Lyn and I got back from paris late yesterday evening, my love for the city greater than ever, yet slightly tempered. We had a wonderful trip, which included quite an epic walk along the Seine on sunday afternoon, and, of course, meeting my nephew Oliver on saturday. I have never seen a cuter, happier baby; mark and kat obviously adore him. I am really looking forward to watching him grow up – judging from his parents, he’ll be very bright indeed. He was as good as gold on saturday night, when we all met in the hotel restaurant for a huge family meal. Looking around the table on saturday, I could not have felt happier. It was then, too, that Mum and Dad presented me with a bound hardback copy of my Master’s thesis, sleek and black – it made me feel very proud of myself.

Although it was a family occasion, Lyn and I had most of the weekend to ourselves, allowing us to explore the city. We had our PAs, Dominik and Paul with us; they were excellent this weekend, pushing us endlessly through the beautiful, winding streets. As with my last Parisienne adventure I’m not going to even try to give a full step by step account, as something essential would be lost in the rendition. I must note, though, that the people there struck me as slightly ruder this time: I’m not sure what it was, but they seemed very arrogant and abrasive, walking into your path as you were walking down the pavement, giving you dirty looks, pushing past you. Also, Paris didn’t strike me as very wheelchair friendly this time: now that I’ve lived in London for a while, I have something to compare it wit. London is far from perfect, but at last the public transport is over halfway accessible, and you can always find a drop-curb when you need to wheel off a pavement.

That aside, I still love the city: there is something about paris which is so evocative and romantic. I was thrilled to be there with Lyn, eating out with her, listening t live music with her. It has been a wonderful weekend, and it was over too quickly. Three days is not enough time to explore such a great city. It is not that hard to get to, though, so I definitely would like to go back soon, especially now I have my little nephew to visit there.

Back again from a lovely weekend,

Through the crowds to home we wend

Through the crowds as the sky goes black

Good to have gone, great to be back

To paris we went, to meet my nephew

It was lovely to be there, particularly with you.

There as a family, whole as one

Dad and brothers, baby and mum.

So as we push on, homeward bound

I think back to what I found

Getting to see Paris with the one I adore,

Meeting the nephew I’d not met before.

There are some things too special for a blog entry, too unique to shsre, too personal to be made public. I’ll try to fill you in about this incredible weekend when I can, but for now, I can just record tha I have never been prouder, happier or more content than I am now.

This morning I woke in a large comfortable bed in a Paris hotel room. Lyn was lying beside me, asleep. In that moment of bliss, I recalled how, yesterday, we had travelled here on Eurostar. It had been a long day: I had been constantly worried that I would forget something or slip up somehow. It had been quite a relief, then, to roll up to the hotel yesterday evening to see dad standing there. He greeted us, and helped us out of the cramped taxi.

My mind then moved on to the day to come: how my entire family is here, and how I will shortly meet my new nephew for the very first time. I could.not wait, but that is still yet to come, this evening. I will shortly see both my brothers for the first time since attaining my masters. No doubt they will point out that I am but a master where they are doctors, but that is all part of being a member of this wonderous family of mine.

So there I was this morning, lying in bed in the city I love the most, about to snuggle up close to the woman I love the most, looking forward to a truly memorable day. And as Lyn put her arm around me, I thought, life can’t get much better than this.

Today I just want to direct everyone here, to a video Lyn made explaining how she uses Caustic 3, a music making app for the Ipad. You know, L is a born teacher; in fact she used to teach when she lived in Cardiff. I think she should seriously consider going back to it, she does it so naturally. Anyway, enjoy the vid, and learn from a pro!

