Something incredible just happened. As I said yesterday, I was very excited to see a film crew at charlton house, and the chance to meet Danny Boyle meant I set off round there bright and early this morning. Of course, I knew that actually meeting the guy, let alone getting to have any kind of conversation with him, was rather unlikely; but at least I could watch a professional film crew at work. I could sit in the sun outside charlton house (you couldn’t go in there as film equipment was everywhere) and watch events unfold.

I sat there for most of the afternoon, in between runs to the cafe to report back to the guys there. Matt turned up, chatted a while, then left. I knew I’d need to be patient so I stayed there, until eventually out the great man came. Earlier in the day I’d got talking to one of the assistant directors (I think) and had explained why I was so keen to meet Mr. Boyle. We had exchanged emails (hurrah for networking!) and he had seemed quite impressed. Just when I was beginning to contemplate heading home, he came back out to meet me, bringing with him one of the greatest living directors.

As with when I met Sir Patrick Stewart, I was awe-struck: Once again fate and good luck had conspired to allow me to meet one of my heroes. I wanted to say so much; I tried to explain why the olympic opening ceremony meant so much to me, showing him this blog entry on my Ipad, but he obviously needed to get back to work. Nonetheless, I feel we had a fairly decent conversation, at the end of which I shook his hand, someone took our photo, and I was left to drive back home, once again wondering how I can be so lucky.

I still can barely believe this is actually happening – god himself, it would seem, is coming to Charlton Village. I was out in the park yesterday, enjoying my usual cuppa, when I noticed something going on up at the House. I asked my fellow coffee-drinkers what was happening, and was told a film crew was setting up to film there. Of course, this got me automatically interested, so I whizzed up the path to investigate.

At the front of Charlton House, I found men taking film equipment from vans into the house. It looked like high-spec, fairly professional stuff, so this clearly wasn’t an amateur production. I asked one of the guys about it: he didn’t know so I asked another, and was told it was for a period piece about Getty Images.

And then the amazing part came. Wanting to sound as if I actually knew something about film, I asked who was directing. I expected to hear a name I had never heard before. But I had. We all have. It was none other than one of my favourite directors, and a personal hero of mine, Danny Boyle. When I heard that name, my jaw hit the floor! Boyle, the very guy who directed Happy and Glorious, a piece of film I find so remarkable, so awesome that it still has me spasming with glee; Boyle, director of Slumdog Millionaire and Trainspotting; Boyle, one of the greatest living directors, is coming to Charlton village.

He’ll just be here a few days. Apparently he’s filming Trust, an American television series about John Paul Getty, and will shoot on Friday (tomorrow). Of course, the chances of me actually meeting the great man are minimal – he’ll probably be very busy indeed, and the last thing he’ll want will be the likes of me trying to chat to him. Nonetheless, this is very exciting news indeed, and I’ll no doubt be over there tomorrow trying to watch.

I can’t believe how these things turn out sometimes. How did this happen – what are the chances? One of my heroes, making a film on my doorstep. It’s just incredible.

I’m currently on an ongoing quest for something new to get into and explore. Since starting to make films with Matt Ball, I’ve begun to look at everything in a slightly different way, wondering how I could use it in a film. Of course, I’ve done that for ages anyway, looking for material to write about on my blog; yet now I’ve started to think more in terms of film. That’s how I came to be pondering finger spinners a couple of weeks ago: after seeing them on sale in Woolwich market, I began to wonder if a film could be made about them. I’m interested in the new and previously unexplored; new art forms and sports; things not yet seen as mainstream. How might such things then be explored? Could such new art forms be documented and analysed as one would analyse more traditional art forms?

It seems to me that that is the way things are flowing: people are increasingly trying to get away from mainstream forms of culture and types of expression and into new ways to communicate. Look at the rise of youtube, for one, where everyone can upload short films about whatever they like. Means of expression are growing and changing, and I think this has lead to a plethora of new art forms being created. Culture seems to be evolving very quickly indeed. This fascinates me, and I now want to go and explore a few of these new forms of expression. What new things can I find, out there on the streets? And, just as interestingly, what can I then say about them?

My new golf ball took a bit of getting used to. Just to follow up on yesterday’s entry, I must say it was quite strange, at first, controlling my powerchair through the golf ball: I suppose it’s like a new pair of shoes which you have to break in before they get comfortable. Within about twenty minutes, though, I found I liked the new sensation, and could see why so many powerchair users preferred golf balls: There was something bigger in my hand; something to get hold of and grip, giving one a better sense of control. I can now definitely see myself becoming a golf ball convert.

