2024

To be honest I’m struggling to decide what to say about 2024. It wasn’t a particularly special year. I didn’t really go anywhere or do much; I watched a few cool shows and films, but that’s about it. The Paris olympics I’d been looking forward to for so long were not really as spectacular as I was expecting or hoping they would be. All in all, the year was rather humdrum. More widely, however, 2024 will obviously be remembered for three things: the re-election of Donald Trump in America, the ongoing war in Ukraine and the deepening trouble in the Middle-East. Taken as a whole, frankly the world seems to be standing at a very dangerous, frightening juncture. I wish I could be a little more optimistic, but it seems to me that the most unsuitable person possible is about to be given control of the world’s most powerful country, precisely at a time when we need people who know what they’re doing in charge. If Trump’s first term is anything to go by, frankly I dread to imagine what the next few months could bring. With such a hot-headed charlatan in the White House, so eager to appease both Putin and Netanyahu, things could very easily go entirely the wrong way.

Why Does Elon Musk Want to Kill Wikipedia?

I think I need to direct everyone to this Steve Shives vlog, in which he explores the reasons why Elon Musk is apparently trying to shut down Wikipedia. According to Shives, Musk says Wikipedia is now too woke and needs shutting down. It’s an obvious attack on free speech: Musk doesn’t like what the online encyclopaedia says about him and wants to stamp it out. More to the point, because it has so many contributors and editors, Wikipedia is much more likely to be accurate about any given subject; the more people can contribute to it, the more perspectives it has and the closer it is to ‘the truth’. But because that kind of system does not have one single overarching author, it is manifestly opposed to the way right-wing p’tahks think things should be. If he can’t buy it, control it and have it saying the things he wants it to, musk wants to destroy it.

You know, I didn’t know much about Elon Musk until recently; I hadn’t heard of him a year or so ago. Yet the more I learn about him, the more I think he’s a jumped up little wankstain. How did the p’tahk get so rich? Did he really earn so much power and authority, or is he, like Trump, just where he is through inheritance, arrogance, and through climbing over far better people.

What A Troll Is Not

A troll is a large, primitive, humanoid creature of limited intellect. Turning to stone when exposed to sunlight, they were said to have been corrupted by Morgoth in the first age of Middle-Earth. They are manifestly not the nauseatingly bad, saccharine, CGI abominations which just infested my computer screen after the breakfast news, breaking into cheesy 90s pop songs every five seconds so that it made me want to vomit! Seriously, why is such crap being made? I was eating my breakfast, preparing for the day when a godawful kid’s film starts to play; it was so nauseating that I had to turn it off as soon as I could. Both the dialogue and animation were utterly cringe-inducing. While some of those kinds of films are perfectly fine and work on multiple levels (Shrek, Toy Story etc), this one was so shockingly abysmal that it was obviously unwatchable five minutes in. Seriously, it was enough to give real trolls a bad name.

Wrong Kind Of Mummy, Matt!

Sometimes things happen which part of me thinks are too embarrassing for me to record here, yet I feel compelled to do so because it is so amusing, or to teach myself a lesson. A good example of this would be what happened yesterday. It was Boxing Day of course, and my brother Luke, his wife Yan and my little nephew Elias came to visit me and our parents in Harlesden. We were all going to have Boxing Day lunch together.

To be honest I was feeling rather pleased with myself: I had gone to the same shop at the o2 where I got my “Make America Think Again” baseball cap and bought Luke and Yan caps with the word mummy and daddy in Chinese on them. Of course, neither I nor the lady helping me at the shop knew a word of Chinese, so I had asked her to type the words Mummy and Daddy into google translate. I thought I was being clever and multicultural.

Luke, Yan and adorable baby Elias arrived at around one yesterday. Naturally, the opening of presents was quite high on the agenda, and I was very eager to see what they would say about my gifts. I expected a mixture of shock and amusement. As soon as she caught sight of the cap I had got for her, however, Yan looked rather confused, as though something didn’t make sense. Luke’s “Daddy” hat was fine, but not Yan’s.

A few seconds passed, and then Yan made the connection. The cap said mummy, but it was the wrong kind of mummy. Total fool that I am, I had given her a cap with the Chinese word for the ancient Egyptian embalmed pharaohs written across it’s front!

