It would seem that her majesty is already making plans for trump’s visit.

Believe it or not, even after all this time I still keep an eye on olympic matters. I’m interested in cities as places and destinations, and it seems to me that awarding a city an Olympic games means it becomes the focus of the world’s attention. Thus I’m interested in the bidding process; the competition between cities for the status of being the temporary focal point of human activity.

I just came across this USA Today article. The Americans are very worried that Trump will damage the chances of Los Angeles being awarded the 2024 olympics in September. As the article itself points out, in the grand scheme of things, this is a minor point – there is a lot more serious stuff to worry about these days. Yet, on another level, I get the impression that to the americans, this matters. By 2024 it will be almost thirty years since an American city hosted the olympics. For a people who seem to think they are the most important nation in the world, best at everything, knowing that hurts. They think it’s their turn to put on a show. The problem is, Trump. There is no way the IOC could opt for an American city with Donald’s immigration policies as they are. Even without that, the man’s an object of widespread ridicule and scorn. Awarding America an Olympics would mean the IOC giving trump a dignity and authority which I think they would be reluctant to award him. On the other hand, similar things could be said of La Pen in france: the rise of the front national could seriously effect Paris’s bid too, otherwise I’d be saying the french capital would be a shoe in.

You see now why I’m interested in this process. Of course, it was born of my participation in London 2012, but I have come to believe that olympic bids can be used as a barometer for global opinion and world affairs.

I’m currently in the cafe again, looking out at the rain. Well, what else can one do as the world descends ever towards madness? Things, I fear, are becoming genuinely frightening. We may try to play it down or make light of it, but the president of America is looking more and more like a fascist throwback to the thirties. I may be feeling a bit more cheerful these days, but how could anyone ignore something so alarming, so serious? Making light of trump only goes so far: his stance on immigration is overtly xenophobic and a matter of genuine concern. A lot is now at stake. The problem is, as worried as we all are, there is not much one can do other than to order another coffee and hope for the best.

I think this is worth flagging up today. In it, my friend Chris tries to articulate something I’ve touched upon once or twice on here over the years: the paradox of being called inspirational. Guys like me get it all the time – people come up to us and say we’re oh so great or brave, or whatever other nauseating adjective they want to use, just because we try to get on with life. Lyn and I are essentially just two londoners living in the maelstrom, the same as anyone else; the fact that we both have cerebral palsy does nothing to effect that. We may face our problems and barriers, but what life doesn’t have problems or or barriers? We do not want to inspire people, merely to live as happily and as well as we can.

A great point raised there by chris; and to be thinking about such matters while on holiday in Cuba is impressive.

I seem to be gradually recovering my cheeriness. While the world at large still seems to be contentedly driving itself over the edge of a cliff, the last few days has seen me feeling rather upbeat and light. I have found myself remembering all the great things I’ve done in the past, and wondering what awesome things might happen in the future. I’ve been thinking about inconsequential, trivial things again, such as stuff to do with Star Trek and James bond, just as I always used to. The last few days have seen the return of my merry, contented little squeaks and squeals, as I think about things which make me happy. I don’t know why this happened: perhaps it is a coping strategy in response to how depressing everything is getting; perhaps it was just time. But I’m glad it did, as it means I can get back to thinking about all the great things there are to think about, such as the projects I mentioned yesterday, rather than getting angrier and angrier at how screwed up everything is becoming.

I suddenly find myself with quite a bit to do. Last night saw the initial planning meeting of this year’s Charlton and Woolwich Free Film Festival, and I’ve already started to prepare my contribution for that. On top of that, I’m writing the scripts for a project with Chocolate Films as well as helping to edit a Londoners film. It really is ”Go! Go! Go!” for me these days, and frankly I’m thrilled. I’m working on film, which is what I always wanted to do. While part of me is worried about how I’ll be able to keep track of it all, I know as long as I stay focused and keep my wits about me, it shouldn’t be that bad. I trotted out a script this morning, then this afternoon did a bit of planning. Now it’s off to asda to get stuff for dinner. I’m busy, but I feel I’m being useful and productive. I love it!

