Month: November 2025

Sunday Morning Fury

I honestly think I ought to just stay away from politics – it really isn’t good for me. I was just watching Sunday with Laura Kuenssberg, and probably nearly gave myself a heart attack. She was interviewing Kemi Badenoch, and she was lying so much and being so arrogant that I simply lost it: I started yelling at the screen and everything. How she or any Tory can have the sheer gall to lecture anyone about economics, or to accuse anyone of lying or deception, put them far beyond redemption. Through their black female puppet*, this set of white male aristocrats speak as if they have done nothing wrong, or only they can be trusted to run the country when they are the runs who ruined it. On Wednesday she stood in Parliament hurling insults at the chancellor like a playground bully, making utterly baseless accusations and even calling for her resignation, but this morning Badenoch acted as if she had nothing to answer for.

The spectacle was too perverse for me to handle; in fact it made me so furious that it became rather frightening. I was shouting so loudly that Dom came to ask what the problem was. In such moments I seem to loose all control: all I feel is anger and rage. I can feel my heart thumping in my chest, and all I want to do is annihilate the object of my fury. Such feelings only last a few minutes – even seconds – but they are petrifying. I’ve known they are connected to my CP for some time now, but the concerning thing is, everyone else seems to be growing just as furious: such anger seems to be becoming widespread, especially when it comes to politics. It’s as if we have forgotten how to live together and see each other as mortal enemies. Yet whereas I usually calm myself down by tapping out a blog entry and/or going for a trundle in my powerchair, more widely, such anger seems to be being funnelled into something far darker and more dangerous.

*It should be blatantly obvious that the Tories are just using Badenoch to give them selves the veneer of multiculturalism and inclusivity, while still being a party whose very raison d’etre is essentially to conserve the sociopolitical dominance of wealthy white men. It’s a scam every bit as perverse and insulting as the one I noted Reform pulling a few weeks ago.

Letting The Flags Fly?

I’m sure we’ve all come across British and English flags tied on to lamp posts everywhere. I was just in Greenwich, and spotted several as I was crossing Blackheath. I usually just ignore them: of course, the rise of nationalism which they herald leaves a very nasty taste in my mouth, but there’s nothing I can do to get them taken down. However, I just came across this video on the subject which I think is well worth a watch. The guy in it explains how such nationalism is symptomatic of something far darker than simply patriotism: a form of territorialism, and a repugnant desire to dominate other cultures, expressed by disenfranchised working class men whose frustrations have been harnessed by the far right. It is a narrative which has been repeated over and over again throughout history, and it never ends well. Thus, while we might be content to let these flags fly for now for fear of causing trouble, sooner or later we will have to do something about them.

An Arrogant Racist Bully

In case you’re wondering why I haven’t said anything on here about the current controversy over Nigel Farage’s apparent schoolboy racism, I think the best thing I can do is direct everyone here. Owen Jones summarises the situation really well. As much as Farage might try to deny it in that snivelling, dissembling, Trump-esque way of his, it is blatantly obvious that, as a young man he was nothing but an arrogant racist bully. The more he tries to distance himself from such behaviour the more sickening it becomes, frankly. The evidence is now overwhelming, and it’s clear he hasn’t changed much. What I find absolutely chilling, however, is that this disgrace to human civilisation now has a realistic chance of becoming prime minister. I mean the following with utmost seriousness: we, as liberal, educated, open-minded people must do everything in our power to ensure that does not happen.

Sit Down You Clown

The prospect of watching Badenoch and her fellow Tory p’tahks trying to lecture Labour on how to run the country and what they’re doing wrong, when they are the ones who got us into this giant mess, is the primary reason I can’t watch PMQs any more.

If the Tories had any honour, respect or self-awareness, the Tories would be on their knees begging our forgiveness.

Visiting Thamesmead

Given that it has been in the (especially local) news quite a bit recently, today I thought I would just take a trundle to Thamesmead. You might have heard that the area is now going to get it’s own DLR station, and is up for a colossal amount of redevelopment. It’s not difficult for me to get to: a short bus ride down to Woolwich, then a twenty minute or so roll eastwards along the Thames. I have a strange way of getting rather excited about such things, and I’m looking forward to watching what is currently a quiet corner of London evolve.