When my sister in law told me this, I curled up into a ball in a strange combination of total hilarity and utter embarrassment. Only I can make such mistakes. Obviously everyone else found it just as funny, reassuring me that it was the thought which counts. Even so, I suppose it will teach me not to try to be so clever!

The Room Where Time Stops

I suppose I have a pretty strange relationship with the front room of my grandparents house in Harlesden. I vaguely remember that when I was five or six, I used to be reluctant to go in there, preferring to play in the back room or the passage next to it. The front room was slightly too smart for me and my brothers to play in.

Yet, sat in that very room with my parents as we opened our presents this morning, I couldn’t help feeling utterly astonished: on the walls around us were photographs of four generations of my family, spanning about seventy years of history. On one wall are three framed black and white  photos of my mum, aunt and uncle. Probably taken some time in the sixties, my mother looks about ten – a smiling, exuberant,  bubbly young girl.

Opposite that wall though, on a table by the front window, now stands a beautiful glass photograph of my niece and nephew which my parents opened just this morning. They  both bear the kind of cheeky, fun filled smiles that only children their age seem capable of; it’s a beautiful, beguiling picture which I found staggering when I first saw it earlier, astonished at how quickly my niece and nephew are growing.

That glass photo now sits on a table next to an electric photo frame sent by my other brother Luke, showing a montage of pictures of the newest member of our family. Elias is now around thirteen months old, and also growing rapidly. The photos reveal a young boy so full of life, for whom the world is still so boundless and captivating.

On the third wall of the room and on the mantlepiece above the old disused fireplace, are various other photos of other members of our family. There are two of my Greek Cypriot grandparents, my Yiayia and Bappou, looking just as loving and caring as I remember them to be when they lived here and we used to come to visit them. There is also one of them on their wedding day, taken before anyone here today was born. And there is also a photo of myself, my brothers and cousins – their grandchildren- as a group, probably taken when we were last all together.

Looking at the pictures on these three walls, they inevitably remind me of the unstoppable passage of time. My grandparents are no longer with us, and my brothers and cousins are in various places around the world, as far afield as Brazil. Yet here in this north London house is where that all started; where, over seven decades, three generations have been raised with warmth and love. Time, of course, can never stop,  just as my brothers, cousins, nieces and nephews should never stop heading out into the world;  but the pictures on the walls of the front room capture moments in time which bring the family together again.

London Public Transport Still Has a Way To Go

At the risk of repeating myself, I’m a big fan of London public transport: I love the ability to get on and off busses and tube trains with very little fuss, and go wherever I want across this vast metropolis. That does not, however, mean that I don’t think there isn’t huge room for improvement. This morning, for example, it took me well over two hours to get from my flat in Eltham to the old family house in Harlesden. It’s a distance of probably around fifteen miles, as the crow flies. It’s also a simple enough journey: a bus to North Greenwich, then the jubilee line to Wembley, then another bus here. Yet for some reason it takes more time for me to get access the city then it used to take dad to drive most of the way up to Cheshire.

To be fair, mum said I made good time this morning, and my journey could have taken far longer. That’s true enough, but even so I found it painstakingly slow. The problem is, I can only go via accessible tube stations, meaning I have to go all the way up to Wembley and then get a bus back to an area the tube train actually passed through. Being able to get off at Kilburn would probably cut about half an hour off my total journey time, but Kilburn isn’t an accessible station. Thus for all its wonderful new lines, and for all the improvements it has made over the last twenty to thirty years, London public transport still has quite a way to go.

Now, though, I’m off to enjoy mum’s cooking and play board games.

Still Dreaming of Alternative Paths

I had another weird, transvestic dream last night, of the kind I wrote about here. It was extremely powerful and vivid, involving me talking with my mum about starting to take hormones (she seemed quite open to the idea). The odd thing is, I haven’t done anything like that in ages. I haven’t dressed up in two or three years, and I don’t think I’ve even thought about it. That I should be having such dreams is therefore quite baffling.

Thinking about this while out on my trundle today though, I began to feel a little melancholic: Lyn obviously once had similar desires and urges to these, but whereas she was brave enough to act on them and explore them, for various reasons I have chosen to repress and ignore them. Lyn became Lyn, the fascinating, strong, wonderful woman i now owe so much to, and whose loss still fills me with sadness.