I think I need to flag this up today. Fascinating news on the communication aid front: researchers in america are developing VOCAs with regional accents. They have developed a database of voices, taking samples from as many people from different areas and of as many ages as possible, so that people like myself can have the accent associated with the area they come from. I say it’s about time! Back at uni, it was a long-running joke to ask why I had an American accent. At least with this new tech I would be able to sound like the Cheshire lad I am, or perhaps adopt a south-east London twang when I need to blend in down here.

As you can probably guess, I’m pretty glad that the government lost it’s appeal today: they shouldn’t have been trying to push through brexit without consulting parliament in the first place. Yet, to a certain extent, it was also pointless: the referendum is over and the people have made their decision, however misguided or illinformed I or those like me may think that decision is. Parliament will now have to scrutinise brexit: it must now go through all the legislation we got from the Eu, now so interwoven into our own, in a process that will take years. Yet the eventual outcome remains inevitable: the outists will get their way, and out we must come.

There is one ray of light I got from watching the tv coverage of this earlier, though. My biggest concern about leaving was we would abandon human rights legislation. Minorities and women get so much protection under EU law, which I feared would be in jeopardy once we leave. I thought the outists were seeking to create a capitalist utopia where the rich were free to walk all over the poor, and human rights were something only wealthy, able-bodied white men enjoyed. However, earlier I heard Ken clarke say that much of that human rights legislation will now be incorporated into our own law, and that is what will take so much time. That reassured me. I believe him: after all, most of those rules came from the uk anyway, and the vast majority of MPs are reasonable people who know the value of such rights. If we can keep the protections of our human rights we currently enjoy under the EU, then maybe things won’t be so bad. Mind you, I still suspect that many of the right-wingers who clamoured so hard to leave did so because they thought such rules get in the way of their money-making, and will fight tooth and nail against any attempt to retain it. Brexit may be delayed and it may now be scrutinised, but these bastards are as determined as ever to see their nationalist, ultra capitalist hell realised.

Believe it or not, before last night I had never seen trainspotting. I realise that is an awful confession for a film buff like me to make, but nonetheless it’s true. My parents thought it was too adult for me to watch when it came out, and I never got round to watching it after that: I suppose it just crept under my radar. However, last night I finally managed to see Boyle’s classic, and thought it magnificent. I had prepared myself for a bit of a tough watch, so I was surprised how much humour there was in it. Don’t get me wrong: Trainspotting is a very dark film which certainly pulls no punches; but there are hints of a dark, almost tragic humour in it. It is a gritty, raw expose of how people on the fringes of society live; but it is not done without pathos, and with a kind of knowing irony I found captivating. The central characters might be aimless vagabonds without hope, but they sort of know they are. There is a sort of cynicism in the way the characters know this isn’t the way they should behave, but they behave as they do anyway. They refuse to buy into the sanitised, sugar-coated image we’re all sold of how things are supposed to be. My hat goes off to Danny Boyle for making this film, for being so perceptive and astute. Now all I have to do is give it a second viewing, before watching the sequel as soon as possible.

I’m sure i’m not the only one to have noticed how Trump is attempting to vilify the media. This morning the nutcase was trying to make out that thousands more people came to his inauguration than attended the protests against him, and that the press were only trying to tell us otherwise because they have some kind of agenda against him. While this is clearly not the case – the photos of the respective crowds speak for themselves – it occurs to me that this type of allegation may be part of Trump’s overall strategy. He’s trying to turn people against the press. By getting people to think that the press are out to get him, Trump can characterize any and all criticisms of him as ad hominen and part of an agenda. Thus, whatever anyone says, no matter how badly the buffoon fucks up, he’ll just claim that it’s just the press out to get him. In doing so, he makes himself immune from any criticism: whatever happens, trump is always right and those who say otherwise just do so out of spite. He is trying to play us, manipulate us; it’s as if he wants to be America’s only source of information, and for everyone to disregard anything which runs counter to what he says. I only hope others see this too, and refuse to fall for such a cheap, puerile trick.

While some may well find it silly, I think this article is worth flagging up. It argues that the future predicted by Star Trek seems, roughly speaking, to be coming true. Trek canon states that, before the space-faring utopia it depicts comes about, humanity will go through a catastrophic third world war in which six hundred million people die. That is almost exactly what the world seems to be now gearing itself up for; as pessimistic as it sounds, with the inauguration of that deranged idiot yesterday, on top of brexit and the growth of hard-line nationalism, I cannot help thinking that humanity is now heading for a very bad place. At least we trekkies have Roddenberry’s vision of the future to klingon to – the hope that humanity will come out the other end of armageddon united, tolerant and ready to explore the galaxy together.

