I suppose it was inevitable that such a film would be made. Tonight, I think I will just flag this curious short up. It asks the question: could bond meet bourne? Could they fall in love? For my part, I’m not sure they would – they have entirely different personalities, for one – but the film was still worth linking to, if just as an editorial tour de force. Franky, it captures a homoeroticism which I cannot help but find intriguing.

Lyn went out this morning, so I was just browsing Youtube where I found this 2007 Channel Four documentary about the controversy surrounding the Life Of Brian. I thought it worth flagging up because it’s interesting to watch the contrast and conflict between two groups of people, both absolutely convinced that they are right. On the one hand, the guys who made the film, the Pythons, defending their right to make a film poking fun at religion; on the other, all the narrow-minded religious nutters trying their hardest to get the film banned. Watching the footage, I found it infuriating to see zealots like Mary Whitehouse and Malcolm Muggeridge decry this film, condemning it as though they had a right to control what people said, saw and thought. Such critics were dismissing the film as something childish or puerile, assuming an authority which they had absolutely no right to, especially given many of them had not even seen it.

Yet it occurs to me that the problem there is, when we condemn them for trying to get this film banned, do we become as bad as they are? If the pythons have a right to free speech, so should they; when we defend films on the grounds of free speech, we must also tolerate the intolerant. I still struggle with that paradox: as much as I want to call for narrow-minded morons like Whitehouse to shut up, I know i have no right to do so. After all, what if the tables were turned? As an atheist, I agree with a lot of what Life of Brian has to say; but what if someone made a film poking fun at left-wing liberals, or disabled people? Would I not be up in arms calling for it to be banned?

In the end, it’s clear who won: Life of Brian is one of the funniest films ever; it had such a cultural impact that it was referenced at the 2012 olympic closing ceremony. I wonder what those who fought against this film thought about that.

I still wonder, from time to time, how the tories won the 2015 general election. According to this Canary article, they cheated: ”In the weeks before the 2015 general election, the Conservatives’ ‘RoadTrip 2015’ campaign buses criss-crossed the country, helping Conservative candidates in marginal seats to win their election campaigns. Those buses have since been credited with winning the general election for the Conservatives …Now an investigation by The Mirror suggests that the 24 Conservative candidates who were helped to victory by the buses failed to declare the cost of the buses, along with associated food and hotel expenses, in their election campaign spending.” There are strict rules governing how much parties can spend on things like battle busses. Such rules are intended to ensure a level playing field, but CaMoron and co. obviously don’t think they apply to them. If you view yourself as born to rule, you can simply disregard the rules us plebs have to abide by. They just went about the country, lying and fooling people into voting for them. As a result, we now have a group of people, utterly unfit to govern, inflicting their innately unfair, selfish policies on us.

I’ve just about mastered the principal of looking where I’m going when out and about in my chair, harsh experience having taught me the folly of not doing so. It would, however, seem that looking where I’m not going – ie when I’m reversing – is a skill I have yet to master. I was just out on my daily stroll, by the hospital tho other side of the park. Thinking absently about this and that, I came to a crossroads. I was briefly tempted to head straight across when the man turned red: I stopped, and, realising my front wheels were on the road, reversed.

That was when everything suddenly turned upside down and my chair tilted upwards. I had reversed into a ditch (as shown here). I was dazed but fine. Looking back, I was damn lucky my wheelchair didn’t fall on me. I didn’t have time to think though, as moments later several people came rushing to help, including motorists at the lights. As usual I got the ”is he okay?” routine. It was not until I was back in my chair, Ipad on my lap, that I could explain that I was fine – the plants in the ditch had cushioned my fall – by which time the police had been called and there was talk of taking me to the nearby hospital. Quite a hubbub ensued; I was a mixture of embarrassed and amused, but eventually they let me on my way. Looking back, I feel humble that so many people stopped to help, and relieved it didn’t turn out far, far worse.