A few days ago I lost the knob off my powerchair control stick. Going through nearby Maryon-Wilson Park, it flew off into the bushes as I was going down a slope. I spent over half an hour looking for it, but it was nowhere to be found. Fortunately, having two chairs, I could just take the knob off my spare powerchair and put it on to my main one, but Lyn had a better solution. Rolling up to me as I was looking for my knob in the park, she immediately got on her Ipad and ordered a golf ball for me. The lads back at school always used golf balls on their chairs, but up until now I’ve used the knobs the chairs came with. I’d always thought they were just ordinary golf balls my mates had had holes drilled into, but obviously there’s a market for wheelchair control knobs which look like golf balls.

I just got back from the cafe to find my new control knob had been delivered. It’s now on my control stick waiting for me to try out. Well, here goes…

I think I really need to flag this video up. The Young Turks panel discusses the recent story in The Guardian about school boys who, told they weren’t allowed to wear shorts to school, opted to wear skirts. I love it! Not only does the story chime with my own views on clothes, that people should be able to wear whatever they like regardless of gender, I also love how these americans react to it in an odd, slightly bemused way. It’s as if it’s the last thing they expected from a group of british school boys, but nonetheless they fully support the ethos behind it.

I’m still just as angry as when I wrote this entry a year ago yesterday. My frustration with the way things are going in this country hasn’t calmed down one iota; in fact things seem to be getting worse. I’ve written many times on here about how stupid this country was to vote for brexit: it was a vote for xenophobia and isolationism; a vote which, more to the point, essentially denied reality. How long do these fools really think we can survive outside the EU? It just did not make sense to leave our biggest, nearest market. As I wrote the other day, I think people will soon be changing their minds in their droves – I think they already are, as the truth becomes clearer and clearer.

The problem is, it’s very hard for people to admit that they were wrong, or that they were deceived, when it comes to matters like this. They will thus try to cling to fantasies for as long as possible rather than face the truth and own up. Even when the truth becomes blatantly obvious, brexiteers will still be claiming they were right. This mess will therefore take a long, long time to sort out. A year on and I’m still angry, but I fear this farce has some way to run yet.

Just to pick up on another of my fandoms, Michael Palin was awarded an honorary doctorate from the University of St. Andrews, Scotland this week. I read earlier that it was ”n recognition of his contribution to the understanding of contemporary geography issues.” Programs about so-called celebrities going on journeys are tena-penny these days, but as far as I am concerned, Palin virtually created the genre. The current copycat series, with Joanna Lumley and so on, all stem from Palin’s Around The World in Eighty Days, Pole To Pole and Full Circle. As someone who has loved his programmes since childhood, it’s good to see Palin’s contribution being recognised.

As a cricket fan, it saddens me to read that the great Henry Blofeld has announced his retirement. Listening to test matches just won’t be the same without him; to many, he’s the quintessential voice of cricket. ”Henry Blofeld will retire from BBC Radio 4’s Test Match Special after 45 years in the commentary box. The 77-yearold will broadcast on the show for the final time when England host West Indies on 7 September.” I love the way he brought a strange quirkiness to listening to cricket commentary, as though you were listening to someone from a totally different age while still being homely and strangely comforting. Mind you, I’ve always wondered whether he was related to the famous Bond villain. Oh well…farewell Blowers – you were great.

I was just looking through my blog archive – something I do from time to time. Ten years ago today I wrote this entry. Freshly home from finishing my final undergrad year at university, Dad had just set my computer up on my old desk. I dashed off a quick blog entry, no doubt wanting to get on with other stuff, about how much uni had changed me. I had indeed changed over the previous three years: my experiences on campus really brought me out of myself. But I didn’t realise then that that was just the beginning, and I had barely scratched the surface of the change. I remember writing that very entry, but at the same time it seems an age away. So much has happened since then, not least meeting Lyn and moving to London, that it staggers me to think how much my life has changed. I’ve created so many awesome memories, had so many great adventures, since I wrote those words; the very geography of the world where I exist is completely different. To continue the metaphor I use in that entry, the ship slipped her moorings, cleared the dock, and sailed into a vast ocean full of adventure and intrigue.

Helm, hold her steady, and prepare for excitement.