America is ashamed of itself…

And so it bloody well should be. Electing trump (okay, it didn’t, but you know what I mean) has turned it into a joke, and the only way it’s dignity and standing in the world can be restored is if that halfwitted wretch is booted from office immediately.

If anyone ever doubts that shakespeare is still relevant today, send them to this wondrous little film.

I just watched the inaugural oath and speech of the US presidency being uttered by a man totally unfit and without right to do so. To be fair, I must say that some of what trump just said struck me as okay: after all, isn’t delivering power and accountability back to the working class exactly what we on the left want? But then he strayed into protectionism, delivering cliche after vapid cliche after putting america first, and my fury returned in an instant. The fact is, the most powerful, influential nation on earth is now governed by a man with no idea whatsoever of what he is doing; who thinks he can spout whatever brainless nonsense he wants over twitter and everyone will love him; who wants to slash taxes for his rich friends while ransacking the state, and to turn the states into a protectionist, isolationist monstrosity. Trump intends to reverse the progress Obama made in healthcare and climate change legislation. How can this buffoon be allowed to inflict his backwards, draconian ideas on America. Surely sooner or later, something will need to be done to replace this egotistical reality television show host with someone who knows what they are doing.

We have reached the point where, tomorrow, a complete buffoon will take the famous oath of allegiance and become arguably the most powerful man on earth. I expect the event to be utterly vulgar and self-serving: as big as an olympic opening ceremony, but geared entirely to the promotion of one man. How the hell did we get to this point? It’s a total farce: the guy isn’t even a politician, but an overprivileged egomaniac whose sole intention is self promotion. He has no idea how to run a country, yet there he is posing behind he desk of the Oval Office. We have two options left to us: either we despair, descending into worry at what the future holds; or we can sit back and break into a cheesy grin. All one can do sometimes is laugh at the absurdity of it all; we have no power to change anything. The situation is Pythonesque, and all we need now is for a big giant foot to drop from the sky with a big fart sound. That would certainly make the inauguration tomorrow memorable.

As far as I am concerned, this story represents quite a victory for wheelchair users like myself. ”A disabled man has won a Supreme Court case after a dispute with a woman with a buggy over wheelchair space on a bus.” I just heard it on the radio in the coffee shop, and whizzed back to note it here. It means that buggies will have to give way to wheelchair users on busses. It’s quite an ongoing dispute. I’ve lost count of the times I haven’t been able to get onto a bus because a buggy or two was in the wheelchair space, and the mums refused to move them. While it is technically still a matter of the driver’s judgement, at least now we have a decision from the Supreme Court to cite.

I don’t have much to say tonight. I don’t even want to contemplate how hideous things are getting in the wider world, so to cheer myself up I think I’ll just share this great picture, taken this weekend in crewe. I wrote the other day about how special it was to see my old friend Esther. A visit to her was overdue, and probably made my weekend.

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I’m on my train south, heading home to London. It has been an outstanding weekend, and a long overdue one. Seeing Esther at last was brilliant, and it must be said that my parents have totally spoiled me this weekend. At the same time I am looking forward to getting back to lyn. While I think I needed this weekend, my life as a Londoner awaits me. I’m looking forward to asking her about David Icke, and to cracking on with the films I’m supposed to be helping to make. Lots to look back on, then, but also tons to look forward to. Now that my stomach has been filled to the brim with mums delicious cooking, I feel recharged and ready to go.

I think I’ve mentioned on here before that I Skype my parents every Sunday morning: it’s sort of a standing tradition we have. It felt wired to find myself on the other side of the webcam today. I go back to charlton tomorrow, so today I was with my parents when they spoke to my brothers. It was great to see them both, as I don’t really speak to them much. Luke is doing really well, but what was really cool was the game of webcam hide and seek we just played with my nephew Oliver. He is growing up fast, and becoming quite a handful for his mum and dad. Looking at his bright face on the screen, I realised that pretty soon I need to organise getting myself to France. It’s high time uncle Matt, and possibly aunt Lyn, payed them a visit. Webcam chats are awesome, but, as this weekend has shown me, sometimes you just have to go see someone, especially when it comes to family.

