To mark the twenty-fifth anniversary of the creation of the world-wide-web, I should probably say something profound. I could write about the net’s social and cultural impact, as well as it’s impact on art, language and media; I could write prosaically about how it changed the world. I should probably praise it for being the means through which I met Lyn; it is also, of course, through the web that I keep in touch with my friends and family. But w all know that isn’t what the internet is really for: to find that out, you have to go here!

Although it has very little to do with anything I usually blog abut, I just want to flag this quite amazing story up. It concerns a young man from Sierra Leonne who effectively rescued himself from poverty through his own creativeness. He was building things like radios from scrap and had set himself as a DJ when a guy from MIT discovered him and took him to the states. It’s a great little story that will probably interest a few people I know, lyn, dad and uncle aki included, but it’s also pretty inspiring generally.

You may be expecting me to post my review of the Paralympic opening ceremony on here sometime soon. I did intend to write one today. Of course, I didn’t manage to watch the ceremony on friday or over the weekend, so this morning I got up, checked my email and popped it on. I know this will sound pathetic coming from a guy interested in such things, and I know I should pay attention given this is a disability-related matter, but I got up to the entry of the teams and sopped watching. There was some impressive choreography, and an incredible piece of animation made from watercolour frames, all hand painted, but nothing particularly compelled me to keep watching. I might resume tomorrow, as part of me is itching to see if the Russians have created heir own Paraorchestra, but so far there isn’t much I can say abut the affair.

It has been a heck of a weekend. Lyn and I are currently on the train coming back from Rochester, the Kentish countryside zooming past. Yesterday we attended Radio Caroline’s fiftieth birthday party at the Corn Exchange. I have never seen lyn as excited as she was on the way down yesterday morning: Caroline is something more than a radio station to its listeners: forgive the cliche, but it’s something akin to a self-selecting family made up of all kinds of unusual, awesome people. We met some of them yesterday.

The event itself was essentially a series of talks and debates from the main players in Caroline’s history. It got quite technical at times, especially when it came to things like the ‘marine offences act’. But what became clear is Caroline’s importance in social history: one could argue that the democratization of the media we are currently seeing with things like blogs and YouTube began with pirate radio. In fact I managed to put that very point to one or two of the DJs, including Bob Lawrence, lyn’s favourite. Above all Caroline’s independence was emphasised, as well as its devotion to radio as an art.

After the debates we had a break for dinner, then there were two live music bands. The second of these was a Beatles tribute, and quite a poor one, so we didn’t stay too late. It had been a fantastic day, but a long one. We stayed the night in a local hotel, which although comfortable served poor breakfast, and headed home.

I just got back from our weekly trip to Asda with Marta. We nearly always do our big weekly shop on a friday, but unusually Lyn stayed home today, having work to do. She had been asked by our friend Gemma to write something of her early life, and took the opportunity to get it written before the hectic weekend ahead of us. She just asked me to proof-read it before she sent it to Gemma. As soon as I started reading, a shiver went down my spine: I won’t go into detail, but it was a hellish description of life in the old institutions. My bottom lip shot out, and I gave Lyn a hug.

Things have changed, thank smeg. The person they once forced to polish stones in silence, hour after hour, has become a truly remarkable woman. Lyn is one of the strongest, kindest, funniest people I’ll ever know. The silence as broken forever by Lyn’s music, glorious and resonant; proof of the folly of the old ways. May everyone hear it loud and clear! Now, if you’ll excuse me, Lyn just put Radio Caroline on – Time to rock!

We were talking earlier with some Polish friends of ours: they know a guy who, one day, had a cop knock at his door. The policeman looked at him quizzically: ”Are you stoned?” he asked, not realising that, in Polish, ”stoned” means ”from here”.

”No,” replied the guy, ‘I’m from Poland”. Oh, the complexities of life in modern London.

A glorious spring evening, here in the city’s south

The street lights are lighting, but the skies are clear.

An early evening walk, to get outta the house Thence a south London pub for a south London beer.

Who would have said my life would be this great?

Those nurses in the hospital my parents describe?

If only I could tell them about my present state

How glorious my life, how wonderful to be alive.

