Why is euroskeptisism still seen as a valid political position this weekend? After this week it should be dead, and those who still cling to it should be perceived as outdated and irrelevant. It is surely now clear that they have lost the argument: America has made it apparent that it wants Britain to stay in the European union, and it thinks that it is in Britain’s best interests to do so. Were we to leave the EU, the United States would simply ignore the UK and just do business with Europe; we would loose our position as bridge between the two trading blocks and in so doing relegate ourselves to a tiny third rate power. It is only if we keep our place in the European union that Britain can have any say in world affairs. Euroskeptics and Europhobes claim to act out of patriotism and in the best interests of the county, but how can they be patriotic when their views, if put into action, would be so disastrous for the country? I don’t think the European Union is perfect – it could do with being a tad more democratic for a start – but it is surely clear to any thinking person that leaving it would be the biggest mistake this country could make, and thus euroskeptics should be seen on a par with racists, wife-beaters, homophobes, and those who want to see hanging reinstated.

Dentist, dentist, oh how I loathe

The things in my mouth you do shove

Prodding and picking at my teeth

Grinding away at the grime beneath

***

Dentist, dentist, oh how I hate

The sounds made when at my teeth you grate

Rubbing pulling, the noise hurts my ear

Oh man, when this is over, I need a beer!

I just finished reading ‘Bond on Bond’, the book by roger Moore Lyn gave to me for Christmas. Truth be told, it is quite a thin volume full of pictures, so I probably should have finished it days ago. Intellectually, I found it quite lightweight: it is more of a coffee table book than anything else. That its not to say I found it silly or without value. Moore writes in a chatty entertaining way I don’t often come across, but the book is packed with little anecdotes, titbits of information you only get from someone who actually worked on set, and who personally knows (and as drank with) people like Cubby Broccoli. On one level, then, it is the sort of book film academics might be dismissive of: there is not much in the way of theory in it, and you could just say it is just Roger Moore prattling out a mixture of recollections and opinions. Yet on another level it is a brilliant, fascinating text: reading between the lines one can build up a picture of a unique piece of film history and culture. Moore has, somewhat unintentionally, painted a self portrait; his book supplies us with the type of insight no academic text can. I therefore found wonderful read, and, although he sometimes comes across as a dirty old man, I cannot help feeling rather fond of roger Moore. In all, then, an excellent book, and a great Christmas present from Lyn.

I think in this entry I should direct you to this stunning short film by Alan Martin. In it he tells us a bit about his life: you really get a sense of his willpower and determination – Alan was a fine example to any disabled person, and he will be greatly missed. Please watch.

A few days ago I picked up a copy of Empire magazine. It had a picture of the upcoming Star Trek film on it’s front cover, so I thought it might be worth a look. I am, after all, something of a trekkie. However, I just got round to reading the article within, and was filled with a mixture of despair, disappointment and horror. The franchise I grew up with, the characters I loved as a child, are gone; they have been replaced with dramatis personae that, although they hare the names of the originals, bear no resemblance to them. JJ Abram’s, it seems, has stolen Star Trek from it’s fans: he has pissed all over gene Roddenberry’s vision, claimed it as his own creation and replaced it with something which is something more akin to batman. Since when, for smeg’s sake, would spock have a relationship with uhura?

I’m not against reboots: after all, Casino Royale rebooted the bond franchise, and the last three films have been the best ever, thanks largely to Daniel Craig. But bond is a unique sort of franchise: it is ancient in Hollywood terms, and has often changed itself. Unlike trek, it has no cannon to adhere to, other than a few set pieces and lines which are easy(ish) to include. In a way it is more like it’s own genre, and different films of the same genre can be taken in completely different directions. Granted, sometimes they can stray too far, as they did with moonraker, and bond is not a genre in the strictest sense, but the bond franchise is nevertheless very flexible. Trek is different. It has a massive cannon held semi-sacred by it’s fans, but which Abrams has almost totally done away with. It is as if Peter Jackson had taken the hobbit, stripped it of all the little details Tolkien worked so hard to define, and turned it into a sloppy romance on the same lines as twilight and all the other sloppy teenage shit currently in our cinemas. It is a complete insult to star trek fans. I understand why they had to do this reboot: it was either that or the death of the franchise. But I loved star trek as it was, conforming to the original rules, the original forma, the original cannon. Frankly, part of me would have preferred them to let it die than have to see the great Kirk and Spock changed so drastically. Mind you, this tension between what is cannon and what is possible with reboots strikes me as interesting vis-a-vis postmodernism and fan studies, so I think I’ll look further into it,)

