I had another enjoyable day at the cricket yesterday. Like last time, it was a lovely afternoon, with the added bonus of actually winning. My mate james was there, and the mighty eights made a very impressive 170. They then bowled the opposition out for less than half that. It was a much better performance than their last match, and I really hope they can keep it up. There really is nothing finer than sitting in a park, the sun warm on your face, watching a real blinder of a cricket match.

Oh the farce that is FIFA, the buffoon that is Blatter.

It’s only a game so why does this matter?

Look at this organisation and you see a joke

Nothing but the crooked lies of a balding old bloke.

Any respect Fifa had must now be gone,

Drained away with every lie and con.

Who can fail to hold this body in total contempt?

Footballs government is totally bent.

Yet, rhymes aside, it’s so sad.

Who knew something once great could become so bad?

My dad has an allergy to fur, so growing up we never had cats or dogs in the house. Last week, we got Lyn a new cat for her birthday. Her last cat, Boomba. passed away about four years ago, and we thought it time we had another four legged creature roaming the house. I’ve never been a pet person, yet somehow, almost despite myself, I’ve becoming incredibly attached to the newest member of the family. I’m still getting used to it, mind: I’ve almost tripped over Guy a couple of times, and this morning I woke up with him sitting on my pillow, purring. Yet I think I finally see why others love their pets so much. Sitting on the sofa, stroking him, I honestly feel a type of calm, joy and affection I don’t recall ever feeling before.

I still can’t quite put my finger on why I’m interested in such things as I’ve never been a particularly big sports fan, but I find myself utterly intrigued by current events at FIFA. Since London 2012, I’ve been very curious about sociocultural events like the olympics and world cup. It seems to me that there is a hell of a lot of international politics behind such events and who gets awarded what: one can read a lot into such decisions, about national attitudes and international relationships. Current events would seem to prove that assumption: in the UK, condemnation of UEFA has gone to the highest level. Although at the moment they are holding back from calling for the reopening of bidding to host 2018, it must hurt CaMoron et al to find that bidding process was a fix, and that they were humiliated not because someone else had a better bid, but because it was a foregone conclusion. And isn’t it telling that Putin has this morning come out in full support of Blatter, and has accused america of meddling where they shouldn’t? On one level, as Lyn keeps pointing out to me with growing consternation, it’s only a game – who cares who hosts what? Yet it is an allegory for international politics, a barometer of tension. Such decisions and the processes behind them can be read as areas where disputes once resolved by bloodshed are played out; through Putin’s support of Blatter, for example, we can clearly read old cold war tensions.

This is the type of stuff I’ve been fascinated with since 2012; it’s why I keep googling for news about the 2024 olympic bids. This breaking story, full of drama, intrigue and corruption, is precisely up that street. Sorry Lyn, but I’m gripped!

I just watched the end of the utterly galling spectacle of the state opening of parliament. I felt only rage whenever the camera focussed on CaMoron, knowing the suffering he is about to inflict on so many. Listening to the queen read out that speech, all those misleading half truths which, while peppered with words like ‘fair’ essentiallyboil down to ideological cuts and a green light for greed, made my blood boil. It was almost too much. At least last time we had the Lib Dems to temper them, but now the tories have free rein to impose their unjust, greedy views on us. Many will starve, but these scumbags don’t care as taxes for their rich friends are low. They are unfit to rule, yet they do, and for the next five years there’s nothing we can do about it.

Lyn once asked me, not unreasonably, why I kept obsessing about Olympic stuff. Although I’ve calmed down about it now, she didn’t see why I should get so excited about it. After all, she said, it was in the past; is’t it better to focus on the future? She had a point, of course, but at the same time I see it another way. Recent history is full of events I consider truly incredible: James bond escorting the queen to the olympics; watching Lyn and the Paraorchestra play at the Paralympic closing ceremony; graduating my Masters. They are indeed in the past, but, the way I look at it, the very fact that such awesomeness happened is proof that anything is possible. If 007 can meet the queen, what’s to stop any other far fetched combination of fictional and nonfictional characters happening? If Lyn can play at London’s olympic stadium, why not anywhere else? If monty python can reunite – and just at the right time and place for us to go watch them – who’s to say we won’t one day see Black Sabbath, Guns and Roses, or any other awesome group? And if I can do a masters, I can sure as hell do anything else I put my mind to – and indeed I currently have a couple of awesome projects on the go which I have a feeling could evolve into something just as incredible. Thus it is not that I dwell on the past, but use it to remind myself how great things can get, what incredible things can happen. For if the previously unthinkable has already happened, all things must be possible; and if that is so, why not go out and see what does?