In an interesting development of my entry yesterday, I just came across this story in the huffington post. It reports how a Russia today anchor spoke out against what was going on, saying that she didn’t agree with what was happening in the crimea. At face value, of course, that is to be applauded: it would seem that contrary views are permitted on the Russian media after al. As the article itself asks, did we see anything similar from the American media during the Iraq war? And yet, given the amount of criticism RT has been getting for it’s pro-Putin bias, one must wonder whether this is just a bluff: Putin wants his press to seem free, so he stages this show of angst. If that is the case, though, Putin has allowed this woman to say things which contradict his own narrative, a very cunning, devious move. Would he go so far as to semi-admit the west’s version of events in order to give his media mouthpiece the veneer of credibility? I think so, as in the long run Putin knows that RT is one of his most powerful weapons. That implies, however, that despite what he says in his own statements, the west’s version of events it indeed valid, and he knows what he is saying is untrue. Would he be that deceitful? If that is the case, it is clear that we are dealing here with a master of subterfuge and puppetry.

I am currently glued to the tv, even more than usual. The situation in Crimea seems to be becoming more and more tense by the hour; the prospect that we could be waking up to news that a third world war has broken out does not seem all that fanciful. I just tweeted that we should all go shopping to stock up just in case, but perhaps I was being slightly melodramatic.

I usually watch bbc news, of course, but I just had a cool idea. I just flipped over to Russian news (RT, channel 512 on our system) wanting to see the other side of the story. While I know every news source will have a bias, including the beeb, there is a staggering amount of bull being spouted here. To hear them speak, they seem to want the world to believe that Russia is acting entirely justly, liberating the Russian-speaking people of crimea from an illegitimate neo-nazi Ukranian government. Indeed, to them, the west is being hypocritical, even agressive, in siding with Kiev, and John Kerry was entirely unfair ian his criticism.

I was angry at first, but it is rather fascinating. Their claims might be true, and the bbc, CNN et al might be the liars; given we have no objectiv source of information, we have no way of being sure. Yet russia has a need to present the situation as it sees it, and what is being said here is being said so forcefully and one sidedly that it must be propaganda. To see this happening before my eyes, to be able to see state propaganda functioning and to compre this with what is being said on the bbc and CNN, is intriguing. We must treat every report with caution, pering away the layers of bias, whatever the news channel, to get to the reality beneath.

In between keeping a close eye on events in the Crimea, where the situation seems to be getting more serious by the hour, I’ve been keeping my usual eye on facebook. I just came across a reference to a song, Window licker by Aphex twin; call me oversensitive, but as soon as I saw that title, I felt the first pangs of offence. It is, after all, no longer acceptable to name songs with terms of abuse for any other minority. I looked it up on youtube, of course, hoping I might find some witty provocative piece of disability art, but no such luck. It is just another piece of music: it has no lyrics, and the video just involves women dancing in bikinis. I don’t see how the title is at all appropriate. The immature jackasses in Aphex Twin just thought it was cool to use a playground term of abuse, so I’m now considering calling my next film Talentless little berks who make crap music.

A couple of days ago I was out and about. I was crossing Blackheath when I came across this sign, in the wall between the heath and Greenwich park. It intrigued me: the plaque commemorated the Cornish rebellion of 1497 and the battle of blackheath, events which I had never even heard of. I just looked it up (insofar as you can call consulting Wikipedia looking something up): apparently it was a rebellion against high taxes. The poorly armed and poorly disciplined Cornish got as far as Blackheath before being encircled and crushed by henry vii. I find that incredible: it’s just down the road from here so I’ll probably look into this more; I might even go do some archaeological excavations of my own.

Watching political programmes on tv definitely isn’t good for me. I was watching question time last night, disagreeing with what was being said so vehemently that I was shaking with rage. I know I should keep calm, and people are entitled to their opinions, but I can’t seem to help it. For instance, Alex salmond was being referred to as a socialist. Socialist my arse! There’s nothing socialist about wanting to divide a country, onlŷ caring about yourself. He’s as bad as a Tory, or even Farage. And speaking about tories, don’t get me started on that set of self-congratulatory, murderous pieces of shit.

See what I mean? I got so angry last night I swore to myself I would kill anyone i see reading the daily Mail. Lyn, meanwhile, looks on in bemusement and concern: she stays calm, and I don’t think she likes seeing me get so agitated. Thus I have to stop; if I can’t keep calm watching such programmes, I have to stop watching them. It’s not good for my heart.

As a film student, the internet movie database is – or used to be – my first point of reference. Whenever I come across a new film, the first thing I did was look it up on IMDB. It is one’ bread and butter, used daily. You can imagine my pride, then, when yesterday I discovered Lyn had a page on it. I was bowled over when I found it my fiancee, up there with the likes of Shore and Burnstien. She has one credit so far, for the soundtrack she did for Unstoppables, but that is enough to fill me with pride.