The thing is, for now, I don’t have that much to report. Thamesmead is just a quiet suburb, with a lot of relatively new houses around it. It’s obviously yet another of those areas of east London which is being gentrified into oblivion. That does seem to raise a couple of questions though: might Thamesmead just become more-or-less the same as Stratford, with it’s colossal shopping mall and glittering new skyscrapers? And are places outside of London receiving the same sort of investment?

I’d Seriously Want To Watch This

Awesome idea of the day: Biopic of Ian Fleming, based on Nicolas Shakespeare’s biography, directed by either Casino Royale director Martin Campbell or Danny Boyle. Having been so thoroughly enjoying Shakespeare’s book, I think an equally detailed film adaptation would be incredible. Obviously only someone who has directed a Bond film, or the very guy who had Bond escort the queen to the Olympics, could be trusted to direct it. The only question is, who could play Fleming? Obviously guys like Pierce Brosnan or Daniel Craig come to mind; but given Fleming’s air of upper class privilege, in a weird way I also think someone like Stephen Fry could be in the running.

Definitely Not A Plonker!

A few weeks ago, I finally got around to starting Nicolas Shakespeare’s biography of Ian Fleming. It’s a long, tomelike text, so I decided it might be easier if I listened to an audiobook, while still having the hardback firmly on my bookshelf. So far, I must admit I’m finding it absolutely engrossing: it started rather slowly, but now I’ve reached the details of Fleming’s adulthood, particularly what he did during world war two, it seems he was a far, far more interesting figure than you might assume.

However, a couple of days ago I came across a detail which I simply must share here: Bond was real! 007 is actually based on a real naval lieutenant who saved Fleming’s brother Peter – himself quite a Bondian figure – when he sent an SOS during operations in Greece. The details are quite Jaw-dropping. The thing is, his name wasn’t James Bond, but Rodney!

Forgive me, but whenever I hear the name Rodney, this inevitably comes to mind.

And Yet: No!

My parents’ logic is, as usual, difficult to argue with. A few days ago they came to visit, and we were talking about how I get so worked up about all these online influencers now purporting to be disabled. They pointed out that, given that such people don’t harm or effect me in any way, there is no point in getting so agitated. To a certain extent I can see what they mean – live and let live, and all that. After all, going on and on about such people just makes me seem spiteful and bitter.

And yet…And yet: no!

I think it’s fair to say that I had a pretty awesome childhood. It was stable, warm and loving. From around 1988, when I was five, until 2001, I was taken every weekday fourteen miles across Cheshire to a special school on the far side of Winsford. It was a small, quiet special school with 120 or so pupils, all with their own profound disabilities. Pupils’ ages ranged from between two to eighteen, and the school catered for a vast array of young people: all had physical disabilities, often quite profound, but many also had learning difficulties.

I was in a class of eight or so other students with just physical disabilities. Although students came in and out of my class for various reasons over the years, for the most part I grew up with them. We went through infancy and adolescence together, and became almost like siblings. Everyone had their own problems, yet somehow our disabilities never seemed to be an issue. There was Rich with Spina Bifida, who I remember crawling across the floor of the nursery, before he started using a wheelchair, dragging his paralysed legs behind him. Lee who had Muscular Dystrophy, who I remember having to go every morning to the physio department to spend an hour or so with his legs in strange inflatable stockings. Liam, who I think had SB too, and was passionate about Manchester United.

One day I will have to tell this story in full before it is forgotten completely; but for now let it be sufficient for me to just say this: I feel immensely proud and privileged to have known all my classmates and to have grown up with them. There are many criticisms of special schools and the segregated education system, but the fact remains that it is only due to the fact I went to such a school that I came know such people. They shaped who I am to the same degree – if not even more – than going to university did. Those guys had a fortitude and resilience which I have found nowhere else, save perhaps for in Lyn. Every day our class was full of laughter and banter (usually, I must admit, at my expense). They taught me to hold my head high: that even though your body might fail you and the horizon might look ominous, that is no reason not to walk on through the darkness with hope and happiness.

That, far more than anything else, is what going to such a school taught me. All my classmates were profoundly disabled and most used powerchairs, but we rarely if ever spoke about our disabilities. It simply was not an issue. There was no moaning or complaining; they just got on with their life. Perhaps those guys were less interested in academia than other students their age, but given most of their prognoses I think that is understandable. They knew what was to come, and we even lost three classmates over the years; yet self pity was unheard of. We just saw ourselves as regular children or teenagers.