I just endured the stomach-churning spectacle of david CaMoron and his fellow tory shits patting their selves on the back at PMQs at recent growth figures. Granted, the economy might indeed at last be recovering, but on monday I saw precisely what that recovery is built upon. Many people, especially those with disabilities, are suffering: they are being pushed to the limit and over it; many have taken their own lives. Lyn still wonders why I get so agitated watching it every wednesday, but how can anyone not be? How can anyone, with even a shred of humanity, bear the sight of this unelected Etonian fucker stand up in westminster abbey and pretend what he is doing is right? Knowing what I know, it is almost too much for me to stomach. It would not be so bad if we had a charismatic Labour leader who stood up to him, but we have ed: I’m afraid to say I still can’t see him ever becoming PM, which is a truly depressing thought. Then again, at least Milliband is a decent human being, which is more than can be said of CaMoron or any tory.

I just set off home after attending a protest at the Department of work and Pensions against the closure of the Independent Living fund. Wile I do not get the ILF personally, I feel solidarity is vital. After all, unlike a Tory, I don’t just care about myself. It was a good, well organised and well attended event, with over fifty people with various disabilities there. There were some good speeches, and some good songs; there was even a running gag about getting the disabilities minister to come out for a cup of tea.

Whether such protests achieve anything, of course, is debatable. After al, the government has already simply ignored a high court ruling saying the closure of the ILF was illegal. It seems the Condems don’t care who they hurt, or how many laws they break, or how many they kill as long as they cut the state and lower taxes for their rich pals.

I suppose my entry yesterday was pretty misguided, and indeed stupid. Trying to equate the two situations was a mistake, and I made myself look pretty silly. The situation in nigeria is, of course, very serious indeed: my heart goes out to those girls and their families. I’ve just been reading a bit about Boku Haram, and they seem a particularly vile group. While I feel strongly about access to education in this country, I made myself look idiotic yesterday; my apologies for any offence caused.

It strikes me as odd that, while the world is rightly up in arms over a group of religious bigots kidnapping two hundred girls because they oppose their education, people are being denied an education here in the uk due to their disability. I am sill furious about what happened to nadia this week. Granted, linking the two stories might be overegging the pudding slightly, but in both cases people are being denied the chance to forfill their potential by oppressive, ideologically driven forces. Why should one gain our attention and not the other? I’d argue that what happened to my comrade this week is, in it’s own way, no less perverse and no less sad than what has happened in Nigeria; I know the to cases are very different, but I’m just drawing your attention to this quite sad parallel.

Just to touch upon one of my former favourite subjects, namely whether London could host the olympics again in the foreseeable future, I just came across this Torygraph article: IOC chiefs have apparently made a secret plea to use London 2012 venues as Rio 2016 Olympic Games fall worryingly behind schedule. An informal approach has been made by IOC chiefs to ascertain whether enough of the London 2012 Olympic venues could be brought back into use. If rio isn’t ready, the tried and tested London would be a logical back-up plan, I suppose, although as the article points out converting the venues back to games readiness would be a headache. It might even prove unfeasible, and rio might make the deadlines, although having another olympic games here might be cool. Either way, it does give you an interesting glimpse of how worried the guys at the IOC are about the state Rio is in and how ready thy are.

007 better start getting his parachute ready, just in case.

Simply to follow up on my entry yesterday, I’d just like to direct you here, to Nadia’s open letter to bedford uni concerning her experience. She, quite understandably, seems both furious and heartbroken. I’ve been thinking about the subject a lot today: maybe there’s something I could do to help, someone, perhaps at MMU, I can contact, but I’m not sure. I hope they fight on – both Nadia and her mother are tenacious people, and I’m absolutely sure they will get there in the end.

I came across this last night, on my last computer session before bed. I could have posted it on here then, but I left it: It upset me, and I hoped that leaving it for the clear light of day might help me focus my thoughts. But I cannot. It concerns Nadia, whom I know from onevoice. In this article, her mum writes how Nadia was planning to go to university; about how, slowly, they were getting everything ready for Nadia to study Disability Studies at Bedford. Then she writes how, due o government cuts, the complex care package nadia would need is no longer available, and how the uni could no longer offer what nadia needs:

[quote=”Katie”]After dinner we went upstairs and she pointed at her mind maps and posters around the walls and told me to take them down. She burst into tears. Her tears were not for her she said, but were for the next generation of young disabled children who are growing up into a different world. A world of cuts, savings and poor excuses.

