It has been another of those days which I don’t think I’ll ever forget. Alongside seeing the Grand Canyon and visiting the Louvre, I can now say I have been to the Taj Mahal. Even before that, though, today was already rather special,  as this morning I had my first real shave with a cut throat razor. We drove to Agra from Delhi yesterday and, my face overdue for a trim, John suggested we visit a barbershop after breakfast.

Late yesterday afternoon I realised something astonishing. We were walking along a bustling Delhi street: at first glance it seemed like total chaos, with cars, motorbikes and tooktooks hurtling here,  there and everywhere. Drivers seemed to just go wherever they pleased, and the idea that there were actually rules to obey seemed ridiculous. But then I realised, nobody was getting angry. In London, I would expect such a situation to be accompanied by intense fury, with drivers hurling all kinds of obscene abuse at each other; but here, everyone was totally calm. What at first I took to be chaos was in fact serenity: drivers waited patiently as people cut in front of them, as if they expected it, as if it was just part of driving. Horns were hooted liberally, not as a form of aggression but merely to alert other drivers of ones existence. That realisation was incredible to me, and it made my jaw drop. They may have been going all over the place, but nobody was getting hurt or injured or angry. It was utterly amazing, and it struck me that we could all learn from it.

Until two days ago I thought London was a sprawling labyrinthine maelstrom. How, I reasoned, could cities get any bigger or more energetic? After under two days in Delhi, however, London seems like the epitome of calm and tranquility. Compared with Delhi, the British capital is a sedate village. I am genuinely baffled how people survive in this insane maelstrom. At the same time I am intrigued: this place is so fascinating and different to anywhere I have ever been. The road signs may be in english, but Delhi feels utterly different. I am once again reminded why I love travel. Here, it seems, modern collides with ancient, western with eastern; a sovereign nation seems somehow reluctant to fully outgrow its former colonial status. You can tell there is wealth here, but I have never seen so much poverty. There is so much beauty here, but there is dirt and rubbish everywhere, and pavements are a rarity. Delhi is a city of contractions, and I think I already love it.

Believe it or not, this entry finds me in a taxi zooming through the streets of Delhi. John and I got here this morning, and after a nap and a cup of sweet tea, he, his girlfriend and I are heading out to explore. There’s so much I want to see here, not least how people with disabilities are treated here, but for now I am mostly struck by how utterly insanely they drive here, and the fact that the cars have to avoid cows.

As soon as I saw this story, I automatically thought it sounded like something  I would do. “A British Airways flight destined for Düsseldorf in Germany has landed in Edinburgh by mistake, after the flight paperwork was submitted incorrectly.” to call that getting lost would be an understatement, I think. It certainly makes me feel   a tad better about my occasional mishaps in my powerchair.

It has happened again. Just a few days ago, I was muttering to myself that it was high time something cool happened, like watching Monty Python Live or meeting someone awesome like Patrick Stewart or  Danny Boyle. Well, one of the best things about life in London is the most incredible things can happen at absolutely any moment. This afternoon, I was out on one of my regular walks. I had passed through Woolwich and was heading home when I noticed a bunch of vans outside woolwich crown court. I saw that they belonged to a film crew, so I automatically stopped to ask  what was going on. At first I was told by one of the security guys that they were  making  a documentary for the BBC. I naturally asked him what it was about, but he said he didn’t know, so I asked someone els.

He was one of the production staff. I got chatting to the guy,  showing him some of my writing and my 1000 Londoners film.  I told him about  meeting Danny Boyle a couple of years ago, explaining why I was interested. He then let slip that they weren’t making a documentary but a film, and that Samuel L Jackson was there. This, of course, got  my interest, and I decided to hang  around for a bit, chatting to members of the film crew,

I didn’t have to wait long,  as pretty soon out the great American  Actor came, wearing a hat to mask himself. I continued to talk to the crew members at first, before mustering the courage to tap into my  Ipad  how much I liked his work. He thanked me, and I introduced myself. We didn’t have too much of  a conversation,  but  nonetheless  it was awesome to meet one of the coolest actors around. Granted, I haven’t written much about Jackson in the way  I have about Stewart or Boyle (he’s  not in my thesis or made any short films which still make me squeal with glee whenever I see it), but even so it was pretty awesome. They were apparently making a sequel to The Hitman’s  Wife’s Bodyguard,  which, I must confess, I had never heard of, but even so I just love how things like this seem to keep happening. One of the best things about living in London is that the coolest things are possible at any  moment – you just need to keep your eyes open.