I’m becoming a bit more hopeful when it comes to brexit. More and more people are starting to question whether it will actually happen. I get the sense that, behind the scenes, the political class is waking up to reality and realising that, if brexit continues, it will be a car crash of epic proportions. Last night I watched a bbc documentary on it. As usual it had me shouting at the screen, especially when the lying criminal Farage appeared – how that xenophobic scumbag can be allowed to express his baseless, moronic views on tv rather than rotting in a jail cell where he belongs really pisses me off.

Yet at the end of the program I was left feeling quite optimistic. May did not get the huge tory majority she called the election for; her master plan backfired, so basically they’re more up shit creek than ever when it comes to negotiating with the EU. It is a slick, well-oiled diplomatic machine reluctant to give away any concessions, and here we are demanding all the perks with none of the disadvantages, with a considerably weakened hand. It’s looking more and more absurd. The tories are insisting brexit will go ahead, but I would not be at all surprised if, behind the scenes, they are desperately trying to find a way out of this mess.

As the economics of all this begin to bite, I think more and more people will start to agree. Socially the country is still divided between those who voted to remain and those who voted to leave. There seems to still be a lot of animosity between the two camps. I think that is at least partly because, as reality begins to dawn, as the suffering becomes more and more visible, those who voted leave will feel increasingly guilty. But they won’t want to admit culpability, or that they were fooled into voting for something so patently stupid, so that guilt will turn into anger. They will feel they are being blamed by remain voters, rightly or wrongly, and they won’t like it. I fear this will lead to a lot of social friction; we are already seeing the beginning of it.

I just hope it doesn’t last. Part of me wishes we could all just forget last year ever happened, but I know that is not possible. Whatever happens now, these tensions will continue, this mess will continue. The wheels really are starting to come off brexit, and it’s only a matter of time before it is reversed and the country starts to pretend it never happened. Yet as optimistic as I try to be, for the time being at least, it really is a sorry state we find ourselves in.

It is often noted that nothing ages quite as badly as science fiction. You can always tell when a science fiction film was made, not only from the ideas in the plot, but from the mise en scene. This is especially true of Star Trek. Each individual Trek series is a product of the period when it was made, and the characters within them can be shown to represent contemporary values. By and large, each crew reflects society when each show was made and first aired. The Original Series thus reflected cold war America: it had a strong, white male leading figure; around him there were a variety of figures from diverse backgrounds, trying to present a future where barriers of gender and race, so dominant in the sixties, were no longer such a social force. But the crew were nonetheless always subordinate to the white male, reflecting the racism and sexism of the time; the utopian vision of the future still held in check by the dominant values of the day. The dynamic between the impulsive captain and the cool, logical science officer reflected the tensions between head and heart in sixties america, allowing the show to enter into and comment on contemporary debates. The show thus reflected the concerns of the day, the crew playing out social tensions, with the domineering Klingons a constant menace.

The Next Generation likewise reflected the time when it was produced. It was very much a product of the eighties and early nineties: old enemies had become allies, but there was still a tension there. There was still a strong white male central figure, but he was less dominant and more likely to accept the opinions of others (although the occasional ‘Make it so!’ wasn’t out of the question). The crew reflected the social values of that period; women were in positions of authority; hell, they even had a counsellor on the bridge. There were still threats, but they were more prone to be overcome through diplomacy, reflecting an eighties optimism and belief in the power of negotiation.

Similar things can be said of the next three Trek series: Deep Space Nine was all about political intrigue, backstabbing, and not knowing who to trust. It was a lot more interested in political complications, the relations between peoples, and an america which was no longer quite as secure about it’s place in the world. Voyager, I feel, was less overtly political and less complex, yet still about re-finding one’s place. Both these series, it must be noted, had captains who were not white male. Sisco was a strong, complex leader, war-weary and grieving the loss of his wife; Janeway, I must admit, never really chimed with me, and frankly just struck me as inept.

I never really got down to watching Enterprise, so I don’t really think I can comment on it much. I was at university when it first aired. I have seen a few episodes so I know roughly what it is about, but I don’t know it as well as, say, TNG or DS9. However, I know that in one of the later seasons of Enterprise, earth was attacked unpovoked, and the rest of the series was largely a response to that attack. Obviously this arose out of a reaction to 9/11; earth is a stand-in for America and the conflicting urges and dilemmas it went through after the attack.