[/quote]

I keep thinking of the riches university brought me: of the education, the inspiration it gave me; of the life long friendships with steve, chris, Charlie and the rest; how it made me truly proud of myself. Had I not been to MMU I would not be down here with lyn, free to roam south London, a Master’s under my belt and a twinkle in my eye. I have been incredibly lucky. Nadia will be denied what I had, as will, I fear, many like her, and all due to the tories and their selfish, malicious cuts. My heart breaks, but blood fucking boils.

It has been a cool couple of days. Dom was rather late here on Monday, but when he finally arrived he had a rather awesome proposal. A party was being planned at his place, and Lyn and I were invited. We seldom turn down such offers, so without much ado we set off for Lewisham. Dominic lives in a very cool place: it’s sort of an artist’s commune based in a truly labyrinthine building. Getting to the party itself didn’t prove that easy, given that it was on the rooftop terrace up some winding stairs (Dominik gave Lyn a piggyback), but once we were there it soon became clear that we had a top-notch night ahead. Lyn’s Ipad was plugged in to the speakers and it was not long before she had a mix going; one fellow was blowing huge, beautiful bubbles using a stick, rope and water mixed with washing up liquid; there was plenty to eat and drink. It lasted to around midnight, and we slept at dom’s apartment, which had a vertical neon lamp in it, giving rise to Lyn and I making this:

[img description=”undefined image” align=”centre”]/images/light saber.jpg[/img]

We walked back yesterday afternoon after a late breakfast. It had been totally unexpected, but incredible; the sort of spontaneous event that I love. I love where dominik lives, full of artistic, creative people from all over the world. Such a diverse, vibrant place, I couldn’t help but reflect to myself on Monday night, wouldn’t exist if bigots like farage got their way. Anyway, I really hope he invites us back – something tells me that there’s a lot of cool, creative stuff happening there that I should look into. It looked, the stairs aside, the type of place I’d love. Perhaps I can use my new jedi mind-tricks to suggest another party soon.

Watching bubbles float away from a South London rooftop,

We’re at a party. Lyn mixes as people chat

Playing funky melodies as people dance

It’s getting nippy, but that’s cool

I just reflect on a great day, a glorious empass

And, more to the point

How we are going to get back down those stairs?

I have just come in from a lovely long walk, down to the river, east through that fascinating historical naval landscape, and back via Woolwich. It’s a route often take, made especially pretty today in the bright sunshine. On my way through the square there though, I stumbled upon something curious: two ladies with ornate hairstyles were making some kind of film. One was filming, and the other was talking to camera, saying ”We’re here in Woolwich today, asking people whether they feel british or African”. This gained my interest, and I stopped to watch. It struck me as an odd thing to ask: why ask people in the heart of south-east London such a question? Why would people here, irrespective of skin colour, see themselves as africans? Aren’t we all, as human, africans? Was this some kind of political statement? Was it about fostering identity and unity among certain ethnic groups? I tried asking the women, pointing out that I see myself only as a human, but they seemed busy so I did not press the issue. They did, however, give me their card, which directed me to a website focussing on fashion for black people. I rode on, curious about what I had just encountered, and what it might imply.

Yesterday was another top-notch day: it was my first day at the Rix centre, part of east London University specialising in multimedia advocacy. They create a lot of cool stuff, from ipad apps to films, advocating for people with disabilities, their rights and needs. Working there is right up my street, although it is a huge departure from the subject of my thesis, so now I need to refocus and get up to speed quickly. That shouldn’t be too hard, and I’m eager to get stuck in. I’ll probably go over there quite frequently in the next few weeks, just to get acquainted with the people, their methods and so on. This is an awesome opportunity, and I can’t believe my luck that it came my way.