I use Proloquo2go as the communication app on my Ipad. It’s a very good app – one of the best communication aid apps I’ve tried. Yet I’ve noticed something odd in it’s word prediction. It seems to be religious in the choice of words it suggests. For example, whenever I type ‘My’, it   suggests  something like ‘Father’ or ‘God’. I first noticed it a while ago, and thought it would change as the app adapted to my preferences, but it hasn’t.  I keep noticing it, and, as an atheist, it’s getting on my nerves. It feels like it’s trying to force me to say certain things. Surely things like speech apps should be neutral when it  comes to things like religion.

I just  got in from a walk (well, roll) so lovely that I think it deserves mentioning on here. From Charlton,  I headed for Blackheath and from there went up into Greenwich  park. I went through the park and down into Greenwich, and then eastwards along the river  up to the dome. That’s one of my regular routes, and from the dome I usually take the bus back, but instead today I carried on eastwards along the river  all the way to Woolwich. From there I just  trundled along the road back. It was quite an  epic ramble of  five or six KM which took me most of the afternoon; it reminded me of when I used to trundle up  to Swettenham from Congleton. Mind you, I better not do it too often as  it took a fairly big chunk out of my  powerchair battery.

As soon as I saw this, I knew I had to steal it

I think it calls for a bit of this.

I know I shouldn’t get too political on my birthday, which so far has been really nice, but I think I  need to flag this Will Hutton article up about the cultural impact of Brexit. He might go a tad far in his depiction of Outists as all backwards  and inwards looking, but he’s spot on to point out that Brexit would ruin far more than the economy. The tolerant, open, welcoming society we value so dearly is now under threat, and, birthday or not, we must fight with all our  strength to save it.

I realise I haven’t mentioned the Olympics or opening ceremonies for quite a while (and whatever regular readers I have will probably be thinking ‘tfft’) but I recently started to wonder, if a british city was to host an olympic games again soon, what would the opening and closing ceremonies look like?  Thinking back to 2012, the entire country was united  behind London; we all came together to put on a magnificent show. Now, just seven years on, the uk feels like a completely different place: half of us can’t stand the other half, or think they’re morons for being fooled into voting for something completely antithetical to their best interests; the papers spew the most vile hate every day; the whole country feels far, far darker. If  olympic  ceremonies indeed reflect nations, what would the opening ceremony look like if London was hosting the olympics again this summer? Instead of James Bond escorting the queen to the ceremony in a helicopter, Farage would have to escort her there in his Rolls Royce under armed guard for fear of being attacked by thugs. Rather than a tribute to  the NHS, there would be a homage to american health insurance companies called ‘Give  it a Try’. And instead of having the Chaos Choir sing it would have to be the choir from Eaton, as it seems we no longer cherish diversity and only the rich and privileged can be allowed to succeed.

I know I may be sounding overly grumpy, but what I’m  trying to say is the country has changed since 2012, and not at all for the better. I’m worried about it: we’ve become more inward looking and more divided. I remember the spring and summer of 2012 and how great it felt to be a londoner that year. It was around this time that we first began to hear rumours that Bond was going to be involved. The contrast to the atmosphere in the country now is chilling, and I’m worried it will be a very long time before it is restored.

I rather like The Barbican, and think I might start going up  there a bit more often. We just got in from a disability music event there. L mentioned it a couple of day ago, and, into disability culture as I am, I thought I’d check it out  too. Truth be told though, there isn’t that much for me to note on here. Don’t get me wrong, it was cool enough, and  there  were some cracking performances, but events like today’s are more about networking.  I met Adele Drake again, who remarkably remembered me; I also  met Mik Scarlett. I said hi to him,  and that I remembered him from BBC Ouch. We got chatting, and I showed him some of my work. A Really good day, then.  I looked into going to a screening of Girl while I was up there, but it  was showing too late. All the same,  it was great to see a bit of disability culture – it really seems to be coming into it’s own.

