Something happened yesterday afternoon which I thought briefly about recording, then decided not to. However, after just coming across this, I think I will. It’s a letter from a disabled man to the anonymous person who called him a ‘window licker’. Opening it ‘Dear John’, he writes about how deeply hurtful it was, and how insulted he and his wife felt. Sadly, though, it’s something ‘we’ have to put up with.

Yesterday afternoon, Lyn and I were out for a walk. We weren’t going far – just enjoying a stroll before dinner. We were going past the hospital when a car came by and the guy in the passenger seat rolled down the window and shouted something like ‘oi, spastics!’ at us. I don’t think Lyn heard it, but I turned and shouted back. The guy saw I was insulted, and drove away, as if surprised I could feel his insult. Like the guy writing the letter, I’m a proud person; like his wife, I have a degree and a Masters. Lyn is an accomplished musician, capable of playing before the world. Yet this is the type of thing we are increasingly having to put up with.

Perhaps the most troubling thing is, had I not come across this letter this morning, I would probably have let it slide. After all, there wasn’t much to write about. The letter gave me a context to put it in. Such incidents are small, fleeting and easily brushed aside; yet, put together, they form an increasingly alarming picture of discrimination and abuse directed towards people with disabilities. The guy in the car yesterday might have thought he was just having a laugh, but I fail to see why people like Lyn, myself, or the guy who wrote that letter, should have to put up with being the butt of other people’s jokes.

Today I would just like to wish my brother Mark and his wife Kat a very happy fifth wedding anniversary. Can it really be six years since I wrote this entry? Time has flown, but I still remember that being a great day. I’m still rather proud of my best man speech, too. Of course, much has happened since then, not least the birth of Oliver. I hope all three of them have a great day, and that oliver gets lots of treats.

The final competitors have now been established for the American presidential race. Of course, it practically goes without saying that I’m backing Hilary Clinton for President; the last thing the world needs is a megalomaniac like Trump in charge of it’s most powerful nation. And yet, one must raise an eyebrow at Hilary’s selection: out of such a vast nation of so many millions of people, isn’t it rather dubious that the new presidential candidate is the wife of a former president? The same question applied to George W. Bush becoming president after his dad. In a so-called land of opportunity, where in theory everyone should have an equal chance of becoming president, isn’t it rather dubious that power seems to run in families? Nonetheless, I’m hoping – as I’m sure most thinking people are – that Clinton wins the election. The world can ill afford a person like Donald Trump in charge of it’s most powerful country; and, as pointed out here, Clinton is unafraid to ask the questions America needs asking. It is more patriotic to point out a country’s problems than to just fall back on jingoistic rhetoric. I just hope americans realise this, and aren’t fooled by a sweet-talking con-artist. No matter who Hilary is married to, she is vastly more suited to be president.

Sad git that I am, I still follow news about Olympic bids, and google alerted me to this story this morning. The boston globe is patting the city on the back for ‘dodging the bullet’ of the olympics a year ago today. I must say that strikes me as odd: if you opposed hosting the olympics in your city, fair enough, but why mark the anniversary? Why point out that a year ago you chose not to do something, instead of just forgetting about it? The article makes it out to be some kind of great victory, a slap in the face to the olympics; but I still think, as I wrote here, that in turning down the olympics boston chose to remain normal. It’s as if boston’s still justifying the decision to itself – why else bring it up, and why be so dismissive of an event other cities around the world are fighting tooth and claw to host? I think this is quite telling of the bostonian – and American – mentality.

Lyn made another quite monumental step yesterday. While I was in Woolwich, she took herself all the way to Lewisham, bought a top, and got the bus back. It is the first time she has made such a solo trip, at least while I’ve been living with her. Lewisham is quite a way; I haven’t been there by chair alone yet – I take the bus. Thus I think what L did yesterday was quite incredible. As I wrote here, she is fast becoming very independent and outgoing. Before she got her powerchair, she rarely went out unless she had to, as she had to rely on a PA to push her. Now she’s discovering the joy of exploring for it’s own sake, you can barely keep her in; that’s bound to be even more pronounced after finding she can get on the busses unaided. It truly is wonderful to see her independence and sense of freedom blossoming like this.