One of the things I like the most about London is how it can always surprise you. I’ve had a good day: for some reason the writing bug has caught me again, and today I trotted out my second short script in as many days. Being pleased with my efforts – though I daresay what I did today might still need work – I decided topop out for a short walk. I always try to vary the routes I take, so today I headed south-east. That, for us, is the direction of the hospital and, beyond that, welling and Bexleyheath. Of course I had no intention of going that far. Instead, at the hospital, I crossed the road and entered a bit of parkland which I had never been onto before.

It soon struck me how strange that place was. It didn’t feel like a normal london park with their well look after lawns and flowerbeds. Rather, it reminded me of the countryside. Although the buildings and roads of the metropolis weren’t far away, it put me in mind of the road beyond swettenham, which, although still traversable in my chair, seemed to lead out into nowhere. Of course it wasn’t anywhere near that far from home, yet it still felt remote as though that place had been forgotten about and rarely visited. I cannot put my finger on what gave me that impression, but nevertheless it was quite strong. The grass as overgrown and the trees overhung the paths; I could no longer see any buildings, and the sound of traffic faded. What had happened there to cause that area to be so abandoned? It intrigued me; I will have to return there soon.

I spoke to my parents,this morning, as I do every Sunday. Dad had a great birthday: he and mum went to Wales, and by the sound of it had a great time. Over the webcam they showed me a card my brother had sent. On its front was a picture of dad reading to his grandson. It was only a picture book – the kind intended for one year olds – but it also marked a beginning. It was through my fathers deep voice that I gained my love of literature. I loved when dad read to me. Through that voice I fell in love with characters and worlds, as well as the very music of language. As well as reminding me of how much I owe to my father, that picture made me wonder whether, seven or eight years hence, Oliver will hear that voice utter the sentence which really began my love of literature, words I have adored since I first heard them: ‘In a hole, under the ground, there lived a hobbit’. I will forever associate the opening sentence of the Hobbit with the voice of my father, a man whose kindness, wisdom and unconditional love I owe so much to. Through those words, though simply being read to as I grew up, entire worlds were opened up to me. I hope those words, that voice, will soon hold for Oliver the magic they still hold for me,

I was thinking yesterday about the Eurovision song Contest, which of course is on tv tonight. Say what you might about it being camp or twee, it is an event which brings people together. Like the olympics or other sporting competitions, people from different countries come together in friendly rivalry; but unlike in sport they compete through art. Thus it’s the type of event I think we need more of: we already have so many international sporting competitions (the olympics, the world cup, the ashes etc.) why not do the same but through art. I know there are events like international film festivals, but why not have big spectacles on the scale of the olympics? not only would such events increase interest in arts, it would also bring people together, across borders, in discussion. I once outlined a similar idea here. Quite how it will work I don’t know: unlike in sport, there is no clear winner and looser in art, and judging between art works is always very subjective. It just seems to me a good way of uniting people and getting them talking, as sport so often does.

I’m back on politics today, and once again I am yelling at the tv. CaMoron is in Brussels, talking all kinds of rubbish about renegotiating our relationship with the EU. My concern is not that I don’t think the union needs reforming – all such bodies need updating from time to time, just to keep them healthy. My worry is, CaMoron will try to refashion it in his own image: he wants to turn a union of nations, a coming together of peoples into an area where neoliberal greed reigns supreme. He will use these renegotiations for his own ends: he wants to turn the EU into a free trade area where big corporations and billionaires are allowed to shit all over everyone else. What pisses me off even more is that the p’tahk is claiming to speak for the British people. He uses an authority he does not deserve yet nonetheless thinks is his birthright to impose his politics of greed across Europe. The scumbag, already responsible for the misery of thousands, will try to bastardise something noble; going on tv appearing statesmanlike among other european leaders when he should be forgotten as the one-time leader of the opposition, he’ll use an authority he never deserved to turn a project of friendship into one of greed. On top of that, the turds even have the gall to give that shit eric pickles a knighthood! And the worst thing is, there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.

