I want to end this year on a positive note. It has been a truly awful year: a year which saw the return of a form of fascism; a year which saw Britain voting to leave the european union and a complete psychopath elected as president of the united states. New Year’s Eve finds the world in a very dangerous situation. Yet, believe it or not, I feel kind of upbeat. I know this can’t last – it is a flash in the pan. For one thing, I don’t think we will end up leaving the EU. As others have noted (here for example) it basically can’t happen because the brexiteers want two mutually exclusive things. They want to stay in the single market, but not to have to obey the unions laws. But you can’t have it both ways – it simply doesn’t work like that. Brussels won’t allow it because it would make a mockery of the entire project. Outists try to tell us that they will be forced to give us our cake and eat it, as ”they need us more than we need them”; but that’s utter crap. There is no way they’d let us keep all the privileges of being in the EU while freeing ourselves of the responsibilities. It would set too much of a precedent; other countries will start demanding the same, and the whole project would descend into farce. Thus, faced with a choice of remaining part of the EU or completely fucking our economy by having to withdraw from the market, we’ll have no choice but to forget this moronic referendum ever happened and remain.

As for Trump, He won’t last either. I give him ’till summer, at best. By then the imbecile will have fucked up so royally that everyone will be demanding a proper, qualified president. The man has no idea what he is doing – he can’t run a country. His election was a joke which, sooner or later, everyone will get tired of. Then the arrogant buffoon will be forced to go, probably protesting bitterly. America will be embarrassed ever to have elected such a joke; fresh elections will be called, and hopefully a proper politician rather than an overprivalaged reality tv host will be elected.

Thus, even if we find ourselves in a dire situation right now, I don’t think it will last. This current storm will blow over. My faith in humanity is too much: I cannot see this stupidity prevailing for long. A dire year it may have been, but sooner or later, things will be back to normal, mark my words.

Happy new year everyone

Fascism has failed. As an ideology it has been totally rejected in the political discourse as humanity has embraced liberal, tolerant ideals. The vast majority of us now find fascism utterly repugnant. Yet it took a foothold again this year in the only way it could: by disguising itself as something else, called populism. These populists parade theirselves in front of us, drinking beer and wearing baseball caps, claiming to be men of the people, railing against ‘elites’ who they say run everything. In truth, they are the elitist people of them all – white, male and vastly wealthy – and seek to demonise an intelligencia which has rejected them. These are people who would like nothing better than to see state mechanisms designed to make society fairer decimated, the welfare state torn to shreds, high-rate tax slashed and to ensure power stays in the hands of the privileged few. They don’t want people to trust those who advise against the folly of what they say, so they call them elitest and claim to speak for ‘the common people’. This is the only way they can sneak their essentially fascist views back into the political discourse without them being totally rejected. And as more and more people are fooled by this rhetorical con trick, all we who value equality, tolerance and international cooperation can do is despair.

As a community humanity had been slowly coming together. Relishing cultural differences, but gradually learning to work as one. We were beginning to accept the idea that a border is but a line on a map; and that to solve our problems we must work as one. But this year those steps toward a brighter future have been undone by dissembling populists; fools clinging to concepts like sovereignty, which ultimately mire humanity in an ‘us and them’ mindset. We had been functioning as part of a bigger economic bloc which allowed this country to punch above our weight, and hold our own against china and America; but now that is lost. we are alone – a petty, inward-looking island nation whose citizens were duped by populists armed with slogans about ‘taking back control’, and spinning yarns about giving more money to the NHS.

Thus a form of fascist nationalism returned to the world this year, not just in this country but elsewhere. We thought it had been banished, and that people were wise enough to recognise it – how wrong we were.

Yesterday was a very nice day indeed. A few days ago, lyn told me that she was planning to go see her old friend Mark today, and asked if I wanted to come. He lives up in Liverpool, but is down visiting his mum in Catford. At first I was in two minds about going, not wanting to intrude on Lyn’s friendships; but she said it was up to me, and in the end I decided it might be nice. I’m now glad I went: we had a lovely afternoon, talking and laughing. Most of all, I was intrigued by Mark’s communication system: he uses eyegaze technology, and communicates by looking at letters and numbers displayed on a computer screen attached to his wheelchair. Of course, I had heard about such systems, but had never seen one being used, in person, before yesterday. Using it, Mark told us his news: he too had an assessment with the ‘fit to work’ guys.

