I think the series of programs outlined here is set to be very interesting indeed. ”The BBC is to mark the 25th anniversary of the passing of the Disability Discrimination Act (DDA) next month with a series of dramas, documentaries, news packages and discussions.” I obviously can’t say much at this point, but the list of disability-related dramas and documentaries promises to give me plenty to get my analytical teeth into. The DDA was obviously a very important political moment for guys like me, and it’s good to see the Beeb marking it’s anniversary.

Is it time for me to take more of an active role in disability politics and culture? Until now, I’ve just got on with life, generally acknowledging what could be called the wider community of disabled people while not really interacting with it. In fact, my biggest contribution to disability culture is probably my blog. Of course I have quite a few friends with disabilities, but like Lyn I see no reason why I should interact with my fellow cripple any more than anyone else.

Now though, I’m beginning to wonder whether I should try to assert my voice in the various disability forums a bit more. I still get the feeling that, with more and more people now defining their selves as having some kind of disability – the very definition of which seems to be widening – voices like mine are at a risk of being drowned out. More to the point, in the various online forums I keep an eye on, a few voices tend to be dominant: certain people seem to dominate and control the entire community; people who, as far as I can tell, ironically have relatively tenuous links to it. Such people seem to bully and brow-beat others so that only their voices are heard and only their opinions are perceived as valid.

In response, perhaps I should participate a bit more actively. To be honest I’ve had enough of deferring to others on certain disability related issues. Take inclusive education, for example: the dominant opinion among disability ‘activists’ is that kids with special educational needs must be educated in mainstream education at all costs. I used to defer to that opinion. Yet while I still think inclusion is a nice idea and should be implemented where at all possible, my own personal experience, both as someone educated at a special school, and who now often volunteers at one, tells me that trying to educate the most severely disabled young people among their able-bodied peers is not only impractical but downright cruel.

At Charlton Park Academy, there are students who simply could not handle life among mainstream students. My attitude towards inclusive education is therefore more nuanced than it once was, having been informed by a decade of volunteering at a special school. Those who insist carte blanche on inclusion seem to often lack the personal experience I have, and so let ideology get in the way of practicality.

I therefore think there’s room for me to start asserting my voice a bit more: As a man with moderately severe cerebral palsy who has lived more or less independently in London for the last decade, blogging, writing and making films, and who for most of that decade lived with a woman with severe CP, I think I have an experience of life others do not. Having grown up with severely disabled classmates and then having watched them die one by one; and then having lost the most incredible person I’ll ever meet, I know how harsh life as a disabled person can be. My perspective on disability is as valid as any other, if not frankly more than many, and I therefore feel it’s time I stopped deferring to others. If it is indeed true that more and more people see theirselves as disabled, isn’t it up to guys like me to make sure they know it isn’t all about blue badges and queue jumping.

My abiding interest in the olympics probably seems a bit weird given that I’m not really into athletics. To be honest I’m not really bothered about who wins what medal. Yet, since 2012, I’ve had an interest in how, every four years or so, the world comes together as one community to participate in one big sporting and cultural festival. Our collective attention is drawn onto one spot on the globe so that, for a month or so, we jointly get to explore and celebrate a city and culture. The selected city gets to show itself off to the world in a once in a lifetime event.

That’s why I’ll always see what happened in 2012, being here in London, getting to watch Lyn and the Paraorchestra play at the Paralympic closing ceremony, as one of the greatest events of my life. But it’s also why I’m interested in the olympics as a cultural and political force. As Thomas Bach explains at some length in this recent Seoul Peace Prize acceptance speech, the Olympic movement is about bringing people together in a spirit of mutual respect. As he puts it, there is no discrimination at the Olympic village. The olympics is probably the only event which draws the world together to compete in the spirit of global culture and universal respect. When I think about it, to have had the opportunity to participate in that, to have been with Lyn and her fellow musicians as they played before the entire world, is jaw-droppingly amazing. Of course, the fact that Lyn has now passed away makes such memories even more poignant and powerful.