We just got back from Crewe. I know they say you should never get too close to your support staff, but to me, Esther is far more than one of my old personal assistants. While you’ll understand when I say that I want to keep the precise details of this afternoon between us, I just want to record that what happened this afternoon was long overdue. Seven years had passed and we had a lot of catching up: Esther still supports students at college; she told me that much has changed since I was there. At the same time, it seemed like only days had passed since we had last seen each other: Esther looked exactly as I remembered her, and she told me that I had barely changed too.

Our two hours flew by, and our long overdue meeting ended all too soon. Esther is one of my best friends, and I realised how much I missed her. We exchanged gifts, and I gave a copy of my thesis. After all, she put so much work into it, so it only seemed right. As I stepped out her front door, I made a promise to myself: before the year is over, Esther will have had a coffee with me in charlton park. That, too, is long overdue.

I’m currently sat in the conservancy of the old family house. I came up by train yesterday: it was time for another visit ‘home’. Apart from a few different nicknacks on the shelves, the place is pretty much as I left it.

Today will probably be a quiet, uneventful day – I don’t want to intrude on my parents too much by insisting they take me here, there and everywhere. But tomorrow…tomorrow will be special. I’ve arranged to go visit Esther in Crewe. I haven’t seen my old learning support assistant in seven years. Of course, we chat quite often over facebook, but since I moved to London I haven’t seen her. The woman who helped me through my degree and set me on my way in my masters; the Esther of a thousand coffees and lunchtime chats; .the only person in the world who I could discuss James Bond with without being frowned at; that’s who I will see tomorrow.

Sat here in the conservatory, so many photos look down on me: graduation photos, wedding photos, photos of my nephew and niece. So much has happened in the last seven years – so many awesome, awesome things- that I can’t wait to tell Esther. Where will I begin? The Olympics? Python? The cafe in the park? Guy, our cat? I can’t wait to chat with her about Happy and Glorious. I want to tell her all about London, all about charlton; all about life in that chaotic, insane maelstrom so different to the quiet world up here. I have so many stories to tell her. She might read my blog, in which case she may know a few of them already. But there is so much more.

I am, I suppose, a different man to who I was seven years ago. Indeed it feels like the entire world has changed since I last saw my old friend. I’m a Londoner now, and London changes people. At the same time, I’m still me, Matt: blogger, filmmaker and bum. The question is, will Esther recognise me? Will I recognise Esther? I suppose we will see tomorrow.

I still say it’s high time I found something else to fixate upon. I recently decided it was high time I stopped feeling so miffed about everything. Sure, a lot of shit is happening in the world right now, but, if you think about it, either bastards will get defeated or they won’t be. If brexit is aq crap as they say it will be, it will be reversed. If not, then it won’t be that crap. Either way, things will turn out for the best. Time, then, for me to calm down and chill out about it.

Time for me to find something cooler to think about. Throughout my life, I’ve had these little obsessions: things I get fixated upon and worked up about. The three big ones, of course, are James Bond, Star Trek and Lord of the Rings. I also now have events I keep thinking about; special things like watching monty python live and meeting Patrick Stewart which show me how awesome life can get.

But now they need to be topped. If things can get that cool, they can surely get even cooler. How such mind bogglingly awesome events could possibly be bettered I’m not yet sure, but it’s time to find out. I’m fed up with getting angry about farage, trump, and all the stupid crap going around. Time for me to remember how wonderful my life is: to feel again the pridle I felt shaking Patrick Stewart’s hand, or the feeling of sheer overwhelming privalege I felt that afternoon backstage at the Paralympic closing ceremony. What could do that I’m not sure, but going by passed experience something awesome is bound to come along soon enough.

Tracey, the lady I work with at school, just sent me this link, and as soon as I started listening to it I began to feel guilty that it had crept under my radar. Ability by Lost Voice Guy Lee Ridley is an astonishing piece of radio. To start with, I thought it would be the usual collection of disability-related observations and gags we have come to expect of him: very witty and astute, but ultimately throw-away and superficial. You know the sort of thing: VOCA-using crip in a family setting, functioning as a social narrator, used to make asides. But then, as the program went on, I realised I was listening to something far darker. Sure there was the wit one expects from a communication-aid using stand-up comedian, but this was quite edgy stuff. Without wanting to give anything away, Ridley does not hold back from exposing some of the realities of lives like ours. This is not the sugar-coated pap one has come to expect. My hat is doffed to Ridley. Hopefully I will soon be living up to his standard in my own work.