For reasons which will  become  clear shortly, I was talking to Dom about India this afternoon, and he suggested I check out a film called Lion. It was on Netflix, and I fancied watching a film, so I put it on. I’d never heard of it before, but what I just watched was truly, truly beautiful. It was the type of story which I’d think  was far fetched if I didn’t know it was true. It’s about a guy from India who, separated from his mum aged five, is fostered to a couple in Australia. Then, with help from Google Earth, he finds his mum again after twenty years. It’s told in a gentle, beautiful style which reminded me of Rabbit Proof Fence. You feel  yourself cheering the character on as you watch his search. I  now want to give it a second viewing in case I missed any details, but I think it’s already  a new favourite.

I haven’t put a leotard on in  quite a while, but this film makes me feel like digging one  out. Joking aside,, Girl, directed by Lucas  Dhont, looks very interesting indeed. It’s about  a ballet dancer who, although born a boy, trains as a girl. The Guardian is hailing it as the most important trans film in years. “In May, Girl premiered to a standing ovation at the Cannes film festival, winning a prize for its 17-year-old male star Victor Polster and three more awards including the Caméra d’Or. Netflix bought the US release and there was a Golden Globe nomination (“the ceremony was surreal, watching Lady Gaga and her amazing lavender dress”).” It’s good to see stories like this finally starting to be told in the mainstream, and I’m looking forward to checking it out. The trailer hints  that it explores the line between masculine and feminine in a fascinating, powerful way.

Hold on, hold on, let me get this straight: because they lost a referendum they never expected to lose, and knew the catastrophic consequences if they did, the tories needed to do a deal with the European Union which wouldn’t screw the country while still technically leaving the EU. They knew full well what damage leaving the union would do to the country, but didn’t want their credibility to be torn to shreds by ignoring a referendum result they never planned on. Then, when they ask parliament to vote on the deal those in favour of leaving didn’t vote for it because it wouldn’t lead to a clean enough break, and those opposed to leaving couldn’t vote for it because any kind of brexit is total folly. Would someone please tell me how the hell and at precisely what point things got so utterly, utterly ridiculous?

I’m still something of a Stephen Hawking fan, so I think this news is very cool. ”Prof Stephen Hawking has been honoured on a new 50p coin inspired by his pioneering work on black holes.” What better way to pay tribute  to the major roll hawking played in both opening up physics to a wider audience and improving the representation  of disabled people in the mainstream media? I  can’t  wait to have a few new 50p pieces in my wallet, although perhaps a  6.674p piece might be more appropriate.

I’ve probably mentioned Maryon-Wilson park on here before. It’s a  small, densely wooded park between Charlton and Woolwich which I roll through just  about every day. It’s so densely wooded that you   almost forget you’re in the middle of a huge metropolis as soon as you go in; there’s a lazy little brook running  through it, presumably on it’s way down to the Thames. I was just going through there on  my way back from watching the skaters in Charlton park, and  I was struck by the contrast in the atmosphere. Charlton park, with it’s cafe, skate  park and football pitches, is a hive of activity, whereas all Maryon-wilson park has is trees and animal enclosures. I was then struck by an idea: wouldn’t it be cool if there was some kind of performance space in there?  Some kind of band stand,  perhaps? I could see people rocking out on the grassy areas between the trees  on there, or perhaps listening to something more sedate and classical. It’s one thing Charlton park lacks which it’s neighbour could pick up the slack with. Of course, the danger is it’ll destroy the tranquility of the place, but it’s just a suggestion I’m throwing out there.