Only in such places can you learn such lessons. Only when you grow up going to a special school do you get to meet such unique, courageous young people. They taught me what disability means, while not being in any way defined by their conditions. There were a vast array of students at school, all of them with highly complex, debilitating disabilities, but they all just saw their selves as kids.

I left school over twenty years ago, and over the last two decades most of my old classmates have passed away one by one. Of the eight of us, just three are left. That is a heart-wrenching, bleak thought; but just as I think my classmates knew what was to come and didn’t let it impede them, I must not now let such darkness impede me. Every new morning brings the potential for something incredible. Yet, both all around me in this great metropolis and online, I now come across people doing precisely the opposite. People now seem to be using their disabilities as their identities in a way which would have seemed absurd to my classmates. They seem to boast about being disabled, rather than seeing it as just something to put up with, just as your mates put up with theirs.

More to the point, apparently only having started to identify as disabled later in life (and seemingly on ever more tenuous grounds), the vast majority of such people will have never set foot in a special school: They will never have gone to a hydrotherapy session, chatted to their mates while they were being tugged and stretched in physio, or watched as two of their classmates cover their ears and burst into tears at being told a fire alarm practice was about to happen, the implant in their ears causing them so much agony. Such places would seem utterly alien, even repugnant, to these online influencers, yet they speak like experts informing the internet of what life is like for disabled people. Tell me: how can I let this stand? How can I let this world be intruded upon and usurped by people who know nothing of it? People who have never met guys like Rich, Lee, Liam or Lyn, and would probably want nothing to do with them if they did. People who trample on my friends’ fortitude and resilience, and turn disability into a gimmick with which to attract internet hits. I simply cannot let this be.

I realise I keep returning to this issue, and it’s probably irritating people. I should just let other people live their lives just as I live mine. Yet I can’t forget the guys I met back at school, or ignore how the people I now come across seem to almost mock them in their attention-seeking, pity-seeking outbursts. If that makes me come across as bitter and spiteful, so be it – surely that is a natural reaction to an increasingly bitter and spiteful world.

Trump’s America: a Crumbing, Malodorous Bully

I know I probably have a bad habit of stating the obvious on here, but, going back to world politics for a moment, it aught to be patently clear to everyone that Donald Trump just wants Ukraine to capitulate to Russia just so he can then brag about having made peace. The peace ‘plan‘ he has proposed and is now demanding Ukraine signs is essentially their capitulation: it lets Russia keep vast swathes of territory they now illegally occupy, rewarding the criminal for his crimes. It is sickening, but Trump is demanding it is signed because he is an egotistical disgrace to human civilisation, and we all know Putin got him elected in the first place.

The world cannot go on like this. As a global community, surely we cannot continue to allow our biggest, most powerful country to be ruled over by a vainglorious wannabe dictator under the thumb of Russia’s autocrat. Under Trump, America has gone from benign, respected superpower to a crumbing, malodorous bully; one thinks it has a right to impose it’s will wherever it wants. Frankly, it’s time the rest of the world stood up to this bully and put America back in it’s place. If we don’t, all dreams of global harmony will be swept away and we’ll be nothing but a bunch of greedy, squabbling schoolchildren intimidated by an arrogant moronic oaf.

Pointless Trips To TfL

f all that happens when I go somewhere to physically register a formal complaint is that I just get fobbed off with a website to go to, I suppose I might as well just write about it here. That, however, is exactly what happened today. Waiting for a bus up in Eltham earlier today, something which I found truly appalling happened. I’d already been unable to get on the first bus which had come because there was an old guy in a powerchair in the wheelchair space. But then, twenty minutes or so later, when another bus came, there was a mum with a pram in the space.

Most of the time this isn’t a problem: the majority of the time mums are happy to move their buggies a bit so I can get on. However, more and more they have recently been absolutely refusing to move. In fact they have actually been quite aggressive, as if I was trying to deny them their rights simply for wanting to get on the bus.

That is exactly what happened earlier, only today the driver sided with the mum, refusing to let me on. The rules are, of course, that wheelchair users have priority over prams; but the driver still refused to let me board, telling the other passengers that he somehow knew me and that I always became aggressive.

Upon hearing that I naturally became furious. Of course I always try to stick up for my rights, but to hear that called aggression and to be dismissed so sickeningly was more than I could take. I put my legs out through the open doorway and tried to ask for the driver’s name and employment information, intending to complain to TFL.

