I think it quite essential that I flag this video up, in which Patrick Stewart eloquently explains why the vote to leave the EU must be overturned. Thus my favourite actor sides with me on an issue I care passionately about, more than ever after last week. The sadness in Sir Patrick’s voice echoes my own. We need people like him to convince as many people as possible that this country must alter course from the path it started down last year. As he says, ”It’s only in unity that we can be safe, secure and, I also believe, prosperous.”

After telling him about trying it in Poland, our PA Mitchell came in with a lovely surprise today and made Zapikanka for breakfast. It was delicious: granted, we had to make do with a baguette from Co Op rather than the authentic Polish bread (which was quite specific), but the way Mitch made it, adding tomato puree, mushrooms and other nice tasty stuff, sent me right back to that square in Krakow. In fact I think I have a new favourite breakfast, and will definitely be asking mitch to make it again.

Lyn and I are back from Poland, having got in quite late last night. It was a fantastic trip: Poland is a wonderful, intriguing country; it’s people warm and welcoming. I think taking Lyn’s powerchair was a great idea: it caused no problems, and she revelled in the ability to go wherever she wanted. I really want to take my powerchair too next time, as there were times when being in my manual chair sucked. Nevertheless, I had a great trip. As usual, it only served to deepen my love of travel. I’ll never forget watching the guys jam under the stars in Sokołowsko, or the beauty of Krakow with it’s winding narrow streets and magnificent squares. Of course, being here, back at home now it’s all over, feels rather sad, but we’re already planning our next trip.

We fly home in a few hours. It has been, without a doubt, an outstanding holiday. Poland is a wonderful place: it’s people have been incredibly welcoming; it’s natural beauty, utterly captivating. To have seen the place where our personal assistants – our friends- hail from has been awesome. Wroclaw was great; the festival in Sokołowsko was something I’ll probably always remember; and I think, even after only two days, that I’ve fallen in love with Krakow, with it’s music, architecture and sense of history seeping out of every brick and paving slab. Yet all good things must come to an end, and as lyn and I prepare to head home, we’re already making plans to return Soon, possibly next year. It has been an outstanding trip, and as ever it will be sad to return home, but life must return to normal. We both have things to do back in London, but there will always be our next trip to start planning.

Last night we Sampled traditional Polish street food, Zapiekanka in krakow’s new square. It was a kind of long, open grilled sandwich, topped with whatever one liked. You could choose from all kinds of toppings, and john told me each place in the square had it’s own slightly different way of making it. The thing was, he explained, the delicacy is dying out, losing its place to increasingly ubiquitous American fast food. That struck me as a great, great shame; you hear the same sad story all over the place. As much of a fan as I am of fostering a global community, at the same time I firmly believe each culture must hold on to what makes it unique. This is a fascinating little city, it’s narrow winding streets and medieval squares unlike anywhere I’ve been before. To see that character lost or enveloped, by any small degree, to the growing world norm, would be a great shame.

Sat opposite me as we finally ride in the train to Krakow, is probably the strongest woman I’ll ever meet. We were up and out quite early this morning; it’s surprising how efficient we can be when we need to get a move on. Yet lyn and I are still both fairly sleepy, and in need of a decent cup of coffee.

Lyn still amazes me with her determination and love of life. She says she just gets on with it, and I know what she means. Yet, at the same time, it takes a huge amount of determination just to be who she is. People like lyn put two fingers up to the worlds rules and illustrate the beautiful diversity of humanity.

Thus, on holiday or not, I must say how appalled I am at the way Donald Trump has chosen to pick on trans people. It’s blatantly obvious, of course, that he wants to distract attention from his other problems. That he would do so by victimising a minority like the trans community is, however, beyond contempt. Dress it up as he will, banning transgender people from the American military is an act of pure, blatant discrimination. Trans people should be allowed to contribute to society in whatever way they wish. For the insult to humanity currently claiming to be American president to pick on them in this way, purely for his own petty political gain, only deepens my contempt for him even further.

Yesterday we went for a short drive in the Polish countryside. One of the women organising the festival took us. We just went to her village and back, but it was enough for me to get an idea of how different Poland is to England. For one, there are vast deep forests of a kind rarely seen in Britain. They had a fascinating, ancient feel to them. The houses we passed were beguiling too, like time worn fragments of another era which modern life had yet to touch.