We stayed for two or three hours, at least. It was a great afternoon, and I feel I have made some good friends. We had some delicious trifle, kindly fed to me by Mark’s PA, Greg. Dom met us there, and we got back about eight. I really hope we can see those guys again soon; as I suggested to L last night, perhaps we could go up to Liverpool to see them.

I still love everything I’ve always loved about this country. Over the years, it has served me well, and it has brought about some truly awesome events – things so incredible that the memory of them still makes me squeal with glee. Events like the 2012 olympics, or Monty Python Live. There are things about this country, in terms of it’s culture, history, geography or whatever, which I adore, and always will. I love the British countryside: it’s winding lanes and fields; it’s small woodlands and charming little villages. I love it’s mighty capital, the greatest city on earth, so full of life and variety. Nothing can change that.

Yet this hellish year, things did change. The people of this country let theirselves be persuaded by liars and cheats into voting for something utterly mindless. This country took a step towards xenophobia and fascism, and it felt as if the place I grew up had been taken from me. How could I love anywhere which was so inward looking? Which seemingly shunned the wider world in favour of petty nationalism? There was a time I thought I hated this country, for it had allowed itself to be taken from me by idiots.

Yet all the things I loved about this place are still there; memories have not been changed by events which followed them. The 2012 olympics were still a triumph for this amazing metropolis*; I still count watching Python Live in 2014 to be among the greatest privileges of my life; I still adore Bond films. After all, they all happened before this year, so how could the referendum change or taint their memory? Don’t the rivers still flow, and aren’t the fields still green?

Nothing has changed.

Only, on another level, it feels like something has. While the past remains unchanged, I no longer like where this country is heading. I still love this country, but this year I feel it has been tainted. It has become somewhere darker and more inward-looking; it is no longer the bright, welcoming, upbeat place I loved. Something I valued dearly has been taken from me by liars and fools, and I want it back.

*London, of course, had the good sense to vote Remain by a considerable margin.

I must just say how good I thought The Entire Universe was last night. It was a lovely little romp through a subject that intrigues us all, and it was good to see Eric Idle still has that kind of piss-taking charm we love him for. Only Idle could do a show on cosmology as a musical, and do it so well. I love how they constantly took the piss out of brian cox. Of course, having seen Monty Python Live, I knew idle and cox have a history of working together – they are actually good friends. Indeed, I was wondering whether last night’s show would include The Galaxy Song from Python (given the subject of the program, it would seem an obvious choice) and indeed it did, at the end. It was a pity they couldn’t involve Steven Hawking a bit more, but I really liked the inclusion of warwick Davis in this. It was a great little show though, and I think I learned quite a bit. For example, I now have a marginally better grasp of just how big the universe is, and indeed I now know that there might be other universes beyond our own. I thought it was a lovely little romp through spacetime, at the same time silly, informative, profound and very entertaining.

Given today is boxing day, perhaps I should be using Lyn’s gift to me. A few days ago, a very large package arrived. I was, of course, instantly intrigued: the bloody thing was taller than me, but when I asked what it was, I simply got told to wait and see. Lyn had that glint in her eye which always tells me she is up to something, and in turn I felt like a five year old eager to find out what new toys Father Christmas has delivered.

Well, yesterday at last I got to open the big box. To my total surprise I am now the proud owner of a full-sized punch bag. Lyn smiled at the look of bemusement which spread across my face. She said it was for when someone like Farage appeared on tv and I needed something to hit. We laughed, but in all honesty it is a good idea: like everyone else, I am powerless to do anything about the current situation; all I can do is yell at the t.v as we slide further and further towards fascism. Something like this, which I can thwack without damaging anything, might help me release pent-up feelings. I daresay it was Lyn’s way of telling me to stop getting so worked up about things.

While I accept that the European Parliament was a pretty dire, corrupt organisation, I still fear that, in leaving it the UK has isolated itself. Humanity should be drawing closer together, establishing organisations which allow it to cooperate; not putting up ever more walls. These days, whenever the subject comes up I work myself into a rage. I get so angry that stains on humanity like Farage and trump are now on top, and get to dominate the political discourse with their puerile, simplistic and ultimately intolerant worldviews that it makes me want to hit something. Well, at least now, thanks to Lyn, I have something to hit.

