People are dying due to the cuts; day after day I see reports of the suffering the Tories are causing through their ideological war on the welfare state. The UN is coming in to investigate the harm, the breeches of human rights, the cuts are doing, I read. Yet, as if to spit in the face of those he is hurting, I just saw on the news this evening that the son-of-a-p’tahk Osbourne has announced he’s spending half a billion quid on the renewal of trident, a system whose only purpose or use is to kill. How can they be so stupid, so arrogant, so callous to the thousands who are suffering? The tories have sunk to a new low, and words fail me.

I’m pleased to report that I’m having something of a productive bank holiday: I’m at last working on my script again, and have already written about four good pages. However, when it turned four I checked the headlines, and found this story. Kanye West apparently intends to run for president in 2020. Now, while I’m not a big fan of West’s music, I have nothing against him as a person, yet I can’t help finding this idea absurd. Rapping is one thing, running a superpower quite another. What, apart from arrogance and ego, makes West think he’s up to the task? Of course, I could be wrong; after all, if George Dubya Bush can run America, so can anyone, including farmyard animals. Yet part of me is concerned that we might all be confusing celebrity for wisdom, and assuming that because someone is famous and raps about important topics, they would make good leaders. They don’t always go hand-in-hand, and I’m slightly worried that this is a sign of how vacuous and celebrity oriented western society is becoming.

It’s one of those days where you just feel subdued. I just got back from one of my walks, having been invited to a local cricket match. I didn’t stay long there, but went for a short roam round the streets. It’s not raining, but rather grey, giving the place a miserable, lethargic feeling. It’s the type of day where you start to miss summer. But I’ve come back to find Lyn cheerfully looking at pictures of music equipment on Her computer, her chuckles seemingly brightening the room; and it turns out that the sleep problems I was worried about yesterday are no more than a sign I’m getting old. A grey sort of day it may be, and autumn feels like it’s on the way; but coming home to a house full of laughter, far from the darkening urban sprawl outside, one can’t feel too down.

I note Bill O’Really* has been at it again. Last night I came across a video of him trying to pin the recent shootings in the States on the rise on Atheism, claiming that, because people are moving away from religion, society is losing it’s values and moral compass. Of course, Bill, don’t question the easy availability of firearms; try to pin it on your own gripe and use this horrific act to justify your own oppressive dogma. After all, nobody who believed in god ever hurt anyone. Seriously, how this absurd loud-mouth idiot ever got into a position of authority where he can espouse his ridiculous views is beyond me. What I find amusing, though, is that O’Reilly clearly holds himself in such high regard, not realising he is in fact the laughing stock of the entire world.

*Not a typo – a deliberate play on his name.

I did not sleep very well last night. It was weird: at about 4am I woke up (just when Lyn was coming to bed) and from then on, every time I felt myself going into REM I woke myself up. A similar thing happened the night before. I don’t know what, if anything, could have caused it; believe it or not I haven’t had a beer in a couple of weeks, so it can’t be that. It’s probably nothing, and no doubt soon I’ll be back to sleeping like a log; yet the episode about my absences taught me not to ignore such things; they might not be as insignificant as I’d like to assume. If this persists, then, I’ll check it out, probably first by consulting Mum. Yet it probably won’t, and all being well tomorrow I’ll wake up my usual time fresh as a daisy.

There is a strange habit I’ve noticed many people with cerebral palsy have – myself included – which I call ‘squealing’. Whenever I feel particularly excited or happy about something, I let off odd little spasms of glee, strange cries and laughs, They can happen at any time, depending on what I’m thinking about, so it must look strange to someone close by.You think about something you find cool, and something in you wells up and you can’t help letting it out. That’s what I meant here when I wrote that I was looking for something new to squeal about: I need something new to find joy in, to make me smile, to give off odd, random yelps of happiness people without CP probably just suppress.