To cut a long, furious story short, the whole altercation lasted about twenty minutes. The driver was highly abusive and patronising: I knew I had a right to board the bus, but he kept dismissing me and talking over me. Once it was over, the first thing I did was head to the TfL office in Stratford: I thought that going there and actually telling someone what had happened, rather then coming home and making a complaint over the internet, would have a better chance of getting something done about it. It seems, however, that I was wrong, and I was just told to go and register a complaint online. Of course I have every intention of doing so, but I can’t help doubting anything will actually happen about this sickeningly discriminatory driver.

Access All Podcast

The only sensible place I can direct everyone to today is here, to the BBC’s access All podcast. Presumably a descendent of their disability-themed Ouch page, in this podcast they discuss the alarming rise in rage-baiting, where people attempt to provoke people with disabilities by sticking their tongues out or shouting outright abuse. They often then film the reaction on their phones. As I have written here many times, it is happening to me more and more frequently. A few days ago, dad directed me to an article about it: the article asked people to write in with their personal experiences of the issue, so naturally I did so. I’m pleased to say you can listen to my response on the podcast.

I Will Not Be Drowned Out

I suppose, at the end of the day, I can see why they do it. I’m getting angrier and angrier about the apparent new wave of disability ‘influencer’, whose videos YouTube seems to be suggesting to me more and more. They are pretty much all female, talk clearly but use wheelchairs or powerchairs. The thing is, if they are indeed disabled, they have disabilities I’ve never come across before. Yet they seem to have now taken it upon themselves to advocate for the entire disabled community, as if it is suddenly up to them to tell the online world what life is like for disabled people?

Then again, wouldn’t you? Say you had a fairly tenuous link to a minority, but being a member of it not only gave you a right to things like welfare benefits and free public transport, but also the opportunity to become an online influencer in quite a niche but growing area. All you have to do was do your makeup and sit in your powerchair, making videos about wheelchair access to busses and accessible toilets. Never mind the fact that other members of that community have been trying to articulate precisely the same things for years, or that you only began identifying as a member of that group two or three years ago and clearly have very little actual experience of the issues you’re talking about; the fact that you are articulate, photogenic and have a decent cameraman means you can attract far more views than the people already in that area. Wouldn’t you try to emphasise your membership of that group and turn it into a living? After all, there are now countless influencers on YouTube, and they all need some kind of niche.

The thing is, they might not realise it, but in consciously choosing to identify as members of that community and presuming to speak on behalf of it, they drown out the voices which were already there. They presume to speak for people who would far rather speak for their selves. What such influencers are doing is patronising and insulting. That is why I am so upset about this phenomenon, and why I keep coming back to it on here. I am more than capable of telling the world about the barriers and hardships I face as a disabled man; I do not need some pretty bitch on YouTube talking over me!

Why Not A James Bond Statue?

When I saw this story at the end of the news bulletins last night, that a statue of Bridget Jones was going to be unveiled in Leicester Square, to be honest I flew into a momentary huff. Why a statue of Bridget Jones but not James Bond? Surely Bond is a much bigger film star? But then my brain got into gear: Firstly, how do I know there isn’t one of Bond already there? I haven’t really explored that area. More importantly though, the fact is that Jones is a quintessentially London-based character but Bond isn’t. 007 may have his base here, but he flies to all kinds of exotic places all over the world – that’s part of his appeal. If you were selecting film characters which celebrate London, you probably wouldn’t choose 007. Then there’s the obvious question of which bond would it be a statue of? If you were going to make a statue depicting Bond, which actor would you choose? Connery? Brosnan? Six actors have portrayed cinema’s greatest spy, so whoever they opt for it’s bound to get caught up in debates over favouritism. On the other hand, the Bridget Jones films are set in and are about life in London; and a statue celebrating them would only need to look like Rene Zellweger.

Thus, on reflection, it isn’t a simple question. While I think it would be cool to have some kind of monument celebrating the Bond films here in London, it’s such a well known, popular series, whatever they do would be controversial and debated endlessly.

What Have I got to feel so Miserable About?

Perhaps it was the weather, but I briefly began to feel really, really down earlier: I was cold, one of my powerchairs is still out of action, the news of Liam’s death is still fresh and painful. For a while, the world seemed truly bleak. But then, a simple question occurred to me: at the end of the day, what have I got to feel so miserable about? There was I, sat on a bus heading into one of the greatest cities on earth; it may have felt cold but the sky was blue. I had a day of exploration and culture ahead of me. My chair might be broken, but it will be back running fairly soon, and besides I have a second one to use. The world might be going nuts but feeling so down is utterly pointless. And in that moment the darkness lifted and everything seemed cool again.