The sun is out for a change, it’s timing impeccable. Today is Lyn’s birthday and I have a feeling it will be a good one. I think she liked the presents I got her, and thanks to Mitchel she as something extra special on the way which we’re both really looking forward to (think cute, furry and four legged). That must wait a few days though, so it’s time to go into the garden, get some tunes going and enjoy the sun.

My birthday wishes also go to dad too, for yesterday – I hope he had a good one. Talk to you soon dad!

When I was growing up at school, I used to play my own little game during break time where I pretended the school building was a starship. My class was the bridge, the nursery department was engineering and, because it lay to one side of the building and was long and thin, residential was a warp drive. Being an avid trekkie, I used to love this game; but it would seem I wasn’t the only one who played it. I just stumbled across this bit of awesomeness. Trekkies in china have actually constructed a building shaped like the Enterprise! While it looks like a fairly conventional modern building from the ground, from the air it is the spit of the Enterprise E, nacelles and all. Apparently, ”it’s no Chinese knock-off: Company Chairman Liu DeJian is reportedly an uberTrekkie, licensing from CBS the rights to build an Enterprise replica. Construction began in 2008 and was finished in 2014; the project cost $160 million total.” I love it – if only architecture i the uk was this cool.

I feel the need to write something about the story just being reported on the bbc news channel. A judge has ruled against a bakery in northern Ireland that refused to make a cake celebrating gay marriage, ordering them to pay £500 damages. It was of course the right ruling: the bakery was obviously discriminating against the couple who ordered the cake. What angers me, though, is the way in which the bakery family try to justify their actions on religious grounds: they have the affront to claim that because their faith prohibits gay marriage, they had a right to refuse to bake the cake. They even go as far as to present themselves as the victims. I’m sorry, but this pisses me off: discrimination is discrimination, and faith is no excuse. Hiding behind a fiction does not make prejudice any less abhorrent. Part of me says people choose to believe in something in order to justify their hatred. After all, sexuality is innate – it cannot be chosen or relinquished at will; religion can. Thus the argument that one form of equality (the freedom to express sexuality) must be weighed against another (freedom of religion) does not wash, as sexuality must outweigh religion. Faith is chosen; it is a set of stories one can choose to believe in or not. And one can choose how to use it: for these bakery people to use it to justify discrimination and then to accuse others of discriminating against them on religious grounds really pisses me off.

While I can’t be totally sure how authentic it is as I’ve seen nothing about it’s providence, I must say I find the first map on this list utterly fascinating. It claims to be an anglo-saxon map of the London area. According to this page, it was ‘put together’ from several sources. It shows the area of what is now London as it may have looked like from 500 to 1066ad, and I could look at it for hours. On my travels around London, it strikes me that the city is like a palimpsest: now and then I think I can glimpse what was here before the urban sprawl. There must have been a time before the metropolis where places like Charlton and Woolwich were separate villages. This map approximates what that area may well have looked like, with forests, marshes and streams between; yet as ever the mighty thames flows through the centre.

I also learn from this map that ‘Charlton’ was originally spelled ‘Cerletone’. I think might use that spelling from now on.

Simply because I’m a fan of Marmite, and it’s fast becoming the internet meme du jour, I think I’ll flag this video up today. Giving marmite to unsuspecting Japanese people and filming their reaction is a bit cruel of course, but it appeals to my sense of humour. In fact I’ve tried something similar once our twice with our polish PAs, only I didn’t record it. And then there was the time dad gave the french exchange student mustard. Anyway, check it out. Meanwhile, L and I have a new toy to play with, which, while in keeping with the theme of videos and interwebs, may or may not involve marmite – more on that soon.