What interests me now, though, is the city aspect of it: The IOC selects a city to host the biggest event in the world, so their selection is, in a way, highly political. To be chosen to host the Olympic and Paralympic games means that a city has made it onto the world stage; it has been given the opportunity to show itself off to the world. That is why I’m proud of the fact that London was the first city to hold the games three times – what greater honour could there be for a metropolis? – but it’s also why I’m interested in which city gets chosen. Which city will we get to explore next? How will a city represent itself in it’s bid, and if selected, how will that city choose to show itself off? How will the people of that city use the olympics to reveal itself and it’s culture to the world? I also wonder whether we need more events like the olympics which similarly draw people together, but which are perhaps based around art rather than sport?

Now that there is just a week to go until the election in America, the question I’m pondering today is, with Biden’s lead in the polls looking quite solid, can we start to hope that this time next week the nightmare will be over? Can we afford to start to breathe more easily, given that so many votes have been cast already by post and so will probably reflect opinion polls? Can we let ourselves imagine that the total embarrassment to human civilisation who Americans have called their president for the last four years might be on his way out of power? I really, really hope we can, yet if the last four years have taught us anything, it’s not to get our hopes up.

There was a worrying item on the BBC London lunchtime news about a huge rise in transphobic hate crime. Transgender people are being picked upon and discriminated against more and more, usually by people refusing to respect their preferred/chosen gender. It goes without saying that this appalls me: I saw it happen to Lyn once or twice. She took it in her stride, of course, but it made me exasperated to realise how closed minded and arrogant people could be.

Now, that being said, I want to add a small, potentially contentious caveat: when people are transgender, they are transgender. Something deep down inside of them, usually far beyond their consciousness, tells them that they were born into the wrong gender and would be more comfortable if they transitioned. Obviously in such cases nobody has any right to question their decisions, and doing so constitutes transphobia. These days, though, I get the feeling that a few people are declaring their selves trans for less innate reasons. They like the politics of it, and want a louder say in the alternative lifestyle discourse, so they emulate transgender people they know and declare theirselves trans while never having shown any sign of it in the past. It’s a type of what I call cultural intrusion, which I think is also happening in the disability community. Such self-styled ‘activists’ usurp the whole discourse and drown out those of us with genuine concerns, baselessly accusing others of transphobia when confronted.

I can’t be sure how widespread this phenomenon is, but I’m pretty sure I’ve encountered it (online) a couple of times. Such people seem to think they can speak on behalf of an entire community, taking it’s politics and language as their own, even though they might not really belong to it. To be honest I think such people should be confronted as their behaviour, in a way, mocks or devalues the turmoil genuine transpeople go through. Being trans has nothing to do with whatever ideas you may have about gender equality. The danger there is you end up sounding just as bigoted as those who misgender and bully people like Lyn.

Zark knows how it slipped my mind, but four days ago marked the end of my first year living on my own in Eltham; a year since I wrote this entry. To be honest it has been quite a traumatic year, as it has been for everyone. It barely seems two or three weeks since I was living in Charlton with Lyn, but now she’s gone and that old bungalow is empty. It really staggers me to think how quickly things changed: just a little over two years ago I was partner to the most incredible person I’ll ever meet, with visions of myself living there with her for many years to come. Now I’m a bachelor again, on my own more or less; we broke up, I got my own place and Lyn passed away. Everything has changed staggeringly, heartbreakingly quickly.

It has obviously been a rather gruelling year. Lyn’s death is the biggest blow by far. Even after I moved out I imagined I would be popping in on her for years to come. Yet all I can do now is look to the future in the hope of better times to come. If life with L taught me anything, it is that truly awesome things could be just around the corner – you just need to look out for them. So here I am, marking the end of a year I once couldn’t have imagined, sitting in my own place living a more or less independent life. Things may be difficult for everyone right now, but years like this make us realise just what we are capable of. Lyn not only showed me that I was capable of anything I wanted, but she always told me to look towards the future rather than at the past: the past, she said, has already gone, but it’s the future that you can make a difference to. I think that’s good advice for us all at the moment. I may now be mourning one of the greatest friends I’ll ever have in a year which has brought so much loss to so many, but that is no reason not to look forward to a better, brighter future.

I don’t want to say much about it as it’s perfectly articulate already, but I think anyone concerned about American politics should watch this Youtube video. In it, a US lawyer outlines precisely what his countrymen are voting for: Donald Trump is a criminal who has broken the law numerous times, both before and after becoming President. Outlined like this, it really is sickening how much Trump has already been allowed to get away with. I just hope enough of our American friends are listening to voices like this. After all, it isn’t just their future which hangs in the balance.