I just got in from a very promising afternoon. The centre in Woolwich I got in touch with about my drinking habits runs sessions about film making. When I mentioned to the guy there about my Masters, he invited me to come along. I was somewhat skeptical, but went anyway, and I’m now glad I did. It’s only a small group of two people other than me, but the guy running it knows what he’s doing. This afternoon he took us through the basics of photography – most of which I remember from uni – but the things he said we will move on to have me quite excited. He also said he runs a production company, so I’m hoping I can segway from this into other, bigger things. He showed us his website, 1000 Londoners, a collection of films about London Life. I was very impressed, and would now love to contribute my own. A great afternoon of networking and potential, then; together with the film festival stuff, things really are looking up.

I’m really pleased with how today has turned out. You might recall me mentioning I am currently working on a presentation for this autumns Charlton and woolwich film festival. Until today, the presentation had been written, as well as the words I intend to say alongside it, but I wasn’t sure how I was going to deliver the speech. Today, though, Kathryn emailed me from school, calling me in. She put a new app on my iPad, and dropboxeed over my speech. All I have to do now is press the corresponding buttons for each of my slides, and hey presto I’m presenting. Kathryn couldn’t have made it easier. All I have to do now is practice.

After writing my entry earlier I was in a very Trekkie mood, so I decided to go see the new film, Star Trek Beyond. Until now, I must admit I’ve been rather resistant to the reboots; the change of style and the creation of a new timeline put me off. Like many fans, I wanted Trek to continue as I knew it. Yet having seen many videos arguing for the validity of the new films, and pointing out the ties between them and the original series, I thought I’d go give it a watch.

I’m glad I did. I should not have been so dismissive. It may not have been the Trek of my childhood, but as others have pointed out it wasn’t supposed to be. These films do not try to compete with or replace what went before; they pay homage to it, play with it, and explore it. I had thought Abrams was hijacking Star Trek, but he is just taking it in a new direction, and in so doing he breathes new life into it. Rejecting the new films because they differ from the old is like rejecting Moore’s Bond because he differ’s from Connery’s. There is room for both. At the same time, this new film is tied intimately to the old trek: there are countless references, countless tributes, including one towards the end, involving a photo found in Ambassador Spock’s belongings, which brought a tear to my eye.

This is not, then, the trek I grew up with, but it is trek. It’s makers clearly know and love what went before, but they clearly realised the franchise would stagnate if it was just allowed to continue in the same vein. In creating this alternative timeline, they have given themselves room to explore new paths, to go back and reexamine old characters, without blotting out what went before. Kirk, Spock and McCoy may be played by different actors, for example, but there is still the dynamic we love between them; to see that once more, not replaced but echoed and commemorated, is truly touching, especially given two of the three original actors are no longer with us. This film, then, is a wonderful revival which both takes one back to a franchise I love and also extends and refreshes it. I might be glad that the new series will be based in the original timeline (the one where Vulcan was not destroyed) but if these films continue down their own path, that’s cool too; there’s room for both. Star Trek is far from dead: it has now been expanded upon and refreshed, but it remains the same group of characters and stories, the same optimistic vision of the future, that I, like so many others, fell in love with.