Talking bout film, though, one further note: Yesterday afternoon Dominik showed us The Intouchables, a 2011 french film by Olivier Nakache and Eric Toledano about a disabled rich man and his new, rather unconventional personal assistant. As I watched it I fell deeper and deeper in love with it. I could relate very well to it’s touching yet fun depiction of a PA/PA-user relationship; I’ve been in a few similar scrapes to those shown. It struck me that this was the type of story which needs to be told. I’d need to rewatch it, of course, before I write a proper review, but I would say it’s definitely worth hunting out if you can.

A very happy birthday to my amazing brother luke. As I wrote a year ago this very day, I still don’t see much of my brother. He’s always so busy, I half expect him to be on some super-secret government mission. Yes, he says he’s doing research, but research into what, precisely? Maybe it’s cyborgs, or artificial intelligence, or the army”s secret weapon, the cow catapult! Whatever luke is doing, I hope its fun, and wish him the best of days.

I have been vaguely aware of the so-called culture war for some time now. My background is, of course, in film, on top of which I’m highly political, so you might have thought I would be into that sort of thing. Yet before today I’ve never given it much consideration, dismissing it as something trivial. However, I was watching the news earlier, and it occurred to me that the row between Harriet harman and the daily mail is in fact a battleground in that very war: it is a fight over what constitutes reality and truth, between right-wing gut reactionism and left-wing balanced wisdom. It is a fight over whose worldview is the more valid. How the Mail can publish such bull is beyond me, as it is seeking to rewrite history and smear it’s political enemies.

Frankly, I think the mail should apologise and take itself out of print. On the left we are too nice and tolerant, ad hold back from questioning other peoples views, but it’s time to end the right’s moronic bullshit. If it weren’t for liberal restraint forcing us to tolerate such intolerance, the culture wars would be a pretty one sided affair and conservatism would be seen as the childish, selfish ideology it is. That’s why, as I wrote here, it’s time to confront idiots like Katie Hopkins; its time to engage with the right and demonstrate how brainless their ideas are.

Time to take the gloves off: immigration is a good thing, and anyone with more than half a brain relishes living in a multicultural society. Without it we’d dwindle, so it is the St. George flag waving numpties who are betraying britain through their isolationism and xenophobia.

The EU is a good thing: it bring the peoples on this wonderful continent together. A fragmented europe leads back to the status quo of the beginning of the last century. Because of the EU such savagery can be stopped. It is inherently wise to remain a part of it, monumentally stupid not to.

Objecting to taxation amounts to greed. There is no curve, no point after which income from tax falls if it is too high: that is a myth perpetuated by those who care only for theirselves and who hate contributing to society. Such assholes need to grow up. As I wrote here, only when we outgrow such greed can we flourish as a race.

I could go on. I could take any conservative viewpoint and demonstrate its folly, intolerance and lack of logic. They are unscientific, unthought out and often oppressive. Just look at religion for example: look at how conservatives in america use religion to oppress gay rights and abortion, all based on a bunch of bronze age myths which no longer hold water. That is to say, believing in something is fair enough, but when that belief is used to validate discrimination against people with traits they have not chosen and have no control over, then that belief system is open to scrutiny: to oppose gay marriage or religious grounds, and then to cry foul when someone like Richard Dawkins examines that religion as one would any other phenomena, is pure hypocrisy. In short, it is time for the left to speak out to end this foolishness. Time to argue. You might ask what about the liberal tennets of freedom of speech and religion, but when those freedoms are being used to oppress, to slander, and to spread blatant misinformation, I’m beginning to think a line must be drawn. The Right is hurting people; it’s time for the left to question their right to do so. The former is more harmful than the latter.

It seems Lyn and I have a busy few weeks ahead of us – Lyn especially. Last night was the first event of what seems to be becoming quite a busy spring: we went to Gus’ usual gig in the thai restaurant around the corner. As always it was an awesome night, with many cool songs from Gus himself – he plays a mixture of contemporary and older rock tunes. He then invited lyn up to play some of her songs: I always love watching Lyn perform live (well, I would, wouldn’t I?) It captivates me watching her trigger loops on her Ipad, which, although pre-programmed, combine to form something unique to that occasions. Then, after Lyn, something completely different but no less magical: a man performed ancient folk melodies in a deep, velvety voice, transporting us all to another time and place. I got lost in his songs, and could have listened for hours. After him, two or three more from gus, and then it was time to come home, singing as we went.