We were supposed to be moving on today. The plan was to get up early and catch the bus. I therefore went to bed at a sensible time, but Lyn and the lads decided to stay out. They came back just after six this morning, me wondering where the smeg they had got to, obviously in no state to go anywhere. We are therefore staying in Sokołowsko another day and moving on tomorrow. It’s such a pretty place with such a fantastic vibe one cannot complain. I might even get to see those intriguing forests again.

This festival is increasingly reminding me of university. It’s a contemporary arts festival, so one senses the same playful exploration I found back on campus. A lot of the work here is higher intellectual, highly postmodern. As well as music and sound based work, there are installations, projections and performance pieces. There was also an odd piece about secrets which I’m not allowed to discuss. Perhaps most illuminating, though, was a discussion we went to on censorship; it has certainly been eye opening to see how much control the state still has here. They were debating a controversy caused by a photo of a woman swearing in front of a government building which government officials now seek to censor. In all, though, it has been wonderful to see an entire village given over to such an event. I hope Sokolovsko serves as an example to other places the world over, for alongside the art and music I have also felt the warmest of welcomes.

I’m afraid I don’t have the time or the battery power to give this the description it deserves, but last night was magical. After all the events are over, everyone convenes in a small woody area outside a fantastic building with a tall spire. There, last night, Lyn did a monumental dj set. She started about midnight and played and played for hours. Watching everyone dancing to her beats was wonderful: she has a knack of knowing which tracks go together. It went on for hours, and she finished just before dawn with What A Wonderful World. And with that she was absolutely spot on.

Sitting in a circle on the cusp of midnight, in the dark of a polish wood, last night Lyn and the guys did some jamming. It was incredible. L was using her iPad, of course, but there were people with all kinds of instruments there, especially drums. The rhythms they produced seemed to weave into my very heart beat; and, looking up, I could see the stars so clearly that it took my breath. The only other time I had seen a sky like that, the stars vivid and sharp, was at Uluru. I found myself wishing that I could join in, to enter into that magical moment with the other players, but I realised that, rather than joining in, it was my job to record the moment on here, for all time, so that something so special is not allowed to slip out of memory.

Today finds us in Sokołowsko, a tiny polish village up in the mountains. We were dropped off by taxi here at about noon. It’s a quiet little place where every year a huge festival is held. I couldn’t help musing that it would be a bit like Alsager deciding to hold an international arts festival. I’m told that, a few years ago, two of dominik’s friends sold their property in Warsaw and decided to establish it from scratch. It’s now doing really well, going from strength to strength; there certainly seems to be a lot of preparations going on. The place is abuzz with people, and we have so much to explore. Time, then, to get settled and then head out: I have a feeling we have quite a fascinating few days ahead of us.

Yesterday was a wonderful day spent getting to know Wroclaw. It’s a beautiful place of quaint, winding streets and beautiful buildings. I was pushed in my manual chair while Lyn was in her powerchair, and to be honest there were points when I regretted my choice. As per our plan, we met up with Dom’s family, and spent the day walking around the city with them. This really is a fascinating place of rivers weaving around islands , it’s very bricks and cobbles seemingly evoking this areas vibrant and dramatic history. Medieval abuts communist abuts modern like nowhere I’ve ever been before.

The problem was, I wished I could move under my own steam – there was socialising and exploring to do, after all. Lyn’s powerchair had been transported by the airline without a problem, and I began to think I had been over cautious. That is not to say that there hadn’t been problems or points when one powerchair had been plenty to cope with. Yet with lyn dashing ahead going wherever in the town she wished, I promised myself that, for our next trip, I’d definitely look into taking my powerchair. I couldn’t feel too down about it, though: the town was too beautiful and our company too interesting for that.

What’s next? What is there left to see or do? What event could come close to the awesomeness of watching python, meeting Patrick Stewart or seeing lyn play before the world? Yet such moments only lit the fuse; they were just a beginning. They set the standard for life; a high water mark of how truly awesome things can get. Sat here in this plush new hostel room, at the dawn of another adventure, I have a feeling things are about to get awesome yet again. What will happen? What is there yet to be seen? Based on what has already happened, the possibilities are absolutely endless. It is that curnel of anticipation that sets my heart beating; knowing that things have a potential to be incredible because I have incredible things to look back upon. Through the window a bright new city beckons. Adventure awaits.