Thus we can broadly see how the various trek series reflect the times at which they were being made. This begs an obvious question: how will Discovery reflect our current epoch? It was recently announced that the new Trek series will start airing on Netflix in September. I would be fascinated to see how it mirrors our own time how will it handle Trump, for one? What will it say, if anything, about america’s diminished role in the world? How will it’s crew reflect contemporary America as it now sees itself? If Trek series do indeed reflect the times in which they were created, then it will be intriguing to see how america currently sees the future, especially it’s own future where it is trying to retain fading glories, trying to stay the world’s foremost superpower. How will reflect it’s current leader, and what will it say, if anything, about being lead by a buffoonish egomaniac? I suppose we just have to wait for it to come out, but it will be fascinating to see how Trek changes, once again, to reflect these modern times.

A couple of days ago I wrote of the magnificent view one gets from Oxlea’s wood, up Shooters Hill road. Lyn and I went that way again this afternoon, where she took this awesome, awe-inspiring picture.

You must be able to see for miles from there, far into Kent. It just goes to show that, even in the metropolis, you don’t have to go far to find staggering beauty.

I came across this story late yesterday, and thought it worth flagging up. The gaming community, it seems, is starting to become politicised. Computer games are being made with definite political themes; they are starting to have motives and messages behind them. For instance, one game, called Cat in a Hijab, is ”a point-andclick mini-adventure that has you playing the role of a cat (in a hijab) who boards a subway train. You’re then faced with a barrage of comments. Some aggressive, others naively ignorant – and it’s up to you to defuse the situation (or not) with your response.” It’s fascinating to note how game design, as an art form, is starting to come alongside other artforms as a means of political expression.

There is something I want to flag up today, simply because it’s so stunning. Lyn and I were out and about in my powerchair yesterday, exploring near Shooters Hill and Oxlea’s Wood, when we came across this view It’s a gap in the houses which lets you see all the way across London, and I found it magnificent. I was trundling along behind Lyn and it took my breath. Unfortunately you can’t really appreciate the full awe of it on Google Streetview, but I will be heading that way again soon to see if I can see more; you must be able to see at least fifteen kilometres from there. Oxlea’s wood itself struck me as having a mysteriousness and mystique to it which captivated me. I love the way the metropolis sometimes throws you these surprises: as I wrote here a couple of days ago, the magnificence of this city lies in it’s diversity, and while it’s a great pleasure to go up and explore it’s mighty centre, you can also find spots of wonderousness here in the suburbs.

Just a week ago, discussions like this one were all the rage. Pundits were speculating about how long May would last; people were saying she was ”a dead politician walking” and that she wouldn’t last ’til the new year. Such talk was everywhere you looked after the election. Now, you barely hear any of it: all the news talks about is the North Kensington catastrophe, as if they have forgotten all about politics. May’s position is secure, it seems, as she recasts herself as a great, decisive leader in a horrific crisis. Sorry to sound cynical, but does not that strike anyone else as odd? As I mused a couple of days ago, people seem to be using this situation for their own ends. Look at the tories and you can’t escape the feeling that something deeply wrong is afoot: they needed a distraction to take our minds of the flimsiness of their government and the dubiousness of the people they were forming a coalition with, and that’s exactly what they got.

Yesterday was another cool day which made me reflect on just how awesome my adopted hometown (perhaps that should be ‘home metropolis’) is. I hadn’t been to the South Bank in ages and was wondering what was currently on up there, so the sun beating down, at about eleven I set off. I got as far as the dome, though, when Lyn messaged me to ask whether I’d signed Kirsty’s timesheet. I hadn’t, and, knowing such matters are too important to neglect, set off straight back home.

When I got in, I signed the sheet and then dashed off a quick blog entry, but the sun was still shining and the south bank was still there, so I set off back out. This time, I headed to woolwich, hoping to get the Thames Clipper there rather than at the dome. The problem was, once I got there I discovered that the clippers only sailed from woolwich in the evenings and at weekends.

At that I was about to give up. The south bank could wait; something obviously didn’t want me to visit it today. I headed back to charlton park for a coffee, thinking I would then head home. But then, something about the brew made me think again – why should I be defeated by such matters? After all, there was still plenty of time left in the day.