I think I’ll just flag this cool little documentary up today. L found it last night. It concerns a young transwoman trying to become ‘Miss England’. Not only does it give us a glimpse of the beauty pageant circuit in all it’s vapidity, but it paints a portrait of a woman with true character and charisma. I know it is lazy blogging just to post links we find on Youtube, but I really must say how much I admire Jackie Green: she is determined to be who she sees herself as, and to hell with the bigots and bullies. That is also in part why I love and admire Lyn so much: she, like jackie, is a determined, confident woman, an example to the whole world that we must always be ourselves, no matter what the bigots who cling to outdated, simplistic binaries may say. They show the world there is more to life than conformity, and that we must all grab the freedom to express ourselves however we wish. That applies not only to gender, but anything else: yes, it might not be ‘normal’, but who the hell is?

Lyn and I live just up the hill from The Valley, Charlton athletic’s football ground. It’s not far away at all – in fact I often go past the stadium on my way to Asda or Greenwich. On match days yellow cones are laid out along our road to prevent parking. That is how, yesterday morning, seeing the cones out, I decided to go to the match.

I had been thinking of doing it for some time. Football isn’t usually my cup of tea – I prefer cricket – but there is no escaping the fact that it is a major part of our culture. Time, then, for me to go see what the fuss is about. Of course, I had been to matches before: I think my parent took me to a Macclesfield Town game once, when we had a German exchange student staying with us, and a couple of years ago I went to a Charlton game with Andrzej. But the difference this time is that I was alone, so I was like any other casual fan. In a way, the cool thing is what I did yesterday was not a major event, but something a great many men do on a Saturday afternoon: just pop down to the footie match.

It went very well indeed, despite the score. The only problem I had was when it came to buy the ticket: the lady in the booth could not see my Ipad, so I backed off, razzed over to a nearby steward, and explained my problem. He kindly helped me buy my ticket, and then showed me to my wheelchair space. I had gone down fairly early, to give myself plenty of time, so while I was waiting for the match to start I took the opportunity to do a little research on my Ipad. Charlton athletic was founded in 1905 and originally played at a ground up by the river.

The game itself was nothing special. I thought Charlton had some good passages of possession, but failed to capitalise. Huddersfield were the lesser team, but got a lucky goal. However, I must say I found the crowd much more entertaining: I don’t think I have ever heard so many obscenities in my life. What they were saying usually made no sense either: what does ”make it yours” mean anyway? How does entreating the fellow on the pitch to keep the ball, then hurling the most obscene abuse at him when he fails to do so help in any way? It was great fun listening to them. Mind you, the stadium was by no means full: I can’t wait to hear what that place sounds like with a capacity crowd.

I think, then, that I’ve found a new hobby. I think I will be going again – after all, it couldn’t be much easier to get too. Good, clean, safe fun which gets me out of the house for a couple of hours. It also offers a fascinating insight into working class male culture: I’ve always been interested in the difference between the (traditionally) masculine and feminine, and how that divide can be traversed. You know, while narrative cinema is still my main obsession, there is still room for me to become a football fan. I wonder what Lyn would say if I got myself a Charlton strip. No, wait, I just had an idea: where could I get a leotard in Charlton Athletics colours?

I am writing this sat at the valley, home of charlton athletic FC. It is half time, and charlton are losing one nill to Huddersfield. I don’t know why, but, seeing there was a match on this morning, I decided to come down.i wanted some fresh air, and a new experience, not to mention something to blog about. So while lyn is at home, here I sit, waiting for play to resume.

I am considering coming again. Who knows maybe by their next home game, charlton will have learned to play football.

These streets still feel strange, this time of year.

I now know them well. Well enough that they feel like home

Well enough for me to know where I’m going:

How to get from a to b and back.

And yet, ‘though full of people, they have a loneliness to them

A desolation I never felt among the fields.

***

I walk in my chair, as I always have

Freeing my mind to roam.

Through the cold January streets of the metropolis I head

Full, thriving, yet empty and lonely.

But one feeling is still as it was:

The feeling of the return; the open door; the ‘welcome home’

The love within.

It feels like it has been aa hell of a long day: I’ve been here, there and everywhere, mostly to the shops. I had to get the weekly groceries, butt when I came back I found the light bulb in my office had blown, so I had to go all the way back down the hill to the shopping area. Oh yes, my parents will be pleased to note that I also had a haircut. A productive day indeed, although I must say I feel quite knackered. That in itself is rather odd, given that I was in my electric wheelchair all day and didn’t actually walk far.