The trekkie in me just got very, very excited. To update you on this entry, I just came across this news from startrek dot com. Executive Producer Bryan Fuller recently announced to a convention in San Diego that the title of the new series will be Star Trek Discovery. Fuller was rather unforthcoming on detail, but he apparently confirmed that the series takes place in the prime timeline, which is quite a relief. While we still don’t know anything about the captain or crew, nor indeed when it is set (I’m still hoping for post DS9) at least it’s a start. Mind you, the CGI in the trailer still looks rather computer game-ish for my liking; and the title is bound to raise a few eyebrows: as one comment put it: ”Also…. Star Trek: Discovery…. STD?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

Yesterday I had the first proper meeting about my drinking problem. A guy came from a centre in Woolwich, and we began discussing my relationship to alcohol. It was a necessary, indeed vital step: since uni, I’ve used beer as a wind-down or relaxant; I feel the urge to drink to have a good time. The guy began to suggest how I can avoid these urges. The problem is, one drink always lead to me wanting two, and two to three, and so on. It was becoming an uncontrollable urge, and Lyn was clearly getting fed up of me getting drunk. The last time I came home drunk out of my head, she insisted I went and got help.

It was a good meeting yesterday, and a lot was discussed. The guy will come back next Friday to continue the process. He also recommended I stop drinking alcohol altogether, at least for the time being. I cannot disagree that that is a very good suggestion, yet, at the same time, part of me feels bitter about it, and I must admit I had quite a short temper for a while yesterday afternoon. You see, while I know full well the dangers of drinking too much and the problems it can cause – I have a nasty scar on my forehead to attest to that – I also associate it with freedom. I cherish the ability to go into a pub and have a couple of beers. Everyone else can do it, so to have that right removed from me fees like a freedom has been taken away, and like I’m being treated like a child.

I suppose it’s analogous to smoking. People know smoking is bad for them, but if a government tried to ban it completely, there would be an outcry. People would say that their freedoms were being taken away, and that they have a right to decide what they did with their body. The very fact they were being controlled and limited, even if they knew the health risks, would cause huge resentment. Similarly, part of me feels resentment towards this; even though I know full well the wisdom of it, I no longer feel totally free. I may be safer and more cooperative, I may sleep a lot better, yet part of me feels like I’m being treated like a child by overprotective parents. As a disabled man, perhaps I value such freedoms even more, given I know how precious they are. Of course I have no intention of breaking this ban – after all, in this city there are so many better things to do than drinking beer – but I just wanted to get this side of the story off my chest.

Last night I dreamt I could play the drums. I tried to play them when I was young, but was never any good. In my dream, though, I was excellent: I suddenly got the ability to produce the perfect drum roll. I had no idea where it came from; all of a sudden I found I could use the drum-sticks with ease, hitting exactly the same spot on the drum in a blur. In my dream I wondered where the ability came from – why was I suddenly so dexterous, and why did this dexterity only apply to drumming? Then I woke up, and my questions were instantly answered – it had just been a dream. Oh well, I thought, perhaps I should take up the drums again – perhaps I could actually get that good.

Watching your wheels turn ahead of me

Following you as we wind our way through the city, exploring the streets together; getting lost, then finding ourselves, I feel

So lucky, so content.

With you in your chair and me in mine,

We roam as one. Discovering it,

And ourselves, finding our way

Through the city; through the world; through life.

Exploring the streets together,

Watching your wheels turn ahead of me

Following wherever they might lead.

Into life; into love.

Last night was one of those unexpectedly cool (well, not so cool – the temperature was at least in the high twenties) evenings which come along from time to time. The day before, Lyn had suggested going for a walk yesterday afternoon, but it turned out to be so hot that we decided to put it off to the evening. That way we could have dinner at the dome. The stroll up there is pleasant one: We bumped into Sally having a drink outside the Anchor and Hope, before continuing along the south bank of the Thames. It was beautiful at that part of the day, just as the sun was beginning to set. Lyn was in a wonderful long dark blue dress which I hadn’t seen her wearing before, but which I couldn’t keep my eyes off.