Soon after that I found myself sailing up the river from North Greenwich, the city looking magnificent before me. By boat you get a better idea of the geography of the metropolis: it ceases to be a labyrinth of roads and becomes more of a landscape, stretching endlessly out in all directions. Passing the Georgian townhouses and Elizabethan palaces, you also get the impression that this place has a history which goes back centuries. Never is that more so as when you sail past Shakespeare’s globe. It looked as grand as ever yesterday afternoon, and I promised myself I would pay it another visit soon.

Yesterday, however, I had another target in mind: I had decided it was high time I visited the British Film Institute. I had heard so much about the BFI southbank: that it was a kind of Mecca for british cinephiles. But, before yesterday, I had never been. Getting off the boat, then, I headed straight for it, and was instantly blown away.

Here at last was my church, my holy place where I could go to worship. I picked up a couple of leaflets, and they have so much cool stuff on in the coming two months that a few return visits were clearly essential. Speaking to a guy at the reception, I also managed to get a couple of emails addresses which could prove very useful for my own film making.

By then, though, it was getting late; more to the point I was getting hungry. I set off again, heading through the crowds on the southbank, by then just getting started on their Friday evening frivolities. It felt amazing to be among them, out and about in this great world maelstrom. In recent weeks it has suffered, as the country has. We are going through a rough patch at the moment: tensions are high and there is still a lot of devision. Today, the tv informed me last night, is something called the Great Get Together, a weekend of events where we celebrate that which unites us. It marks the anniversary of the murder of Jo Cox, the MP killed in the lead-up to the referendum. It’s a great idea, if you ask me – we need to calm down and come together again.

Yet last night I saw no sign of any such devision: people were out, together, having a good time. This is a great world city. It has a kind of spirit, a feeling to it. The world saw it in 2012, and I felt it again last night among the crowd, then on the tube home. This city is one – we are one people, one london, huge, sprawling, and magnificently diverse. And history shows that, no matter how bad things get, it always comes together.

Not that I want to sound hard-hearted, but does anyone else sort of get the feeling that this Grenfell fire tragedy is being blown out of proportion? Don’t get me wrong: what happened there is utterly horrific. But it’s currently taking up the tv bulletins like world war three had broken out – it’s all they’re talking about, completely forgetting the current political chaos. And now that worm Simon Cowell has announced he’s making a charity single to ”help the victims”, I can’t help feeling the entire situation is being used by certain people for their own benefit.

Today I’d like to wish my mum a great sixty-first birthday. I think my parents returned from visiting their grandchildren in france yesterday, so I don’t know when I’ll be able to speak to them next, but I hope mum knows I think about them regularly. It’s great to see them getting into their new grandparent role: mum and dad seem to have taken to it like ducks to water, going to visit Oliver and Elise at every opportunity. Those kids are gonna be spoiled rotten! Hopefully I’ll get to speak to them later today, to catch up with all the family news and to wish my mum a very happy birthday.

I know I haven’t mentioned it in a while, but in case anyone is interested, the IOC just decided that it will announce the host cities for the 2024 and 2028 games at the same time. This entire story has been quite intriguing, to me at least: basically the olympic bods have to chose who they wanted to host the 2024 games, LA or Paris. Both cities are important world cities, and they both had their eyes on 2024. To both, it was 2024 or nothing. Neither city would bear the ignominy of being rejected yet again; Paris especially is still licking it’s wounds from what happened to it in 2005. The risk was, reject either city and the IOC would have shunned an important world power, yet again.

The solution it has come up with, it would seem, is to award the 2024 and 2028 games at the same time. That way, it avoids the risk of being seen to reject either city, and nobody will be offended. No city gets shunned, and it avoids the risk that the loser will loose interest in hosting. More importantly for the IOC, it keeps the interest of both – reject either and a major world power would turn it’s back.

The thing is, this seems like a giant cop-out to me. Neither america nor france could bear to loose the competition, so the IOC pandered to them. Fearing either country would throw it’s toys out of the pram, it came up with a solution – pander to both, award both at once and you retain the interest of both states. The thing is, this sets a precedent; many cities will be asking why the committee didn’t do this before – why do Paris and LA get saved from losing, while other cities, such as rome are forced to endure rejection. If such cities had known this was an option, they would have stayed interested rather than dropping out of the bidding process. They therefore feel shunned – it’s as if the IOC does not feel they are as important as Paris or LA.