Anyway, short of much else to write about, I thought I might flag this article by Mik Scarlet up. It is about hew disabled people benefited from last year: for once we crips were seen as stylish, confident and independent people. Scarlet writes ”For far too long, most non-disabled people have held the stereotype of disability as being synonymous with badly-dressed people with bad personal hygiene and few interpersonal skills. But this year, the media has been filled with disabled people who embraced fashion and who have successfully created an individual style that challenged those offensive stereotypes for good.” Great stuff, although I’m not sure how stylish one can look wheeling up charlton church lane with six Asda bags hanging off the back of one’s chair.

Late last night, just before I went to bed, I was flipping through the tv channels. I caught the end of something on sky news. I usually try to avoid sky, it being a fascist organisation, but I was tired. On it I saw a review of today’s papers, and one of the commentators was talking crap about how taxing billionaires won’t solve the debt crisis. I instantaneously became quite pissed off: in my book, anyone who claims that increasing taxation for billionaires is an ineffective way of cutting the deficit and instead benefits should be reduced is by definition a selfish idiot. How can people think that the most able in society should be free to live in luxury while the less fortunate, or should I say less greedy,, have the services and benefits they rely on to live reduced? Let’s cut the crap: they don’t believe it is ineffective they are just selfish and don’t like sharing with others. They say the wealthy are wealthy because they earned it, so they should be allowed to keep their wealth, but that is bull. At the end of the day, one becomes wealthy through a mixture of greed, thievery and luck. Rich people do not deserve their wealth any more than anyone else; they are not better than the rest of us in any way, just more selfish, opportunistic and lucky. Taxation redresses this imbalance, seeking to level the playing field. Thus anyone who tries to keep taxes for the most wealthy down is, at the end of the day, defending greed, injustice and selfishness. When I look at the hardships people in the disability community are currently having to go through, with the imminent closure of the Independent Living fund meaning institutionalization for many, it makes my blood boil to see people talking such selfish, arrogant bullshit.

A new day, a new year.

Earth continues her journey around the sun Never-ending, constant.

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow

As he king-killing scot said.

***

And yet, every tomorrow starts with a fresh dawn

New light, new hope, new opportunity.

Earth orbits the sun, but that sun shines:

Illuminating our way through the dark and cold

Sending us light and heat

New light, new heat, new dawn, new year.

I feel today I must try to write some sort of summation of the year. It has, quite frankly, been an astounding one: how can I possibly summarize such an eventful, awesome twelve months? I feel very privileged indeed to have been a Londoner this year; more to the point, it was a privilege to be with Lyn this year. I have never felt so proud as when I sat in the Olympic stadium and watched her play. I have therefore put together this short video to commemorate this extraordinary year. Okay, I’m not completely sure all the pictures in it are from 2012, and YouTube might soon object to the music, but it’s from the heart. It truly is a wonderful world.

Today has been a nice quiet day, mostly spent reading. It had been a while since I decided to sit down for an afternoon with my head in a book, so today I did. Lyn got me a book called ‘Bond on Bond’ for christmas: while I daresay it is more populist than the academic stuff I usually read, it is a great little text full of intriguing bits of information.. Do you know the actor who played ‘Nick-Nack’ bedded about 45 women on set – great going for someone of his height! Anyway, I’ll review it properly once I get it finished, so for now I better get back to it.

I just came across this nice little Guardian article looking back at the booing of George Osbourne at the Olympics. That was a very interesting and telling moments possibly one of the best moments of the year. In that moment of national pride, what clearer message can you get that the country does not like his government and what it is doing? It could almost have been choreographed: as the article suggests, too, the only reason CaMoron was not similarly bood is that he was always accompanied by someone else. Had he been alone, the country’s contempt for the unelected asshole is so high that the heckling would have been deafening. As it is, the booing of Osbourne was a very telling moment, and one that should be seen as indicating the national mood.

I think I’ll just flag this up today. As I wrote recently, disability arts are becoming increasingly important, and this applies no less to disability comedy. Sick Crip Bitch is one of a wave of no-holds-barred disabled comedians who are angry and no longer try to hold that anger back. Great stuff, then. Enjoy!

I have finally got round to starting my methodical reappraisal of the roger Moore Bond films. Lyn gave me Moore’s book, Bond On Bond for Christmas, so I thought I better give him a whirl. Given that it’s opening was referenced at the Olympic games, and given too that I love the theme, I decided to start with The Spy Who loved Me. You know, it was definitely a mistake to try to watch all twenty-two bond films end on end, as I just got bond fatigue. Comparing one bond to another is like comparing wines: the great thing about the Bond franchise is that it has vintages. Watching ‘Spy’ just now, I realised I was watching a great film of its day, one finely balanced, and, while still cartoonish compared to others, not without nuance. Indeed, it has some great touches: at one point, near the end, Bond flips a switch on the submarine and the non-diagetic music cuts out. Genius!