In a few hours, Lyn and I set off to Stanstead to fly to Poland. It’s not a holiday per se: L has been invited to perform at a festival there. It should be quite a trip: Lyn has chosen to take her powerchair, and I will be interested to see how well it goes on and off the plane. If all goes well, this could be the first of many trips with our powerchairs. After all, one of the downsides to trips abroad has always been having to be pushed around by your PA. I chose to leave mine at home, just to keep things simple; but if things go well, I will join Lyn in my powerchair on future trips. We have an interesting few days ahead, then; expect plenty of blogging from central Europe soon.

I just came across this story linked to from facebook. A security robot in the states has apparently killed itself by falling into a pool of water. It was one of these little droids which goes around scanning the place, but that’s not the detail I’m interested in. I want to know what it’s name was – was it Marvin, by any chance?

I cannot claim to be a Dr Who fan by any stretch of the imagination. Frankly, it strikes me as a kids program. But I find the announcement that the next doctor is to be played by a woman, Jodie Whittaker, really rather interesting. The beeb obviously want to take the show in a new direction: by diverging from what has been a norm for over fifty years, they are clearly making a statement. I suppose the Doctor is one of those characters, like James Bond, who acts as a kind of cultural cornerstone: something we can rely on, and know to be in the cultural agenda, even if we aren’t particularly fussed to watch it.

Now, if the producers of Bond decided to take such a turn, the fans would be up in arms. Bond, when you look at him, is quite a rigid character: white, heterosexual and male, as described by Ian Fleming. You can’t really deviate from that. Yet the Doctor has no such original; he’s also a supernatural timelord, capable of regeneration. That means he can be played with. Whether fans will accept such a deviation, though, remains to be seen. While the producers are trying something new, they are breaking from decades of tradition. Who fans could be as stubborn as Bond fans, and demand that the character still adhere to the ‘norm’. I suppose it all depends on how well Whittaker performs: if she does well and brings something new to the show, this could turn out to be a great move. It will be quite fascinating to see how this plays out – I might even watch it to see how she does.

I know it’s silly – how can a solitary house function as it’s own state, for one? – but I really like things like this. ”Retired academic William Riches has declared his Severnside home an independent Republic in protest against the Brexit vote. The 77-year-old former university lecturer has made wife Judith President and given his children and grandchildren citizenship so they do not need a passport to cross the threshold of his home.” Even in times like these, you can still depend on a bit of British eccentricity. Mind you, it goes to show how much and how passionate the opposition to Brexit still is. My only worry would be if a bunch of outist thugs – you know the type: skinheads who think every word Farage utters is gospel – get pissed out of their tiny brains one night and decide to go and ”invade”. I, on the other hand, fully support the project, and proudly recognise the republic of Middlewatch.

I love the little surprises this city can throw at you from time to time. This afternoon, it being overcast and feeling decidedly ”meh”, I took a walk to Woolwich. Crossing the road to the old arsenal, I thought I’d trundle eastwards along the river for a bit. I had never been that way before, and wanted to see where the path lead. I was in for a surprise: I found a newly opened park I didn’t know existed. Gallions hill is a huge symmetrical mound with a path spiralling up to it’s summit. It is well kept in terms of planting, but the view from the summit was what took my breath – you could see for miles across London. The place intrigued me: I wondered whether it was an old hill fort or something – it would certainly have been in a good position for one. As I drove home, patches of blue sky starting to break through the clouds, I promised myself I would go there again soon, hopefully with Lyn. After all, such a spot is an excellent place for two lovers to find a bit of privacy, as the lights of the city twinkle before them.

Is Brexit in it’s death-throes, or am I being overly optimistic? Everywhere I look these days, I see signs that the country is starting to step back from the brink: report after report is saying what a negative effect brexit is having; and I get the strong impression that, behind the scenes, the government is desperately trying to look for a way out of it. But could that just be wishful thinking on my part? Am I simply reading what I want to read in papers like the Guardian, and ignoring papers which say everything is going swimmingly, dismissing them as being biassed?

