This evening basically finds us in the same position we were in this morning: there may well  have been  Russian  interference in the 2016 Referendum, only we can’t say definitively that there was because nobody bothered to find out. So despite compelling evidence that Brexit is a Putin-backed scam, we still can’t ask for it to be annulled. After all, that would make the tories look ridiculous: they announced the referendum in the first place, and they were the ones then forced to implement it’s moronic results when it backfired in their over-privileged faces. If  russia was found to have interfered in  the referendum, it would have made them look even worse. So what do they do  when confronted with the distinct possibility that they allowed Russia to meddle in uk internal affairs, leading to the biggest constitutional upheaval in decades? Just don’t ask whether Russia interfered.

This seems appropriate to post  this morning

It seems Google has had a good idea. According  to this technology blog, their map app will soon have a function which will show Wheelchair accessibility. If you activate it, it will highlight things like accessible loos, wheelchair entrances, lifts etc. Bloody good idea if you ask me – at  least it shows that some of the big companies still have us cripples in mind, and that we haven’t been totally forgotten about in these days of crisis.

I just came across this article in The Independent, remarking upon how drastically things have changed in the UK since 2012. ”The 2012 Olympics brought Britain together in pride and unity – look at us now.” I know what they mean – eight years might as well be another lifetime.  So much has changed since then, not just nationally but also for me personally, that it feels rather uncanny. I’ll always feel inordinately proud that Lyn was involved in that spectacular summer; a summer which the  entire country, it seems, will be looking back upon with fondness for years. ”Of course, it’s easy to look back through rose-tinted spectacles at what was really a brief moment in time, a glorious few weeks of sunshine and sporting prowess. From our current vantage point, the 2012 Olympics seems the antithesis of Brexit Britain, representing a period in which we were united, not divided, and when the phrase “national pride” didn’t conjure images of blinkered, hard-right jingoism.”

That I was not only here in London for that event, but my then-partner actually performed in it’s closing ceremony, fills me with  pride beyond words, and probably always will.  Lyn took it in her stride, yet to me it is astonishing. It was an event which brought us all together, and thanks to Lyn I was there. The 2012 Paralympics allowed the UK disability community to shine as it had never done before. The fact that Lyn passed away this April really drives  home the difference between then and now, for me at least: with my move to Eltham, it feels like I’m living another life. Things seem darker, both for me personally and for the country generally.

I’ll always cherish my memories of my life with Lyn with intense fondness; not just those of 2012 but so many others. She always told me not to look back but forward, that there is always the potential for even better things to happen. Yet now,  with  the country and the world as it is and the most amazing person I’ll ever meet no longer here, it’s hard to maintain that optimism. Having such a personal link with London 2012, losing the friend I associate most with that amazing event, really drives the distinction between then and now which  others are also noting, home

I need to report the most amusing thing I’ve seen in days. I was just up at my local mobility shop, asking about my next powerchair service (note to parents: they’ll email me). Rather sillily for such a shop, there’s quite a big step to get in, so I had to wait outside and beckon the lady through the window to come out and help me. (Should I be concerned that, when she did, she greeted me with the words ”hello trouble”?) Waiting for her, I looked at the big powered scooters they sell, mostly to old people (real cripples drive powerchairs –  they’re far  more versatile  and practical). Through the shop window, I spotted the name of one of the big ones, and instantly  started laughing my head  off: it  was called The  Clarkson.  LMAO.. I wonder whether that petrol-headed nonce knows he’s now a granny-mobile! What a great,  great name for something that thinks it’s fast, but is actually quite  slow and annoying.

We live in strange, strange times. I  just got back  from Charlton, having been invited  there to give a speech at an end of term awards ceremony at school. That went really well, and after it I decided to pop in on Paulo, still living temporarily at Lyn’s bungalow. He’s sorting her things  our ready to hand it back to the council.

That place holds so many memories. This  time last year, of course, I was still living  there, waiting to get my own place. Lyn and I had split up  the year before, and she was waiting patiently for my to get my own place. I was just in the very living room where I remember eating countless meals with Lyn, or lying on the sofa on countless evenings watching tv while Lyn composed in her studio. This  time last year, things were almost as they had  been for the last nine. Lyn had a nasty cough, but I expected she would be fine and that I would be visiting her there for years to come after I moved out.

Yet now that studio is quiet, there is  no tv, no more meals at the table. Things seem to have   changed in the blink of an eye. most heartbreaking of all, Lyn is gone. As I was discussing with Paulo, it’s uncanny how the vibrant, wonderful person we remember  has suddenly become just a memory in so little time.