There’s something strangely interesting about yesterday’s news about someone filming themself shooting someone. It would seem to say something about the society in which we now live. The way in which the killer wanted his horrendous act filmed seems to me to imply that it could only be real if it was recorded. It’s as if, in Lacanian terms, the Real and Symbolic are merging; as if the killer wanted to secure his deed in the collective memory, on the web. We see this in other areas too: more and more, people are uploading anything and everything – videos to Youtube, pictures to facebook – to cement an event online for posterity. It is as if we have all become insecure about the passing of time, and want to make it stop; we seek to cling to the past by rendering it into the online Symbolic, apparently desperate for others to witness it too. Yesterday’s killings were, of course, an extreme example, but it seems indicative of a very modern mindset: the desire to cling to ‘now’, the present, passing moment by rendering the real info the symbolic and making it available for all to see.

I may have been having a bit of a strop last week when I wrote this entry. It is not a sign that one is spoiled to ask for the support you think you need – of course not! In fact, if every disabled person was automatically awarded twenty-four hour support, it would go a long way to solving the country’s unemployment problems. And, to tell the truth, there have been times late at night when I’ve wished there was a PA around. While part of me still worries about the attitude of entitlement some people with disabilities seem to have, I also resolutely support an individual’s right to ask for the support they need to live independent lives. After all, only with the right support can one most efficiently contribute to society.

I just found this short humorous video by Michael Palin on his new Youtube channel. A keen diarist, Palin talks about how he has kept a diary for almost fifty years. What caught my interest is the relationship between that and my own practice of blogging: it’s not too dissimilar from me tapping an entry on here every day or two for the last ten years. Yet there are differences: whereas a diary is a record of personal, day-to-day events, a blog can combine this with reactions to what is going on in the world in general. You can write very personal things in diaries which, in a blog entry, might get you in trouble. Also, whereas Palin says diaries are ‘honest’ because you don’t go back and edit past entries, blog entries can be edited after they are posted. I used to try not to, but I’ve added or deleted stuff from entries I wrote years ago. Does that make my blog dishonest? I don’t think so – one’s feelings about things can change over time, so, because it is public and readable to others, one sometimes feels the need to go back and edit. It’s an interesting dichotomy: I suppose in a way blogging is an evolution of diary-keeping, an it’s interesting to reflect upon the relationship between the two.

These days if ever I feel the need to give myself a quick boost, I just think about all the awesome things that have happened in the last few years. The Olympics, Python, Star Trek, graduation – all these things are so special to me. Yet they were all a while ago, so now I think it’s time for another bit of awesomeness. What this awesomeness will be I don’t know, and of course it’s not as simple as willing one into existence – they are special because they are once in a lifetime experiences, rare by definition. But this is London: a place where incredible things happen. There’s bound to be a concert or gig or event which will again have me squeaking with glee and wondering how I could be so lucky to experience it. That’s part of the magic of the city.

While I’m not entirely convinced that Shirley bassey would be the best choice to do the theme for Spectre – although she has done some of the best Bond Themes – I think I need to flag this video up, simply because of it’s sublime and highly amusing editing. Some of the cutting is awesome! It’s also evidence of just how good socalled amateurs are getting at creating videos. Enjoy!

The Daily Mail is at it again. Today it has published a blatantly biassed, utterly baseless rant against Jeremy Corbyn. How this insult to journalism can publish such crap staggers me, almost as much as how people can be dim enough to read it. It is a ‘what if Corbyn was elected’ piece, predicting all kinds of ‘horrors’, as if a fairer, more equal society is something to be avoided. I suppose if you care only about yourself and thin poor people deserve their fate – that is, you possess the arrogant, infantile mentality of the average Mail reader – it is. But I for one am getting fed up of them publishing such bollocks. True, under the principal of freedom of speech, they are free to print what they like; but under the same principal I am free to zoom down to Charlton village, declare myself a dragon and demand everyone pay homage to me. What the Mail publishes is hate-filled baseless crap intended to promote a selfish, right-wing worldview. It’s attack on Corbyn today proves what a rag it is, and it has no right to spread it’s lies. It is nothing but pollution in the stream of journalistic discourse.