Yesterday afternoon was great – or not so great, if you take the score into account. I took myself to the cricket match in the park again. My team, the Blackheath mighty 8s were playing against a team I never caught the name of. Apart from missing two or three overs while I nipped home for supplies, I was there from start to finish and thoroughly enjoyed it. While my Australian pal James wasn’t there (away enjoying the antiquities of Rome apparently) we had great laugh; I really like the banter. I as a great afternoon in a south London park, although, to be brutally honest, ‘we’ were outclassed: the mighty eights batted first, and were all out for 66. The opposition made their 67 in about 23 overs and with the loss of only one wicket. The problem, I was told, is having been promoted up a league last year, Blackheath now face much stiffer opposition. Mind you, it wasn’t quite as bad as the scorecard makes it seem: just a bit more luck, a few early wickets, and it could have been a completely different story (or so I was told). The score aside, it was nonetheless a great day, out in the park with my cricketing friends; I really can’t wait for their next abysmal loss

It has only just turned noon and already today I have seen news of two death sentences. The Boston Bomber, Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, was condemned to die this morning, as was Mohammed Morsi in Egypt. While both men are responsible for horrendous acts, I frankly find it appalling that there are still countries left in the world which still have capital punishment. It is a sickening practice, proven to be ineffective as a deterrent; it’s history is littered with the darkest mistakes. To follow death with death, state sanctioned or otherwise, is no more than base vengeance. As far as I am concerned, any country which retains this abhorrent practice has no right to call itself civilised, and I’m besides myself with rage that there are still people in the Tory party – including that piece of shit Gove – who still advocate it.

What little credibility ukip had a few days ago – and I type that with a tongue in my cheek – is now lost. Farage was on question time last night, trying to act as if he had been begged to stay as ukip leader, and by staying he was doing the right thing. What bull. Obviously one of two things must have happened: Either farage wanted to stay on as leader and engineered the ‘rejection’ of his resignation. Given that one of these pricks stabbed farage in the back he can’t be that well loved, but to hear the ‘dear leader’ speak, it was all said in the heat of the moment, and not really meant. Alternatively the party is a personality cult; a group of closet xenophobes headed by an arrogant bully lusting for power without whom the entire party would disintegrate. Thus either ukip is a personality cult around farage, or the party wanted him to go but the egotistical scumbag wouldn’t. Either way it’s absurd; it would be comic if it wasn’t so dangerous.

I am just looking at olympic stuff again, catching up on the gossip about the bids for 2024. Looking at Boston’s bid, I keep coming across quite a strange attitude. There is currently a lot of opposition to the bid; one of the arguments I keep seeing from the locals there is ”Our city is already special. we have x, y and z pieces of infrastructure. We don’t need the olympics to prove how great our city is.” Of course, they make other arguments over funding etc too. Yet this argument strikes me as oddly telling: it is an argument any city can make. All cities across the world have aspects of greatness. London is renowned the world over as a truly great city, yet it still went in for 2012; Paris is arguably the greatest and most beautiful, but it is still bidding for 2024. If everyone took the attitude of those bostonians, no city would ever bid for the olympics.

I think this tells us quite a lot about the American mindset. It reveals a kind of arrogance. While other peoples see themselves as part of the world and take pleasure in hosting others, americans do not feel the need to reach out in that way. Hosting the olympics is a huge status symbol for a city and a country – a sign that it is a player on the world stage. I get the impression that americans feel they are above that stage, and that the opinions of others don’t matter because only america matters. It implies they feel those cities which have hosted the games are not as great as Boston, and that Boston is somehow automatically superior to places like London and Beijing because it is american. I think his is what is known as american exceptionalism. Thus they shun any initiative from overseas because it is not american. They feel too good to participate with others, above the competition, so many oppose bidding, writing things like ” We don’t oppose the Olympic bid out of an ingrained negativity or a resistance to new things. We do so because we believe that our home is made for bigger, better, and more important things than playing party host.” and when they bid and lose they cry foul. It reveals a kind of arrogance I find worrying, for it betrays a reluctance to participate with the rest of the world, an attitude of superiority and arrogance. The opinions of others do not matter, and nor does participating in events created by non-americans. The olympics are supposed to bring the world together in competitive friendship; for a superpower like the United States to think itself innately above such completion and that all others are automatically inferior is a very worrying state of affairs. I know it is rather odd that I keep returning to this subject, but this is a good example of how one can read a lot about geopolitics and national attitudes in things like olympic bids, which is why I currently find them so fascinating.

It’s odd, when I think about it, how, on one level, nothing has changed since last week. Things still feel as they did: i still go about my business here in charlton.