I just saw on the news that CaMoron has used his easter message to give us all a lecture on ‘christian values’ and ‘compassion’. I find it galling that that insult to humanity would dare to claim to be compassionate, or that he cares about anyone but himself. His ideology, conservatism, is about greed; it’s about working only for yourself and resenting contributing to society through tax. That’s why, under the tories, thousands of the most vulnerable people in society have had their only source of income slashed; many more have lost their homes. How that abhorrent little scumbag can stand there and claim to have any human value resembling kindness, using a patronising, condescending ‘I’m better than you’ tone, boils my blood. He should be apologising for the suffering he has caused, not giving lectures on kindness.

I just came across this rather interesting Guardian article speculating about the possible future of the Bond franchise. If you ask me, it’s fine as it is – EON should just keep churning them our as they have done for the last fifty-odd years. But might it be time for Bond to diversify? Could there be room, this article asks, for a cinematic universe. On the face of it, the possibilities seem endless: after all, there are presumably many other double-O agents to tell stories about; and how about a film about Q branch? Yet, while I have nothing against spin-offs (after all, I’ve always preferred Picard to Kirk), the Bond films are about Bond; they focus on one central character and his adventures. Unlike, say, Star Trek, they are set in the real, contemporary world; there are few specialised conventions or words – ‘warp drive’, ‘transporter beam’ etc – which other narratives could use to enter into Bond’s world. A bond film without Bond would just be a film, albeit one with the odd reference to things like Q-branch. It would have to set up it’s own characters completely afresh – what would be the point? On the other hand, the article also suggests the creation of a secondary series of bond films, based more faithfully on Fleming’s novels and set in the era in which they were written. Personally I find that idea much more intriguing.

I suppose one of the better things about recent political matters, if I can look briefly on the bright side, is that disabled people are at last being spoken about. Before the budget, we were a side issue, rarely considered in the mainstream. The fleeting glow we enjoyed in 2012 quickly faded away, and people with disabilities once again became sidelined. We still don’t get the media representation we need if we are ever to be seen as equal, productive members of society. There is the odd exception, of course – lost voice guy, the Last Leg etc – but what little representation we have is still heavily reliant on stereotype. At least the recent political furore has brought people with disabilities front and centre, albeit for entirely the wrong reasons: Osbourne’s budget unambiguously persecuted us; it cut the benefit we need to survive to fund a tax cut for the rich. It was an unfair, inhumane attack, and it got the media attention it deserved. I suppose we should be thankful it did – we could have easily been sidelined once again, and had we been, we could have expected more, even deeper cuts. If it was the negative media attention which forced the tories to rethink, then the lesson is clear: the more crips there are in the public eye, the better. We must remain in the public view – on tv, in film, in theatre, wherever as active, productive members of society deserving of it’s support. We must not allow ourselves to become sidelined; the moment we do so, we become easy pickings for tory cuts.

One of the advantages of using a device like an Ipad as your communication aid is that, when it goes wrong, help is readily available. Mine was malfunctioning yesterday. It had been quite bad for a while – random letters kept pressing themselves as I was typing, and for some reason my messages on the instant messaging app had stopped getting through. It reached a peak yesterday, in a rather embarrassing session at school, so I decided it needed to be sorted. When I used a Lightwriter, that meant packing it and sending it to the guys at toby Churchill; yesterday it meant a trip to Woolwich.

I assumed the issue with random letters pressing was due to the screen being damaged, so, going into the small laptop and phone repair store on the square, I asked the guy, as best I could, to replace the screen, before explaining about the secondary issue with the messages. After a quick examination, he told me that the latter was probably due to my Sim needing topping up. The screen would take about two hours, he said, and after that he offered to go with me to the O2 store to sort the sim. That struck me as very kind.