I just stumbled over this story while using twitter: Nigel Farage has been hit by an egg thrown by a protester. As harsh as this may sound, but frankly I think it is a pity it was not anything harder or sharper. I’m clearly not lone in my loathing of that smarmy little bigot: there is a growing wave of revulsion against him and his party of xenophobes; I’m shocked that anyone can be stupid enough to vote for him. Indeed, one of my friends responded to receiving a ukip leaflet with the following: ”I wouldn’t even wipe my arse with this leaflet, Nigel, never mind put it in my window. Stop shoving pictures of your ugly, racist face through my door.” Well put!

I was out during PMQs today, but I just saw this gem of a clip. At last someone shut that unelected prick CaMoron up. As the speaker said: ”the prime minister is finished”. I could not agree more, and frankly the fact that he tried to ignore the speaker tells you everything you need to know about the arrogant piece of shit.

Since I passed my masters, I have noticed an odd change in my attitude, and one which I need to keep an eye on. I now know for certain that I can do anything I put my mind to; my confidence is soaring. Yet strangely I think I sense a new kind of arrogance in myself; a feeling of superiority which leads to a lack of patience with others. After all, I find myself reasoning, I have a masters degree, so why should I put up with being stared at, talked down to or argued with. You might say this was a good thing, but I must watch myself in case it goes too far. Starting to call people plebs, for instance, might not be a good sign.

I have just spent the last four and a half hours listening to my computer read my master’s thesis. While I am, of course, intimately familiar with it’s content, I had never sat down to read it from start to finish – whenever I tried to do so, I was overcome with feeling of impending doom. Now I’ve had my results, though, I no longer need to fear: given that I intend to use it as a springboard for future work, and that people will probably be asking me about it soon, I decided I needed to brush up on it. After all, I wrote parts of it six or seven years ago.

I need not have worried. While I repeat myself slightly a couple of times, and I could do with ironing out one or two transitions to improve the flow (a result of the document being worked on for such a long time, I think) what I found myself listening to this afternoon was something I can be truly proud of. It is possibly the best thing I’ve ever written; at over forty thousand words it’s certainly the longest by far. It isn’t perfect, but I found my argument convincing, and I feel that theres a lot of good stuff in there. As I noted here a week or two ago, it shows me what I am capable if I stick at it. More importantly, though it ives me confidence to go on to bigger, better, perhaps more creative things.

I am writing this in the shade of a tree in charlton park. The sun is beating down, and dispite the wind, it’s quite warm. I was just on a Sunday afternoon stroll and thought I would pop in to the park, where to my surprise and joy I have found a cricket match being played. While it isn’t the team I usually support playing – their season begins in two weeks – this is still wonderful to behold. It seems summer has suddenly been switched on: my worries have suddenly vanished, and it feels like the start of a long, glorious season.

You gotta feel sorry for Mr. Moyes

Sacked for failing the United boys.

Then Giggs steps in,

And, by Jove! they win!

So, so much for poor David Moyes.

Yesterday was one of those insanely busy sort of days, which absolutely knacker you out yet make you feel alive. First, at about noon I had my usual Ipad group at school: I go in and help a group of students learn to communicate using their Ipads. Then, after a quick slurp of coke and a kiss at home, it was off to greenwich to check in at GAD. My business there was brief – you know the type: things were happening there but hadn’t yet, so I need to wait a bit more. It’s coming along though, and will be very cool when things are sorted.

Then, from Greenwich town, I caught the DLR to east London university in order to attend a screening I had been invited to. It was a bit of a complicated trip, especially for a distance so small as the crow flies, but I got there with time to spare, and grabbed a coke in their canteen before the screening. It was not unlike the Wes in there, which made me slightly nostalgic. I’ll hopefully be starting work at the Rix centre there next week, so I’ll probably bet to know it.