Directing you here would now seem apt.

Something incredible just happened. Lyn and I just enjoyed a truly outstanding christmas dinner of succulent turkey, delicious veg and all the trimmings, brought to us from the guys at the cafe in the park,all free of charge. Two or three weeks ago, they mentioned that they were doing a christmas dinner, and asked if we wanted some. Lyn and I said yes. But then, a few days later, it emerged that the small place would probably be too full to fit us in. No matter, they said, we’ll bring yours over. When I asked how much it would cost, he replied ”nothing”. That’s how I just came to be eating one of the best christmas dinners I’ve ever had, made out of sheer kindness and friendship. It’s easy these days to get so cynical; pessimism seems to be the order of the day. Yet sometimes things like this happen to remind you that there is some goodness left in mankind.

Merry christmas everyone!

I was over in the cafe yesterday, drinking my usual cappuccino and double espresso combination and trying to write. No ideas were coming, so, gregarious chap that I am, I thought I would lean over and ask the elderly couple on the table next to me for suggestions. They smiled, thought for a moment, and suggested the weather. The wind was picking up and a storm was clearly brewing, so it was quite a good idea.

I got to work, and trotted out four or five lines about how a storm had been building since summer, and about how we were now powerless to defend ourselves against it. The allusion was frankly obvious. I showed it to the guy, who smiled; I suspect he was surprised that I was aware of such matters. I asked him if he got my metaphor, and he said yes. But then he asked if he could add something. I said ‘okay’, and the guy tapped in a sentence about the storm soon passing.

I didn’t like that one bit. We obviously did not see things in the same way. To be honest, I got a little tetchy – I had an outist on my hands. He added that he thought this could be our renaissance, a sentiment which struck me as utterly naive and quite, quite delusional. Not wanting to let things go too far, though, I quickly called an end to the game; I could feel myself getting rather uppity and argumentative. After all, they were just an elderly couple who wanted to enjoy a quiet cup of coffee. Yet I think this exemplifies the situation we all now find ourselves in: the referendum has divided us all into one category or another. It is on most of our minds, but we either agree or bitterly disagree about it; and if you try to chat with someone about it, you never know which camp they fall into. It’s as if the country has been torn in two, with one side angry at the other. It’s not just me – I’ve heard many others make similar observations. Frankly, I find it a very worrying state of affairs.

Our PA Mitchel, it turns out, is very good at decorating christmas trees. We put ours up yesterday. Cynics that Lyn and I both are, neither of us were that bothered about putting it up, but yesterday the kid in me kicked in and I decided to get the halls decked. I’d asked Dom to get our plastic tree out of the loft the night before, and yesterday we got our front room looking festive. I even tried to sing ”Deck the Halls” until everyone asked me to please stop. It’s odd when I come to think about it, though: I know Christmas is a huge capitalist scam; christ, if he existed at all, probably never erected an evergreen in his front room. Hell, he probably never had a front room, and I don’t believe in him anyway. And yet, yesterday, part of me felt compelled to get ours put up in the corner of our front room. Things didn’t feel quite right without the green plastic and tinsel monstrosity there. I suppose it just goes to show, I’m still a big kid at heart; either that or I’m not as unentangled from capitalist consumer culture as I’d like to believe I am.

It might not be very christmassy, but I think this is worth a watch. The latest video from the PBS Spacetime series considers whether an alien civilisation could by now have detected any radio communications from earth. After all, we have been broadcasting them for over a century, so it is possible that a distant civilisation could have picked them up by now. It also considers why we haven’t picked up any signals from space yet, and goes into quite a lot of detail about why this may be. For me, this is one of the most important and fascinating questions facing humanity today: is anyone out there, and are they watching us? I also can’t help but wonder, as the video itself does, whether there are aliens up there right now watching old episodes of Star Trek.

To be honest I’m quite relieved yesterday is out of the way. A week or two ago, mum contacted me on Skype to tell me that she had received a letter about me: Atos wanted to assess whether I was ‘fit for work’, and had asked her to accompany me to an appointment at the Woolwich Medical Centre. Of course, I was instantly on high alert: one hears all these stories about how cruel Atos can be – in my mind there was a chance they would instantaneously boot me off benefits and tell me to get a job. My imagination went into overdrive, and I worked myself into quite a state. I want to be a productive member of society, but, on a practical level, what regular job could I do?