I returned home, where I explained the situation to Lyn, then in the bath. She said the problem was nothing to do with the sim, and the guy was talking bollocks. To be honest, it struck me as odd that I could use email and the web browser perfectly well but not the Instant Messaging app, given that they all used the sim, but the guy seemed to know what he was doing. Nevertheless, I went to my computer and waited for two hours to pass.

I went back a little early and waited for the guy to bring my Ipad. It eventually materialised, shiny new screen and all, and I strapped it to my lap. I thanked him, paid him, and was about to invite him to look at my blog, when letters started pressing themselves – it had not solved the problem at all. Puzzled, the guy looked at it, then told me to come back tomorrow when he would have a special part in. I said okay, and then we set off for the o2 shop, just around the corner.

He explained the issue, but when the guy from O2 asked me a question, the keyboard problem had become so bad that I couldn’t answer. It was then, I think, that the Ipad repair man took pity on me: we went back to his store, took my Ipad, and told me to wait half an hour. Puzzled, I nipped into a nearby pub for a quick beer what else is a guy to do with no internet and impaired communication? I had no idea what the guy had in mind. Half an hour later, though, I went back to find, to my great astonishment, that not only was the issue with the screen fixed but the instant messaging app was working perfectly too. I have no idea what he did, but he had obviously done something, as my Ipad was right as rain.

I thanked him heartily, and offered to pay. He refused – I had already paid for the new screen, that would be enough. I sent a quick message to Lyn, updating her on the situation. Happy to see that it at last got through, and that I could now type without anything springing randomly onto the screen, I set off home rather content. After all, that was a vast improvement on the week or two it used to take for my Lightwriter to e repaired.

Another attack, another atrocity, and yet I feel nothing. All I felt yesterday morning when the bombings in Belgium were being announced was a sense of ambivalence. I know how I should feel, of course: one should feel outraged. But instead I felt as if I was watching a story I had already seen; a sense of sameness and familiarity, as if I’d seen it all before. In a way I have – we all have. Such attacks have become so regular, so familiar, that they have lost their impact. The news coverage was the same as the last time: the same type of shots, the same type of scenery, the same tone in the newsreader’s voice. It made no impact on me, and left me unfazed – I just ignored it and continued with what I was doing. Yet that, now I come to reflect on it, is truly frightening: are these attacks becoming so regular that we are now starting to just accept them?

It might be lazy blogging on my part, but I’ll just direct you to this great little interview of Sir Ian McKellen by Owen Jones. McKellen is, of course, one of my favourite actors, but he is also a great advocate of gay rights. Here he talks about the past, and about being a homosexual actor when it was still illegal. People like him have had to overcome so much. Towards the end of the interview he also touches upon his friendship with Sir Patrick Stewart, another of my favourites. In all, well worth a watch; there is much to learn from such civil rights champions.

I was probably too bitchy in my entry attacking Paula Peters yesterday. I was concerned that the rather shouty video I had seen of her would give the wrong impression. However, this one is far, far better. It’s a DPAC interview with Miss Peters in which she gives a calm, reasoned assessment of the situation, pointing out that IDS may be gone but the problems the tories have caused for people with disabilities are far from over. She comes across as eloquent and knowledgable – a good person to have on our side.

While I wouldn’t go quite so far, as it’s author does in her closing paragraph, as to muse over whether Duncan-Smith will now join Labour, I’d just like to flag up this rather impressive piece in Welfare Weekly. It examines the possible motives IDS had to resign. While I would not accuse him of dishonesty in what he has been saying since Friday, one gets the impression we’re not getting the whole story. Until now, IDS has been a staunch Thatcherite; he has defended welfare cuts to the hilt, refuting any connection between cuts and suicides. For him to suddenly grow a conscious, own up, and say that what the Tories are doing to disabled people is morally indefensible, seems a bit odd. It would be great if he has had a change of heart, and he’s certainly supplying Labour with plenty of ammo to attack the Tories with; but I just feel there’s more behind this than IDS admits. What that could be – Europe? personal issues with George Osbourne? the desire to abandon a sinking ship – I suppose we can only speculate.