It may surprise you to read that I went to a house party with my old uni friend Charlie last night. Well, when I say ‘went’ I didn’t actually go anywhere, of course – old fashioned parties seem decidedly out of the question these days. Rather, everyone stayed in their respective homes and met eachother over Zoom, in an attempt to have fun and remain Covid secure at the same time.

It worked surprisingly well, and I think everyone had fun. There were four or five other groups in attendance, all in fancy dress. I wasn’t going to dress up at first, but C insisted, occasioning me to break out my pink tutu for the first time in a while. Unfortunately, most of the games C had organised involved drawing, meaning I could only watch, but nonetheless it was a lot of fun, popping back and forth between my computer desk and table for sips of beer. I think the best thing about it was the feeling of actually being involved in something, participating in a social event, for the first time in months; I think I had missed that. It felt good to see everyone together, chatting, laughing and having fun, even if it was just online. While there’s no denying that it made me slightly nostalgic for the type of real, physical house party I used to go to at university, I think this type of online get together will have to do these days. It looks like we’re all in for a pretty harsh winter, so I think we will all need things like this to keep our spirits up.

It feels like ages – literally years – since I saw my brother Mark, Kat and the kids, at least in person. I think the last time I saw them, they got me playing football! Today marks Kat’s birthday, and I really hope they’re having fun together. It has been a bit of a miserable year, so I also hope it won’t be too long until we see each other again, perhaps in the spring. Whatever they’re doing, let me just wish my sister-in-law a very happy birthday, and say that I hope Mark’s behaving himself for her!

I just came across this Stephen Colbert video which I think is worth flagging up. The election in America is just two weeks away, and, worryingly, the polls are apparently tightening. I may joke about Trump being a disgrace to humanity, but he really is: Colbert describes how his government has ordered the separation of immigrants’ children at the Mexico border, presumably to act as a deterrent. It has intentionally caused fear and misery for thousands. How can any government act so cruelly, just to stop people entering their country? More to the point, how can any country seriously be contemplating reelecting a monster like Trump?

After yesterday, I’m now fiddling around with the pages section of WordPress, and what do you know, there’s an archive option. You can now see all my blog entries since moving to my new site here. To be honest having to scroll through all my entries to get to the one I wanted to see was getting irritating, so this is a nice find.

Just to pick up on something I mentioned a couple of days ago, I just learned there is no way to upload my weblog archive. The problem is, there is no way of altering a date of a post, so if I tried to copy my old entries from 2003 to 2018 onto my new site, they’d just register as new entries like this one, and the whole thing would become a mess. I must admit I’m disappointed: I’ve kept my blog up for seventeen years, and for fifteen of those years (over three thousand entries from before I started using WordPress) to be suddenly wiped from the web is quite a bitter blow. I’m relieved I still have them in an offline, pdf version, because they represent quite a bit of work and quite a bit of history: not only did I record my life at university on my blog, but my decade with Lyn in London. To have written so regularly for so long must be quite an achievement. On the other hand, weblogs are, by their nature, current: the point of updating them daily is so people can read something new every day, even if it is an ill-informed cripple waxing lyrical about his weblog archive. What matters is that I keep my blog updated as I have done since 2003, and if anyone really wants to see my old entries, I can just email them the pdf.

While out on my daily stroll today I had a bit of an idea which I think I’ll note here. I was going around Avery Hill Park, where there’s a small, outlying campus of Greenwich University. It kind of reminded me of Alsager, which made me wonder whether they had a film or media faculty there. These days, living in Eltham with a university so close, could it be worth getting back into research?

For a moment I had visions of me reviving my undergrad days, but that would just be silly. It might be worth getting in touch with the Media Faculty at Greenwich, though, showing them my Master’s thesis, and asking what they think. I don’t necessarily mean doing a PhD – not yet anyway – but perhaps I could work with them, like I sometimes do at Charlton Park Academy. Perhaps I could do something creative or constructive with them. They may be able to use a disabled blogger, writer and filmmaker with a Masters in film studies.

I think it’s worth investigating anyway. Of course, these days I can’t see anything like that happening any time soon, but now I’m a bachelor living more or less on my own, the idea of getting back into film studies and academia in general kind of appeals. At least, it could give my life the bit of structure I currently find it lacks. I’m therefore now contemplating sending them a copy of my MA thesis with a covering letter and seeing what happens – you never know.