In the end, however, it wasn’t so bad. As well as Mum, I’d asked Dad to come along. I know some will say that I should handle such matters on my own, but I thought both my parents could add extra weight to my case: they know me and what I’m capable of. Besides, dad has a certain aura about him – the air of a man who knows what he is talking about. Yet the major battle I had readied myself for never came about. The lady doing the assessment was gentle and understanding; she went through her questions slowly and calmly, giving me plenty of time to answer. In the end, she assured me that I shouldn’t have anything to worry about, and that I would be told the outcome in about six weeks. Just as Lyn had told me it would be, it was no big deal.

With that, we left. I felt so much better on the way back. It would seem that all the doom-filled stories I had heard are exaggerations. Perhaps bringing dad all the way down here had been a bit much, but I needed to use all the weaponry in my arsenal, and it was lovely to see him anyway. I’m much more cheerful than I was this time yesterday, and far more upbeat. While I am sure many of the stories are true, I think the fitness to work assessments have been overly vilified. How else can the government make sure that benefit money is going to people who genuinely need it? While of course I can’t speak for others, my experience of this process has been civilised and perfectly reasonable.

Breathing a sigh of relief, having been assessed.

Am I fit for work? Well, I try my best.

But I couldn’t help but worry, on my way here.

All the stories and tales had filled me with fear.

But now it’s done, over, through.

All I need now is a nice warm brew.

Fit for work or not, I’m just me.

The question was whether I could make the assessor see.

For those interested in American politics and the current state of American culture, I think this is well worth a read. It gives us insight into some of the attitudes found in rural america; scarily conservative and quite violently resistant to any kind of outside influence. The writer explains how, in these small rural towns, people cling to what they see as traditional values and attitudes that they reject all other opinions carte blanche, even to the extent that they refuse to accept the blindingly obvious. I find it puzzling that, in this information age, people cling to ideas that they must know deep down to be untrue.

I think I really need to direct you all here today. Ian Hislop gave the George Orwell lecture this year. We usually see Hislop as a great satirist, but when he is not trying to be funny he often has some very, very astute things to say. Thus this is well worth a watch. As worried as we all are about the way things are going, the state of the press and about how angry everyone is currently getting, Hislop manages to give everything a little more context. Go watch.

Cerebral Palsy certainly does weird things to you when it comes to emotion. I’ve mentioned my rages once or twice recently, describing how my intense anger at the referendum result erupts in a fit of bile, swearing and table-banging. I also think I’ve mentioned my ”squealing” once or twice on here too: how, when I’m happy or excited about something, I make strange screeches or screams – joyous little noises which are almost infant-like. I was thinking about both recently, and it occurred to me that they must be two sides of the same coin. If, as I’ve been told, other people with CP have the same anger problems I do, then it stands to reason that the rages and the squeals are all part of the same issue. Another piece of the jigsaw slots into place.

My squealing probably sounds a bit odd, but it is not a problem. What worries me is how angry I’ve been getting recently – my rages are getting worse. I just erupt. I know I need to calm down and be sensible, and that such pure anger never gets anyone anywhere; yet I can’t seem to help it. For a moment all I can feel is hate, and all I can do is shout and bang my fists. I really need to do something about these moments – they must look so immature, like child’s tantrums; and I’m sure it scares Lyn, or at least pisses her off. She doesn’t seem to have these issues. But what can I do when, as I now realise, such expressions of emotion are tied directly to my disability.

There is something I want to make absolutely clear after writing this entry a couple of days ago: individualism and individual voices rule. Truth be told, I’ve been feeling sort of uncomfortable about that entry; I’m worried that people now think I want us all to defer to an all-knowing, all seeing mainstream. Of course not! There is a lot that’s fucked up about the mainstream. As Lyn sagely pointed out in her comment, by and large all those companies get their information from a few sources such as Reuters anyway. We should all be reading as widely as possible. While I personally place my trust in and have a preference for the BBC, that does not mean I think it infallible; nor do I use it as my only source of news. You would be a fool to trust any one source completely: the more you read, and the greater variety of sources you read, the greater chance you have of building an accurate picture of what is truly going on. Yet that is not to say we should not be wary of those who lambast the mainstream, as a concept, for their own ends.