My nephew oliver comes to visit this afternoon. Can you believe he’s ten already? The last decade has flown by. Mark and Kat are over here visiting London – they say they need to escape Paris as it gears up for the Olympics – and are leaving Olly with me and Lyn for an afternoon. Mark says he has to work on something called a dilithium matrix without being distracted. What we’ll do with my nephew I’m not sure; Mark seemed a bit worried about how we’ll cope, so I told him if he gets too much I’ll just give him a beer and put him to bed, at which Kat gave me a dirty look. Seriously, though, we’ll probably just take him to the park, or to Woolwich, which, incidentally, looks great after it’s 2022 facelift. Who’d have thought a bomb could have done so much good – besides obliterating most of the Tory party, that is. I wonder who planted it. Either way, we can’t be there too long as mum and dad are coming to pick Olly up at five, after which Lyn needs to get on with her soundtrack for Mr. Spielberg. They are still loving being grandparents – you can hardly get mum out of the kitchen, she bakes so many cakes an buns. Oliver scoffs them up as soon as they are cool enough to eat. As for dad, watching him teach his grandson ho to play cricket two summers ago was a joy to behold. Mind you, Oliver’s enthusiasm for the game is now surely helped now we’re thrashing the Aussies at last. Well, Mark will be dropping him off soon so I better go. While he has visited us before, this will be the first time Oliver spends any amount of time with just Lyn and myself. We have a PA with us, so it should be fine; I just hope nothing goes too amiss.

Posted February 23 2024.. Comments 5

Popping down to Bexleyheath

I’m curious: what lies beneath Once this was part of kent but now part of a vast city the fields replaced with concrete rivers with roads

Once a town now just a suburb And yet a feeling remains it is still akin to the towns of my childhood: Northern market towns, with their slow pace defiantly unurban, still small It reminds me of somewhere else and you forget you’re in london.

It still feels Kentish, small, homely

As if this small corner of the metropolis

Clings to the past

While I’m not completely sure what it means or it’s consequences, I greet you today with this quite epic news that ATOS has decided to ”’end its hated testing regime for the ConDem government – because it says the system ‘isn’t working’. A nationwide campaign against the French firm’s benefit tests have forced the company to seek an early exit from a £500m government contract.” Knowing the suffering this despicable company is responsible for, part of me is jumping for joy – the protests worked! Yet the question remains, what will it be replaced with? Most people online seem cautious rather than joyful: yes, one monster is slain, but could the tory bastards replace i with something even worse?

I just stumbled across this, pretty much the most glorious thing ever. I, like a lot of people I’m told, have been getting into the curling in Sochi; it is a fascinating game, highly tactical but involving quite a bit of physics and maths too. Yesterday, though, Sir David Attenborough lent his dulcet tones to the commentary, and the result is very amusing indeed. I love t!

By the time I got home yesterday evening, I was fuming: the more I thought about what I had seen and heard at the ATOS protest, the angrier I got. I’d heard some horrific stories of poverty and despair; what they are doing has lead a growing number of people to take their own lives. To date, over 1500 people have died just months after this barbaric company assessed them as ‘fit to work’. I write the following in utter seriousness: what is going on amounts to a holocaust. All these deaths were preventable, but thanks to Tory cuts and lack of humanity, some very vulnerable people were driven over the edge. This is wrong, and must be stopped.

I note on tuesday evening the UN published a report on North Korea, unambiguously stating that what is happening there is akin to what happened in nazi Germany. On that, of course, we must act – such barbarities should never be allowed to happen again. But while there are no gas chambers or execution squads here yet, people are indeed being forced out of existence in other ways. The evidence is there! CaMoron might try to dress it up as something necessary or noble (‘Freeing people from welfare dependancy’, or some such bullshit) it amounts to the same thing: the persecution of the weak by the strong, the poor by the rich.

But we are not weak; we must fight back. We do not tolerate such despotism in Britain. The next step, it seems to me, is to convince the media of our cause: while there was very little on last night’s news about our protests, we must go to broadcasters like the BBC to implore them to stop towing the line. The beeb especially must stop respecting this unelected government as if it was legitimate, and side wholeheartedly with the people. If this happens, CaMoron will have nowhere to turn, nobody to spread his lies. We must therefore go to the bbc and ask them to side with the people who pay their wages; only then can we bring this unelected government down and end the suffering.