You can thus see why I find this so interesting: both countries want the prestige of having a city which has hosted the olympics three times, and the IOC can’t afford to upset either. You can thus read a lot of politics behind what is going on here; the interplay between nations, competing for the favour of an international body, stuck between a rock and a hard place, yet determined to retain its status as gatekeeper of the worlds foremost sporting and cultural event.

Click here for more info.

After seeing them for sale a couple of times in the market at Woolwich, today I decided to investigate Finger Spinners. Perhaps this was a new art form or sport I could look into, a new discourse to explore or even inaugurate. I was however, wrong: finger spinners are just things to fiddle with. You can’t do any tricks with them, you can’t compete with them or use them as a means of expression; and there’s not much you can write about them. That is all.

I might be willing to do a 180 on 2009’s Star Trek. Like many Trekkies, I was very disappointed when I watched it eight years ago: I didn’t like the way it rewrote or did away with what most fans see as Star Trek cannon. Yet having watched it subsequently, and again on TV last night, I have found I’m more comfortable with it. Yes, it changed Trek as we knew it, but film is art, and like all art must be open to reinterpretation. One must be able to take franchises in new directions, otherwise they stagnate. At the same time, I saw many glimpses of the franchise I love last night; it was clear Abrams loved the source material he was working with and knew it back to front, but wanted to breathe new life into it.

I now think I’ve been too dismissive of the Trek reboots. When thinking about them, I’ve had my hardcore trekkie hat on, rather than my film writer hat. They take the franchise in a new direction, but that was precisely what it needed. In a way, Abrams did trekkies a favour in keeping their franchise alive: without him, it would just have passed into history. Inaugurating the so-called Kelvin Timeline was a vital step. What I need to do now is rewatch the subsequent films before waiting for the next one. After all, taken in a new direction, anything is possible: I’m secretly hoping Picard might make a comeback.

I just got in from a nice long walk, and need to record something. It’s a beautiful day – the sort of day which makes me want to explore the city. I first headed down to Woolwich, taking in the rich, vibrant culture of it’s famous high street. From there, I crossed the road to the old arsenal, the new Crossrail station there now nearing completion. Still in exploration mode, I went along the road a bit, towards Plumstead, following my nose and hoping to find my way back for a coffee in Charlton Park. But then, going along quite a leafy, suburban road, I came across a sign which made me do a double take, and then yelp with amusement. This sign, naming a short cul-de-sac, bears the name of the town where I grew up. I was amazed. Congleton is such an inconsequential little place I never thought anywhere would be named after it, but here was such a place, not far from where I now live. I was thrilled. I wonder how it got it’s name. As silly as it may seem, I love such little coincidences: It’s as if part of my past has suddenly, unexpectedly, cropped up in the present, a little reminder of where I came from.

Just to throw something a little more optimistic and upbeat into the mix (that, and I don’t feel like writing much today) I’d like to direct you to Russel Brand’s video on the election results here. He makes quite a few very good points about Corbyn being a good man, yet being an anathema to those currently in power and in control of the press. As I said a couple of days ago, he is that rarest of things: a politician who cares about people. Brand says that, while he may have lost the election, Corbyn may have started something huge – a groundswell of change which may, in the end, prove phenomenal. I think he may be right. May’s days are numbered, with many giving her six months more at number ten tops. By then, the tide will certainly have started to turn; people will see clearly the folly and greed of the tories, and will want something more caring, open and honest.

Rather than stand aside, admit she lost and let the opposition try to form a coalition, it seems that Teresa may has got into bed with the DUP, one of the most reprehensible, backwards looking parties in British politics. As a man who defines himself as bisexual, I am appalled that the DUP be allowed anywhere near government. May obviously believes that only she and the tories are fit to rule, that power is her birthright, and that she should cling on to it rather than admit her poor judgment. She must recognise the DUP as the homophobic chauvinists they are, but is willing to let them take control rather than admit her mistake and stand aside with dignity. It is an utterly farcical situation; Surely something must be done, rather than let these arrogant buffoons stay in power. We must do something before our rights start getting eroded.

The question currently on my mind – as I’m sure it is on most people’s today – is ‘now what?’ As things now stand, we have no government: May’s arrogance and balsiness has backfired, and the UK now has to find a way to form some sort of coalition government. And this is just two weeks before we have to start negotiations to leave the EU, the most complex and potentially perilous negotiations this country has faced for generations. What a fine, fine mess.