Today I helped at radio club at school, and went up to b and q for varnish. Apart from the unusually clement weather, South london is the same as is it ever was. Yet the moment I turn on the news or check a news website, I see that everything is different. Every draconian statement our new government make, every attack on the BBC or infringement of free speech, makes the feeling that something is not right deeper, I know it’s only a new government, but we have five years of this to put up with, and it has barely began. We just have to cling to the things they cannot change.

CaMoron and his wife know what it is like to grieve. A few years ago, they famously lost their severely disabled son, Ivan. They know the pain of saying goodbye to someone they love; a pain I saw many times in the eyes of the parents of my friends, and indeed which I have felt more than once. Yet CaMoron has deliberately inflicted that pain on others, and now will do so again many times over: through his cuts, through his greed-based ideology, David CaMoron is sentencing people to death – I see reports of such horrors every day. Yet, as a tory, he does not care: as long as taxes are low, such dying, such grief, is irrelevant to him. How? How can he deliberately inflict on others a pain he too must have felt? Or did he not feel about his son what parents usually feel? I write that in all seriousness, for it is the only sensible explanation. If David CaMoron had a heart, if he had but an ounce of human compassion, he would not be doing what he is doing. But he has no heart, and because of that many more will die, and many more will grieve.

How perfect she looks as we sit here in our garden,

The woman I love. She taps away oh her iPad,

Deep in concentration. All is silent save for the birds.

I watch her scowl with effort and thought

Then smile with success. A smile perfect and pretty

Utterly unique, utterly special.

I stay silent, just watch,

My beautiful woman in our beautiful garden

I remember how lucky I am to be here.

And all is silent save for the birds.

I went out on one of my usual rolls this morning. Lyn was not yet up, but the day was sunny so I thought I would bead up to toe O2 to see if there was anything going on. I often head that way just for a wander, but today I found something great. There was an event on there, with stalls and tents, music and dancing, food and drink. They called it an Urbian Village Fete, and indeed it was very like the country fairs I remember going to as a child – there was just slightly less mud. I was intrigued. I had a little look round before heading back to tell Lyn about it. I’m currently heading back up there to see what more I can find. Meanwhile check out the website here

I sometimes exaggerate on my blog. I was very angry when I wrote my entry earlier. I meant what I said, but I have taken myself to the park where there’s a cricket match on. There’s at slight np in the air, but when the sun emerges from behind a cloud it’s fairly warm. Sitting here I have time to think, and, as dad pointed out over Skype earlier, I still have so much to be cheerful about. I have a wonderful girlfriend, a loving family, so many great memories and so much to look forward to. I don’t really feel like Ahab; I don’t really hate the Tories. I’m just frustrated and worried. But here, sat in the park watching the sport I love, thinking about run rates, remembering visiting Sydney and Melbourne for the ashes, the woes of politics fade away. Ahab obviously never went to a cricket match as it gives you a completely fresh perspective; its slow pace lending one the time to recall that no matter how dire things might seem, there will always be some good left in the world.

There is a hell of a lot of anger in my heart this morning. Watching the news, whenever I see that smug shit CaMoron or any of his party, I feel an anger like one I have never felt before. What Ahab felt for the whale is but a child’s tantrum compared to the rage I feel. I know what they stand for and what they will do: their greedy worldview means that the poorest in society will suffer and starve, but they and the shits who voted for them don’t care. The NHS, the one truly great british contribution to the world, will be torn apart by these neoliberal zealots. They don’t give a fuck about anyone but themselves. Such shits are unfit to rule, but now they rule over us. Knowing the suffering they will now cause, but watching the turds celebrate their victory, makes my entire body spasm with rage.

Some things in life are bad

They can really make you mad

Other things just make you swear and curse

When you’re chewing on life’s gristle

Don’t grumble, give a whistle

And this’ll help things turn out for the best

***

And always look on the bright side of life

Always look on the light side of life

***

If life seems jolly rotten

There’s something you’ve forgotten

And that’s to laugh and smile and dance and sing

When you’re feeling in the dumps

Don’t be silly chumps

Just purse your lips and whistle, that’s the thing

***

And always look on the bright side of life

Always look on the right side of life

***

When the tories have got in and you’re heading for the gin

You just know dark times lie ahead At least Farage was kept out his party now in doubt

So focus on the good stuff instead

***

And always look on the bright side of life Come on!

