in part because they were often so difficult to get hold of or watch. It would be great to compare and contrast the two form of viewing, especially in relations to writers like Keathley, Pomerance, and Bazin.

To go deeper would be fascinating. To go much deeper into trying to establish who this man is, how he functions semiotically and culturally and what he represents, however, I would probably have to watch the whole series again (making notes this time), and while I would be up for that, I think Lyn might kill me. Moreover, rather than confining my observations to a blog entry, I think I would need to do it in some kind of thesis, and I already have one of those to complete as it is. Before I go and get Dr No out of it’s box again, then, there is time to get my hands on a Quantum Of Solace DVD, read up on the subject, wait for the release of Skyfall, and teach our Pas how to mix the perfect Martini.

Addendum – my updated opinion of roger moore can be read here

I think I just watched Ed Milliband deliver one of the finest political speeches I have ever witnessed, and I think I just watched him become the person he needed to if he is to win the next election. While lacking in much substance – after all, the general election is two years away, so it could be too early to divulge much – in terms of tone I thought this speech was striking. It was very apparent that the geek was gone, and had been replaced with a future Prime Minister. Milliband seemed to be speaking words he genuinely believes in, in contrast to CaMoron, with his over-polished, hollow lies which just sound good but led only to more suffering for working people. It was clear from this speech that Milliband has ten thousand times more compassion and integrity than lying git currently in number ten: he believed what he was saying, and was obviously genuinely concerned about poor people. CaMoron is only concerned with giving tax cuts to himself and his rich friends. Thus this speech reassured me that Labour have a good, competent leader, capable of standing up for working people and people on benefits against what amounts to overt Tory oppression.

Lyn and I had an excellent night last night. It was just a small gig in a cozy little restaurant around the corner, organized by local musician Gus Glen. The atmosphere was great, and there were some great performances, not least when I persuaded Gus to do a rendition of sweet home Alabama. Lyn john and Dominic jammed together, doing three or four of Lyn’s compositions. It was the type of gig where everyone felt free to join in, so at one point Dominic started drumming along to one of Gus’s songs. I suppose it was quite a contrast to Lyn’s last gig, but in a way such small, intimate gigs are far nicer. I think Gus does them every month; if there is another next month, I think we’ll definitely be going.