While I am, of course, perfectly happy living the life I now do, I must admit that part of me is inordinately curious about what would have happened had I gone down that alternative path. What if, say, after I graduated from university, instead of doing my MA I had chosen to transition and become a woman? What would life be like now? Where might I be living and what I might be doing? Would I be happy or could it have been a mistake?

If Lyn did it, could I have? I suppose I’ll never know, although it occurs to me that these questions and ideas could make a fascinating screenplay.

Next On My To Watch List

I usually tend to avoid animation and cartoons these days. I’m supposed to be an adult, grown-up film-maker and writer – we’re not supposed to watch that sort of stuff. However, I just came across this review by Mark Kermode of the new Wallace And Grommit film, Vengeance Most Fowl, and now think it’s pretty high on my ‘to watch’ list. I have a pretty strange relationship with Wallace And Grommit: I remember watching The Wrong Trousers over and over again with my brother Luke my grandma and great-grandma. I must have been about nine or ten and too young to get most of the references, but my brother put it on ad nausiam.

Since then I haven’t given the franchise much thought, but after just watching Kermode’s review I’m suddenly won over. He says it’s highly cinematic and chock full of references. Frankly it sounded intriguing, and now I can’t wait to watch it. Perhaps I’ll watch it with John and/or Dominik: introducing either of my two Polish friends to Nick Park’s animation, so quintessentially British, would be utterly fascinating.

007 Uses The Jubilee Line

Time for a complete change of tone (and subject). I really have to direct everyone to this video today, simply because it merges two of my big obsessions, James Bond and London Public Transport. It’s a cool little fan piece about how and where they filmed the famous chase scene on the tube in Skyfall (2012). What made me smile is the fact that it was all apparently filmed in a disused station on the Jubilee Line. The Jubilee is still the line I use the most, pretty much (I used it today to get to Stratford, in fact), so the news that it was used in one of my favourite Bond films is pretty awesome.

The Spectrum To Meaninglessness

I know what autism looks like, probably better than most people. I grew up going to a special school where there were quite a few kids with severe autism and Profound and Multiple Learning Difficulties. Then, a few years ago, I spent some time volunteering at Charlton Park Academy, working with kids with various neurological conditions, including autism. I know what it looks like: it is a profoundly debilitating condition where people barely comprehend the world around them, how to communicate or how to look after their selves. It is nothing to be joked about or laughed at.

These days, however, the term is being used more and more flippantly. Claiming to be autistic seems to be some kind of craze or fashion. In the last couple of weeks, for example, we have heard both Boris Johnson and Elon Musk claim to be on the autistic spectrum, as if that somehow explains or excuses their behaviour. I obviously have severe problems with this. Medical conditions are medical conditions: they aren’t something you can just claim to have, when it becomes politically or socially fashionable. Nobody could suddenly claim to have Cerebral Palsy or Muscular Dystrophy, out of the blue.

Yet with Autism, the definitions seem to have become so vague that just about anyone can now claim to be on the autistic spectrum; any kind of antisocial or selfish behaviour can be excused by adopting the label. Parents seem to now do it in order to make excuses for their unruly children; individuals now do it in order to feel different or special. Behaviours which were quite recently perceived as perfectly normal, if slightly antisocial, now fall under the autism umbrella, frankly making a nonsense of the entire condition. Whereas CP and MD have clear, fixed definitions and causes, the definition of autism seems to be deliberately being made wider and wider.

The problem is, as I’m sure many others are pointing out, once you start labelling and pathologising behaviours or groups of behaviours in this way, they become ingrained or reinforced. Once someone starts thinking they are autistic or ‘special’, consciously or unconsciously they start to make such behaviours even more overt. Behaving in such a way has earned them attention, a niche, label, or some other form of gratification, so it becomes more obvious. The behaviour thus becomes more pronounced, so it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. It would be far better, in my opinion, to let these behaviours remain undiagnosed and uncategorised; to continue to see them as perfectly normal, if slightly flamboyant or eccentric, ways to behave. As soon as a label is attached to a set of behaviours which had previously been seen as normal, they becomes something else: something which people now seem to be wanting to attach themselves to, for social and political reasons. Frankly, having undergone a lifetime of social ostracisation and being treated as abnormal or different, I can’t see how it wouldn’t be preferable for people to want to continue to perceive themselves – and be perceived by others – as normal.