The film we saw was The White Ribbon by Michael Haneke, a brilliant if at times slow german ghost story, with no ghost. Set in 1913, I read it n relation to Heimat, as it seemed to concern the same kind of traumas, the same uncanniness, the same unease with the land; the discussion after, however, focussed on the actors experience and the director’s process, so I couldn’t add much; Interestingly, however, they read it as an allegory about class, certainly a valid observation. Nevertheless,it was a great evening, and hopefully I’ll be invited to more.

My initial plan after the screening had been to head back to Greenwich to attend a bikers’ event where our friend Gus would be playing. The screening at the university was longer than I expected, an, despite starting at five, I didn’t get clear of it till gone nine. By then,, it was too late for anything more: I caught the DLR to Woolwich and headed home, grabbing myself a pizza as I always did after late thursday lectures. It had been a great day, one which thrilled me and filled me with yet more confidence. I may have missed the final gig, but there will be more, and three out of four isn’t bad.

They say today is William Shakespeare’s birthday. Today, then, is the day the English language changed; on this day, a man was born whose contribution to human culture is beyond reckoning. A man whose words will live on through the centuries, and whose writings would encapsulate the human condition like no other. I have always loved the works of Shakespeare: ever since I first encountered them at school, studying Macbeth and then The Tempest, I have adored his use of language the images he conjures up and the way his characters still speak to us today so well, even though they were created four centuries ago. Shakespeare speaks on through the ages, and will no doubt continue to do so for a long time. No doubt, school children will continue to curse his name for many years hence, not realising they are being imparted with that most precious gift: wisdom.

Today I would like to flag this up. Lyn just posted a brilliant piece of writing on her website, in which she describes her attitude towards music. Entitled ‘New Album’, Lyn outlines how she feels music needs to mean something to be any good – it isn’t enough to be tuneful, but it has to have thought and emotion behind it. I could not agree more, and indeed I think that that is just about my stance on art in general. I know my entries have been a bit short on analysis recently, and I’ll endeavour to get back to writing some more hefty articles soon, but I don’t want to say much more as Lyn can speak for herself. Go read!

Today’s visit from my parents went well – quite awesomely, in fact. It was good to see them. We just chatted over coffee and brunch in our front room, our conversation ranging from the extent to which Britain can be called a Christian nation to television history. My parents even made a very good suggestion about an idea for a project I have. Then it was time for a walk to the new organic veg shop in the village before saying goodbye again.

It was good to see them, and it is always kind of sad to part, bit it won’t be too long before we see my parents again. I look forward to the next time, which will be a big family get-together,in Paris. That will rule, and, given there weren’t any comment about my nails earlier, I might just keep them pink till then.

Varnish on my fingernails

Put on Friday for fun

It best be off by tomorrow though

Before we see Dad and Mum

***

It’s not that they mind or anything

In fact, they’ll probably laugh

Dad’ll just raise his eyebrow

And suggest I take a bath

***

My nails do look good though:

All glossy, painted pink How I love being a tranny

To hell with what others think! ***

As I cruise the city in my chair

I overhear others talk

They think I lost a bet or something

But I’m just out for a walk

***

My nails will be normal soon

It does not take long to go

My fingers will soon be boyish again

But ’till then, enjoy the show!

It has been a cool, Iinteresting sort of day. I am still buzzing about my masters: passing it has energised me in a way I never predicted. Having had a day at home yesterday, I decided a day of exploration was in order. This morning, while Lyn enjoyed a lie in, I popped down to woolwich to see what was going on. Like every Saturday, it was busy. There was also a loud, irritating street preacher who needed unplugging, much to her chagrin and everyone else’s gratitude (and, for the record, I am not posessed by any deamons, contrary to her accusations).

This afternoon was just as fun. After coming home to say hi to the love of my life, and after a trip to the vegetable shop, I struck out again. If recently occurred to me that I had yet to explore canary wharf. It’s quite close to where we live, and looks like a slice of New York on the horizon. I had been thinking about going there for an explore, and since it’s only one stop away on the tube, this afternoon I went.