I suppose I was too hasty to dismiss Roger Moore’s double oh seven. He might not be as brutal as the others, and he might be ever so slightly camp, but I realise now he still has a right to introduce himself as ”Bond, James Bond.” Next on my ‘to watch’ list: Live and Let Die.

‘There are 363 days until Christmas and people already have their Christmas lights up. Unbelievable.”

-Anon

I have been trying to think of what to write about the queen’s speech yesterday. I know I should try to analyze it in some way, but what can I say? What can one write the day after one’s future wife and her orchestra played the national anthem for the queen at the Christmas speech?

Probably the first thing to note is how proud I am. Truth be told, part of me thinks I’m dreaming all this: first Lyn plays along side Coldplay at the Paralympic closing ceremony, then she is asked to perform the anthem for the queen herself. I appear to be engaged to a megastar! I should explain, of course, that this all came about around two months ago: apparently, her majesty had seen the Paraorchestra at the closing ceremony, and decided to ask them to play for her Christmas address. That is how, one cold winters morning a few weeks ago, Lyn, myself and Dominik found ourselves in a taxi en route to Buckingham palace!

I must say how incredible it was in there: gold, marble and smart red carpets everywhere. The piece was recorded in the grand ballroom, and during the recording I had a chance to look around a bit. You have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to tell you about seeing the very corridor down which the queen and bond walk in this film! When it was pointed out to me, it made my year! Of course, I had to keep the fact that I had seen it a secret: the details of the speech are supposed to be hush hush! Mind you, I just had to tell my parents.

Now that the piece has aired though, I feel I ought to say a few things about it. It occurs to me that this performance by the Paraorchestra was really rather significant. It is surely evidence of disability arts becoming mainstream: after all, how much more mainstream can you get than playing at the palace? Of course, you could point out that this was not very inclusive, as inclusion would be to have disabled musicians play alongside able-bodied ones. However, I feel this performance is nevertheless a sign of the increased inclusion of disabled artists into thee mainstream, and as such it is very, very significant. We have the Paralympics to thank, of course: it has been widely noted how the Olympics and Paralympics were seen as on an equal footing, and that the Paralympics gave a new life to the widespread perception of disabled people. I find it likely that the Paraorchestra’s performance was another sign of that change in perceptions; it would also add to it. Hopefully seeing the Paraorchestra play at the palace yesterday, as they did at the closing ceremony, helped to change a few more minds about what we crips are capable of. As such I find this performance, short though it was, very significant indeed. Surely having a group of disabled musicians play at such a high-profile event, doing a job normally done by able-bodied musicians, is a huge step forward for disabled people. And I am damn proud that Lyn is part of that.

Lyn and I have enjoyed a nice quiet relaxing day at home; one of those relaxing, chilled out Christmases of the best kind. All I have to say today is, A merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night..and, if you haven’t, please watch the queen’s speech.

I don’t really have much to write about today. Lyn and I are having one of those slow, lazy days when we don’t leave the house and just watch the box or listen to music. Lyn’s bro Mike popped around earlier, as did marta. It was good to see them both. Thus I think I’ll just wish you all the happiest of Christmases and direct you all here.

Why has New York never hosted the Olympics? I was thinking about this yesterday: I have recently become quite interested in the politics behind the Olympics. It seems to me that this is the nearest thing to a truly worldwide event we have, apart perhaps from the football world cup, but even that does not have the same degree of worldwide interest. When you think about it, the Olympics are a unique cultural phenomenon, and thus they are quite fascinating politically.

I started to look into this yesterday afternoon, just on google. It is surprising how complicated the politics just for choosing the venue is. I was astonished to discover too that New York City has never been selected to host the games – that really did surprise me, given how important New York is globally. When I began to look into why, though, I began to glimpse a labyrinth of international politics, deals, old rivalries and alliances, topped off with a great deal of economics. Apparently, one of the reasons New York has never hosted the games is because the IOC object to some of the US broadcast rules. No doubt similar webs of intrigue apply for Paris, who, Like New york, is thinking of bidding for the games of 2024.