Autism is a very serious, profoundly debilitating medical condition. I am no expert in it, but I know enough to say that it is now being made a mockery of: people seem to be announcing they are autistic with very little understanding of what that really means. It’s part of the issue I started to outline here: When people choose to ascribe labels to themselves without understanding what that label means, that label gradually becomes meaningless; just as the wider the definition of a neurological condition becomes, the less intellectual or academic precision it has. My mind goes back to the profoundly autistic kids I knew at school: they couldn’t stick up for theirselves, so perhaps I should.

Not All Youngsters Are Nasty

You know, it is of course wrong of me to feel so negatively about young people; I shouldn’t just assume that they are all going to try to wind me up or take the piss. Today, for example, something really nice happened. I was out and about as usual on my daily trundle. I hadn’t gong far when I encountered a group of young people on their break from a nearby school. As usual I automatically felt hesitant and assumed that I would have trouble with them.

I told myself to try to ignore them. As I passed the boys though, one commented on my cap. These days I roam London wearing a red baseball cap with the words “Make America Think Again” on the front. Obviously having glanced it, one boy, probably aged about seventeen or eighteen, asked if I liked trump. I stopped and replied that I think Donald Trump is a disgrace to human civilisation.

What followed then was a decent, well informed conversation about American politics. To my surprise and relief, the young man had no intention of being hostile, taking the time to let me type into my iPad. It was only a brief conversation, at the end of which I told him about my blog, and we were soon both on our way; but it just goes to show that I shouldn’t just assume that everyone is going to bully me.

More About Po-Ta-Toes

I was just getting dressed while watching the bbc breakfast program, and they had an item about Christmas lunch. People kept saying the word ‘Potatoes’, and I noticed that I automatically thought the word ‘Po-ta-toes’ in response. That is, whenever anyone mentions the vegetable these days, there now seems to be an automatic connection in my brain to the scene in The Lord of the Rings when Sam and Gollum argue about the best way to eat fish. That makes me wonder why. Of course, I’ve loved that passage in Tolkien’s novel since Dad read it to me when I was a child: I remember laughing my head off when I heard Dad speak in Gollum’s voice (which, obviously, wasn’t the same as Andy Sirkis’s, although there are similarities). When I saw Peter Jackson’s rendering of it, translated pretty much word for word onto the big screen, I was thrilled. In fact, I would almost say it constituted a cinephiliac moment for me.

These days, of course, you can find references to that scene almost anywhere: it crops up quite regularly online on various fan pages, and you can even see it in supermarkets. It’s strange to think that something which was once so personal to me – a passage of text which I still vividly remember hearing in my father’s warm, loving voice – is now so widespread. It is now just another part of popular culture, and has become a meme. Just hearing anyone say the word ‘Potatoes’ on the TV is enough to make me think of it apparently, although whether that is due to seeing it crop up so regularly on the web, or in fact stems from my adoration of that scene as a child, is anybody’s guess. Nonetheless I find it interesting how this simple passage in Tolkien’s book has transpired and become something much larger. Cinema has the capacity to take such short pieces of text and magnify them, so that they almost gain a life of their own.

Strictly Come Yawning

It has to be said that, there are days when, as a disabled guy, a Trekkie, a Bond fan or whatever, I feel I ought to comment on something even though I don’t particularly have much to say about it. No doubt this morning we have all been made aware that Strictly Come Dancing was won last night by Chris McCausland, a blind comedian. Obviously, from a disability representation perspective, this is a bit of a coup, or at least enough to raise an eyebrow or two. Yet to be honest I can’t say that I’m that fussed. I’m not into Strictly: it’s the Beeb’s big, Saturday night flagship programme, aired at a time when I can usually find something far more interesting to watch. I don’t find it particularly engaging. I watched a bit of it last night I must admit, but none of the performances struck me as especially spectacular or engaging.

Thus the fact that a blind man has won Strictly this year doesn’t excite me at all. If anything, I suspect that a large proportion of his public votes would have stemmed from the kind of patronising, “Didn’t the cripple do well” reaction many viewers will have had, making this news slightly nauseating. Above all, however, you can probably mark it down as a massive PR win for the BBC, but apart from that it must be said I don’t give two hoots. Good, solid disability representation in mainstream media is still dismally low.