Once at the Dome, we had a little look around for places to eat. L fancied pizza, but having had one on Saturday I was in the mood for something meatier. We settled for Frankie and Benny’s where we had an excellent meal. I had a single pint, having resolved to teach myself that one is enough, and then we set off back home. The river looked even more glorious at that point, the sun having set; the lights of the city were just starting to twinkle. Lyn took a stunning picture on her Ipad – she’s becoming quite a photographer – then it was back home to Charlton. The day was rounded off with a little stargazing in the back garden, and I went to bed, content. Yet another great day with the woman I love.

If a musician or band used the N-word in one of their album titles, I thin there would rightly be an outcry. Such language is no longer acceptable, at least when it’s not used ironically. The same should apply for the word spazz: now and again I use it to refer to myself, but if someone called me a spazz, or I heard someone use it derivatively in the media, I’d be insulted. Stay up late reports on an american punk band called Descendents calling their new album Spazz Hazard. They report that the group seems to relish being politically incorrect, and have launched a campaign to get them to rename the album. Such language is becoming increasingly acceptable, it says, with people starting to relish the controversy. I fear they are right: In these extreme, perverse times, minorities of any kind will find theirselves increasingly outcast. With politicians like Trump and Farage starting to take centre stage, extremist views will become more and more tolerated; the idea of political correctness will become increasingly derided, and it will become ‘cool’ or bold to use words like these. Thus I fear this band’s choice of title is a sign of things to come.

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I knew it was only a matter of time before images like this began circulating, but this one is too awesome for me not to stick on here.

Just to elaborate upon yesterday’s entry, on thursday evening I got a message over facebook from Charlie asking if I wanted to meet her yesterday. She was coming for a flying visit, and the plan was that I’d go to Peckham to meet up with her friend Emma*, who would then take me to wherever C was. I thought ”why not” and agreed. As I said yesterday, I thought it would be a house party or small get-together of some kind. I initially thought I’d go alone in my powerchair, but I don’t know that neck of the woods very well, so I asked Dominik if he wanted to come with me. He said Ok, and I went in my manual chair, Dom pushing me. Looking back, I’m very glad I did that.

Neither of us had any idea what we were in for. We met up with Emma as planned, who then took us on to another bus to Brixton. Things were getting interesting.

Once off the bus, she lead us down some winding paths and into a park; and I suddenly entered the biggest festival I had ever seen. We were in the Lambeth County Show, and it was huge: the air thronged with music; people – tens of thousands of them – were everywhere.

Once in the park, Emma left us to go find Charlie and her friends, returning not long after. She then lead us across the field through the crowd (again, I was glad I hadn’t taken my powerchair) to where my old friend was. She was having a whale of a time, and greeted me with hug. Lots more of her friends were there, and I spent the next hour or so socialising and listening to the music on the main stage. My only regret was not bringing lyn: had I known this was what C had had in mind, I would have brought her along.

A while later, though, I needed the loo, so I asked Dom to push me to the bogs. We then decided to take a walk to see the stalls. It was massive, and took us ages to get around. At one point we got slightly lost. When we got back to where C and her group were, then, they were gone: Dom looked, but couldn’t find them anywhere. A while later, we were told they had moved on.

With that, we left too. It had been a great afternoon; it was good to see C, of course, and also great to be invited to such a wonderful event. I hadn’t even known it was on. Dom pushed me back to Peckham, where we got a great pizza (I was famished) before heading home. Charlie had done it again, and I made a mental note: when she invites you somewhere, be prepared for anything.

*Not the one from university.

Dom and I are heading home from Brixton. A couple of days ago I got a message from Charlotte, asking if I’d like to meet up with her today. I said yes, thinking she just meant to have a small get together. I was wrong. I’m now on my way back from my first proper festival. Old Charlie, it would seem, has done it again: it has been an incredible afternoon of music; there were at least two stages, plenty of stalls, and thousands upon thousands of people. I just wish I had known what she had had in mind as I would have brought Lyn. Oh well, there’s always next time.