I am typing this on one of the cool new busses – the type with the third door at the back, currently only used in central London. I have wanted to use one of these for a while, and today’s anti ATOS protest gave me a chance. It just broke up: there isn’t that much go report; there was a good turn out of perhaps one or two hundred people, and some good speeches were made. I am more aware than ever, now, of the scale of the inhumanity being done to people with disabilities in this country. I will not list the horrors here, but what the current government doing, through their henchmen in ATOS, is a disgrace to any country which claims to be civilised. That’s why I must come all this way, to show this holocaust is not happening with my consent.

Do we really need idiots like Katie Hopkins -spreading flagrant lies in the national media and calling it journalism? Blogging is one thing – I can write any old shit on here and nobody will give a fuck – but people like Hopkins spread heir xenophobic bile in national newspapers and cll it journalism. Last night I watched her on ‘The Big Immigration Debate’ , and the woman was spouting all kinds of flagrant bullshit, ignoring the evidence and essentially claiming that immigration was a problem because, according to one poll, seventy percent of people found it a problem. Other panellists had already cited numerous ways immigrants contribute to our economy and society, but Hopkins ignored them, shouting them down again and again and going back to her seventy percent clim as if it was all that mattered. Well, obviously, if seventy percent of people do indeed see immigration as a problem, it is because they have been whipped up into a frenzy by xenophobic journalists like Hopkins printing blatant misinformation in national newspapers.

Thus it is journalists like Hopkins, polluting the national discourse, who are the problem. What they write is harmful; the misinformation they spread actively misleads people. The same goes for idiots like Nigel Lawson, pedalling all kinds of erroneous bull about climate change. Do we really need to read the unsubstantiated shit they spout, when it has the potential to do so much harm? I say no: by all means give them a nice quiet corner of the internet where they can churn out there moronic tosh all day, but being in print gives them a legitimacy they do not deserve.

In a way I agree with Salmond: this morning he outlined some of the harm george osbourne is doing to the economy. Certainly, under the Tories the gap between rich and poor is widening, and something must be done to get his unelected bunch of toffs out. However, what I resent even more is the way Salmond only cares about Scotland; he does not give a fuck about the rest of the uk. As long as he can have his own petty bit of land he rest of us can languish under the Tories. That, essentially, is s rhetoric. Moreover, I resent the demands he makes of the rest of us: demanding to keep the pound, demanding to be part of the EU and NATO, Demanding the assets he claims for scotland such as north sea oil, while refusing to pay Scotland’s share of national debt because he says it is Westminster’s. Given that all three main political parties are that a currency union would be burdensome to the rest of us, Salmond is effectively trying to dictate to non-scots, wanting what is best for his own people to the detriment of others. That, to me, is utterly selfish. Furthermore, it seems to me he is trying to keep all the benefits Scotland currently gets from being in the uk, the pound, britain’s international standing and so on, yet still claiming to be independent. He wants to cut himself off from the uk while absolving himself over responsibilities like building up Scotland’s own currency and international position. Call me mean-spirited if you like, but I think, should it vote yes this autumn, Scotland should be sent back to square one, and be made to build up it’s own position in the world deprived of any of the perks britain has. If not, why become independent in the first place? Salmond wants his cake and to eat it, but why should we allow him it?

I love Britain: I find this little island quite beautiful, and perhaps some of the most beautiful parts of it are in the north. I love scotland and it’s people, and I am proud to call them my countrymen. Yet as I wrote here, Salmond seeks to divide us, just as the p’tahk Farage seeks to divide us from Europe. Both fools seek to spit humanity into ever decreasing groups, reverting to ancient borders. While one can argue that localised governments are a good thing since they can respond best to local problems, mankind should nevertheless be finding ways of coming together, working together, not splitting apart and building up walls. Moreover, whereas I might have a say in a referendum over europe, I have no say in whether scotland splits from the uk, so in effect Scottish nationalists are imposing their views on me, breaking up my country in a way I cannot object to. That, to me, is manifestly undemocratic, and so should they vote yes in september the scottish people whom I now value as friends will become alien to me, their presence objectionable. They would have rejected our union, our friendship, having voted to impose their views on us without our say; why should we respect such a people, which values neither our opinion nor our comradeship, yet is wiling to take our currency and resources unilaterally?