I might now call the mighty metropolis that is London my home, but I still definitely have roots in the north, so I was quite perplexed to read this news earlier. “A banner with the defiant message ‘Northern Republic Now’ has appeared above the road in south Manchester…Photos of the bridge earlier in the day also showed a second part to the sign, which read ‘End London Rule.'” Obviously, this sign was probably made in jest, but I suspect it hints at serious and growing social tensions: people in the North of England are starting to feel really left behind by an increasingly London-centric economy and society. For me it also raises a few interesting questions: what would such a ‘northern republic look like? Where would it’s capital be? Liverpool, Manchester, Newcastle? Where would it’s borders be, and how far south does The North actually extend? More to the point, how popular is this idea in reality, and how popular could it become? If the Tories proceed the way they are going, and the perceived social and economic divisions between The North and The South, particularly London, are opened up even further, might an idea which is just a few words on a banner at the moment actually start gaining traction? In this era of Brexit, Trump and Coronavirus, to be honest I wouldn’t rule it out.

You may have noticed that I didn’t post an entry on here yesterday, for the first time in a couple of weeks. I take pride in keeping my blog updated, and get sort of fretful whenever I miss a day. That is rather silly, of course: it’s sometimes difficult to find something to write about on here every single day, and forcing myself to do so just leads to blogging for the sake of it. Besides, I posted every day in 2016 and 2017, an achievement I’m still quite proud of, and I still hope my brother Luke will one day upload my pre-2018 weblog archive so I can prove it (although he is quite a busy fellow these days, and there are about fifteen years of entries.) It makes me wonder, though: Does anyone know of any other personal blogs which have been updated at least every second day since around 2004, give or take the occasional break for holidays? I would be surprised if there were that many other bloggers who have posted so regularly for so long.

Now that I have a second backpack (thankyou Serkan) it seems I have two practically identical powerchairs. Both are fully charged and in good working order. I’m about to go out for my daily dose of fresh air, so the question I find myself mulling is, which chair should I take out? I’m seriously considering flipping a coin or doing ”eany meany miney moe” every day, but it may just be easier to alternate them, so they get equal use.

While I haven’t gone up to the North West in ages and frankly can’t see myself going up there any time soon, I now definitely want to visit the pub mentioned here. “A Merseyside pub has been cheekily renamed in an act of defiance towards the Government’s new lockdown restrictions in the area. The James Atherton in New Brighton, the Wirral, has renamed itself “The Three Bellends” – with a sign featuring the faces of Prime Minister Boris Johnson, his close adviser Dominic Cummings and Health Secretary Matt Hancock. The sign appears as pubs were forced to close in the Liverpool area on Wednesday as part of the Government’s new three-tier system of coronavirus restrictions for England.”

You really have to take your hat off to the Merseyside sense of humour, although it’s probably also a sign of how frustrated and angry people are getting across the country. The pandemic has been woefully mismanaged, and people’s fury is rightly being directed to the idiots in charge. The pub’s landlord says he’ll change the name back once the current situation is over, but I really hope I have a chance to go and have a drink there, perhaps with Charlie, while it still has it’s current name.

I came across something last night which had me quite puzzled. It was a double episode of Storyville on the BBC about north Korea. While it claimed to be a documentary, watching it, it felt more like some kind of scripted, directed drama pretending to be a documentary. It was supposedly about a spy who was planted as a ‘mole’ in the Korean Friendship Association, a group trying to change perceptions of North Korea, in an attempt to gain access to the secretive state. While it was very interesting, to my eyes, something about it didn’t make sense. It was supposed to be shot entirely on hidden camera, and while many of the shots seemed that way, some of them were straight out of standard television dramas. There was no way the film’s makers could have got those shots through entirely hidden footage. And then we have the problem that some of the scenes we were shown seemed too convenient; we were privy to conversations which were too unlikely, yet too central to the plot, to have been captured purely through chance. Thus something about this film didn’t ring true, and I couldn’t quite make out whether I was watching a documentary or drama. Of course, answering these questions would mean rewatching and analysing the program shot by shot, but given that the subject of the program is currently so critical to geopolitics, for the BBC to air such an ambiguous film in the first place strikes me as very puzzling indeed.