Street Preaching Complaint

I just sent the following to greenwich borough council:

Dear sir 

I am a Greenwich resident living in Eltham. As a wheelchair user I now use the Elizabeth Line quite frequently, and as such pass through Woolwich regularly. On my way through General Gordon Square this afternoon, I was extremely disturbed by a group of religious evangelical preachers: they were broadcasting their beliefs across the square so loudly that it was impossible to ignore. As an atheist I find such behaviour extremely offensive. In a city as multicultural and diverse as London, surely citizens have a right to cross a public square without religious dogma being hurled at them, so loudly that they cannot ignore it.

The religious group in question was apparently called Streams Of Joy. Would you please take my deeply held objections into account when you consider applications for such events. I find such spectacles extremely aggressive intrusive and arrogant.

Yours

Mattt Goodsell

What Could Even Come Close?

Oh how I hate these winter months: it’s so gloomy, dull and cold outside. It gets so dark so early, I can hardly go anywhere before it’s time to come home! I was just thinking, though, that it’s about tome for something massive – some huge media announcement which nobody saw coming, but which cheers everyone up. Think about the announcement of James Bond’s appearance at the London Olympics, the 2014 reunion of Monty Python, or the return of the Star Trek The Next Generation crew. I personally loved all three, but the question now is, what could even come close? I can’t really think of anything, but would love to hear your suggestions. It just seems so long since we have had any spectacular news like that. Answers in comments, please.

This Problem Is A Cultural One

I’m pretty sure I’m being paranoid, but kids seem to have become a lot more cocky, arrogant and disrespectful. I have noted here before how, these days, just the sight of a group of school children is enough to put my defences up: I worry that they will say something or start taking the piss.

It seems to be happening more and more regularly. Today, for instance, it happened twice when I was out on my trundle. I was passing a local school at about half past three earlier, when a group of boys on their way home decided it would be funny to start shouting things at me. I know I shouldn’t react as it just encourages them, but I really resent having to put up with being the butt of some school kid’s joke. Would anyone else just let them get away with it?

What, then, can I do about it. I thought about emailing the school headteacher, but given that I wouldn’t be able to identify the offending kids I doubt it would achieve anything. Besides, the bigger problem is that kids are becoming more brash and cocky in general as all their mass media rolemodels grow ever more headstrong, cocksure and arrogant. They think they have a right to bully and belittle people like me, who they seem to think are inferior to them and who can’t answer back. It’s a cultural issue; one which, unless we collectively do something about it, is only going to get worse and worse.

The Duchess Of Malfi

I have another theatrical recommendation for everyone today- an absolutely fascinating one. John and I went to watch The Duchess Of Malfi last night. Once again it was his suggestion, and I had never heard of it. However, John told me where to go, and I met him at the Trafalgar Theatre on Whitehall at half past seven yesterday evening.

What I found myself watching was fascinating. It is essentially a seventeenth century play about a woman, The Duchess, who falls in love with Antonio, her steward, but her brothers, Ferdinand and the Cardinal, forbid her from marrying him. They hire Bosola to spy on her, and he eventually discovers that she is pregnant. The Duchess and Antonio then elope and have three children in secret. The thing is, I didn’t know anything about it before going into the theatre, so because the actors were all in modern costume, I was at a complete loss about when the action was set. The dialogue was a strange mixture of antiquated and contemporary, with even a few elements that iambic pentameter, so I was never totally certain what I was listening to. The performance was a fusion of such a vast array of elements that I found myself totally captivated: this was contemporary theatre at its finest, somehow seeming both Shakespearean and modern at the same time.

As I rode the Jubilee Line home last night, I once again felt overwhelmingly lucky to live in this awesome city, where I can go to a theatre of an evening and watch such beautiful, captivating things. I was left intrigued by the fusion of archaic and contemporary which had both baffled and fascinated me; and by the way in which the play seemed to transgress time, seeming both historic and modern at once. It had drawn me in, reminding me how fascinating such performances could be. Best of all, though, it left me ravenous for more.