I know I said yesterday that I no longer care about politics, but I think I’ll flag this article up today. It explains why much of the current mess we find ourselves in can be placed at the feet of George Osbourne. If that nitwit hadn’t made such a pig’s-ear of the recovery, people wouldn’t have been so discontented that they voted Out. Thanks largely to him, the country is a shadow of what it was; not to mention the suffering caused by his draconian cuts. I would say, ”thank zark he’s gone,” but I’m now worried the new chancellor will be just as bad, if not worse.

I’m not even gonna try today – things are getting too fucked up for words. We have left the EU; we have a completely unelected right-wing bitch for PM; and now we have a man who, despite his act of joviality is a nineteenth century throwback who thinks reviving colonialism would be a good idea, as foreign secretary, Would someone please tell me what the smeg is going on. On second thoughts, don’t: I’m passed the point of caring. I don’t even want to think about it, as the moment I do, I know I’d fly into a rage, or else sink to abject despair.

I’m worried about the future – who knows what will happen next. Yet, for now at least, the sun is out. On another level, I’m actually quite happy: Lyn has a mix going; there’s a music event later at school I’m planning to go to; we’re also planning to get tickets to see the Greenday musical up in the west end soon. I don’t have to check the news if I don’t want to, so sod it. On one level things are getting screwy, but on another they are perfectly fine.

I never thought I’d be sad to see CaMoron go, but part of me is. The guy has wrecked the country. His needless austerity policies, born not of economic necessity but of the politics of greed, have brought misery to millions. The guy has ruined the country by holding a referendum we didn’t need. He thought by holding it he would shut the euroskeptics in his party up, but he didn’t think the country would be so foolish as to vote out. He thus transformed the country from being a prosperous and important participant in world affairs to an irrelevent, inward-looking island off northern europe, simply to satisfy his party’s internal affairs. The outists told the people that Europe, not the current government, was to blame for their suffering, and they fell for their lie.

I hate CaMoron, then, but I wish he wasn’t going. If the country hadn’t been so idiotic last month, he’d still be in downing street and none of this would have happened. We wouldn’t be in this mess; we’d still be in europe, our future safe; we wouldn’t need to worry about what happens now, or feel so vulnerable. But we did. CaMoron’s gone, the county’s ruined, and I hate him for it.

My old friend Steve met me, via Facebook, with some amusing news this morning. I was on telly. Go to bbc breakfast on Iplayer, here, and wind back to 08.43. Who else do you see but yours truly. It’s the briefest of shots in a montage about the legacy of CaMoron, but worth flagging up.

Addendum: It’s no longer available on bbc iplayer, but thanks to Steve, here’s the proof

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I don’t know what to think this morning. On the one hand, I’m glad we have a new prime minister; I’m glad CaMoron is gone, and I’m glad it’s may and not that crazy bitch Leadsom. At least we didn’t get the drawn-out leadership contest we were all expecting. On the other hand, May is still a tory, and we are still leaving the EU. She might not quite be the draconian nutcase Leadsom is, but she is still quite right wing and utterly unelected. I would be calling for a general election if the Labour party wasn’t in such a mess. It’s all screwed up: what May will do in power worries me. She will probably swing to the right, to try to appease her party. Things will get even more repressive, the cuts even crueler. The best I can say is, it could be worse, even if it’s hard to see how.

While fortunately I don’t think Lyn and I have been effected too badly by the changes (yet), this Guardian article reveals the true horror behind the implementation of the Personal Independence Payment (PIP) and the degree to which the Tories are screwing up disability benefits. It’s horrific when you look at what is going on: people with very severe conditions are being forced off benefits and into work, often after being assessed by people who are completely unqualified to do so. People all over the place are loosing their mobility and means to live; many have been left totally isolated and vulnerable; there have been starvations and suicides. But where is the media attention? Where is the outcry? That’s what gets to me: disabled people are suffering because of what the tories are doing, (a situation now bound to get even worse with the removal of european human rights legislation) but nobody seems to care.