I’m not sure. For one, I’m sensing an increasing tone of desperation in Brexiteers. They seem to be starting to play the blame game, casting the leaders of the EU as the bad guys for not giving us what we want. They also try to blame other factors. We can read into this an admittance they would never speak openly, that things aren’t going their way. I saw a clip of Farage on his radio show earlier, trying to make it sound like it was all europes fault, maintaining the utter delusion that they need us more than we need them. As it becomes ever more clear that they don’t, and that we were fools ever to listen to scumbags like farage, the gibberish they spew will become more and more desperate. They’ve already started the blame game, or threatening some kind of civil disturbance if brexit isn’t carried out – what stronger sign could there be that brexit is indeed proving to be a catastrophe, that the signs I’m seeing are accurate, and that it would be best to put an end to the project before it goes any further.

I think I ought to clarify something, just in case anyone was wondering. I was at a film fest meeting last night, and gavin asked me about it when I showed him my blog entry about meeting danny Boyle. He saw the line under my blog title, and asked who Clippity Clops was.

That is a reference to a ruler my brother had when he was at school. It memory serves, it came out of an old cereal packet and was decorated with all the characters associated with Coco Pops, one of whom was Clippity Clops. Mark and his school mates thus called the ruler Clippity Clops.

The story goes that, on one occasion, the joke starting to wear on a bit, one of mark’s classmates asked to borrow the ruler, using it’s nickname. Mark was rather fed up of people asking for it and replied with sarcasm ”Clippity Clops says Fuck off!” When M told me this story, it got me creased up with laughter immediately: the way he said it was filled with venom and sarcasm, and it tickled me so much that I chose to use the line on my blog, which we were just setting up at the time. That’s why you sometimes see that line on entries here. It’s an old, old joke and maybe I should change it. Then again, I still find it rather funny, and it reminds me of my brothers, so perhaps I’ll let it be.

I’m very pleased to report that last night was an utter triumph. It was the big screening of the Thousand Londoners films, over in the Greenwich Picturehouse. To be honest, never having been into the Picturehouse before, I didn’t quite know what to expect. Once there, though, I met Matt and my other friends from Lifeline. I was taken down to a private screening room in the basement, where about seven or eight of the Londoners films were shown to an audience of about thirty people. My film, Matt, was shown last, hopefully because the guys thought it would be a nice climactic point to finish at. Before that, though, some very, very powerful short films had been shown about people from all walks of life, together making up a snapshot of life in London.

After that came the question and answer session. Matt, myself and the other filmmakers went to the front of the room and answered questions from the audience. They seemed very impressed by what they had seen, and were keen to ask questions. I gave one or two answers, and left the rest to the others; but nonetheless I couldn’t help but feel very important. Was this what Steven Spielberg or Peter Jackson feel like? It was fascinating and thrilling, and above all filled me with a desire to do more.

This project gave me my first small taste of proper filmmaking. It is an artform I love. What happened last night filled me with confidence and enthusiasm, for it was just the start. It’s now time to move it forward and go on to even bigger things.

In the last few weeks I’ve begun to see more and more signs of desperation from those who campaigned to leave the EU. Are the outists/leavers getting angry because it’s starting to look less and less likely that brexit will actually happen? Look at the anger spewed by some knucklehead from ukip at the fact that london city hall still flies the eu flag. These fools are clearly getting agitated; their lies have fucked us, we’re waking up to it and they know it. The land of milk and honey they were hoping for clearly hasn’t materialised, and as a result we are now hearing wilder and wilder claims from fools like Gove and Rees-Mogg. They are still trying to tell us that everything is going swimmingly, when it clearly isn’t. It’s a laughable, pitiful sight: fools clutching at straws, trying to swear black is white, when it’s now as plain as it could be that their lies have severely damaged the nation.

Today marks a year since I wrote this entry; a year since I stopped drinking. I’m quite pleased to say that I’ve kept off it completely. It hasn’t always been easy, and there are still times when I’m very tempted to have a beer, although part of me asks what’s so difficult about avoiding alcohol? I’d like to record, though, that I’ve not had any reduction in my absences: while I’m currently going through quite a good patch with them – I haven’t had any in over two weeks – I haven’t noticed a significant reduction in them since giving up drinking. I just wanted to get that down. I otherwise feel much better, and certainly have no intention of getting back on the booze any time soon. Lyn’s a lot happier with me, for one, and I can think a lot straighter without having to contend with any hangovers.