Just to expand a bit upon what I was saying yesterday, I think the attempt to nullify the mainstream as a concept is an example of how, these days, the idea of the truth is more and more up for grabs. Things are becoming more ad hominem: if someone does not like a certain report, he attacks the messenger rather than dealing with the content of the message. If the media is reporting something someone does not like, he makes a big song and dance about the big bad ”mainstream”. Games are being played; people are trying to manipulate us more and more. We can see a great illustration of this here: on a day when a report on Trump’s corruption came out, he simply got on Twitter and made one of his ridiculous statements, thereby distracting everyone and taking our attention away from the bigger, far more serious issue. Thus what we are told and what we believe is becoming more and more a playground; we are being manipulated, and the information we receive is becoming increasingly fucked about with. I don’t know about you, but I find that a really worrying state of affairs.

I was watching the news yesterday, and I couldn’t help noticing how Al-Assad defended himself in an interview by attacking mainstream media, just as western cultural outsiders, e.g. Right wing bloggers, talk show hosts and conspiracy theorists do. It has as if ”the mainstream” has became something they all want to discredit. They all seek to cast it as something which only the unaware cling to or believe in. There is an overt attempt, by some, to give ‘the mainstream’, as a concept, connotations of conformity and subservience. They, on the other hand, cast themselves as purveyors of ”forbidden knowledge”, according themselves and what they say a form of cultural cache. They have all taken advantage of how, in the internet age, our knowledge sources have been opened up and are now vastly more varied. ”The truth” is no longer the province of a few big media companies.

Instead, such cultural outsiders are starting to actually take aim at the liberal consensus and those who articulate it as something oppressive. they would have us believe that the information reported by the mainstream is, to some extent, bogus, and to believe it is to mindlessly accept what one is supposed to believe. thus they set themselves up as custodians of the truth; they imply that to believe them is to be independent and to think independently. Depicting mainstream sources of information as tainted, and to portray listening to the mainstream as succumbing to a form of mindless conformity, is the only way such outside voices can claim parity with it. Mainstream media has vastly more resources than individual writers: it is therefore more likely to be seen by others as objective. But by casting listening to the mainstream as a form of negative conformity, and it’s claims as the output of a powerful, oppressive force, outside voices can cast themselves as equal to it. Relative objectivity can be cast as subject and flawed; and those who portray the mainstream in this way can cast their voices as being in equal if not superior opposition to it.

The problem is, more often than not, those who adopt this position are fairly Right-Wing. they see the mainstream as pursuing a leftist agenda, and therefore attempt to discredit it in the eyes of others. By and large I think they’re right, in a way: mainstream broadcast media has to cater for a vast audience; it does not want to offend anyone, so it tries to be as broad-minded, tolerant and as accommodating if individual difference as possible. I know there are a few notable exceptions, and it doesn’t always get this right, but by and large this is the stance taken. To some, this is anathema: they see this as ”ramming multiculturalism down people’s throats”, and pedalling a leftist worldview. They therefore seek to nullify it.

Such voices know they cannot compete with the mainstream in terms of resources, so they set about spreading the notion that ”the mainstream”, as a general concept, is negative. This also accords with their right-wing, individualist, anti-communitarian worldview. Individual voices are good, they say; anything spouted by the big corporations is mainstream and tainted – don’t trust it. Thus we are seeing more and more such bloggers and talk show hosts talking of the mainstream as if it was taboo or tainted; as if it was something only those not in ”the know” take seriously. In turn they present themselves as custodians of an illicit, hidden truth not reported by the mainstream. It is all a ploy to get their voices onto an equal footing with it.