Quite a lot is currently being said about Meryl Streep’s recent high-profile criticism of Donald Trump. I have been trying to ignore that p’tahk as much as possible, yet there os no escaping the fact that he will soon be one of the most powerful people on earth. I also cannot ignore the fact that he mocked a disabled reporter, and when people criticise him for it, rather than admitting culpability and apologising, he attacks them, calling them ‘overrated’. Trump seems to think he is the arbiter of what can and cannot be said; trying to appear to dominate the Symbolic. He wants people to defer to him, and to establish that to oppose him is to side with an evil controlling force he calls ‘the elites’ or ‘the mainstream’. I have seen this tactic being used in one or two other places recently.

It really gets to me how this barely-elected insult to human civilisation thinks he has the right to take the piss out of someone’s disability. Have a look at a picture of Serge Kovaleski, and you’ll see how offensive what Trump did was. I find myself wondering how I’d react if Trump mocked me, Lyn or any of my friends in the disability community in a similar way. I would be furious, of course, just as I am about this. Kovaleski probably worked his balls off to get to where he is, as we all have to; for trump to think him so unimportant that he deserves such infantile mockery is galling. Surely humanity can do better than to have such an arrogant, mendacious scumbag as one of it’s main leaders.

Although it is quite a bit longer than most of my blog entries, putting me to shame, I think I need to flag this piece from my friend Chris up. It is quite a horrendous account of his recent experience with the NHS. His wife Fran hurt her foot, and the entry details the palaver they had to endure going to the hospital. It is well worth a read. Chris concludes that the health service is in crisis, strained to breaking point.

It’s an unseasonably warm January evening, and Lyn and I are sat once again in one of our favourite spots. It feels like summer, looking across the river listening to the gulls. I love it here; the Thames is littered with the debris of centuries of industry; old wooden structures jut out from the water, a reminder that this was once the engine room of a now long-dead empire. There is an aura about this place. Behind us there is the sound of laughter and music from a pub, but we’ll not go in. Instead, we’ll turn our chairs and head for home, me following the woman I love away from this peaceful place back up into the city. Another day, another week is at an end. Time, like the river behind us, flows ever on – it too is littered with the debris of the past, yet hopefully winds it’s way towards a brighter future. After all, winter will now soon give way to spring.

I was considering not posting an entry today. It has been almost two years since I missed a day’s bloggage, and I think I deserve some leeway. I decided it was time at last to deliberately break my chain. Besides, I have a bit of a hectic few days coming up, so I might not blog every day anyway. Yet today, the urge to blog got too much; wilfully not sitting down to tap something in here just felt wrong. So here it is: a blog entry about not blogging. I guess it just goes to show how addicted I am to this hobby. Even when I tell myself to take a break, I post an entry anyway.

I wrote a few days ago that I was pleased all the cool stuff which happened in this country happened before 2016. That way, it remained untainted by the moronic events of last year, and I could still look back on them with pride. I can still smile at the fact that London hosted a great olympics, and at the fact I watched Monty Python Live. After all, they both happened before the referendum was even announced, so how could their memory be tainted by it?

Yet now I think we all need something else: we need another of those huge, grand events to bring us all together again. As a country, we are still utterly divided by the referendum; half of us hold the other half in complete contempt. 48% of us resent 52% of us for being duped into totally screwing up the country, while 52% demand 48% respect the outcome of the vote. The anger is palpable. What we need is something big to pull us back together: something on the scale of Live Aid or the Olympics, involving lots of celebrity razamataz, music and comedy which we could all get behind. Historically, such events have done wonders for national unity.

Now, I know what you’ll be thinking: such an event would be a superficial, sticking-plaster solution at best; these divisions now go too deep, the resentment and contempt is too strong. But I think you will be surprised: think back to the 2012 olympics, especially the opening ceremony, and how everyone was talking about it. It blew all our minds away and became a collective talking point – a common point of reference we could all discuss. It was like a smash-hit film, but bigger; a narrative we shared and could all explore. That’s what we need now, more than ever.