I soon found myself in what must be one of the richest, swankiest parts of the city. I must say I was impressed by how plush and clean it was. Yet, it being a Saturday afternoon, it was very quiet, and I didn’t find that much to interest me. I didn’t go too far, in case I got lost, so I may have missed bits; but on the wold I found the place lavish but uninteresting. There weren’t even any street preachers to unplug. Soon I was on my way home, hungry, impressed yet disappointed, yet glad to have explored yet another part of this amazingly varied city.

I’m sorry, but, five hundred light years away or not, this story is just too awesome not to flag up. The journal Science has reported the discovery of an extra-solar planet which is the right size and distance from it’s star to be capable of sustaining life. Of course, there’s no way of knowing for sure, but the fact that it’s in the goldilocks zone is tantalising. You never know: perhaps someone there is looking through their telescope at the blue-green dot we’re on and wondering if there’s intelligent life here.

Hmm…I suppose that is debatable.

I just heard, on newsnight, of the sad death of Gabrielle Garcia Marques. I cannot profess to know much about Marque, having read only one of his books, but it is clear we have lost a great writer. Of course, I instantly thought of Ricardio, about how, at university, he adapted 100 Years of Solitude for the stage, for his masters. I remembered how my director friend had asked me to codirect, how I eventually decided to sit down and read the book in a couple of days, and how I was blown away by it’s scope and vision. It is, quite simply, an amazing book; Ricardio did a great job in his adaptation, and I’m sure he’ll be very sad indeed to hear this news. ”The world…is round…Like an orange!”

I usually hate shows like Britain’s Got Talent*, seeing it as the bastardisation and trivialisation of art, especially music, but this performance from Ukraine’s version is different, profound, and staggering. It basically amounts to a woman telling the history of her country in a surprising yet beautiful way, and I’m sure it will now be on my mind all day.

*Even the incorrect title irks me.

Today was fairly productive. Next month I’ll hopefully start volunteering at The Rix Centre, a unit in the uni of east London. They do a lot of cool stuff there, focussing on Multimedia Advocacy, which involves using media of various kinds to help improve the lives of people with disabilities. I have a meeting there n a couple of weeks, but it’s in an area I’m unfamiliar with, and I don’t want to muck up, so today I went that way to explore. Getting there took a while, but proved straightforward enough. My plan was just to go, look around and come back, but once there I thought I’d pop in. I have met the lady who runs it before, so I thought I’d say hi. To my surprise, I was invited to join them in a planning meeting: I felt a little out of place, but it was cool; the have many awesome things in the works. I told them, now my master’s is done and dusted, I’d like to become more involved: of course I have more free time now, but it’s more a case of me feeling more confident and thus more proactive than ever. I currently feel like I can do anything, so I want to go out and do it. I told them this, and they invited me to a few events, and even gave me a little homework. Great stuff. I now can’t wait to start there, especially now I know the way.

I must say that, putting any other concerns aside, I think the bully in this story got what he deserved. Edmond Aviv was convicted of harassing his neighbours and their disabled children for 15 years.A judge in Ohio has ordered him to appear in public, holding a sign that reads: ”I am a bully”. Of course some will call such a punishment inappropriate, even inhumane or degrading, and the chap even has the gall to portray himself as some kind of victim; but having seen the effects of such harassment first hand, and having experienced low-level disablism myself, I think the arsehole got his just comeuppance. Mind you, the article does not go into what his motives may have been – I suspect there might be more to this, so a bit of googling is now in order.

It was good to see that moronic little xenophobe farage get the kicking he deserves on friday night’s Have I Got news for You; Hislop and Merton really laid into him, exposing him for the fruitcake he is. How amusing to see the comments below this article calling it bbc propaganda, like Nigel’s little sheep. Mind you, it has been a hectic weekend, so I think I need to rewatch it; luckily I can just go here

Yesterday was, all in all, an amazing day: Lyn and I had a cool little trip to dartford, mostly for a change of scenery. We went in Marta’s car which only has room for one chair, so I had to walk. I’m now slightly sore, but the exercise as good for me. Then, in the evening, Bob Lawrence played one of Lyn’s tracks! It took us both completely by surprise, and it was wonderful to hear it come on, out of the blue. I think it made both our days; Lyn was overjoyed, and I’ve rarely felt more proud! A great end to a wonderful, wonderful week – I doubt either of us could be happier.