It has been quite a weekend. Last night turned out to be quite cool: Luke’s birthday bash was at a pub in Sydenham, a fairly long bus ride away but straightforward enough to get to.. On the way, though, I had to drive around a large tree which had fallen in the road – quite a novelty. I got to the pub on time and, seeing no one else from my party there, got myself a beer and waited. A few minutes later – albeit long enough for me to start to worry whether I had come to the right place – my friends arrived and the party began.

We were there until fairly late. We drank and chatted, listening to music from the juke box the landlord had kindly made free for us*. I gave Luke a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, a novel I have treasured since I read it at school, and now hope Luke will too. I got a taxi back at about half eleven: I don’t often take cabs, preferring busses, but it was late and I’d had a drink, so I had asked Sally to order one beforehand. It turned out to be a good idea, and getting home was easy. I had been chatting with Lyn online all evening – she’d stayed home – and I got back to her before twelve, tired, not that drunk, and happy with how the evening had gone. I hope luke had had great birthday bash.

*I suddenly noticed how many people have newborn babies these days – sprogs are appearing all over the place!

All is quiet here, for now. It has already been quite a day: first I had a meeting at school about a film/computer/multimedia project they want to do there. I can’t go into detail, but this is something better keep an eye on.. Then, getting absolutely drenched en route, I had to zoom straight back here as we had a film crew round to film Lyn That lasted about an hour, so we are both already tired. Tonight, though, we have some nice salmon and some bubbly to share for valentines night; and tomorrow I’m off out again to my mate Luke’s birthday bash. It never stops…I love it.

Good luck, little nephew, born into a world of light.

You are so young but your future is bright

I can’t wait to see you, meet you, hold you with care

As soon as can be, I’ll be there

***

You’re dad is a good man – one of the best I know

Mummy is wonderful; their hearts will glow

To watch you grow and learn, I bet they can’t wait

They probably have it plotted out, and it’ll be great

****

But for now, little Oliver, be a good boy

Your life’s ahead, one full of joy

Don’t cry too much for mummy, nor your dad

Please be patient, for there’s fun to be had.

It gives me the greatest pleasure to announce that I am now an uncle. Oliver Andrew was born last night to my brother Mark and sister-in-law Kat. both mother and son are fine. I am thrilled: it feels like a new chapter of my family’s history has began today, and I absolutely can’t wait to meet my new nephew.

‘Uncle Matt’ has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?

I took one of my walks this afternoon – a fairly long one. I sorted a thing or two out in the village first, then zipped over to woolwich. I decided to come back along the river in order to see how high it was, but it was fairly normal. That, however, meant I took the riverside walk, a fully accessible path built to commemorate the jubilee. I only rode along a part of it, between the Woolwich ferry and the thames barrier, yet whenever I take that walk it captivates me. I get a sense, going past the old docks and moorings, of a place full of activity, life and energy; even though those dry docks probably have not been used in years, it feels like they have only just been abandoned and things are still cooling. It’s weird: The city seems like a palimpsest, and every now and then you can glimpse of the past and sense the presence of the thousands here before you. Yet these docks housed ships which served an empire now long broken up; they are now dry and empty, save for waste. And so you walk on, towards the city, with the gleaming modern towers of canary Wharf – itself a place from where ships once sailed – ahead of you.

I just got back from the cinema. I finally got around to watching Twelve Years a Slave. Even though I reached the cinema after the film had started, it was absolutely tipping down so I went in anyway. Thus I think I missed the opening twenty minutes, but what I saw absolutely amazed me. It is a beautifully shot film, but the story it tells is chilling. Watching it, I was struck by the question, why should a country founded and built upon something as barbaric as slavery deserve to now lead the world? Then again, it is to Americas great credit that such films are now being made; it is facing up to it’s history, as all countries must. This is indeed an important film, both beautiful and troubling, which everyone should watch. It made me very angry at times, but I intend to give it a second viewing as soon as I can.

It’s decidedly damp down in Devon

Rather wet in the west

Sussex is soaking Kent is floating and not much better for the rest

******

the rain is constant in our island

It’s getting everyone’s goat

It keeps coming down,

Much more and we’d drown

Or else need a boat

*****

Summer can’t come sooner It’s going beyond a joke we’re tired of this rain

Yet no-one’s to blame

Athough Pickles might be the bloke

******

We’re desperate for something drier

A bit of warmth would be nice

We’re tired of being wet

How much more can we get?