Nobody can take America Seriously any More

If anyone is expecting me to comment on what is currently happening in Syria, then I’m sorry to disappoint you. It’s a hugely complicated situation, of course, and I know as much about it as any other lay person. I will say, though, that I had to raise a metaphorical eyebrow at the fact that Joe Biden has passed comment on what is currently going on there, as if what he says still has any resonance in the area. He is a lame duck president, of course, but perhaps more pertinently it implies he thinks that the US still has the authority and prestige it once enjoyed over world affairs. The recent election of Donald Trump has rendered America a joke; the entire world can now see that it has no idea what it’s doing politically. It may still have the resources, but America’s days as the world’s leading superpower are now at an end. Frankly the country is a laughing stock, so idiotic that it would elect a deranged fascistic charlatan as it’s president not just once but twice. Nobody can take America seriously any more. Thus for Biden to still think that anyone will take what he says seriously, as if he still leads the world’s most prestigious country, one possessed of the authority to control affairs in the Middle East, is frankly laughable.

Britain’s £48 Billion Benefits Scandal

If you’re interested in getting a bit of background to the phenomenon I call Cultural Intrusion – ie, the idea that increasing numbers of people are choosing to identify as disabled for economic or political reasons – then I would highly recommend watching this Channel Four Dispatches program. To be honest, I’m becoming more and more convinced that I’m not just imagining it, and that more and more people are choosing to identify as disabled when they previously might not have. This documentary just confirms it, detailing how the number of people on long term sickness benefits has gone through the roof in the last few years. The primary reason seems to be financial, as such benefits give people a guaranteed, regular source of income which they might not get through employment. Be that as it may, I can’t help wondering where that leaves guys like me, who have been disabled all our lives, survived the special education system, have to put up with being infantilised and treated as second class citizens etc: are we not having our social positions and life experiences usurped and commandeered by people who know nothing about what we have been through?

Streetview Now Works on the Tube

The epic news today is that I can now go up and down the escalators at tube stations…and I don’t even have to leave my flat. The not-so-good news is that it only works in certain stations – those that Google has bothered mapping. When I heard, a couple of days ago, that Google Streetview now works in several London underground stations, I found it rather exciting. Sad git that I am, I’m a big fan of both the tube and streetview, so I think it’s rather cool that I can now explore tube stations like Bond Street and Westminster without even having to go out.

Stranger Things Indeed

I honestly can’t decide whether today will go down as a treat, or whether I’ll remember it as a bit of a nightmare. For the first time in years I went to the theatre: it was John’s idea to go and watch a matinee performance of Stranger Things The First Shadow at the Phoenix theatre in Soho. To be honest I had never heard of it, but as ever I was eager to check out something new.

What I found myself watching this afternoon was unlike anything I had experienced before; for one it certainly wasn’t like my regular trip to the cinema. Of course I have watched plenty of plays, but this isn’t was darkness and more edgy. It’s essentially a horror story set in 1950s America, but it was performed in such a way that it made my heart pound in my chest repeatedly and scream out loud more than once. If I’m being honest, I must admit it made me feel rather uncomfortable.

On the other hand, from a technical perspective, it was masterful: the stagecraft reminded me how much I need to go to the theatre more often. It combined elements of film and live action seamlessly. Watching the actors weave their way across the stage was awe inspiring, like watching ballet dancers performing some magnificently intricate dance. I now intend to look up both the writer and director to see what else they have done.

I won’t go into any more detail because I won’t do it justice, but if you ever have chance to watch Stranger Things I would urge you to do so. It is edgy and suspenseful, and to be honest dragged a bit in places, but it is well worth an afternoon out.

Monty Python Is Being Misread

Late last night just before I went to bed I saw that, on one of the Monty Python fan pages on Facebook, someone had posted a link to the Military Fairy sketch, along with a comment like ‘How long before a snowflake takes offence at this?’ I didn’t react at the time, but of course that immediately struck me as staggeringly, breathtakingly ironic. The entire point of that hilarious sketch was to poke fun at the military; it was supposed to mock the martial status quo which had been present in Britain for the twenty years before it was broadcast. The irony is, whoever made the comment on the Facebook page obviously thought it was making fun of gay people, misinterpreting the sketch as somehow supporting their anti-woke, intolerant views when in fact it did precisely the opposite.

These days, more and more people seem to be claiming Monty Python and period comedies like it were right wing, anti-woke and politically incorrect. They say that they would never be allowed to air today, but that is a flagrant, deliberate misreading of what programs like Python were all about. As I wrote here, Python was left wing, not right wing; it was about poking fun at authority and the status quo, and everything that the right holds sacred. It irritates me that these reactionary morons now claim it as their own, using it as some kind of justification for intolerance. That totally warps what Monty Python was about, effectively hijacking to say exactly the opposite of what it was originally meant to. After All, the only people who would possibly offended by the Military Fairy sketch are the right wing nutcases to whom the army is above ridicule.