It’s not just happening with us too. Everything seems to be changing this year, so  that old certainties seem to just be evaporating. There is so much grief, so much worry, so much loss:  Paulo has lost his aunt too, just as I lost Yaiya. In less than a year, that bungalow in Charlton has gone from being the long term home of my ex partner,  where she established herself and built her life as a musician, and the place I spent nine warm, loving, wonderful years with the most incredible person I’ll ever meet, to a dusty shell ready to be handed over to  it’s next tenant. In a way all my memories and associations of that place will  get wiped and it will become somewhere else; somewhere I can’t visit. I find that very sad indeed, yet also disturbing how swiftly the change came.

I defy anyone to read this and not conclude that Donald Trump is nothing but a deranged idiot who doesn’t know what he’s talking about. In a speech yesterday,  Trump said the European Union was ‘formed in order to take advantage of the United States’

“The European Union was formed in order to take advantage of the United States,” he said. “Formed to take advantage of the United States. I know that. They know I know that, but other presidents had no idea.”

I think there are two quite obvious conclusions to be drawn from this:  first, trump is trying to present himself as some kind of wartime president, valiantly defending America  from numerous enemies.  Hence trading partners aren’t just seen as competitors but overt foes. It’s absolutely crazy, and sends international discourse in a very dangerous direction.

Second, it’s clear farage has trump’s ear and has been plying him with bullshit. Why  else would he think that he  knows things which previous presidents did not, when in fact Trump is probably the most stupid moron ever to enter Washington. How can America put up with such embarrassment?

I know I’ve said this here before but I think it’s worth repeating: I have nothing against wearing face masks. Like any intelligent person these days, I realise that they are the only way of getting humanity through the pandemic. The problem is, that puts me in a bit of a predicament. As I wrote here, they’re  not the easiest of garments for me to put on or take off, and as they cover my face they’re likely to get soaked with dribble. That, in itself, may defeat the point of  putting one on in the first place. Nonetheless that  doesn’t make me any  less responsible than anyone else, and I have friends with CP in a similar quandary. I’m  therefore currently trying to think of solutions. I need to find something which will cover my lower face but which I can put on or take off easily. Some sort of mask or balaclava, perhaps? I’m open to suggestions.

I had a dream about dressing up last night. The truth is, I stopped cross-dressing regularly a few years ago; I think I just got bored with it. It was probably one of the  reasons why mine and Lyn’s relationship lost it’s spark, but the thought of pulling on tights, skirts and leotards just seemed to  loose it’s thrill. Recently though, I have started to dream about it again: vivid, pleasant dreams which I was disappointed to wake from.

I’m not sure why. I’m now sure that I’m quite content with life as a  guy. Long ago, I toyed with the idea of fully transitioning into womanhood: what would life be like? Would it be possible for me to live, permanently, as a woman? As I see it, Lyn explored that path for me, showing me what was possible. Perhaps she had a bravery I  don’t, perhaps Lyn’s feelings were different to mine, but I think things would  be  simpler to remain as I am. Lyn had gender dysphoria  of course, whereas I’m probably just a  bit kinky. Either way, where  Lyn acted upon her curiosity, I think I’m happy to stay put, thanks to Lyn having shown me what could be. That is  one of the reasons why she was the most remarkable person I’ll ever meet.

Yet for some reason that urge to dress up is starting to return. I still have a load of girl’s clothes which it is becoming increasingly tempting to dig out. Perhaps it’s time to do so, and let that part of me loose again. The  thrill I first felt as a teenager, of dressing up and becoming someone completely different,  seems  to be returning. Now Lyn is gone though, part of me feels it would be wrong to suddenly start dressing up again, but on the other  hand what better way to honour her memory? She broke down so many barriers, so I must do the same.

A couple of days ago I came across the idea that, instead of greeting people by shaking  hands, these days we should bump fists. That struck me as a cool idea, especially if Coronavirus is spread through touch, but how about going a step further and just doing a Vulcan salute to one another? Leaving  aside the fact that I personally struggle to get my fingers into that position, it seems to me that that  would be a very civilised way to greet each other, especially since it is synonymous with wishing one another ”Live Long and Prosper..” There is no touching involved at all. Mind you, Leonard Nimoy apparently borrowed the gesture from an orthodox jewish ceremony, so it  might have hidden religious connotations.

Either way, the least we can do  to protect one another is sung about here (nsfw)