I Am currently on a bus back from my bank. There’s an odd, ancient feel to this place, as if one can still detect what was here before it became part of a vast metropolis: the villages and hamlets. At the same time there Is a modern, vibrant, multicultural feeling to this place: woolwich, for example, is full of Islamic and African shops. This causes a juxtaposition of ancient and modern, British and foreign, which is fascinating, and adds to my love of London. To be able to detect the fields and farmsteads that must once have been here amid the modern, vibrant maelstrom gives the city an energy unlike anywhere else.

This might be slightly contentious, but it seems to me that there is a certain type of person within the disability community who, despite their claims otherwise, is only really interested in their own rights and needs. Often, these people are young and spoiled; they are used to getting their own way and being the centre of attention. Probably because they got so much lavished upon them as children, they demand more support than they actually need – twenty-four hour care in many cases – while others, realising resources may be limited and that others need support too, make do with what they really need. Such people see themselves as leaders of our community, and seem to think they deserve media attention as ”oh so inspirational disabled people”. They perceive persecution in every nook and cranny, calling themselves activists and going to every protest, while not realising that, being mainstream educated, they are among the least persecuted among us.

Academically, they don’t push themselves as hard as they might, and yet cry ‘disability’ when they don’t get the grades they think the are due. I know I shouldn’t be so bitchy, and perhaps I should leave such people to their own devices; but I just worry about how spoiled some of ‘us’ can seem, and about how they can prioritise their own needs over those of others.

ADDENDUM – A (partial) retraction of this entry can be read here

I’m still struggling with my current script. I started it about two months ago, and it’s still only twelve pages. I think I have a bit of writers block: I know the story I want to tell, but not how to tell it, which sort of makes me doubt my abilities as a creative writer. But I suppose I just need to keep chipping away at it; keep at it, and it’ll come. After all, I had similar bouts of despair with my MA thesis. My dad once told me that the only deadline I had for my masters is the one I set myself, and I suppose the same applies now. After all, it’s the first full-length narrative I’ve tried to write. I need, then, to stop fretting and keep going.

I reckon London’s next big project should be here in the city’s south-east. I was thinking about this in bed last night. All the other quarters have very cool things: the north-west has wembley, the bbc and so on; the south-west has Kew; the north-east now has the awesomeness of the Olympic park. What do we have? Of course, you could say the south-east has the dome, but, being slap-band on the jubilee line, that’s part of central london really. It’s time ‘we’ had a bit of attention lavished upon us, like Stratford had for 2012. What this might be is another question, but I’d opt for a cricket ground or film studio. Mind you, a concert hall/music venue where Lyn could play could be cool. Either way, I just think south-east London is due something big, bold and exciting,

Watching Monty Python Live last year ranks alongside meeting Sir Patrick Stewart, watching Lyn perform at the paralympic closing ceremony and graduating my masters as one of the greatest events of my life. In my entry about that awesome event, I said that I thought I was watching Python’s last ever performance, and that I didn’t think they would ever perform together again. It now seems I may have been wrong: yesterday on the monty python facebook page a picture appeared showing the five remaining team members together; the caption below said they were making plans. I was instantly intrigued. I can only speculate about what that could mean: could they be making a new film together? Very possible. A documentary about Python? No – the wording of the caption did not suggest that.

I can’t help but think that they might be planning another live show. Perhaps last year was such a success they have been persuaded to do it again. If that is so, then where? I think it’s unlikely to be at the o2 again – cool though it would be for me, I think they would want to go somewhere else. Maybe someone in the States saw the shows last year, thought ”we’ll have some of that” and made the team an offer they couldn’t refuse. I find that rather likely. Either way this is pure speculation started by a single picture on facebook – I could well be completely wrong. Nevertheless, this is a story I’ll be watching with great interest; going by what happened last time, it might well turn out to be something truly awesome. Monty Python, it would seem, is not dead yet.