I am fast developing a severe and profound loathing for Jacob Rees Mogg. I know I shouldn’t be so hateful, or stoop to such ad hominen attacks, but the guy is really, really starting to piss me off. He’s apparently gaining popularity, and there’s even a campaign to make him prime minister; but if you ask me the p’tahk should be on his knees begging our forgiveness, alongside the other members of the leave campaign. The way he projects himself and uses language, as if he thinks he is superior to everyone else, really pisses me off. The guy seems to think we should all be looking up to him, using all these complex words, feigning eloquence and intellect when in fact he is just a self-serving, arrogant prick. He didn’t earn his wealth but was born into it; he has contributed fuck all to society; yet he has the audacity and arrogance to demand that we all look up to him. He hasn’t done a proper day’s work in his life, but he stands there dictating to us as if he knows best, couching the campaign to leave the EU in pseudo-intellectual bullshit when it boils down to an act of base, moronic xenophobia. I know I shouldn’t rant like this, but such people really irritate me, especially if they helped to put the country into the dire state it’s in, yet act as if they were right all along.

It seems that every time I go out exploring this city, I fall in love with it more. There is always more to see, more roads and winding paths to follow. Yesterday, for example, I came across a bronze-age barrow on my way back from Woolwich, thousands of years old. Yet where once my little walks were solitary, these days I often share them with Lyn. We just got in from a great one: the joy I get from following her, as we drive our powerchairs through the endless suburbs of south-east London, is hard to describe. It’s like a feeling of contentment; a warm, happy feeling; a mixture of freedom, curiosity and love. There’s a joy to be found in discovering the right paths to take in new, unexplored parts of the city; that joy is redoubled when you follow such paths with the person you love.

I don’t usually buy a paper, but every time I go into Co-op I like to browse the headlines of the various dailies. It’s quite interesting to see how differently they cover the news, and how they each try too twist it in their own way. This morning, though, the front page of The Independent really got me swearing; in fact I found it rather troubling. Liam Fox is attacking the BBC, accusing it of not covering Brexit in the right way. He said the beeb would rather see Britain fail than Brexit succeed. In effect he is attacking the media rather than admitting that he and his fellow outists have completely screwed the country: They have rendered us an irrelevant little island nobody wants to trade with, but, oh no no! It’s all the beeb’s fault.

Why should guys like him be allowed to get away with it? They manipulate people into voting for something manifestly outside of their best interest, lying to them so that they put their rights at risk, then claim some kind of victimhood when things start going tits-up. It’s utterly wrong. For that arrogant p’tahk Fox to start attacking the BBC because they are letting people see the utter stupidity of the referendum result is an insult to democracy. He does not want people to see the truth of what he and his fellow outists have done to us. It bears more than a whiff of totalitarianism, and I find it chilling.

I saw my friend Dan yesterday, who complemented my new golf ball. Just over a week of using it and I’m definitely converted. In fact, I’m now considering starting a collection. After all, my first one is bound to fall off and roll away sooner or later. What I now want is golf balls which suit my personality or mood. I remember at school my friend donno had one painted like a pool eight ball. That isn’t quite my style: I’d rather have one which looked like the planet Earth or perhaps Mars, or, better yet, the Klingon home world Qo’nos. The question is, where do I possibly find one.

I found somewhere quite fascinating yesterday – a place I’ve been past many times on the bus, but had never explored. The north Greenwich peninsula is currently buzzing with building work, with modern, multi-story apartment blocks going up everywhere. These are snazzy, architecturally-designed buildings, giving the area an ultra-modern feel. Yet, amid all of this modernity is a lone row of nineteenth-century terraced houses, at the end of which stands The Pilot Inn. It’s as if it is a remnant of another era; a leftover from history. The juxtaposition with it’s modern surroundings was utterly striking: it does not really go. It felt like a part of a nineteenth century northern mining town had been lifted up and placed among the skyscrapers. Of course, if you go in to the inn, as Lyn and I did yesterday for a coke, you find a modern, well-kept bar, perfectly in keeping with the o2 just up the road; yet from the outside what was once a normal row of terraces, one among many in that area, now looks utterly at odds with it’s surroundings.