I would just like to direct you here, to a clip of Lyn Jamming on the dockside in Paphos. As I described here, it truly was a beautiful moment as spontaneous melodies drifted into the blue Cypriot sky.

I just came across a video from Channel Four News showing a group of disabled people cheering and glorifying IDS’s resignation, and I must say it left a bad taste in my mouth. While his resignation is a piece of good news, to carry on like these so-called ‘activists’ were doing, saying things like ”We got you IDS, and now we’re gonna get the other tories”, is not the way to conduct ourselves. It frankly made ‘us’ look immature. It was fronted by Paula Peters. I know her: she is a relative newcomer, but seems to be becoming one of these pushy types who thinks she can speak for everyone. The venom in what she was saying did not fit the situation, and made the whole disability community look childish, especially with her rather shallow rhetoric; we should not be talking about ‘getting’ people, like children in a playground. Nor should we be grandstanding right now, but welcoming this news with civility. While this resignation is to be welcomed, to welcome it so childishly gives everyone the wrong impression.

I was just out in my chair. Lyn was still in bed, so I thought I’d leave her be and pop up to Stratford for a walk around the park. I wanted to ponder what to make of IDS’s resignation. On my way there, though, something strange happened. I shared the lift down to the tube with a mother and a pram. The baby in it could not have been more than a year old, but my eyes met with his, and suddenly I felt a strong desire to interact with him, care for him, look after him. There was a deep curiosity in those eyes: I got the feeling that I was the first wheelchair user he’d ever seen, and that he was wondering why this grown up needed a pram too. I felt the need to explain to him, play with him, be a father to him. I don’t think I’d ever felt such a strong paternal pull before; it was a wonderful, soft tender feeling – like snuggling up to Lyn under the duvet and feeling nothing but contentment. Yet the feeling was also tinged with sadness: I know I’ll probably never be a father – how could clumsy old me ever look after something so precious and delicate. That’s why the memory of what I felt in that moment troubles me, because I know that that desire, as strong and tender as it was, can probably never be realised.

Not that I believe in any biblical claptrap, but my friend Helen just made me aware of this. According to medieval scholars working in the twelfth century, the day of creation, the day God supposedly made the world, was march the 18th. Confirmed atheist I might be, but I must say that appeals to my sense of humour: I always suspected there was something special about me, and now I know what it is – I apparently share a birthday with the universe.

Every few seconds today, Facebook keeps telling me that someone has written on my ‘wall’, wishing me happy birthday. So far I have had over fifty messages. It’s strange – I did not realise I was that popular. Then again, a wall message is not like writing a card: it just takes about five seconds, on a website we’re all pretty much constantly on anyway. Nevertheless, it’s the thought that counts, and, looking down the list of names and attaching a face and memory to each, it’s good to realise just how many friends I have.

It is now clearer than ever that the group of people running the country are a bunch of greed-driven psychopaths who do not care about the suffering of others. As long as they can reduce tax for their rich friends, they have no qualm about letting the poorest people in society starve. Yesterday’s budget saw help for disabled people slashed, with many losing as much as fifty pounds a week, the effects being so bad that the webmaster of the tory disability group (can there ever be a greater bunch of traitors?) resigned in disgust. Yet this morning the insults to humanity were trying to defend their actions, with IDS trying to tell us he thought these cuts would somehow help by encouraging people to get jobs. What bull! The psychopath must know the suffering he has caused but carries on, rather like the paedophile who gets a kick out of hearing his young victims scream. I know that simile is a bit extreme, but I think it holds: we are being governed by people of the worst kind; people who think ruling is their birthright, and that they know best. Their goal is a low tax, greed-based economy, and tough luck to everyone who falls by the wayside. Their worldview, their aristocratic patronising attitude, the way they simply dismiss anyone who tries to call them up on their crimes, makes me want to see each and every one of these tory criminals hanged.