It would seem that my ponderings have turned up something genuinely interesting for once. Today, in the shower, I was once again thinking about Happy and Glorious and about how it is quite unambiguous evidence that James Bond has a major position in uk culture. That made me wonder whether any other fictional character in any other country has a similar position. If the meeting of bond and the queen in 2012 brought together two of the biggest symbols of Britain, might other such combinations be possible? Once dry and dressed, I tweeted: ”Does any other character in any other country have the same cultural position as 007 has in the UK?” And the response turned up something far more interesting than Bond.

My friend John replied. He’s apparently currently in Palestine, and there they have a cartoon character called Handala. Handala is ten, and. as explained here, is a kind of symbol for the Palestinian refugees, embodying their plight: ”From approximately 1975 through 1987 Naji Al-Ali created cartoons that depict the complexities of the plight of Palestinian refugees. These cartoons are still relevant today and Handala, the refugee child who is present in every cartoon, remains a potent symbol of the struggle of the Palestinian people for justice and self-determination.” For a student of culture, this certainly warrants further research. It might not have been quite what I was thinking of in the shower, but this figure is the fictional symbol of one of the most persecute communities on earth, offering an enlightening perspective on a complex, troubling situation – I find that fascinating. Looking into this seems promising; time to do some Googling.

My inner trekkie really wants to go to this. I found it by chance earlier: the London Philharmonic will be doing a star trek concert in November, playing the themes from the star trek films. I know I can listen to the themes whenever I like, and Lyn didn’t seem that fussed when I mentioned it to her, but it would be awesome to hear the music from my favourite tv show played live. Although I don’t think they’re going to play the theme from First Contact, my all-time favourite trek film, and cannot top meeting Sir Patrick Stewart las year, I’m seriously considering getting tickets.

Today, bbc news just informed me, marks a hundred days since the tories came to power. A hundred days since a group of self-serving aristocrats proclaimed themselves our leaders; a hundred days since they began to impose their unjust ideological cuts. A hundred days since CaMoron claimed what he would no doubt view as his birthright. We are a hundred days into five years of suffering – suffering the tories chose to impose on us. They are the type of people who would rather put the poorest people in society through hell than raise tax on those who can afford to give a little more. With their selfish worldview, they are unfit to rule, yet they do and indeed see it as their birthright. Thus today marks a grim milestone: so many have died due to the cuts already; I wonder how many more will die before we can finally eject these insults to humanity from office.

There’s one thing that worries me about Jeremy Corbyn. As much as I like his old-left, communitarian politics, my fear is that such views have become too unfashionable. Like him I believe in the state, in society, in the community; yet in the eighties that bitch thatcher moved us all to a more individualistic paradigm. The damage she did may well be irreversible; we now all care only for ourselves, see ourselves as separate entities and resent contributing to the greater good. If that is true, then the p’tahk Blair is right and the electorate will ignore corbyn and we’ll have another tory government in 2020. Thus while my heart wants corbyn as labour leader, my head worries that people have become too self-centred to see the wisdom of his views. His politics may hark back to the 1960s, but that’s a damn sight better than the 1880’s politics of the Tories.

When I was young I used to like watching Dad’s Army. I remember it was on on Saturday afternoons at about teatime, and I vividly remember watching it as the smell of dinner wafted from the kitchen. I must have only been about five or six, but it seemed old to me even then. There was always an air of a bygone era about it, not just in terms of it’s subject, but also it’s comedy and style: it was part of our cultural history and belonged to the past. It was to my utter astonishment this morning, then, that I came across this. I realise that the cinema is full of reboots right now, but never in my wildest dreams would I have thought someone would go back to dad’s Army. Nevertheless, my childhood Saturday evening distraction will soon be reborn on the big screen, with Bill Nighy and Catherine Zeta-Jones, and directed by Oliver Parker, who did one of the johnny English films. Of course, whether it will be any good remains to be seen. My gut instinct says it’ll be a flop: it won’t feel right without the original cast in their original roles. That would be like someone other than William Shatner playing James Kirk – Ridiculous!…Oh, wait…And there we have it: yet another part of one’s childhood rebooted as empty, meaningless dross.