While I think there should always be room for alternative points of view and value the rise of the blogsphere as a cultural phenomenon – I am, after all, a blogger – I for one prefer to get my news from mainstream organisations like the BBC. As I said, it has vastly more resources than any individual, and is far more likely to be unbiassed and objective. I wanted to note this ploy, though: this trend in some of trying to discredit ”the mainstream” as an idea; speaking of it as an oppressive entity only the uninitiated take seriously. The danger is, if we were all to take this stance and abandon the mainstream – if we were all to ignore the evening news bulletin in favour of reading the blogs of a few right-wing crackpots – then they could tell us whatever they wanted and we’d be none the wiser. Unsubstantiated opinion would seep more and more into the discourse; the unqualified, unchecked views of a few individuals would be valued as much as, if not more than, big mainstream corporations. As much as I support blogging and value independent voices, I think that way danger lies.

I was watching one of these archaeology programs on tv last night. They were showing the excavation of a skeleton, and it made me wonder: if my body was buried and dug up centuries later, would it show I had cerebral palsy? Would the archaeologists be able to tell I was a disabled man, or would I just look like any other skeleton? CP is quite a big part of who I am; by and large it has shaped my life and my personality, but would that be reflected in my bones? I’m not sure: my skeleton, I am told, has been partially distorted, but future archaeologists might put that down to something else. At the end of the day, whether they will or won’t be able to tell I had CP doesn’t matter – I will, by definition, be dead – yet I can’t help wondering, will such a significant part of what makes me, me be visible to future archaeologists, or will it be lost to the past, making my remains just like any other.

[img description=”undefined image” align=”centre”]/images/turkeys at xmas.jpg[/img] gobble gobble!

I just came across quite a profound observation which I think is worth repeating. I just watched footage of the press scrum outside the premiere for the new Star Wars film, and one of the actors commented that films like this bring people together: big franchise filmssuch as additions to the Star Wars series, or Bond or Harry Potter, capture the worlds attention for a moment. They bring people together so that, for a while, we can put devisions of politics, ethnicity, gender, sexuality or whatever aside, and come together over a film. I think he was spot on. That is surely the power of big genre films. We can all share in their enjoyment; they form a common point of reference. Of course, one can poo-poo such films all day long; I personally think Star Wars is looking more and more like a children’s franchise. Yet they are so big that they cross cultural devision, so that, for a moment sat in the cinema, we become one people again. At a time when intercultural devision and animosity are on the rise, surely that is a good thing.

Yesterday was quite an interesting day. I took myself up to stratford, for the Together2016 disability film festival. To be honest I didn’t know what to expect. A few weeks ago, I had submitted my 1000 Londoners film to them, and they said they would use it, so I thought I would go up to check it out. It turned out to be a great day: it took place in stratford town hall: I got there part way through a discussion, but soon, films were played. Most were fairly short, and I was surprised at how varied they were. Their subjects covered both physical and intellectual disabilities; there was fiction and documentary; live action and animation. There was even some poetry, although, truth be told, I wasn’t much taken by it. My film was shown in the second sequence of films, towards the end of the afternoon. To my surprise and mild embarrassment, when it finished it got a huge round of applause, although that may just have been because I was there.

I started to head home soon after that – I didn’t want to stay too late. It had been quite a fascinating afternoon. I held my head high as I rode the tube home: that applause still buzzing in my ears, it’s good to see people like my work.

Lyn and I went to a Richard Ashcroft gig at the o2 last night. Truth be told, I didn’t know much about him, but L said he was in a band called The Verve, a name I vaguely recognised from my school days. It was nevertheless a great night: although the dude was wearing such thick sunglasses that I wondered how he could see in the dark of the arena, he is a really good musician, banging out some great alternative rock tunes. His anthemic They Don’t Own Me was especially rousing. Sat there at the back of the arena, munching on fudge, it was hard not to get carried away with it all. I also felt a twinge of nostalgia for the nineties: I remember hearing those songs being played on the radio in the taxi on my way to school.

A great night then. We got home about midnight, heads buzzing with tunes. It really is awesome to have such a great, great music venue just around the corner.

You know, it’s the small things in life, those almost minute touches of interpersonal contact, that amid all this growing rage and hate, despite all the current effort to get us caring only for ourselves, that remind one that humanity, for all it’s faults, is basically good. Lyn and I were just in the park, at the cafe, having a spot of latte lunch. The usual guys were there with their dogs. We ate and chatted, generally relaxing. Things were on my mind; I had been writing and needed the break.