I did it again last night. The film crew were back to continue their shoot in Charlton House yesterday, so I went over to have another look. I was told that they would be wrapping at half seven, so, if I wanted, I could come over then to see the set. That, then, is what I did, only of course they overran: half seven eventually turned into half past ten, but that was cool because I got to sit outside and chat with some of the crew. They were fascinating to watch and talk to; they kept offering me slices of pizza, but fortunately I had had my dinner before I came out.

When eventually the shoot ended, and everyone was coming out of the front of charlton house, I managed to speak briefly again with Danny Boyle. Of course, he remembered me from Friday; he told me he enjoyed reading my blog and would continue to do so. When I heard him say that, I almost wept with pleasure and pride. I also gave him copies of my MA thesis and essay on Happy and Glorious, and he said he would email me.

Mr. Boyle then headed off, and I instantly had an attack of the squeals – I was thrilled beyond words at what had just happened. I started to head home, squealing with joy, when Joel, the locations guy with whom I had been talking, called me back: did I still want to go up and see the set? I did, of course, and he took me up in the lift to see it.

Rather ironically, they had been using the very room the film festival team use when we have meetings there, but now it was made up to look like a posh bedroom. Fancy panelling was on the walls, and there was a four-poster bed. They had apparently been filming some kind of bedroom scene. I didn’t stay long, but even with most of the equipment already taken out, it was fascinating.

Today, Boyle and his crew are moving on to film somewhere else, and Charlton will be back to normal. I was told that they might be back in the autumn. I hope so. For now, though, if you ever watch an American drama called Trust, and you see a bedroom scene set in an ornate, posh-looking room, now you know where it was filmed.

I know I keep mentioning our local cafe in Charlton park; one of the reasons I like it so much is the variety of characters you meet there. The regulars come from all walks of life, with many stories to tell. I was just chatting with one particularly interesting fellow, Adrian. He has quite severe mental health issues, but beneath them you can tell he is a very astute, articulate and perceptive guy. Adrian and I were just chatting about the old institutions: where I have just heard dark stories of such places, he has personal experience.

Towards the end of our chat, Adrian said something which I thought was so perceptive that I instantly decided to note it here. He reckons that if we asked the world’s leading psychologists, psychiatrists and sociologists to look at human society as a whole, to see it in terms of being one vast, collective mind, they would probably diagnose it as having a personality disorder. When I heard him say that, I laughed out loud; he was so right. Human society, as a whole, is extremely insecure with itself; it does not know whether it’s coming or going, at odds with it’s environment. Moreover, for a man who has personal experience of such issues to point that out, seems to me quite profound.

Last night was another of those evenings which will remain happily in my memory for the rest of my life. I may not have recorded it here, but I eventually managed to get Greenday tickets last year. They are not a band I often mention liking on here, but I’ve been a bit of a fan since my brother Mark introduced me to them in the early nineties. I was quite buzzing as Lyn and I headed down the Jubilee line last night, on our way to Hyde Park. I was finally going to see the band I first rocked out to; the band who gave me my first taste of rebellion.

What can I say? It was incredible! In fact, I’m still buzzing about it. They gave quite a performance: those guys obviously know how to put on a good show, and did so in style. As they thrashed out their old classics, I was dancing around on the wheelchair viewing platform like I was in Mark’s old bedroom again. The music, the stage, the sight of so many thousand people before me, was exhilarating. It filled me with energy and joy of a kind I’ve experienced only a few times before. To hear those songs being thrashed out, the rhythms I know so well seeming like new, was awesome. And when they played Basket Case, I was in heaven.

London has done it again: it has once again given me something incredible to hold on to and remember. I love this city, and last night, sitting in one of it’s finest, most beautiful parks, the most amazing person I’ll ever meet sat beside me, I could not have been happier. My, what a week it has been.

Not that I’ve been into a pub in a good long while, but as a firm supporter of the smoking ban, I think I’ll flag this up today. It is now ten years since the ban on smoking in public buildings came into force, and I think the country is a better place for it. We are no longer forced to breathe in some selfish bugger’s second hand smoke, which is especially welcome for those of us who find it hard to move out of it’s way. I know it wasn’t to everyone’s liking – namely smokers – but long may it continue, I say.