Always look on the right side of life

***

For life is quite absurd

And death’s the final word

You must always face the curtain with a bow

Forget about your sin

Give the audience a grin

Enjoy it, it’s your last chance anyhow

***

So, always look on the bright side of death

A-just before you draw your terminal breath

***

Life’s a piece of shit

When you look at it

Life’s a laugh and death’s a joke, it’s true

You’ll see it’s all a show

Keep ’em laughing as you go

Just remember that the last laugh is on you

***

And always look on the bright side of life

Always look on the right side of life

All together now

Farage is gone, thank fuck. While I am still furious that the tories have five more years with which to inflict their ideological cuts on the poorest in society, I am incredibly relieved that the people of thannet south saw sense. Had that happened, had that xenophobic leader of morons been made an MP, this nightmare would have become a catastrophe. I watched the result with marta, and, Lyn not being up yet, just had to give her a hug, I was so relieved. Now, however, Farage has resigned as leader, and without their fhurer with any luck that group of scumbags will fade away, slipping back into the obscure cess-pool from whence they came. All I can say is, at least this very dark cloud has a bit of a silver lining.

I got up slightly earlier than usual this morning to check the election results, and as soon as I turned on the tv flew into a rage. I must apologise to poor Lyn, who was sill trying to sleep, as I started yelling at the screen. I was, and still am, furious: how can we have been stupid enough to elect the tory turds? The insults to the human species responsible for so much suffering. The sight of that shit CaMoron and the whore he calls his wife is too much to bear, for I know what is to come: through tory greed and arrogance people will die,left to starve or take their own lives, despairing at reduced care packages. How can the people of this country have been that stupid, that short-sighted, that selfish? I curse every tory, and every piece of shit who voted for them. There are no words for the rage I feel this morning.

Not that I read the mirror, but since I can’t put it much better…

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It feels like day after day these last five years, one story of hardship has crossed my desk after another. Day after day I saw stories of hardship caused by tory cuts; stories of despair, starvation and suicide. Each time my heart was filled with rage. All of those stores could have been avoided; they did not have to happen. The Tories had a choice in what they cut. They could have spared people the suffering, but instead they chose to hit the poorest hardest. They picked on people who could not defend themselves while cutting tax for their rich friends. That tax could have contributed to the economy, so the suffering of others could have been less. That is why, in all earnestness and without a shred of hyperbole, I feel that what the tories have done is tantamount to a crime against humanity. They try to absolve themselves, saying they had no choice but to inflict these cuts. But they did have a choice; they chose to make the poorest people in society suffer needlessly as they cut tax for the richest. The blame lies wholly with them and their politics of greed.

Evening is drawing in. I await the dawn with both hope and fear. The new dawn must, surely, bring the start of change. Could we be foolish enough to let this continue? Will the Tories get back in? Am I to get more stories of despair, suicide and death. With all my heart I hope not. Only the dawn, or the one after it, can tell: but I hope the setting sun takes with it the hurtful, disastrous tory government.

I would like to send my congratulations and applause to BBC4 and the beeb in general for airing All aboard! The canal Trip last night. It really was a remarkable piece of television, quite unlike anything I’ve ever seen aired. In stark contrast to the boom, bang and eek of normal tv, it was a calm, relaxing journey down a canal, filmed almost entirely from the stern of a barge. I must admit I didn’t watch it all, but rather darted between the tv and my computer. Yet it truly was a brave decision to air such a film: it was virtually one two-hour shot, no music, and the odd caption. At points they merged the shot seamlessly with archive footage. The bravery and beauty of it made my jaw drop; I really must take my hat off to the people who thought it up, made it, and had the guts to put it on air.

Last night when I turned on the news, I gave out a yelp of anger so violent that Dominik came running, thinking something was wrong. I had turned on the 10pm bulletin to see footage if CaMoron asking how labour dared to lecture them on economics. Frankly his words hurt as if the bastard had struck me directly. Labour have every right to lecture the Tories; they have every right to point out the unfairness of what CaMoron and his buddies have done. Their cuts have already lead to countless deaths. Thus when I heard the unelected scumbag try to assume the moral high ground and arrogantly accuse his opponents of causing the suffering his party alone caused, I almost threw something hard at the TV. Labour has every right to cry foul, and the Tories deserve the lectures they receive. CaMoron’s arrogance in claiming otherwise, his refusal to recognise the suffering he and his party have inflicted, boils my blood.