Alcohol is becoming a serious problem for me again. I now have a nasty cut on my forehead as a result of yesterday’s stupidity. I went to the cricket match in the park, and once again got carried away. What’s worse is it happened last friday too; on saturday morning I swore to myself that I’d never let that happen again, only to go right back to it a week later. I’m so angry at myself – this isn’t fair on Lyn, who deserves more than a two-bit piss-artist. It’s time to stop; time to cut drink out completely. Let this entry be formal notice of my intent. After all, there’s more to life than beer.

I’m not sure exactly where Lyn got the idea (she says she saw it in one of the local pubs) but yesterday afternoon, after my parents went home, Lyn instructed Marta to get a roll of fake grass she’d ordered online, cut it to shape, and staple it to our garden table. I was slightly bemused at first: I had never seen anything like it, and thought it was a bit of a mad idea. But once Marta had started, I suddenly saw what lyn was getting at. The effect is stunning; it adds a shock of vivid green, not just to the table but the whole garden. Marta put it on the bench too, and the garden now feels somehow more natural and soothing. The green of the fake grass blends with that of the real grass and leaves behind it; the brown of the table echoes the wood of the trees nearby, giving off a natural aesthetic. It really was a great idea, odd though it may sound. The worn out old table and bench have a new lease of life*. Not that I’m asked for gardening tips very often, but it’s something I’ll certainly recommend.

*How it fares when we spill, say, coffee or beer on it, however, remains to be seen.

We just waved my parents off, once again. They popped down for a visit. We had a good, long chat, then dad, noticing the overgrown bushes outside our front window which Dom was supposed to cut yesterday, went out to do a bit of gardening. My parents like being helpful, and there is now much more light coming into our front room, so it was greatly appreciated.

I really enjoy catching up with my parents. They can nag sometimes, and I know I can annoy them through my laziness, but this time wasn’t like that. It was a good, productive catch-up: I gave them a progress report on my various projects, and in return they gave me some welcome advice and encouragement. Mum mentioned how much she enjoyed reading my blog entries every day, spurring me on to keep it up. We also discussed my presentation in the local film festival in September.

They left about half an hour ago after hugs all round. It’s always hard to see them leave. They are great parents, and without them I wouldn’t be here. But I have work to do – a presentation to prepare. Time to crack on. I do wonder, though, what Dominik will say when he sees someone has already cut that bush down.

I have recently been clinging on to the idea that, in four or five years, we will have all realised what a huge mistake we made two weeks ago and will be begging to rejoin the EU. Yet, that’s a false hope, isn’t it? In five years, society will have changed. Society will have become used to the supposed freedoms being outside the eu will bring us: the freedom to exploit the vulnerable; the freedom to be greedy; the freedom to care only about yourself. By that time, most people will probably be doing okay and won’t want to go back to a more regulated system, leaving those of us who value fairness and cooperation, and who see the bigger picture, lamenting what could have been and despairing at the rise in inequality.

I really don’t want this to sound condescending or patronising, but I really must record how thrilled I am with something Lyn did yesterday. Last night, for the first time, she went to the shop on her own. It was simply a case of finding ourselves short of milk. Ordinarily I would have gone, or we would have sent our PA, but Lyn, still in her powerchair after a nice walk to woolwich with me, said she wanted to go. I was a bit apprehensive at first: L is still getting used to her powerchair, and while it is now quite a mundane task for me, she had never done something like this without a PA with her. Off she went, though, having typed what she wanted into her Ipad and leaving me and dom at home.

The experiment went without a hitch. About half an hour later, Lyn returned with the shopping and smiling broadly. She was obviously very pleased with herself, having just discovered that she could do something she never knew she could. She later proudly recorded on facebook that she ”Bought milk and washing up liquid from the co op on her own”. I love to see her like this; since getting her new powerchair, Lyn’s independence has come on in great leaps. It reminds me of when I got my first powerchair, and the inordinate amount of pleasure I got from cruising down to Congleton town centre or up to Swettenham on my own; or that first night, back a university, when I found I could take myself to the bar.