I’m still a huge Michael Palin fan, and watching Travels Of A Lifetime these last two Sunday nights has been wonderful. It was through Palin’s travelogues that I was introduced to Monty Python. Something about watching this calm, pleasant, intelligent Englishman explore the more exotic parts of the world of a Sunday evening really captured my imagination: not only did it make my feet itch and want to see what Palin was showing us for myself, but it also made me curious about what else he had done. Hence I was introduced to, and fell in love with, dead parrots and transvestite lumberjacks.

Those shows were first broadcast in the early Nineties, when I was eight or nine and still at school. I remember them giving me a warm, cozy yet reassuring feeling, like when my Dad or Mum were reading a bedtime story, but tinged with curiosity and wonder. They told me that the world was out there to be explored, with great cities to see and adventures to be had; but whatever might happen, there will always be friendly people, good food and a warm bed at the end of the day. Binge-Watching Pole To Pole just now, I felt precisely the same coziness; but I now view it through adult, educated eyes. In Episode Two, for example, Palin visits St. Petersburg and shows us the Winter Palace. My mind immediately went back to AS History and what I learned of the Russian Revolution, which gave what Palin was saying far greater depth. This might be homely Sunday evening TV, but there is a depth and profundity underlying it. After all, we’re being shown parts of the world most of us would never normally see.

No wonder the beeb is screening a four part retrospective of Palin’s work in the same time slot that his shows originally aired; right now, I daresay it’s what most of us need. It’s great to see these programs recognised as the pioneering TV they were, and also to hear people like Joanna Lumley and Ade Adepitan noting what an impact Palin’s travelogues had on their later shows. Added to that, the input of the greatest broadcaster ever, Sir David Attenborough, make this fantastic Sunday night telly.

I must note, though, that Michael Portillo has been conspicuous in his absence, at least for the first two episodes of Travels Of A Lifetime. Surely he too owes a lot to Palin for his new career making programs about train journeys, but I somehow get the impression that the old Tory sees his shows as separate from others, as if he pioneered his own genre. (Is it me or does Portillo think he is Palin, or the Conservative equivalent of him?)

That aside, this really is succulent, outstanding television – the best type of telly for cold Sunday evenings.

This is going to sound a bit silly, but I think it’s worth noting. I have two powerchairs, so if I break one I can use the other while it’s being repaired. I’m supposed to use them both equally in order to level out wear and tear, but I must confess I tended to just use one while the other gathered dust. I suppose it was kind of a habit. I realised the other day why this was, though: only one chair had a bag on it’s back, and because of the way it was attached, couldn’t easily be swapped. So if I needed to buy anything when I was out and about, I could only take the one chair. It’s silly but true. The solution is, however, simple: I now intend to buy a second backpack as soon as possible.

Are Americans seriously supposed to believe that a man who claims to have contracted Corronavirus just a week ago is now perfectly well? A clinically obese, fairly unfit man in his seventies, who did nothing to avoid catching the virus and thus caught a fairly bad case of it, is now suddenly well enough again to resume holding campaign rallies? Is america seriously supposed to believe that?

And is the rest of the world seriously supposed to still respect this buffoon or the country he leads, after he has spent four years turning it into a laughing stock? After he has reduced political discourse there to the level of primary school playground bickering, and encouraged fascist thugs to reduce cities to ash? A once great, proud country, sunken to the level of petulant, horrifying bickering through the election of this imbecellic egomaniac with no idea how to lead a superstate; who claims to have caught a fatal virus but then suddenly recovers just a week later. Are we seriously supposed to respect that? Seriously?

Every Thursday evening recently, BBC Four have been airing a film from the Golden Age of Hollywood. It has been wonderful to watch a few of the classics, such as Doctor Zhivago. However, The Searchers was on last night, and it left me with a very nasty taste in my mouth.

Widely regarded as an all-time classic, this John Ford western has John Wayne going in search of a young woman apparently abducted long ago by Native Americans. I must say, though, the way the film is shot, with Wayne and co going off to deal with savage, backward ‘Indians’, appalled me. Viewed from Twenty-First Century eyes, the imperialism in this film is sickening. No attempt was made to explore things from the Native American perspective, but they were just dismissed as savages who had kidnapped a white girl and were bringing her up as one of their own. She thus needed rescuing. The Europeans, or those of European descent, on the other hand, were presented as noble, brave, and always doing the right thing: the settlers are depicted as out on the west, civilising it, trying to make a living for theirselves. Whatever faults they had (arguments, fights etc) were quickly, often comically dismissed. Wayne’s character in particular struck me as sickeningly racist and right wing, yet he is presented as heroic and brave. When he eventually finds the girl they’re searching for, she just flings herself into his open arms, no questions asked, no debate offered.