When one has cerebral palsy or any disability, patience kinda comes as a  prerequisite; but the question I’m mulling today is: how long should I be patient with people who talk down to me, behave as though they have an automatic superiority or authority over me,  and seem  to want to perpetuate issues which should have blown over weeks ago? I know I must make allowances  and accept people as they are, but no matter what I do to mend fences with this person, they won’t let things return to normal, and frankly, my patience is wearing thin.. Where with any other person, I’d expect trivial upsets to have been long forgotten, they seem to have blown things out of all sensible proportions and made some quite hurtful accusations about  me. The thing is, they may or may not have mental health  issues (I’m not sure) so the question becomes, do I make allowances for their mental health condition, or do I treat them as I would anyone else?  I expect  people to make allowances for my (physical) disability, of course, but when people go too far in that I see it as patronising. Hence, where do I draw the line in holding this person up to the same standard I expect of anyone else? I know I’m physically not able to do things people without CP can do easily, so I need  help with things. In the local shop,  for instance, staff members now  come and help me get my things automatically. However, in other situations if people assume I need help or do things for me without me  asking them, I’m prone to feel patronised or get annoyed. They are treating me as different. Isn’t assuming this  person’s behaviour is related to their potential mental illness and thus  ignoring it not a similar conundrum? If treating  someone differently due to their disability is being patronising, then surely I should react to this person and what I perceive  to be their patronising, childish behaviour as I would to anyone else.

I just came across this trailer for the new Tolkien biopic, and I have to say it has me intrigued. Dramatising the life of a fairly dry, conservative Oxford academic is always going to be a challenge; I  just hope they do it justice. Mind you, with rumours rife on the internet of a new amazon series set in the second age of Middle-Earth, I have to wonder what Tolkien would have made of his life’s story and work being adapted, used and popularised like this.

At long  last, it would seem the mainstream is beginning to champion the idea of including disabled characters in film. According to this bbc article,   “Oscar winner Rachel Shenton has urged authors to feature more characters with disabilities in their stories.” It quotes her as saying  “I’ve learnt just how important it is for…[disabled] children to see themselves in the programmes and movies they watch and in the books they read.

“Never seeing themselves can be so demoralising, and makes their experiences seem invisible.” Too damn right if you ask me.  Hearing someone speak out about this is long overdue.

The strangest thing kept happening with my powerchair chargers: they would work perfectly well for  ages then suddenly stop, The fans in them  would stop working  and they would stop giving charge. Over the years I’ve collected five or six chargers, and this happened to every one of them. Last night my last working charger gave up the ghost, leaving me with six broken chargers.

That was a bit stressful: no   chargers meant I’d better be conservative with how I used my chairs; it also meant I needed to get them fixed asap. Dom kindly took  the charger which had just broken home with him to see if he could find the problem, and this afternoon I asked Serkan to drive  me  to Welling mobility, the other broken chargers in  hand, to try to get a replacement.

Welling kindly leant me a  spare charger, taking  the broken ones to see  if anything could  be  done. Powerchair chargers are ninety quid each, so I was grateful for the loan. Getting home I plugged my main chair in and took my spare for a  short spin. Upon my return Dom had arrived to PA for Lyn, bringing  with him the charger he   had taken. We just plugged it in, and it whirred into life  just as it should. Dom had spent several hours on the problem,  only to  find a small wire had just burned out. When I heard the charger fan come on, I gave  him a huge, huge hug.  Issue resolved, then, and I’m now back to full power.

I still like to believe that mankind’s destiny is to one day explore space, but perhaps one of the lesser considered effects of Brexit is it’s impact on Britain’s space industry.. This BBC article goes into that a bit, and things don’t look  good. ”

One of the UK’s most successful space entrepreneurs has launched a withering attack on Brexit, labelling it ‘galactic scale stupidity’.

Will Marshall’s Planet company operates the world’s largest satellite imaging network, with 150 spacecraft able to fully picture Earth on a daily basis.

He warns EU withdrawal will do immense harm to Britain’s space industry. The UK will be ‘lost in space’, he says.”

Yet another reason out of now an overwhelming number to stop the stupidity of brexit.

I’m not sure why it just appeared on Youtube, but I just came across this interesting short film written by Michael Palin and Terry Jones. The Box was  made in 1981; I’d never heard of it before. The style is very unusual and very Monty Python. I like how the sound and audio are unlinked, yet tell the same story: we just see pictures  of a large box, but hear what is going on inside it. That strikes me as very innovative. Of course, Palin and Jones derive a  lot off comedy out of it, but it makes me wonder how else such a device could be used.