ADDENDUM: now that I’ve calmed down, I better clarify that I don’t actually want anyone executed – that would be barbaric. Nonetheless, I certainly hold people like CaMoron, Osborne, IDS and May to now be on a par with criminals of the worst kind.

I sometimes feel a little embarrassed to admit that I took seven years to do my masters, but after reading this Guardian story I feel much better. A woman in france has finally been awarded her PhD after thirty years of trying. ”A woman aged 91 has become one of the oldest people in France to gain a PhD after she completed a thesis that she had begun three decades earlier. Colette Bourlier was awarded the mark of ‘high distinction’ for her work, which she successfully defended on Tuesday before a jury of the University of Franche-Comte in Besancon, eastern France.”

It just goes to confirm one of the biggest lessons I received from doing my Masters: that you must never, ever give up on something, no matter how long it is taking. This story also teaches me not to forget about my own ambition to do a PhD. I think I’m capable of it, and I have a few ideas for one floating around my head; and if Dr. Bourler can pass hers at 91, then I have plenty of time to work on it.

Although I don’t have many details about it, I’d like to flag this up today. My friend Katie is creating a play, Speechless, about a young girl with communication difficulties. She has cerebral palsy, and is infantalised by her parents, but inside she is a rebel trying to get out. It sounds a great premise, and the sort of thing we urgently need to see more of. There are still not enough disabled people in the media, particularly people with communication problems. I hope this play will start to tell ‘our’ side of the story. Kate tells me the process is only just starting, but I really hope it is a success.

I have always loved the sight of the sky at night; it never ceases to fill me with wonder and awe. I remember when I was living up in Alsager, looking up at the stars of an evening on my way back to my room, and having my breath taken by the sheer magnificence of what I saw. Here in London, of course, the stars are largely drowned out by the light pollution, so the view isn’t so good. In Cyprus, though, the view was amazing. I will always remember the night’s sky there: it was so clear that it took your breath; we must have been able to see hundreds, if not thousands, of stars. I was able to make out the constellations (well, those I know) quite easily.

These days, we often see images of the stars on TV or in film, but such pictures cannot compare to the sight of the night’s sky in a place like Polis. The deep darkness seemed to arch over us, pricked by countless tiny points of light, indescribably viviid, making me feel tiny in comparison to it’s vastness. Frankly, that sight alone was worth the trip in itself, and is something I’ll never forget.

We just got home from Cyprus. Having been up since about 3am, I’m feeling rather knackered so I think I’ll leave the story telling for another entry and just share this picture with you.

Lyn took it at Paphos Harbour. Now, no matter how cold and blustery it gets outside, I can look at it and remember the incredible afternoon we spent there, and indeed our amazing week in Cyprus.

Its that slightly sad day where everyone is packing up, winding down and preparing to go home. Everyone seems rather tired. It has been a brilliant week, although we leave Cyprus intending to return. We have barely seen a fraction of this beautiful island, but what we have seen has intrigued us. I was barely a teenager when I last came here; this trip has given me a much better grasp of Cypriot life. Of course, I knew quite a lot about it already from my family, but finally getting to explore this place under my own steam has really been magical. I feel I now have a much clearer idea of the complex politics behind the conflict with the Turks for one. On the other hand, I haven’t seen half as much as I would like, so I really hope this is not the last time Lyn and I come here.

I genuinely think that this has been the fastest week ever. How can it possibly be Friday already? Time really has flown by, and a week doesn’t seem nearly long enough to explore this breathtakingly beautiful island. While we have kept to polis most of the week, today we took a taxi to Paphos, exploring the market and then the harbour. The highlight was meeting a busker on the dockside: he was playing all the classic rock Lyn loves, and let her join in for a jam. It was such a cool moment, and a good example of the friendliness of the people we have encountered here. I hope that rendition of Hotel California will stay in my head for quite some time. The holiday might have flown by, but I suspect my memories of it will remain for far longer.