We spent an hour or so there, and it would soon be time to go. Something astonishing then happened: Chivon, one of the waitresses, came out and gave us all

Christmas cards. I was touched: we go there quite often, so we now know everyone there quite well; but for them to go to the effort of doing that, showing that they value us not just as customers but as people, as friends, was deeply moving. These days we’re all being encouraged to see one another as rivals – we are supposed to compete, to fight, and to not give a damn about anyone but ourselves. It was only a small gesture perhaps, but it shows that some people are still resisting that force: some of us still care; some of us still value people not as potential profit but as people. As long as we hang on to that glimmer of humanity, the encroaching forces of darkness cannot prevail.

Although it will only be online for thirty days or so, and although I have a quibble with it’s use of the term ‘fix’ as it implies something is broken, I think I’ll flag this bbc programme up. The Big Life Fix was on last night; we caught the end of it, having been out, so I just rewatched it. I think it’s great. It’s about how technology can improve people’s lives, including articles on bringing internet access to remote welsh villages and remedying the judder people with alzheimer’s experience with a special wrist strap. Thus it touched on disability, and struck me as strongly advocating the social model. We were also fairly chuffed to see Ross Aitkin, one of the guys who created the Lynstrument , on it as part of the team. interesting stuff, then, and I’m now quite looking forward to next week’s programme.

I watched something magical happen yesterday – something small, yet truly amazing. In our living room, Lyn has an Ipad set up on the table, not far from the sofa where I laze. She usually does her composing in the conservatory – her studio – but yesterday it took her fancy to create a bit of music in the living room. That, after all, was where her coffee was. From my sofa I watched her, first tapping a simple rhythm into the music app, then slowly building on it; she made it repeat again and again, each time adding a note or two. The overall effect was a piece of music being built up over time. It sounded like a song in itself, and it stuck me that it – the process – was itself beautiful enough to be recorded. The way Lyn made the song emerge piece by piece, adding to the repeating pattern note by note, captivated me. I was quite awed by it’s stunning beauty, and wanted that moment recorded forever.

My rages are getting worse. These days, whenever the smug, grinning face of Nigel Farage appears on tv, I fly into the most almighty storm of anger. Last night it was particularly bad: he was on Channel four news debating the current state of the EU with Ken Clarke, and seemed to shrug off any point Clarke put to him with such arrogance that I wanted to kill the scumbag with every fibre of my being. I was shaking with rage; rarely, if ever, have I been so angry. This man has completely fucked the country through his xenophobic views; he wants to do away with equality legislation, our rights and freedoms in order to impose a laizzes-faire economy based on greed on us. He should be in jail as far as I’m concerned, but he seems to regard himself as a hero, a great man who has freed us all from a tyranny.

It seems, however, that I’m not the only one to get so pissed off: such anger is now gripping us all. Whereas cordial, respectful debate used to be the norm, insults are now being hurled left, right and centre. Everyone is getting angrier and angrier, no matter what side of politics you’re on. With me it finds voice in my blog entries, but I fear people will soon start venting their rage by other, more physically violent means. While others have speculated that this is a result of the rise of social media, I also think the advent of strong, divisive personalities like farage and trump has played a part. Both men stand for something we should all find totally abhorrent, yet there they are, glorying in success and cheered on by hate-filled racists and ultra conservatives who almost venerate them.

The result is the polarisation of politics where everyone sorts themselves into two camps, each quite literally disposing the other. I find it sickening, and I think others do. I’m sure others feel the rage I do; we’re all experiencing such fits of white hot, incontrollable anger on both sides of the debate, torn apart by opposing ideologies. I think this is a very, very dangerous state of affairs. The question is, where will all this anger lead? If history is anything to go by, society is currently heading somewhere truly dark.

I think it’s pretty important that I flag this video from Professor Michael Dougan of the University of Liverpool up. In it, prof dougan spells out what I’ve suspected all along: the outists lied to win the referendum. Dougan makes no bones about it: people were told deliberate falsehoods to get them to vote for something which is not in their best interests. The out campaign was run by crooks, bent on defrauding the country for ideological purposes. I challenge anyone to watch it and to still think the result should be allowed to stand.