I’m not sure I got things completely right yesterday. I watched a few more episodes of Cynic, and, truth be told, I was distinctly unimpressed. The problem I now have is, explaining to ted that his Youtube comedy show strikes me as little more than a rather juvenile piece of self aggrandisement. He says it’s based on Curb Your Enthusiasm, but I do not see the resemblance. He seems to have written a series of short, five to six minute episodes where he is the centre of attention, without any other focus. That which he seems to think is wit or cynicism seems more like toilet humour and fart jokes. Let me put it this way: if I wrote a script about myself or a version of myself where I was the main focus of attention, had all the lines and all other characters revolved around me, you would probably tell me to pull myself out of my arse.

The problem is, ted seems to think he’s better than he is. To be fair, that’s something I have come across a lot in people with cerebral palsy; I’m probably guilty of it too. The fact that Shiress would go so far as to accuse the bbc of stealing an idea for a show from him seems to betray a certain amount of self importance on his part. While, as I said yesterday, there are similarities between the two shows, rewatching an episode of Jerk this afternoon it struck me that they were superficial at most. As you’d expect from a professional situation comedy, Jerk is more evenly spread in terms of characterisation whereas Shiress seems to want the focus of attention to be entirely on him. The fact that he likens himself to Larry David, one of the biggest dramatis personae of american comedy in the last decade, only adds to my sense that he is getting a bit big for his boots.

Why does this matter? Part of me thinks that I should just let things slide; it is, after all, only a dude’s youtube videos. It simply strikes me as odd that Shiress would be so egotistical, not only to assume that the idea for Jerk was stolen from him, but also to create a show centring about him, claiming an equivalence to Larry David. If there’s anything I can’t  abide it’s an overinflated ego. It strikes me as rather odd, too, that some sort of professional production company indulged him in producing this show: they are quite well shot, yet the scrips are, truth be told, dire, reminding me of something a teenager would write. The sixth or seventh episode, for example, has Ted apparently wooing a pretty, able-bodied girl and ending up in bed together. The final shot is of the girl looking under the duvet and gasping. What I find strange is, in any other circumstances, if Ted did not have cerebral palsy, I doubt very much that anyone would allow such bollocks to be made. What further irritates me is, Shiress seems to think the fact he somehow got someone to make such adolescent guff with him makes him some kind of Youtube star of the disabled community. If he is, then it is up to cultural critics like myself to call him up on his pretensions, and to point out how derogatory and regressive I find it. As a  disabled writer and film maker, I feel we need to do far, far better.

Earlier this morning I came across a post on Ted Shiress’ Facebook page complaining that the beeb had stolen the idea for Jerk from him. At first, I assumed Ted was being egotistical and told him so: after all, it isn’t uncommon for us crips to have similar ideas from time to time. But then Ted showed me Cynic, a series of short comedy episodes he made about five years ago, about a slobbish guy with Cerebral Palsy. I instantly realised Ted might have a point. The similarities, not just in the concept but in the style and mise en scene too, are hard to ignore. Even the titles bear a resemblance to each other. Of course one can never be absolutely sure about such things, and there are differences between the two programmes, but I can certainly see why Ted felt so indignant. While  I think it would be hard to prove beyond doubt that the producers of Jerk came across Ted’s youtube channel and decided to steal his idea, I think he may well be  onto something.

Last night I decided to catch up on Star Trek Discovery. Between one thing and another, I had neglected to watch it, and yesterday I  realised I’d fallen way behind. Having just watched episodes  four, five and six of season one though, I realise I shouldn’t have bothered. Seriously, how dare  anyone call that shit Star Trek? What’s all this bollocks about a ‘spore drive’ no other Star Trek incarnation references, and why would they need a sentient being to control it? I always respected Star Trek because i was rooted in some sort of scientific reality, but  Discovery seems to have been made up as they went along.  It’s gibberish. On top of that, the characters  are utterly nauseating; every second line they spout is a cliche. I used to love  Star Trek, so to see it reach such lows really is infuriating.