Did I Feed The Culture Wars?

I am sure we’re all growing increasingly concerned about the so-called culture wars: society is becoming more and more divided, with those on the political left and right now almost completely at odds. Last night I watched this Channel Four documentary on the rise of the far right from last year. I found it an extremely difficult watch, and it made me very uncomfortable indeed: like it or not, the reactionary right is on the rise in the UK, with many desperate people being charmed – many would say fooled – by it’s simplistic, tribalist, ‘us vs. them’ narrative.

However, watching it I couldn’t help worrying that I could be accused of displaying similar traits. A couple of days ago I wrote that I was worried about increasing numbers of people jumping onto sociopolitical bandwagons, and claiming membership of minorities which they didn’t really belong to for political purposes. I realise that that could be seen as reactionary or intolerant, and not that dissimilar to the guff being spouted on the documentary I was watching. What I wrote might well feed into the culture wars now ripping us apart.

Let me just assure you, that wasn’t my intention at all. Of course, people have every right to be who they feel they are and live as they want; nor do I have a right to make assumptions or judgements about people I don’t know. It’s just that I can’t escape this growing feeling that disability is becoming increasingly politicised, and that ‘being disabled’ has somehow now become politically trendy. While I don’t have any solid, objective data, I get the increasing impression that more and more people are now identifying as disabled when they previously may not have, just as more and more people are now playing around with gender norms. I don’t want to gatekeep, but as someone born with a physical disability and who grew up among severely disabled people, I can’t help finding that extremely galling.

A Devastating Update

Given the devastating news of yesterday, I thought I better update this:

All my mates deserved lives as long and happy as anyone else’s, but now they are nearly all gone! Can there be anything more fucked up?!

Liam

I got to Facebook this morning to read some devastating news. Another of my classmates from school, Liam Hodson, died last night. Truth be told, I had stopped talking to Liam a couple of years ago over some dodgy, misguided comments he had made, but was ready to patch things up. I had known him since infancy: he was kind and gentle, and loved football. My thoughts are with his mum, Lynnie. I’m certain he will be greatly missed.

Cheap Powerchairs, Silly Badges and Metaphorical Shoe Polish

The metaphorical shoe polish merchants must be doing a fucking roaring trade! I know I shouldn’t be so cynical, and I know I shouldn’t make assumptions about people, but the number of people now zooming around in powerchairs who didn’t previously use one has now really, really started to piss me off. Only a few years ago, I might have encountered, say, one fellow powerchair user a week on my trundles around the metropolis; yet I now come across several each day. It would be fine if the people using them had an obvious physical disability, but the wierd, antagonising thing is that they appear perfectly able.

This morning, for instance, I rolled up to a bus stop in Kidbrooke. It wasn’t the bus stop I usually use, but I’d decided to take a different route today. Coming up to the stop I noticed that there was already a guy in a powerchair there. The thing is, it was one of those cheap, new, flimsy kinds of chairs which I would probably break within ten minutes. The kind of chair which you can now buy in one of the fast multiplying high street mobility shops, but which anyone who has grown up using a powerchair for their day to day lives simply wouldn’t use. From the way he used his hands and arms he was obviously perfectly dexterous and didn’t have anything like muscular dystrophy, and the way he spoke to me to ask which bus I needed was perfectly clear. The fact he had badges with the LGBTQ flag, as well as one saying “I am autistic” on his bag strap, together with a streak of dyed pink florescent hair, made me suspect that he was one of the growing number of people who seem to claim membership of any minority they come across.

Again, I know it’s wrong to make assumptions about people, and he might well have had some hidden physical disability; but if I’m right about this guy, I hope it’s understandable why I find such sociocultural bandwagon jumping so provocative. More and more people seem to be identifying as disabled simply because it is politically fashionable. Yet being disabled is not cool. It is often hard and cruel: it is being sent to a special school and receiving only the most basic of educations; it is watching your disabled friends die one by one; it is getting mocked by kids in the street. The people I’m talking about will know nothing about such experiences, yet have consciously chosen to start identifying as disabled because just being straight, white and able-bodied is too privileged these days. Frankly, the notion that some people are claiming to be disabled when they previously would not have is as offensive as when white actors used to daub their faces with shoe polish in order to play black characters.