I just found this cool short film by my old colleague from Onevoice, Nadia, concerning her visit to Sydney Opera House. They have an awesome-looking new lift system there which Nadia tries out. Nadia is a real go-getter of the VOCA-using community, has won strings of awards and is a great ambassador for ‘us’. It’s good to see her doing so well.

Lyn and I watched ‘Epilepsy and me’ last night, and i must say I found it very rewarding. Since establishing what my absences actually are two or three years ago, I have been keeping an eye out for information on the subject, so I found this program quite an eye-opener. I never knew, for example, that there are so many types of epilepsy. I suppose that makes sense. This program helped to reassure me that I am not alone, which, as I wrote here, helps a lot. Most of all, I came away from this program reassured, and relieved that my absences are comparatively mild: they only last three or four seconds, and just get me down a bit, whereas what the kids in the program were going through was far worse. At the same time, I recognised elements of my absences in how they described their seizures, giving me an idea of how complex this issue is. Thus I’m very glad to have watched this program: I can now place myself on a spectrum, albeit towards the mild end, and know that I’m far from alone in having my absence.

The more I hear about Jeremy Corbyn, the more I like him. Of course, I’m not a member of Labour so I don’t have a vote in their leadership election, but I hope corbyn wins. Some say He’s too much of a lefte, and that his old-style psuedosocialist politics no longer have a place in tis increasingly neoliberal world. But I’d say that’s precisely what we need: we need an end of thatcherism, an end of greedy, small-state, low-tax individualism – that only leads to a rich few getting richer while the majority suffer. I’m glad to see there are a fe people left who stand up to such greed and call it what it is; people who counter the austerity bullshit the tories spew. Corbyn is right: austerity is a lie spouted by the tories so that they can justify their greedy, selfish politics. I just hope he wins so that things can start to be put right.

I came across this cartoon a couple of days ago and thought it definitely worthy of nicking

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Sat here listening to the cricket on the radio, I just had a quick flick through my weblog archive. Incredibly, today marks almost exactly ten years since I wrote this entry, about dad jumping around the living room like a kid upon hearing the news of England winning the ashes. I wonder weather dad will jump again today – I certainly will, as soon as we get one last wicket. So much has changed in the ten years since I wrote that entry – meeting Lyn, moving to london, getting my Masters etc – but it’s good to note some things have remained constant: cricket, the ashes, and good old Henry Bloefeld.

I’m in two minds about The Unbreakables, Life and Love on a Disability Campus, which aired on bbc3 last night. Of course, any tv program about disability should be welcomed, yet, as with much of the beeb’s current disability season, I can’t help but frown. The protagonists were presented so patronisingly it felt a bit like a freak show. Then again I suppose that would be difficult to avoid given the subject: how can one appear sympathetic to people with learning disabilities without slipping into patronisation? It is a hard balance to strike, snd I fear the programme makers failed in places. This is certainly a program and a season to keep n eye on, then, if just to make sure the beeb get it right.

I just came across this rancid piece of pro-segregation writing at the beeb, and I must say I’m appalled. While my experiences at charlton park school have taught me not to be as dogmatically pro-inclusion as I once was, the way this article sings the praises of segregation is vomit-worthy. It harps on about how students with disabilities feel so much more secure at their special college, spouting cliched crap like ”When I moved to the specialist college the opportunities I was given were so much better. Everybody was expert in dealing with young adults with disabilities so I instantly felt more accepted and included. My differences were no longer different.” I mean, Please! It’s as if the bbc wants to butter the tories up by towing their anti-inclusion line. The sad part is, I daresay both students involved could have flourished in mainstream. I think it’s time to do some complaining.