I do love a good farce! At this point, one can either get all serious and dramatic, and note the heralds of doom circling above; or you can mix yourself a martini (albeit a figurative one, given that I’m still not drinking – it’s been almost a year) sit back and watch the shit start to fly. The tories have got their comeuppance, and everyone can see what self-absorbed ninnies they are. Granted, the country will suffer for their arrogance, as indeed it already is, but it might just be worth it to watch the almighty shitstorm about to hit the country.

I’m not sure what to write here today. Most people reading this will probably have already voted, or at least know who they are going to vote for, so it’s pointless to try to persuade anyone. You guys know what I would say anyway. We can only hope that, come tomorrow morning, Jeremy Corbyn will be entering Ten Downing Street as our new prime minister.

Admittedly, that hope seems faint; the poor man never had much of a chance with the mainstream press almost universally ganging up to demonise him. He is something rare in politics: a good, caring man, motivated by compassion rather than greed, but that seems too revolutionary a concept for some to tolerate. Well, at least we can count on Corbyn not to jeopardise the future of the country internationally in order to try to settle an internal party schism.

Yet as faint as it is, that hope still exists – a glimmer of bright light amid the gloom that this good, honourable man will be this country’s next leader. Only time will tell whether it will have a chance to shine, and whether the Tories will be booted out for all the suffering they have caused. We can only stand back and wait until tomorrow morning, hoping we don’t get five more years of tory cuts, greed and misrule.

I was in Co-Op earlier, just on a standard supply trip. As I often do, I scanned the newspaper front pages while I was queuing at the check-out, and what I saw on the front of the daily Express horrified me. They were openly urging people to vote Tory. It was a blatant, unambiguous demand, without any attempt to hide it. I thought newspapers, as with all mainstream media, should have at least a veneer of impartiality; they should at least try to mask their bias; and they should not make such overt demands on their readership. And here such a demand was, as clear as day. It absolutely staggers me how they could get away with it. It strikes me as utterly wrong, and makes me very, very angry. They were attempting to influence the outcome of an election to suit their own selfish, infantile views. Surely something must be done about such overt attempts to manipulate the public and insist they vote in a certain way. How can rags like the Express be allowed to print such blatant demands?

A few days ago, Lyn and I decided to have a little competition. She had recently finished a track and wanted to make a video to go with it. It’s a rather slow, chilled out piece, and L thought shots of woodland, forrest and sunlight streaming through trees would suit it. Matt B and I therefore went to get some footage in Maryon Park, and came back with quite a bit of nice material.

We then decided to have a bit of fun. I think it was Matt’s idea, initially: he suggested Lyn and I both take the same footage and the same piece of music, and see who could edit together the best video. At first, I wasn’t very keen on the idea – it would mean me actually having to [i]do something[/i], but when I saw Lyn starting to make an effort, I thought I better get my finger out and put something together.

That, then, is what I did yesterday afternoon. Both videos are now finished, and I think the results are quite fascinating. Even though they are based on the same piece of music and used the same source material, we have created two very different films. Mine can be found here, and Lyn’s here. I think the contrast is quite clear: lyn has taken what could be called a smoother approach, using transitions between shots so that one flows nicely into the other. When I saw Lyn was doing this though, I decided to go in the other direction: my cuts are therefore quite abrupt and noticeable, with small gaps between shots. I wanted the images to act as a kind of counterpoint to the music, reusing images and mixing everything up, where in Lyn’s the visuals would be complementary to the audio.

We watched both films late yesterday afternoon. I fully expected Lyn’s to be far better than mine – she had spent far more time on hers, for one. To my surprise, though, they both stood up quite well. They are different, but I think they complement each other. As to who’s was better, we couldn’t decide, so noone ‘won’ the competition. However, I invite anyone reading this to watch both and decide.

While it isn’t quite what I expected to see when I saw it flagged up on Youtube, I still think this discussion of the Star Trek universe is worth a watch. As others have noted, it briefly and lightheartedly explores some of the philosophy behind Star Trek, and suggests that the utopic future it tries to portray may in fact be dystopic. A united humanity run by a quasi-military body like starfleet, where people have their needs magically met by replicators and so on, may not be as luxurious as Gene Roddenberry tried to present it as. Mind you, I better point out that this may just be a case of Americans trying to dismiss a future not run in America’s image: any vision of the future not wholly based on capitalism cannot be good, can it. Thus it says that, without the need to compete, people would just become lazy and unmotivated, obviously having been brainwashed to believe that people cannot cooperate for cooperation’s sake, and there is nothing more to life than competition and greed.