But for pollution this is the price.

*****

So sorry for the soaked south

But this is probably now our norm

We’re changing our climate And although I might rhyme it

I wrote this little ditty to warn.

I had intended to write about the Olympic opening ceremony today. I watched it yesterday afternoon, expecting lots to get my analytical teeth into. Yet, apart from some very impressive choreography and an awesome stadium surface, it left me uninspired and unenthused. Sadly Putin did not have an amazing bond-style entrance, but just came in. No doubt I will be returning to the subject of Sochi in the coming days, but having found it both uncontroversial and not that original, there is not much I can say about the opening ceremony.

To listen to Alex Salmond talk, you might think he was fighting an election campaign rather than a campaign for Scottish independence. I just watched CaMoron’s speech on the subject, and although he made one small idiotic point about low tax being a good thing, on te whole I found it a good speech. We are better together. CaMoron took a holistic attitude, illustrating many examples of how both countries can only flourish if we stay as one. I found it quite rousing. Mind you, I have to question how one can argue so passionately for the union of Scotland and England and against union with Europe; why favour one union and oppose another? I know my views on the nation-state are rather radical, but I passionately believe humanity should be starting to unite.

That’s why Salmond revolts me. He seeks to devide our nation – in many ways he shares the shortsighted xenophobia as Farage, clinging to outdated boundaries, not tolerating difference or new ways of thinking. Theirs is an outdate, regressive discourse. Moreover, if you listen to Salmond speak, he does not adress the bi subjects CaMoron and Darling are, but attacks the present government and the tories personally. It is as if he wants to frame the entire independence debate as an attack on the coalition. Of course, I’ve nothing against tory bashing, but in two years they should be history, and the island will have been split after three hundred years of union as a gesture of opposition to a single government. I notice too how Salmond is itching for his ‘debate’ with CaMoron, but why? Alistair darling is head of the campaign to keep the union so Samond should debate him, but instead he wants to turn the entire referendum into an anti-tory, anti-camoron issue. This tactic shows Samond has no real arguments, and, motivated by personal ambition and nationalism, simply wants to become ruler of his own realm, which he intends to create for himself. This is not about what is best for scotland, but Salmond’s lust for power. Why else would he want to debate camoron ersonally, if not to elevate his own status? Why just focus on the short term? Time and again, the economic and social case for independence has been called into question, and every time Salmond replies by avoiding the issues and attacking the current government. He is a joke; Scotland deseerves better than to be mislead.

London is fascinating, vibrant and modern, but Paris has a beauty London lacks. I just watched Midnight In Paris, Woody Allen’s love letter to that city, for a third time, and once again feel the urge to go back there, to roll down it’s boulevards and breathe it’s air just as Hemingway did. London is great, but for the most part it is a sprawling anonymous metropolis; it lacks flair and style. Then again, it isn’t without it’s charm, and it has pockets of warmth and life. Perhaps London is to me what Paris was to Hemingway, for it too has brought me life and love; where he once explored the bistros and bars of the french capital, I now roam the restaurants and pubs of the english one, and I now feel the urge to go out into the city. Thus the boulevards can wait – I belong here. One day I’ll take lyn down those pretty little Parisian streets, but for now I’m content here, watching films, writing blog entries and indulging my silly romantic fantasies.

I usually have a lot of good to say about Channel Four. After all, it broadcast the paralympics, gave airtime to Richard Dawkins, and although it was a tad misscast, brought us I’m Spazzticus. Yet it seems to have developed a dark streak lately: many people including myself were appalled with Benefits Street, which treated those on benefits like zoo animals; The Undatables is even worse, frankly being exploitation tv at it’s most base. I refuse to watch it.

I’m not alone in this revulsion. Yesterday, Lyn showed me this, adding very astutely that I’ll want to put it on my blog. How right she was: as a piece of art and wordplay, this rap is incredible; as a protest against the revolting thing Channel Four and tv in general is currently doing, it is even better. Check it out.

Getting to my computer yesterday morning, I saw an online associate of mine from DAN, Paula, had flagged up there were going to be questions to Iain Duncan Smith in parliament over benefit reform, and that people should come watch if they could. Westminster is not hard for me to get to, so I thought I’d go help in the battle against this vile little man.