I may have been being slightly naive and uncritical in my entry on Boston and the olympics last week. For me, being part of London 2012 was a hugely positive experience, and I am still very proud to have been part of it. But there’s much more to this than pride: while I still think hosting the world’s biggest sporting and cultural event is a huge boon for a city, there are those who take a different view. This article, for instance, lays out just how corrupt and complex the bidding competition is; in a way, it explains, the IOC can be seen as acting like a huge mafia organisation, making vast demands on a city. I see his point: why spend so much money placating this huge undemocratic organisation by putting on the world’s most extravagant party, when it can be used on, say, education or housing? I must agree, and, reading this article, it is clear that some serious investigation must be done on the IOC – it’s almost as bad as FIFA. While I still think what happened in London in 2012 was great, now that I’ve started to look into this process, its starting to look very murky indeed. The awesomeness of James Bond escorting the queen to the olympic opening ceremony or Lyn playing at the Paralympic closing ceremony is one thing; the stupidity of having to build billion-pound facilities which will be used for three weeks and then be left to crumble is quite another. At the same time, this article could have a touch of post-event rationalisation to it; it could be a case of a Bostonian saying ”we didn’t really want the olympics anyway, so ner!” The way in which it presents Boston’s simple withdrawal from the process as some sort of mighty victory over the IOC certainly smacks of that, anyway. Nevertheless, it’s clear to me that I shouldn’t be so naive and uncritical when it comes to the IOC.

Facebook reminded me this morning that today marks seven years since I befriended Lyn on it. It’s not seven years since we got in touch or started to communicate, just seven years since that all-important friendship request was sent. It’s so long ago now that have forgotten which one of us sent it; but that meeting in the electronic ether was, I suppose, a vital step to the life I lead today. Lyn got the same message earlier of course, and we were both laughing that it”s amazing how she has put up with me for so long. Joking aside, her patience with me is incredible. It often has to be, and I really hope it endures so that Facebook can send us many more reminders like that.

For the most part, I think it’s fair to say my university experience was overwhelmingly positive. Uni made me who I am, I excelled academically and I made countless life-long friends (on that note, congratulations to Jenny and Steve for tying the knot this weekend). In large part that was because I had all the support I needed: my wonderful LSA helped me take my notes and type my work; the staff were very accommodating. I cannot possibly complain, which is why I’m rather puzzled about this Disability News Service story about a student who seems to have had precisely the opposite experience: Lesley Bayly-Bureau was booted out from her psychology degree at City University, London having received very little support and nothing in terms of reasonable adjustments. They seem to have refused pointblank to accommodate her needs in any way. Frankly reading this article, something doesn’t seem quite right, as if we aren’t being given the full picture. There’s no way that a uni would act as reported in this article; if they have, the law should pounce on them with full force. I hope this is just a case of a terrible muck-up and not a symptom of the way things are going in general.

I admit I was making a mountain out of a molehill yesterday as getting to the party in Peckham turned out easy. While I had to take two busses, equipped with a list of instructions on my lap it was straightforward enough, and I got to the party early. While I say party, it was more of an afternoon gathering of Poppy’s mates; most people, including Charlotte and Poppy, had a gig to go to after. Seeing the jones sisters was great, and Charlie was still raving about watching the Cat Empire with me in the Albert Hall. The afternoon seemed to fly by, and at about five people started to thin out. Rather than get the bus back I opted for a taxi as I had had a drink, and I got back in time for dinner. C, on the other hand, is probably still at her gig.

I have a party to go to today: It’s charlie’s sister’s birthday, and Charlotte invited Lyn and myself to the celebration. Lyn is busy, so I’ll be going on my own. The thing is, it’s in a part of the city I’ve never been to before, so I’m a bit nervous about getting there. All I know about Peckham is it was where the Trotters lived. The TFL website says the journey isn’t very complicated, but I’m a bit nervous about getting lost. I suppose it’s all part of urban life; part of living in a huge metropolis where there is always somewhere new to explore. I should relish it. I’ll let you all know how the party goes tomorrow – assuming I get there, that is.