These days though, everyone seems to need to belong to one minority or another, so when people see guys like Lost Voice Guy or this bitch on YouTube (another prime example of this abject trend), they suddenly decide they have a disability too. If you’re not black, gay or transgender, being a cripple has become fashionable. I know I have gone over this before on here several times, and I’ve tried to look at it positively, but I can’t help finding this truly galling: it seems to make a mockery of disability and what those of us with actual disabilities go through. It reduces a huge part of who I am down to a mere cultural fad. It renders all my experiences as a disabled person, from my chair breaking down miles from home to being treated like an infant whenever I go into a new shop, into nothing more than a badge on a handbag strap.

People seem to be just hopping into cheap shitty chairs bought in high street shops and claiming to be disabled, if not because it has become culturally fashionable, then at least for more and more tenuous reasons. In doing so, those for whom being disabled is now apparently just a trendy lifestyle trample on and mock a large part of who I am. Would you not be appalled if such a big part of your identity was turned into something so frivolous as a sociopolitical fashion?

Owen Jones on BBC Meltdown

Not that I don’t think it’s important that everyone reads about what happened to me yesterday, but I also think it is vital that I flag up this Owen Jones video. In it, Jones summarises the current situation with the Beeb, Trump and so on, as well as the underlying far-right powers at play. It is a very interesting analysis, although anyone in their right mind will also find it deeply disturbing.

Pavements, Powerchairs, and Jaw-Dropping Kindness

To be honest yesterday afternoon for me was long and frustrating, mostly sat stuck going nowhere on a pavement in my powerchair in Kensal Green. I had headed that way to try to explore the area, and hopefully find a new way to the old family house in Harlesden. It looked straightforward enough on the map: take the Elisabeth Line to Paddington, follow the canal west for a bit, then turn right. I didn’t think it was that far, and I’ve been wanting to start to explore that part of London for some time.

It had been going rather well and I had nearly got there, when my chair suddenly came to a juddering stop. It has done it before: the power lights start flashing, and it refuses to move. Of course I immediately started to panic: without wifi, I couldn’t contact anyone, so I was stuck. Fortunately – and I can’t believe my luck with this – within a minute or so a young woman came the other way along the pavement. She asked if I needed help, so I explained the situation to her.

Remarkably, she then spent the rest of the afternoon with me, making countless phone calls, including one to my parents, and eventually arranging for a wheelchair accessible taxi to pick me up and take me home. The young lady, who introduced herself to me as Agatha and had a violin case as a backpack, didn’t know me: she didn’t have to do what she did, but acted out of pure, jaw-dropping kindness.

To cut a long, frustrating afternoon short, I got home at about six last night, Artur waiting for me, slightly worried. Thanks to things like the Elisabeth Line, ferrying us at daunting speeds under London, it is easy to forget just how vast the metropolis is; only for it to come juddering back when you spend two hours in a taxi, crawling at rush hour across the city’s surface. It had been a long day, and I got home knackered. Yet, ultimately, I suppose in a way yesterday was a good day: I explored a new area, and had a new experience. Best of all, I made a new friend. It is only thanks to people like Agatha that I can live here, roaming London in my powerchair. Without her, I would have been truly stuck, going nowhere on that pavement the other side of London. I’ll always be grateful for the staggering generosity of people like her. Of course, we established contact on Facebook, so I now really hope we could meet again sometime, perhaps for a coffee, so I can thank her properly.

Standing Up For The BBC

The subject of my blog entry today is probably pretty obvious. I am a staunch supporter of the BBC, and naturally want to defend it when it comes under attack. Like the NHS, it is a world class organisation free at the point of use, which everyone has access to without fear of commercial influence or advertisement. It is normally unafraid to hold those in power to account, and I think we all need to stand up for it. The thing is, when you actually watch the Panorama edit of the footage which caused the current furore, there is no denying that it is misleading: it makes Trump seem to say – or at least imply – something which he did not.

On the other hand, I can’t help suspecting that there are more forces at play here. We all know that the political right do not like the Beeb. Not only does it run counter to the capitalist, commercial principles they so passionately believe in, it is also often unafraid to reveal truths they don’t like. Faced with an organisation unafraid to hold power to account, those in power often move to silence it. With essentially far right forces gaining more and more prominence, not only here in the UK but also in America and all over the world, is it any wonder that the most respected, objective news organisation in the world is coming under attack? Note too how Badenoch and the Tories have joined in the brazen chorus attacking the Beeb – those self-righteous arseholes have long wanted it out of their entitled way. Those on the right are obviously now seising on a mistake the BBC made a couple of years ago and using it to discredit the entire organisation. You only have to look at how this entire shitshow has been spurred on by the rancid spewings of the Torygraph to realise that.