What I witnessed yesterday disturbed me. Today we can take my usual preamble about my trip there as read; yes parliament is a cool place, but I don’t feel like writing about how impressed I was with Portcullis house. In the committee room itself, I bore witness to a complete insult to democracy: answering the questions put to him, IDS was arrogant, dismissive and rude. He acted as if he thought it was a waste of his time. The questions ranged from delays in the implementation of Universal Credit to the new IT systems needed. Every time, the man brushed away criticisms as if the opinions of the panel did not matter. I felt myself getting very angry two or three times, but with Paula’s help I was just about able to restrain myself.

Part of me wishes that this morning you would all be reading about how, yesterday afternoon, Iain Duncan-Smith was throttled by a man with cp in parliament. He was sat just feet from me. That is what the piece of shit deserved, yet I had to be a good boy, restrain myself and put up with the lies. The idea was just to force the man to see the type of people he is hurting. Nevertheless, this morning I am angrier than ever at the unelected tory scumbags currently claiming to be our rightful government, and more determined than ever to make them pay for their crimes. Coming home last night, I reflected upon the fact that I had shown implicit approval by just sitting there quietly – it left a nasty taste in my mouth.

I was furious at the time, but I suppose it’s quite ironic. As soon as I had posted yesterday’s entry, the moment I had put my ipad down and went to sip my drink – and I am loving the ability to blog on the move, by the way – I knocked it over. The precious thing I was so proud of, and which I had been determined not to spill, gushed all over the table. Luckily, Paul quickly grabbed the conical glass to prevent it from smashing, but I felt so angry with myself for wasting it, as if I was my own parent reprimanding a child. Oh well, it was easily, if expensively, replaced by the friendly american barman; and there’s no point crying over spilt Martini.

In front of me is a Vesper Martini, made precisely to Ian Flemming’s recipe. We are in a bar at the dome, after a glorious day: breakfast in the local cafe, then a trip to Greenwich, decided upon on the spur of the moment. After a good tour of the market, lyn and I took the boat back along the Thames. And so here we are, sipping cocktails at the dome, on a day which has reminded me how glorious it is to be alive, and to share that life with the person you love. Cheers.

A year or so ago, Lyn was asked to compose the soundtrack for a spanish documentary about Paralympic cyclists called unsoppables. It is now fished, and L got an email yesterday saying the producers now intended to tour the film festivals with it. That alone is great news, but they also made a short film about Lyn herself to go on the DVD extras. It too is finished and can now be seen here. I love it, and once again I’m extremely proud of my fiancee.

Believe it or not I still look back with glee to London 2012. If you think about it, what happened to me that summer was awesome: somehow I found myself living in city hosting the olympics, at the beginning of which we saw the queen parachute from a helicopter with james bond*, and at the end of which my future wife played before the world. For the rest of my life I will be able to say I was there in London, in 2012, and point to the pictures and the videos; that to me seems very special.

Now, though, something more intriguing is about to take place. London 2012 may still fill me with glee, but Sochi 2014 interests me on a completely different level. We are about to see Russia’s olympics, Putin’s olympics, an event wrapped in controversy and politics. Many people see to predict that Vladimir Putin is going to try to make the forthcoming games his own, using them to showcase russia to the world. How will he do this, exactly? No doubt he will make the most of the opening and closing ceremonies, but I can’t wait to see precisely how. Inasmuch as you can read such ceremonies as you would any other artistic text, I can’t wait to see how this tsar in all but name does, how he will try to present his country to the world, and what he will try to play down. Indeed, given the revulsion in the west over Putin’s homophobic laws, I also can’t wait to see the reaction here too, both from the mainstream media and social networks; it too will probably be very telling.

Interesting days ahead, then, for a media junkie like myself. I mused once over the possibility of the Brazilians making their own version of ‘Happy and Glorious’, but possibly even more interesting is the thought that Putin could take up the meme and use it to somehow show off his macho-man image. The thought that russia could have created their own version of the Paraorchestra interests me too: what will it look like, and how will disability in general be presented given the frankly hellish history of people with disabilities in Russia. Such questions will have to wait a week or so, but I’m afraid to say that my interest in Olympic affairs has been reborn. Plus, now that we Londoners don’t have to worry about pissing off the IOC vis-a-vis a forthcoming bid, we can be a bitchy as we like. Chance, then, to let loose on their corruption, corruption in russia, and the whole sordid affair in general.

This should be fun.

*I still think that is the coolest thing ever, at least of it’s type. I mean, space travel is probably just as cool if not cooler, but you know what I mean. It’s the queen with bond, for smeg’s sake.