A couple of days ago I came across the PBS Spacetime youtube channel, and I’ve been watching it’s videos ever since. Fascinating stuff, although I can’t pretend to understand all the science and maths he comes out with. Today I would like to flag this video up, discussing whether a warp drive is possible. It turns out it is, theoretically at least. There are a lot of hurdles to get over, but in theory mankind could one day fold spacetime to travel faster than light. I think that is awesome. If, like me, you’re fascinated by this sort of stuff but don’t have the background to understand all the complicated maths, these videos are well worth a look.

Lately I have been pondering whether academia is innately philological. By philology I mean a love of and fascination with words and language. It seems to me that academia, regardless of subject, whether science or art, values language greatly. It places great stock in words and their use: everything must be clearly defined; any academic analysis uses complicated, specialist words. Language is how academia expresses and perpetuates itself – it is it’s very currency, underpinning the entire system. Any undergraduate essay or postgrad thesis is a written document; the better it is written, the more eloquently and precisely a candidate can use language, the higher his or her mark. As a discourse it relishes creating new words. To me this makes it a philological exercise. In Lacanian terms, academia is all about the Symbolic; individual success depends on how well one can access it. It all boils down to a deep love and valuing of language. This is a slightly random thing to note for a Sunday morning I know, but it’s interesting how one makes these strange connections when you’re lying in bed at night, waiting for sleep. One love – the love of language – seems to lie beneath the entire academic discourse, a common feature in any academic field.

I think I’ll flag this quite worrying Guardian article up today, concerning the extent to which corporate lobby groups now hold sway, especially in America. They purport to be grassroots groups, but scratch the surface and you’ll find them funded by billionaires and corporations with vested interests. This is especially worrying with a joke like Trump in charge.These groups, pretending to represent common people, will simply do away with legislation on things like climate change; we’re already seeing it start to happen. If we are already despairing at that utter joke becoming president in the first place, it would seem there’s a lot of despair yet to come.

Lyn and I went to the pub last night to celebrate the birthday of a friend of ours from the cafe. I hadn’t been into a pub since I stopped drinking about four months ago, and I was rather worried about it. I knew it wouldn’t be easy to resist the temptation to have a beer; but I also knew that, were that to happen, things would come down like a house of cards and bad habits would return in the blink of an eye. Sat there, surrounded by friends, part of me was getting rather grumpy, demanding to know why I couldn’t just have one beer, like a ‘normal’ person. But I knew that one would lead to two, two to three, and so on. The psychological gates would have been opened, and before I knew it I’d be falling out of my chair again, if not last night then tonight, tomorrow or soon. That was not going to happen*.

This situation came to an end, however, as soon as I ate. We were there before dinner, but, getting there to find food was on the cards, Lyn texted Dom to come help us. All thought of alcohol left my brain as soon as that burger hit my lips, and after that I was right as rain, chatting to people, showing off my thesis and blog on my Ipad. It turned out to be a great evening, and I think Lyn and I made a few new friends. I stuck to Kaliber, nonalcoholic beer; Lyn was on juice. We got home just before eleven. I was feeling tired, but really pleased with myself. I had done it: I’d spent an evening in a pub without drinking a drop of alcohol. Given the state I was in before giving up, I think that’s quite an achievement. What’s more, now I know I can do it, and that I don’t need a drink to enjoy a party. I have no hangover, nothing’s been damaged: alcohol-free certainly is the way to go.

*As a strategy, I imagined Captain Picard had given me a direct order not to drink, using his deepest, sternest voice. It seemed to do the trick.

I have been thinking about Monty Python a lot recently. While it seems my enthusiastic prediction that they were planning another reunion seems to have been premature, I can’t help thinking we haven’t seen the last of the Pythons yet. Of course, now that Terry Jones is unwell, a full reunion like the one in 2014 would seem unlikely. Yet Cleese and Idle are currently touring America with their own show, which apparently includes a lot of Python material; if Palin and Gilliam could be persuaded to join them, surely it wouldn’t take much to get Python back on the road.

2019 marks the golden jubilee of Python. It would be a shame not to mark the anniversary in some way. After all, not many comedy troupes have had as much cultural influence as Python. To mark it, if a full-on reunion is out of the question, then why not some kind of tribute show? You could get fellow comedy legends such as RowanAtkinson and harry Enfield to perform python material. It’s just an idea; I just don’t think Python should be allowed to vanish without a trace, it’s cultural legacy going unmarked.