This is all the more reason to stand up and defend it. We all know that the BBC isn’t perfect, but it is one of the best institutions we have. With it’s entire remit at steak, our mediascape risks becoming a commercialised, perverse, right-wing mess. If we want our journalism to remain first class and free from the influence of those who would use it to dictate their fucked up, reactionary, bigotry-soaked worldview to us, we have no choice but to now run to the BBC’s side.

Hospitals, Gratitude and Blog Entries

About three weeks ago I began to feel very, very unwell. I don’t know what was wrong with me: it certainly wasn’t a normal sneezing and coughing cold. Physically I was pretty much fine, but I felt dizzy, disoriented and not myself at all.  It lasted a couple of days and I started to get slightly concerned, so I decided to head to my local hospital to check whether anything was actually the matter with me.

It turned out that there was nothing wrong with me, and I was perfectly fine: everything checked out and I was back to normal a couple of days later. I think I ought to record, however, that my treatment at the hospital was absolutely astounding. For some reason, I was put at the front of the queue and made a priority. I was thoroughly checked over, my blood pressure taken and everything. That was quite a relief in itself, and of course it is only because we have the NHS that I could receive such outstanding treatment.

I am now, I’m glad to say, feeling perfectly normal. For the last couple of days though, the thought has been nagging at me that I should go back to the hospital and say thank you. It feels like the right thing to do, given that I received such outstanding treatment. The thing is, I don’t think I can just roll into the hospital and ask to see someone: hospitals are extremely busy places after all, with many people in need of critical help. I wouldn’t want to distract anyone from their jobs.

Thus the best thing I could do, I decided, is to write this blog entry. It was only a minor episode, and I had previously thought I would just keep it to myself. Yet if through recording what happened here I can express my deep seated gratitude for my treatment, then I really hope that the staff at the Queen Elizabeth Hospital in Woolwich know how thankful I am for their help. Above all, I find it profoundly reassuring to know that I can roll into a hospital like that and receive such help when I need it. We are all very lucky indeed to have such support.

Who I Think Should Direct LA’s Opening Ceremony

Heading to the shop this afternoon, I was thinking about the LA Olympics once again, and was struck by an idea. Frankly, if it ever came about, it might well be the greatest idea ever. I’m still bothered by the prospect of Trump getting his grubby little hands on the opening ceremony, and turning it into a hideous self-aggrandising wankfest. But then a cool idea hit me: who would be the best person to direct the ceremony? Having just watched a few South Park clips on Youtube, it occurred to me that surely it would be utterly awesome if Matt Stone and Trey Parker were asked to direct it. Just think what they could do: how deliciously irreverent it would be; how epic, how puerile! The guys who gave us this, directing an entire olympic opening ceremony, right in front of the arrogant p’tahk!

Of course, I know it simply isn’t going to happen – they’re Canadian, for one. But at a time when Trump and American politics is becoming more and more frightening, this idea was simply too delicious to keep to myself!

Do I Need a Body-Worn Camera?

After last night, I am now seriously thinking about getting some kind of body-worn video camera. As I wrote yesterday, it had been a great day: after the filming had stopped, I had decided to trundle around Westminster for a bit, before taking the Jubilee line to Bond street, then the Elisabeth to Woolwich. From there I hopped on a bus, composing my blog entry on the way. I was heading to Kidbrooke, intending to pick up some supplies there before coming home. To be honest I was feeling rather happy: I was proud to have shown such solidarity with my fellow disabled people, and was looking forward to seeing the completed film.

However, my mood was suddenly shattered. I was heading through a nearby park when a group of teenagers started making noises at me, trying to wind me up and annoy me. I don’t know why they do it, and I know I shouldn’t respond, but the way they laugh and jeer and mock me, totally out of the blue, feels utterly insulting. I am a proud, independent man – why should I be the butt of some little shit’s game? Then, when I try to tell them to shut up, they do it even more, making me feel powerless and frustrated.The teenagers I encountered yesterday seemed even more vindictive than usual though, following me, taking more and more pleasure in making insulting, offensive remarks. Things became worse and worse, until in the end I had no choice but to tell myself to swallow my pride and continue on my way to the shop. Yet the deep-seated feeling remained: Any other 42 year old man would tear their proverbial heads off, so why shouldn’t I?