I got up this morning to the then breaking news that two gunmen had been shot dead after they had attacked a conference about cartoons of the prophet Mohammed. The story has me in quite a curious position: at first, I thought ”what did they expect?” Not that I condone such violence, but the conference attendees were being deliberately inflammatory. On the other hand, given my overall stance on religion, part of me thinks I should support the right to lampoon it. After all, one of my favourite films is Life of Brian; what is the difference between the Python classic p-take on christianity and these cartoons?

Yet there is a difference – an important one. Python was a group of middle class guys making a film about the absurdity of religion in general. It was made by men born into the christian world who poked fun at christianity. From what I hear, this conference was a deliberate attack by one group on another: it was organised by american right-wingers, and people like gert vilders were involved. It was entirely provocative. Thus, while I support the lampooning of religion, and don’t think any religion should be out of bounds, this conference troubles me.

Yet I’m not totally sure what to think, or where I stand. Religion is absurd and deserves criticism, but I also think this conference was unwise. No doubt, too, that the people attending were the type of american conservatives who object to people taking the pee out of christianity. Indeed, earlier I was struck by the absurd thought that it might have been some kind of inside job organised by the conference to gain attention and stir up tension, but not even the christian right could be that mad. Then again, what muslim would do such a thing, knowing full well it would play into the right’s hands? Either way it’s very troubling, and will probably only divide communities even further. This is a long way from python and the rereading of preexisting orthodoxies I cherish. There is no looking on the bright side, only the hatred caused by religious difference.

Through the winter I came here, to this square of grass edged with trees

Taking the paths that skirt it, on my way here and there.

Every time it was barren, often covered in frost.

Yet yesterday, the grass green again, I came across a glorious sight:

White frost was replaced with men in whites;

The air, so long silent, resounded with birdsong, and chatter

The sound of ball on bat, claps and cheers.

Sound of life, Sounds of summer, sounds I love

The sound of a thousand happy days, of so many memories

Yesterday, I came across summer in the park.

I checked the news this morning to see that the duchess of Cambridge was in labour. I know I shouldn’t care about such things, and indeed was quite unaware that she was pregnant, but I can’t seem to help feeling touched. I know it’s irrational: the monarchy is an utterly undemocratic institution which feeds off tax payers money which could be better used elsewhere. As at least a quasi-socialist, I should be watching the news with loathing. And yet, at the same time, it is part of our national identity; the continuation of the national soap opera. The truth is I kind of like the monarchy, especially since the olympics – part of me wonders whether 007 is behind the scenes somewhere – so part of me feels quite warmly about this news. Paul our PA today is in a similar position: he is, I think, just as left wing as I am, yet earlier we were discussing what they are going to call her. It’s a funny, ambivalent and contradictory position to hold, but hold it I nevertheless do. I thus both congratulate the royal couple, and despair at having one more royal mouth to feed.

Roaming around south-east London in my wheelchair, it’s hard to escape the impression that the city, or at least it’s construction industry, is flourishing. There are so many new construction projects around it’s incredible. The building around the crossrail site in Woolwich particularly amazes me. The other day, passing by it, I caught myself thinking ”Perhaps I’m mistaken; perhaps there is something to praise the Tories for after all.” But, thinking about it, the recovery began long before the Tories got into power. We were famously feeling the ‘green shoots” of the return to prosperity before they got in. Given that construction projects take so long to develop, the building I see would have either been started under labour, or shortly after when their policies were still in place. Thus we are now feeling the effects of Gordon Brown’s wisdom: it was he, not that barely-numerate p’tahk Osbourne, who protected us against the worst effects of the global financial crash. Without brown, I once heard, the credit crunch would have become a depression as bad as the one in the thirties.

Thus, we are recovering despite rather than because of what the tories are doing. And, while I see all these fancy buildings going up, many people are still lining up at food-banks or re being driven to suicide because of tory cuts. While it may look like things are getting better, it’s only an appearance. Building in London may be booming, and that is indeed cause for optimism; but walk down the streets of Woolwich a few metres, and you’ll see shocking poverty – the real effects of the tories’ economic ‘plan’.