Perhaps at the time it was made, such issues would be taken as read; but viewed today, knowing what we now know about history and politics, so called classic westerns like this are shocking in their imperialism and arrogance. I know a lot more can be and has been written about this film, and, not having watched The Searchers since my undergrad days, this is only meant to represent my gut reaction to my viewing last night. Yet it nonetheless struck me as very problematic and dated indeed. I’m tempted to say that I’m glad we have grown past such attitudes, but I’m not sure all of us have.

A day or two ago, again on a disability facebook page, I came across a post by a young woman and her sister with quite severe CP. Obviously very energetic and fun loving, Hannah and Becky Cheetham made videos on Youtube of theirselves doing all kinds of amazing things like skydiving and parasailing. They had also made a couple of interesting little films about how the younger sister used her communication aid. However, their most recent video, tho one they posted to Facebook, was about how they had been very badly mistreated by the staff at Alton Towers. What the young woman, Hannah, was put through – spoken over and down to, ignored, and generally not treated like a sentient human being – was appalling, although sadly not that unusual, and I almost blogged about it on here.

This morning though, I turned on my computer to find this story on the BBC homepage. The beeb had obviously got wind of the video and had taken the story up. Alton Towers has now apparently apologised to the sisters, whose Youtube page can be found here.

Today we have all been subjected to two absolutely hideous spectacles: not only have we had to endure the sight of Boris Johnson lying his head off into a camera, claiming to be a man of optimism and energy and fairness, when we all know he’s a self-serving, selfish scumbag who’ll sell his own mother for his own advancement. Johnson seems to think people like him, and see him as cordial and charming, when in fact he’s deservedly loathed. The whole country is suffering at the moment, largely due to his government’s ineptitude; we’ve had balls-up after balls up. Thousands have died, and rather than try to condole everyone and admit his recent shortcomings, he spouts a load of fantasy twaddle. For one thing, for Johnson to suddenly claim to care about the environment when until recently his party was ridiculing the idea of green energy really takes the biscuit. If you ask me, instead of spewing all that bullshit this morning, the p’tahk should have been on his knees offering us his immediate resignation and begging our forgiveness for the damage he and his wretched party have done to the country over the last decade.

The second spectacle was even more galling, if that is possible. Now, I’m no fan of the military – I think there are always other ways to solve problems than with tanks and guns – but the sight of donald Trump standing there trying to look all stoic and brave, saluting as if he was some kind of mighty soldier, really boiled my blood. This is a man who famously dodged the draft for Vietnam; he’s a snivelling coward too self-important to fight for his country. How can America bare the sight of this p’tahk putting the health of all those around him at risk in order to go and wave to his moronic supporters? And then, returning to the White House far too soon, he has the audacity to claim to be brave and noble, congratulating himself like some mighty hero. I find such arrogance abominable.

Both these sights sicken me. The audacious arrogance of both is too much for me to stand. For all my life I have known people, mostly in the disability community, who were humble and stoic; who never complained even though they had been dealt appalling hands. These are the people I respect the most. The sight of these self-aggrandising apaths, so spoiled yet so full of shit, seems to me the very antithesis of such fortitude. Neither Johnson nor trump know what it is like to suffer, but have had life handed to them on a plate, or at least have lied and cheated their way to where they are. Yet both seem to think they were born to rule over the rest of us, as if being white, male, straight and wealthy automatically makes them superior to everyone else. They expect us to automatically respect them and believe whatever they say, even when they are blatantly lying and clearly have no idea what they’re doing. Neither man deserves to be where he now is, and having to watch them both act out their hideous, despicable charades is utterly, utterly sickening.