Such incidents have to stop. If I had some kind of body-worn camera, perhaps I could record them and show the footage to someone. Lyn once gave me a Gopro, but sadly it remained unused as I had no kind of mounting for it, or any way to turn it on and off. Yet the issue I’m having with these teens is getting worse and worse: there must be something I can do about it, as I refuse to let these cocky, arrogant little scumbags continue to mock and insult me.

GAD Filming In Parliament Square

I just got home from a long but nonetheless great day. A couple of days ago I got an email from my comrades at the Greenwich Association of Disabled People, inviting me to go and participate in a film they were making about the Assisted Dying bill in Parliament Square. To be honest I didn’t quite know what they were getting at, but keen filmmaker and activist that I am, I set out this morning sensing the potential for awesomeness.

I don’t think I was wrong. I got to Parliament Square slightly early, and to be honest had a bit of trouble finding the group of people I needed to. When I did filming had already started, but it quickly turned into quite an awesome afternoon. Every day it becomes clearer to me how incredible it is to live independently in this great city; but that can only continue if I continue to get the right support to do so. That can only happen if disabled people put pressure on the government. That is what today’s filming was about, and I was thrilled to be able to contribute.

Expect updates on the finished film before long!

Trundle-Blogging

I just want to define a new term today. I’ve used it in my internal monologue for a while, but have never recorded it, although I may now refer to it in the future. Trundle-blogging is where I write blog entries a bit at a time when I’m out and about. I type them into my Ipad, often when I’m sat on a bus, in a shopping mall or a park, then upload the entry when I next find a Wifi connection. Blog entries thus gradually form, a sentence or two at a time, over the course of an afternoon. It’s a nice way of writing which I’ve been using for some time now, although any entries I need to add to the entry do have to wait until I get home.

Walking Frames Are Not Wheelchairs

This has happened two or three times now: I have waited absolutely ages for a bus, but when it eventually arrives, the wheelchair space is occupied,  not by another wheelchair or even a pram, but by a person sitting on a walking frame. I’m sure we all know the type of frame I mean: the kind increasingly being used by podgy people, pushed forward but which you can sit on. Such devices are clearly not wheelchairs, but at least twice now have prevented me getting onto a bus, the driver having judged that the person with the walker takes priority.

 Frankly, I’m becoming increasingly annoyed about this. Not only has it meant that I have been unable to get where I needed, but I frankly also suspect that it is symptomatic of something more concerning. I might be overreacting once again, but in letting such people take up the bus wheelchair space, they are effectively being told that they are just as disabled as actual wheelchair users. Or rather, it allows them to be seen as disabled by those around them. In other words, it plays into the cultural intrusion trend that I am so concerned about. It would be no problem for them to get up and sit on an ordinary bus seat, but allowing them to stay in the wheelchair space and take priority over an actual wheelchair user plays directly into their probably unconscious desire to be perceived as disabled.

I am convinced that this is a real and growing issue, and one I feel increasingly insulted by. The fact that it has started to mean that I have been unable to get onto buses perhaps means I should try to do something about it. If anything irritates me, it is people claiming to be something that they demonstrably aren’t, especially if it’s for any form of sociocultural collateral. Usurping cultural identities seems to be a perverse, growing trend; and the way that these women on their walking frames seemed to grin at me when the bus driver allowed them to stay where they were, suggests to me that this is a clear manifestation of it.

A Sickening Sunday Morning Charade

I obviously felt compelled to make this after watching Yusuf being interviewed on Sunday With Laura Kuenssberg this morning. The way he so blatantly tried to twist and distort everything being discussed, including yesterday’s horrific railway attacks, onto subjects like immigration, tells us everything we need to know about this vile little p’tahk.

The Next Museum I Want To Visit

I have fairly vague memories of visiting Egypt with my family when I was about nine or ten. We saw the Pyramids, of course, and the sphynx, but that’s about all I remember. However, I just came across this tantalising incentive to go back there in the not too distant future. An awesome-looking new museum has now opened in Cairo. “The Grand Egyptian Museum (GEM), described as the world’s largest archaeological museum, is packed with some 100,000 artefacts covering some seven millennia of the country’s history from pre-dynastic times to the Greek and Roman eras.” Visiting the Louvre back in August was cool enough, but history nerd that I am, this new museum sounds too fascinating to miss.