As monumental as last night’s trip was, though, I have no doubt that this is just the tip of the iceberg. Now Lyn knows she is capable of such things, and that she does not always need a PA with her, her confidence will grow and grow and pretty soon it will be hard to keep track of her. I could tell by the smile on her face when she got back last night how much this newfound ability means. She is finding out what she’s capable of. Getting to watch such a beautiful thing is truly special.

I suppose I have a bad habit of trying to belittle anyone who does not agree with me, especially when it comes to things like politics. Whenever I come across someone I don’t agree with, I tend to get all worked up and start questioning their intelligence. This is especially true of the recent referendum. I feel particularly aggrieved whenever I see an outist try to claim they weren’t motivated by xenophobia – that just feels like a barefaced lie. Yet, of course, I know I shouldn’t react like that. Fifty two percent of the country are not xenophobes; nor are they stupid, moronic, inbred, or any other insult I care to hurl at them. As angry and frustrated as I currently feel, I need to frequently remind myself that we live in a democracy, and that people are entitled to hold opinions which differ from mine. The problem is, while I know the world has not ended, whenever I hear of how much harder things are going to get or how much more intolerant and right wing society is already becoming, that often seems quite difficult to accept. How can I come to terms with the decision of the majority, when I feel it is an act of utter folly? That is a question forty eight percent of us now face.

Truth be told, I have no idea what to say about this film. I saw The Fundamentals of Caring flagged up by someone on facebook, and thought I’d give it a watch. It strikes me as cliche and profound, welcome and unwelcome, in equal measure. It concerns a guy with md who has recently moved to the states with his mum from the uk. They need to hire a ‘caregiver’ for him, and from then on the film is sort of an exploration of the dynamic between the two. It is a roadtrip film come attempted insight into disability.

I can see what the film is trying to get at. The guy with md is portrayed as balshy, sarcastic and adversarial. He has a lot of issues which the carer dude tries to break him of. It is thus an attempt to break free of the ways in which disabled people are usually presented. Yet, despite itself, the film ultimately slips back into sentimentality and cliche. I therefore both relish this film and find it highly problematic. There are some great moments, and there are points which really struck a chord with me as a person who employs personal assistants; but equally there are points which made me want to vomit at the stereotyping, or the ignorance of what disabled people’s lives are actually like. Parts of it struck me as awesome, other parts had me scratching my head.

I suppose that’s always going to be a problem with films about things like disability: it’s so hard to get right. On the whole, though, I really liked this film. It is funny, and struck a chord. I can’t wait to hear what Lyn makes of it, and would really like to show it to our personal assistants, too.

Lyn and I occasionally eat dinner in Weatherspoons, but as a rule I avoid them, preferring more quirky pubs*. I take some pleasure, then, in directing you here. The founder of the chain, Tim Martin, pumped thousands in to the Leave campaign, but has now lost millions due to brexit. The economy has crashed, taking prices with it. If you asks me, it serves the p’tahk right: first he ruins pubs by tuning many into a bland chain, then he contributes to the ruining of the country.

*Although after what happened on Friday I better avoid pubs altogether for a while. The less said about that, though, the better.

I’d just like to express my solidarity with the thousands currently marching against brexit up in central london at the moment. I’d like to be there with them, only I’ve left it too late. Mind you, it’s hard to see what good it’ll do. The referendum, although narrow, is decided. It would be very hard for any government to ignore it. And imagine the stink Farage and his bunch of scumbags would kick up if the result was somehow ruled invalid. Thus I’m afraid this march has no hope of achieving it’s goal, as passionately as I want it to. I’m just glad to see that I’m not the only one who thinks this country has just taken a step in completely the wrong direction.

Just when you thought things couldn’t get any worse…

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