Did Simon Stevens Have A Point?

I have been going through my old entries again recently, just to double check that I put all the missing links back in place. This morning, I came across some of the old entries I wrote about Simon Stevens around ten years ago. You may remember, back then I had major disagreements with the guy: he was writing all sorts of stuff, in the Huffington Post and other places, which I saw as very problematic. Yet, looking back over it, I must admit that what he was saying isn’t too far from some of the positions I now hold. For example, here Stevens wrote “Nowadays, everyone seems to be happy to be labelled disabled as they list their many impairments, as having one impairment is never enough these days. When I fought to be allowed to do things others assumed I  could not do, disability has now been reversed.”

Broadly speaking, he seems to be writing about what I call Cultural Intrusion, where people now seem very eager to define themselves as disabled for sociopolitical reasons when they previously might not have. Of course, rereading his articles, there is a lot I still disagree with Simon Stevens on – he still seems annoyingly self-important, for one – but in retrospect I have to admit he may have been on to something. One way or another, having a disability is becoming more politically fashionable, so what people like Simon and myself were once encouraged to overcome in order to fit in with our able-bodied peers is now increasingly being flaunted.

Even so, this is all ultimately moot: I’m not sure when or why, but I have been told that Simon Stevens died recently. I wrote this entry because I felt that I needed to get it off my chest.

TfL Lifts Should Only Be For Wheelchair Users

After what happened today I’m seriously considering starting a campaign to make all the lifts on the London transport network strictly for wheelchair users only, or at least confined to people who strictly need them. It had started out as a pretty normal day: after seeing it flagged up on the breakfast news, I thought I would go up to Central London to check out the Qatari state visit. I took the Jubilee Line up there, getting off at green park. Predictably, however, I got there too late for all the festivities, so there was nothing left for me to do but head back.

Just to make things a little more interesting, I thought I would trundle to Westminster, take the Jubilee Line to Bond Street and from there get the Elizabeth Line to Woolwich. For some reason it impresses me that you can now transfer between the Jubilee and Elizabeth Lines at Bond Street without leaving the station.

It was there, though, that the problems started. As any Londoner probably knows, Bond Street is quite a complex station, with its labyrinth of tunnels, escalators and lifts. To be honest I find it rather fascinating how the engineers managed to merge the old and new parts of the station. This afternoon, however, when I attempted to use one of the older lifts, I found it was going very slowly indeed. Just as I was starting to think that I should have just gone straight home, it finally arrived, and I wheeled into it along with five or six perfectly able bodied people. Everything seemed to be fine, until we got to the required floor, and the lifts doors wouldn’t open. No matter how many times the button was pushed, the doors refused to open.

People gradually began to panic. After a few minutes one guy pressed the emergency button and spoke to the operator. She assured us that a maintenance guy was on his way, but nonetheless I was there stuck in a lift, getting more and more furious with the lazy p’tahks who surrounded me. If such lifts were only used by those of us who need them, they would probably all work perfectly well.

Obviously things were eventually resolved, and after about quarter of an hour the lift began working again. Truth be told things were never in much doubt; but the fact remains that the lifts on the TfL network are getting older and older, and the more they are used by people who are perfectly able to use stairs or escalators, the more likely they are to break down. Obviously there will need to be some exceptions, such as mums pushing prams, but if you ask me all lifts should be strictly reserved for those of us with no alternative. As with my grievance concerning prams occupying the wheelchair space on busses, it just seems so arrogant and self-centred. It is now clearly becoming so problematic that I feel I have to do something about it.

Imagining alternative futures of AAC

Today I think I’ll flag this video up of quite an important and interesting conversation between my friend Dr. Darryl Sellwood and Graham Pullin. It’s about the future of AAC and covers a range of issues. I don’t want to comment too much about it as I think it’s better to let the two highly informed men speak for themselves, although I must admit that what interested me the most about this conversation was that, rather than use a communication aid, Darryl’s contribution is revoiced by his PA Ferg. To be honest it struck me as a little bit awkward semiotically – I’d personally have used my VOCA – but I suppose it just goes to show that, these days, all methods of communication are just as valid if they get the message across.