Last year tore us apart as a nation, and I think it’s still doing so. There is still a lot of resentment and mistrust about. But think back to 2012 and how together we were, and how we all got behind that one big event. Now more than ever, we need something like that to happen. What it could be I know not – we’re unlikely to host the olympics again anytime soon – but we need something on a similar scale to distract everyone, to draw our collective attention away from politics, away from resentment and onto something we can all get behind.

On a more personal level, I want to love this country again. All I’ve been feeling for it recently is a deep resentment, but remember how joyous I was at having watched Monty Python Live, or how obsessed I became with the olympic opening ceremony? Such events prove to me that truly awesome things can happen in this country – events which make me feel privileged to be here. That’s a feeling I badly want back.

I think I’ll just flag this video up tonight. Owen Jones sums 2016 up rather well: all in all, it was a terrible, terrible year. But, he points out, humanity has been through worse: we aren’t yet where we were in the thirties, with out-and-out fascism spreading across Europe. And just as we recovered from that dark episode, he says we can recover from this one; we just need to stay focussed, and to not get too downbeat. I hope he is right.

I just want to record something else which happened yesterday which had me laughing my head off. We were discussing ways to break bad habits, so I brought up how I’m still off the booze. I told them about the technique I mention in the footnote here: I imagine captain Picard, in his deepest, sternest voice, ordering me not to drink. After all, who could resist a direct order from the captain of the Enterprise? David, the fellow running the session – and obviously being familiar with Star Trek – immediately suggested the line ”Make it Sober!” Why that had never occurred to me before I do not know, but I was suddenly in fits of laughter. I was howling my head off. It was a great line, one which demanded recording here, and one which I’m definitely going to have to use in the future.

There are times, every now and then, when I find myself wishing I had Esther with me. These days I find I can cope in most meeting or classroom-type situations perfectly well. After all, they don’t happen all that often. Yet sometimes I still find myself missing my trusty old LSA.

Today saw such an afternoon. I was down in Woolwich, at lifeline. A new term had started, as it were: film-making has begun proper, it seems, as we were told today that the team had been commissioned by an organisation up in Manchester who support people recovering from cannabis misuse. They want us to make films highlighting the problems, as well as the help that is available. A lady had come down to talk to us, and the discussion was often quite intense; so much so that I found myself wanting a note-taker.

This has me very excited, to be honest. While I don’t know all that much about weed *cough*, it is nonetheless a full-blown project and something I feel I can get my teeth into. My mind is already ablaze with ideas. Rolling home just now, I thought back to my university days, heading back to my little flat after a writing workshop, Esther beside me. She was as enthusiastic about film and writing as I was, so after I had been given a new assignment we used to throw ideas back and forth. then as now, it had been the type of afternoon I used to love at uni; I felt stimulated and keen to get on with the task.

Tomorrow morning will hopefully see me starting to get ideas down onto paper. It feels good to have been given something to write about. Writing blog entries is cool, but I do that off my own back. This is something more, something extra; an external goal to work towards. It’s also good to feel part of a team. Mind you, that also means I need to keep focussed,something else Esther was useful for.

Four one to charlton, an excellent start to the year.

Sitting among a rowdy crowd, under a sky so clear.

Down to the Valley with my mate james, then back up here to lyn;

Singing the songs of the crowd, then blasted with music when I get in.

Thrashing out merry chants under a starry dome; Then blasted with warmth and love when I get home.

Days like these remind me how lucky I am:

To have a such great girlfriend, and to be a Charlton fan.

As I noted in yesterday’s entry, 2016 was a pretty dire year in the broad sense. Yet, more personally, it wasn’t that bad. It might not have seen events as epic as watching Monty Python or meeting Patrick Stewart, but nonetheless it was pretty cool. It was the year I presented at the local film festival, and the year my niece Elise was born. In fact, now that I come to think about it, I did a lot of cool stuff last year. I’m also quite chuffed because I managed to post a blog entry every single day. I think that’s quite an accomplishment, and I plan to keep it up, although I might let myself off an odd day now and then.

Lots of cool stuff to look back on, then; and lots to look forward to. The world at large might be quite fucked up right now, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t still fun to be had.