A beer by the pool,

Man this is cool A long, chilled out day

Doing what we may.

Just enjoyng time Wind cool, weather fine.

Just chilling in the sun,

Slow, relaxing, and fun

The sun is starting to set and you can hear the boats creak in the harbour. Birds tweet in the trees nearby, preparing for the fall of night. Across the table in front of me, the woman I love tends to her work. All is calm and at peace. I can barley imagine a more beautiful, serene moment; a fragment of time which I wish would extend into eternity.

I don’t have that much to record on here today. Usually going on holiday means I have lots of adventures to recount and lots to blog about, but that is not the case this time. It has been a very chilled out affair so far; hours spent by the pool listening to music and talking. Truth be told, Polis is only a small place so there isn’t that much to do; and the lack of public transport has meant that we haven’t yet gone further afield. That is no bad thing, of course. Today may be different, though: a trip to the beach is on the cards. Standby for further reports.

I have a bit of a confession to make this morning, over something I feel quite bad about. Last night, just a month after I told myself never to drink again, I had a beer. I knew I shouldn’t, and I told myself it would be the start of the slippery slope back to drunkenness, but it was no good. Weather I like it or not, alcohol still has power over me, and probably always will. Granted, it was just one beer with another delicious meal, so I suppose it was ok. Problems only arise when it gets out of hand: I had thought the best way to prevent that would be not to drink at all, but that does not look like it’s feasible for me. I suppose I just have to be sensible, watch myself, and only have the occasional drink, simply to satisfy urges which irritatingly persist.

I always feel a thrill, a shock of excited energy, whenever I wake up in a hotel. There is always a moment of not remembering where you are, and then it comes flooding back: you are somewhere new, somewhere you haven’t been before, and it’s all waiting for you to explore.

I felt just such a shock this morning: I opened my eyes expecting to see the familiar walls of our bedroom back in Charlton, but they weren’t there. Instead, bright sunshine dreamed through the gaps between the curtens onto a well-appointed hotel room; the sound of the traffic outside was somehow different to that of London. Lyn was, as usual, sleeping next to me, yet she seemed much more content than at home. Then I remembered where I was, how we got here, and the outstanding meal we had last night in a nearby restaurant; and I suddenly had a feeling of utter bliss and contentment. How could life possibly be so good? Here I was, on an astoundingly beautiful island, about to explore it with the woman I love.

I feel it again sat here writing this, looking out onto the hills of western Cyprus. After a relaxed morning, we will soon head out onto the streets of polis. I look forward to introducing Lyn to a bit of Greek culture, hopefully including lots of music. I look forward to a day of fun and joy and laughs. But before that, here and now, in this calm, cool hotel room, I frankly feel like the luckiest man alive.

Then sun is shining down on us through the windows at stanstead airport. Lyn and I are, believe it or nor, off on another adventure. We are going to Paphos, Cyprus. While the choice of destination was largely hers, I’m really looking forward to showing Lyn the country half my family hails from. Mind you, I haven’t been there since I was a child, and never without my parents, so I’m really looking forward to exploring it under my own steam.

Lyn had to go to the job centre yesterday. She received a letter a week or two ago, informing her she had to go in. It struck us both as pretty stupid, but I think it’s routine nowadays: everyone, regardless of their disability or circumstance, is being forced to look for work. The tories claim it’s about improving lives through work (as if they give a fuck about anyone’s welfare but their own) but they just want to extract as much money from everyone as possible so that they can reduce tax for their rich friends. Thus they force people like Lyn to go to such meetings, potentially stressing them out and making them worry about whether they’ll be forced off benefits.

Mind you, Lyn got home yesterday quite amused. They had apparently suggested she start some kind of music company; they had clearly had no idea what Lyn was about or what she faces, and had made the same suggestion they make to anyone. Lyn is an extremely motivated person: she would already have such a company up and running if it was at all feasible. It just goes to show the limits of the conservative mentality, and how little they understand about people outside their realm of experience.