Sitting on a bench in a dartford park Not long from now it wil be dark.

Yet the grass is green and the sky blue

Lovely to be here, sat by you

Soon it will be time to wend our way

The sun setting on a great day

Thanks for showing me the place of your birth

And sharing your life with me here on earth

For the last few years, it has felt like a pall hanging over me. While I loved my subject, at the back of my mind I always knew I had something to finish. A growing part of me was starting to say that I would never get it finished, and that I just was not good enough. These last two mornings, though, I’ve woken up with that pall gone: no more feeling guilty about going roaming when I have work to do; no more doubting myself. I know now that I have good, valid ideas: I have successfully shown that there is a relationship between fandom and cinephilia. I have written a thesis I can be proud of: it is quite a substantial piece of work, one which I am told stands out from the norm. Knowing that I got there at last feels amazing.

The question remains, of course, what next? While I have irons in one or two fires, nothing is firm yet. That, though, is not a major worry now, and I know I can do anything. The idea of doing a PhD begins to appeal again, but that can wait – after seven years, I think I need a break. Yet ideas are already beginning to bubble up in my head again: I now feel free to think, reflecting yesterday for instance that possibly one of the reasons I’m so fixated on Happy and Glorious is that it alludes to the pre-credit sequence of the spy who loved me, one of my own cinephiliac moments and a passage of film about which I write at length in my thesis. The two moments are, for me, linked; one of the very things I have been obsessing over for so long was used in the olympics – how cool is that? What are the chances? But how does that change the dynamic, and was the reference intentional? The bigger question now, though, is how to move forward, how to put such reflections to good use.

Just a brief note to say that, after about seven years, today I received word that my revisions had been approved and I have therefore passed my master’s. Now I know it should have only taken me a year, and I feel bad that it took so long; but I take it as a lesson to myself never to give up – I will get there in the end. Mind you, so much has happened in the last seven years, especially meeting Lyn and moving to London, that accounting for it all would take another forty thousand words: it, like the whole of my life since going to uni in 2004, has been amazing. I count myself as very lucky indeed, not least to have so many great friends, like Lyn, Esther, Charlie, our PAs and my parents, to help and support me. Now, though, enough naval-gazing – time to celebrate!

Now it is spring, today I decided to get my biannual ordeal with the barber over and done with. [img description=”undefined image” align=”centre”]/images/Photo on 29-07-2013 at 21.05.jpg[/img]

Today I started rewatching Game of Thrones. I’ve been wanting to take it seriously and get to grips with it for a while, so on friday I bought the first two seasons on DVD. I did start watching the series before,, but having to rely on downloaded versions, I did not get very far. Now I just have to watch one or two episodes a day, and within a month I’ll be up to date with the rest of the world.

I’m still, mind you, trying to find something less mainstream to get into. As I noted here, the three franchises that I find myself thinking most about – Bond, star Trek and Lord of the Rings – are all highly popular, mega-budget mainstream affairs everyone knows about. Now I want to look for the opposite: no more cinematic extravaganzas, cgi space-battles, gigantic cavalry charges or olympic parachute jumps; I want to hunt for the niche, the unheard of. It will probably be online. You know the type: low-budget original films, often on Youtube. Such things interest me, as, like the young turks of the French New wave, fan art is often free of the constraints of the mainstream. While I’ll probably always love bond, Baggins and Ben Sisco – not to mention that dirty little whore-fucking dwarf – it’s time to take a detour off the main road and head into the low-budget, highly creative back streets of the internet. The question is, where to look.