Given the subject of my MA I suspect everyone is expecting me to write something about the forthcoming closure of cinemas, but what can I say? Of course I’m depressed, but what can you do about it? I was looking forward to watching No Time To Die as much as any other Bond fan, and hearing it has been delayed yet again, after already waiting so long to see it, made me sigh such a deep, pained sigh. Yet in a way we all knew it was coming; it is typical for this woe-begotten, crappy year. If the government put as much into preserving the cinema and theatre industry as they put into the pub and brewery industry, things might be different; but the Tories get a hefty chunk of their donations from pubs, and not much from the arts. The cinemas have therefore been left to close, taking with them a vibrant, valuable aspect of our culture. We’re left to watch films online, longing for the day when we can go back into a nice, big, cinema screening room, perhaps with a few friends, take our seats, wait for the lights to dim, and then be carried away to places where only the cinema can take us.. There is something peculiar to the cinema which enhances the viewing experience, which is why, as explained here, EON chose to once again postpone the release of No Time To Die until the Spring. Until then we must wait, hoping that cinemas, like so many other things, survive the winter.

You would probably be appalled if I told you that, in Britain today, a certain group of people is effectively barred from certain pubs and other establishments. While the Guardian celebrates the fascinating life of a man who, fifty years ago, fought to overthrow the so-called colour bar which made pubs no-go places for black people, the fact is there is still a group of people for whom certain pubs are inaccessible. The circumstances may be different, but the result is the same.

If you use a wheelchair or powerchair, there are still pubs and other places which you simply can’t get into. Either there will be a step up to the door, or the doorway will be too narrow, or (pandemic aside) the place will be just too crampt to navigate through. Fortunately these days, thanks to legislation intended to ensure accessibility, such places are becoming rarer and rarer, at least in London, but nonetheless they still exist. And that’s even before you get to the problems of getting the bar staff to understand you.

Of course, I’m not claiming this is akin to overt ethnic discrimination; but surely it has to be pointed out that people with disabilities still can’t go into certain places because of issues which are entirely avoidable. While historic buildings, which often includes pubs, can be exempt from new accessibility rules, it can’t be that hard: Install a ramp, redesign your table layout and Bob’s your uncle. While this is very different to being told to leave a pub because of your skin colour, it is only when we start to frame such issues as forms of discrimination that they start to be dealt with.

The Tories apparently now plan to establish a second headquarters up in Leeds. They claim it is in order to encourage support in the north or some such rubbish, but I think they’ve realised they are becoming less and less relevant in London and so need to establish a base elsewhere. London is a liberal, multicultural, vibrant world city; the stagnant, selfish, repressive politics of the right has no place here. London consistently votes Labour, and also voted Remain. No wonder the Tories are going packing. They say they’ll keep their Westminster HQ open of course, but surely this is a sign that they have realised their fetid, selfish worldview has no place in a global metropolis, and so need to look elsewhere for zombies to trick into voting for them. Good riddance I say.

Yesterday afternoon I received a tenancy renewal form in my email. I’ve now lived in Eltham for almost a year, so I suppose it was time for it to arrive. I opened the form and set to work on it, thinking that it shouldn’t be too much of a problem – I do have a masters, after all. To my horror, though, I soon realised I couldn’t make head nor tail of it. It asked all kinds of random, irrelevant questions. In desperation, I did what I usually do with such matters and sent it to my parents for help. (My new motto: When in doubt, delegate.) Fortunately they got a bit further with it, although mum and dad admiited it wasn’t at all straightforward, and told me I was right to ask for their help. The form asked for details which I just don’t have access to.

The form is now on it’s way to where it needs to go, and once again I’m left feeling relieved that I have such capable, wonderful parents; a cuddle with them both is frankly long overdue. Yet that relief is tinged with worry as well as self criticism: what if my parents weren’t there? Isn’t this the sort of thing I ought to be able to do myself? Why couldn’t I access the information I needed to fill out the form? Lyn seems to have been able to handle such issues, so why can’t I? Delegation is all well and good, but surely I should be up to things like this if I’m to be an independent member of the community. More to the point, though, why do they have to make such forms so damn complex? Even my parents, who are used to such things, had a tough time sorting through this mess, so where would it leave someone even less capable than me who doesn’t have such a wonderful mum and dad to fall back on?

I just got back from a trip to Boots where I needed a couple of things, one of which was deodorant. In the deodorant aisle, though, I saw something that made me do a double take – something so weird that I instantly resolved to note it here. Would you believe that Linx now produce a deodorant which smells like Marmite? How odd is that? I mean, I have nothing against Marmite – in fact I rather like it – but who in their right mind would want to smell like a sandwich? Needless to say, I left the shop feeling very bemused.