Late last night – late for me, at least – I was lying on the sofa watching a really poor Australian film. I was in two minds about it. In fact, I was just about to give in, turn it off and go to bed, when Lyn asked me to turn it over to the news. She had been on her computer in her studio, and obviously had seen something important. I turned the telly over, and that’s how I found out about the events of last night.

I watched for a bit. At first I clung to the hope that it all might turn out to be some sort of tragic accident, but pretty soon it became clear that this was no accident. The first question I found myself pondering was, how could this have been allowed to happen again, and so soon after the last one? I have to confess I raised a cynical eyebrow when I thought about the election being only a week away. After all, this plays right into the Tories’ hands: they want people to be scared in order that they can cast theirselves as defenders of the nation, also allowing them to justify attacks on free speech and cuts to the press. And of course, when the newsreader announced, in seemingly the gravest of tones, that Donald Trump had been informed, it only added to the impression that the drama was deliberately being built. Whip people up into a state of fear, and our liberties can more easily be taken, one by one.

But then, it’s all too easy to be a cynic and say we’re being manipulated. All one can really do is watch events unfold and hope for the best. Trying to read between the lines too much leads to some very strange, questionable places. After all, you could argue that it favours whatever party you choose. For now, let’s leave cynicism aside and hope we don’t see any more of these vicious, horrible events.

I’m not sure whether I’ve mentioned Maryon-Wilson Park on here before or not. I think I have, but not for some time. It’s a small wooden park near our house. I go through it quite frequently, often on my way to school or Woolwich. These past few days, though, I’ve been in there every chance I have had. It is stunningly beautiful in there: as soon as you enter, it feels as if you are suddenly miles away, out in the country. This time of year, the place is awash with wild flowers: bluebells and vivid red poppies, splashes of colour in the last fragment of an ancient woodland.

Lyn and I went through there this afternoon; we sat there for a while in a small glade by the path, the sunshine streaming through the gaps between the leaves. Behind us was the dried-up bed of an old brook which must once have flowed down to the Thames. In that moment time seemed almost to stop. We were surrounded by trees and plants, and all I could hear was birdsong, so that the metropolis and indeed the world suddenly faded away, and all that existed in that moment was the two of us.

How did a bunch of moronic clowns become so powerful? The United states of America is no longer a nation – it is a joke. It is a laughing stock, and the longer it has that utter child as a president, the more ridiculous it appears. We should all be pointing and laughing at it. How else can we all show our utter contempt for what it did yesterday? It is clearly rogue, and were it any other nation it would be either ignored or a firm candidate for regime change. Yet america is too powerful for either of these things, so the best we can do is point and laugh.

As of now, we must all point and laugh at any american we find, irrespective of their politics or how they voted. They must be made to feel uncomfortable; they must be made to feel shunned and diminished. They must get the idea that they come from a nation of halfwits the rest of the world now looks down upon. I know one should never advocate bullying, especially on the grounds of something people have no control over, such as nationality, but americans must be made to realise how angry the world is with them right now. How else can we make them understand that what their president – or rather, the idiot who calls himself their president – did yesterday was utterly unacceptable? What Trump did yesterday cannot be allowed to stand.

America is a joke. Since it elected that egotistical halfwit, it has been impossible to take seriously. Now that he has prioritised industry and short-term financial gain over the state of the world, however, his stupidity has started to effect us all. America must be made to know that we are all deeply unhappy with it and it’s leader; maybe – just maybe – they will then grow up, get serious and chuck the jackass currently in the White House out on his ear.

I had a great night last night. I went to another film festival organisation meeting. It may still be three months or so away, in September, but I now have so much to organise before then (yes, yes, Ican organise things when I put my mind to it!) I want to do a screening at the cafe in the park. It’s a great little venue with a lovey community feeling about it, so as well as mine and Michael’s Londoner’s films – the latter of which was actually shot at the cafe – I’m thinking about finding and screening community themed films. I find it cool that, even in a vast metropolis, you can still find places which feel more like little village tearooms, where the same people are always expected to show up, and the staff always greet you by asking if you want ”your usual?”

That, then, is my job for today: finding short films which reflect that community feeling. Mind you, with the weather as it is today, the temptation to actually go to the cafe itself may, sooner or later, get too much.