I’m having second thoughts about the selection of Donald Trump. Yesterday I blogged about how utterly stupid it would be if he was selected as the Republican candidate in America, but now I come to think about it, it would probably be the best outcome we could hope for. The guy’s a joke, but the problem is his republican rivals are even more dangerous. They are truly scary people with views even more fucked up than Trumps; the difference is, they would stand more of a chance than Trump in a general election. In a contest between Trump and Clinton, people would – hopefully – get serious and elect Clinton. Cruz et al have a more serious chance of entering the white house, but if anything they are more right-wing than trump. Thus ironically the rational thing for us to do is hope Donald gets his party’s nomination, as blatantly absurd as he is.

I fear the world is just one step away from complete madness. Looking across the Atlantic, I feel a strange mixture of bewilderment and horror. Can America really be so stupid as to elect donald Trump, [i]really[/i]? I’m sure like many people, for the last few months I’ve been telling myself that, when push came to shove, Americans would get serious and reject trump as the joke he is. But they haven’t; in fact his popularity s growing so that this absurd bully now has a real chance of becoming president of the most powerful country on earth. This is a guy who makes Nigel Farage look sane and tolerant; he clearly has no real grasp of politics domestic or international – and thinks that unsophisticated populist rhetoric is sufficient to rule an advanced, highly complex economy. I fear there is a very real danger here: we cannot really cling to the hope that America will stop playing around and elect Clinton; but if this neofascist buffoon is elected and starts bullying the world as he does america, then I dread to think what will happen.

I suppose if I’m going to tell the world about all the cool stuff that happens to me on here, I’ll have to record all the rubbish too. Yesterday was not a good day. It had started with so much promise: the plan had been for Lyn and I to go up to St Pancras to meet my parents for lunch. They apparently know a nice vegetarian restaurant there which they were rather eager to show us. We set off perhaps a little later than we should have, but still in good time. We got on the Jubilee line at North Greenwich, intending to change to the northern line at London Bridge. It had all looked so straightforward on the TFL website, but when we got to London Bridge station, we discovered there were no lifts to the northern line platform. Our only other option was to go via green park, which would have added 45 minutes to our journey. I relayed this info to mum, who sadly advised us to turn back and head home – by the time we would have been there, the restaurant would have shut for the afternoon.

We did as she said. I felt miserable all the way back: I had been looking forward to seeing mum and dad; ”meeting for lunch” is something that us urbanites do, isn’t it? But this had made me feel inept – perhaps I had missed something online which might have warned me. Truth be told, last night I felt wretched.

This morning, however, brought a new day. Dad popped down at lunchtime (they were going to give us something we needed yesterday) to reassure me and set everything right. It was good to see him, even if it wasn’t quite the same. I suppose it just teaches me to check more thoroughly next time, although given I was going by the information available to me, I don’t see what more I could have done.

How dare the insult to humanity Iain Duncan Smith liken himself to a great emancipating figure like Wilberforce, trying to end welfare dependence as though it was akin to slavery? Here, the murderous piece of shit frames welfare as a form of persecution, ”promising to end the ‘twilight world’ of entire communities that are reliant on benefits”. The contrast with his real motives is what gets to me: IDS does not give a fuck about setting people free; he does not care about anyone’s liberty but his own and that of his rich, tory-voting friends. His only motive for reducing welfare is to reduce taxes – the people he leaves stranded and isolated can starve for all he cares. To see this p’tahk dress what he is doing up as some noble quest when thousands have already died through his barbarity chills my blood. People have been found ‘fit to work’, booted off disability benefits and told to find a job, only to be found dead weeks later. IDS, had he lived in the eighteenth century, would probably have been one of those lave owning bastards opposing Wilberforce, arguing that hard work did his slaves good.