So while I’ve been wittering on about the Queeny-Bondy thing for all these months there is a lot more one can look into on the subject of the Olympics and the politics behind it. That sketch still fascinates me, and I’ve written about it’s importance both artistically and politically. Yet such things can probably only occur at events like the Olympics, giving rise to my interest in it as a global cultural event. What I think I need to look into now, though, are the global forces behind the IOC: their choice of city is extremely important, and it seems to me that they hold a hell of a lot of power for such a small, unelected body. Time, then, for me to get back to Google!

Today I think I’ll simply direct you here, to a review of ‘Together 2012’, the event I went to on tuesday evening. As I said, it was a great night, and we definitely need more such events. They are an outlet for crip pride and solidarity at a time when pride and solidarity are needed the most. As Richard Downes, writer of the piece and the event organizer put it, ”Penny [Pepper] is here to celebrate but she is also calling for defiance after all, only today the closure of the Independent Living Fund was confirmed. With ‘Fraud’ she swings right back at the oppressor redefining the actions of millionaire ministers.” Just what the doctor ordered!

I suppose ‘Someone Else’ is quite right in their comment in yesterday’s entry. They point out that disability art has been on the rise for years and it is just my personal awareness of it that has recently grown. To be honest that is a perfectly valid point: until now I have been largely ignorant of the disability arts scene. However, I still feel that at the moment the need for disabled people to express themselves is greater than ever, given that we as a community are probably going to become more ostracised than we have been for a long time. We need to (forgive the phrase) stand up, show people we are here, we are human, and we are suffering because of the cuts.

Disability arts has to become an artistic movement of protest. It has, of course, always been such a movement from it’s genesis in the seventies; yet I think it is now time for it to reclaim it’s anarchic, in-your-face roots. That is not to say some people are not already stepping up a gear: from what I saw on Tuesday night, poets like Penny Pepper really are out there, proud, angry and strong. I am also proud to send you here, to Lyn’s new video for her ‘Love Me’ track. What we show to the world does not necessarily have to be overtly political, as long as it is seen.

What do I mean, then, when I write about wanting disability arts to step up a gear as an artistic movement of protest? Truth be told, I have yet to work that one out fully. With 19,000 disabled people facing imprisonment in ‘care homes’ and/or neglect when ILF funds go in 2015, it is clear something must be done, but what? We need to let as many people know what is happening to us as possible. Of course, organisations like disability arts online are leading the way in this, and I forgot to mention on Wednesday that Tuesday night’s event marked the end of Disability History Month, which had seen many such events. I suppose it is a sign of my ignorance that I am writing about this as if it were news, and I am rather ashamed that I am so clearly out of touch. Perhaps it is just me who needs to get more involved in the existing arts movement, rather than sitting here in my ivory tower arguing for the reinvention of the wheel. Nevertheless I do feel we need more poets like Pepper, more singers like Alan Holdsworth (surely the crip answer to Bob Dylan). The time has come to get pushy and forceful, to make it apparent in the most direct, immediate way possible what nineteen thousand of us will soon have to suffer.

Yesterday I wrote that we shouldn’t become too abrasive, but on second thoughts perhaps a little confrontation is in order. We need to be banksy rather than Monet; radiohead rather than rachmaninov; Godard rather than Spielberg. It is time to get vulgar, time to hit people harder than ever before. To be fair, I feel television programmes like ‘I’m Spasticus’ are a step down this path, but it could have gone much further: what we really need now is ‘I’m Spastcus’ squared.

I thought last night went very well indeed. Lyn was on the One Show with her fellow members of the british Paraorchestra and the Kaos Choir performing their new christmas song. it was her second time on the show, but the first time I had been to the bbc. I must say it was a brilliant experience: I got to go to the bbc tv centre, and, while I didn’t get to see much, I felt inspired by the place. The programme, which Lyn and the guys book-end as it were, can be seen here. I was so proud of them all.

As I said yesterday, disability arts seem to be on the ascent. No doubt this is due in large part to the Paralympics, and I’m very proud that Lyn had a role in that. But now I think we need to keep it up. People with disabilities are suffering disproportionately due to the cuts: the time has come to show the world what the government is doing to us. While the cuts wren’t mentioned last night, such things at least help to heighten our profile as a community. I feel we need to use such things to reveal our plight to the world. The question is, how to do this without being abrasive. I thought briefly about standing behind the choir holding up a sign saying something like ‘cuts kill crips’, but decided I better not. The fact is, though, the time has come for disability arts to step up a gear as an artistic movement of protest.

I am definitely getting used to London public transport: I’m getting increasingly confident using it anyway. Last night, after Lyn and I had returned from our weekly food shop, and after a quick (and largely tasteless) dinner, headed out again alone. I had seen online that there was some kind of disability arts event in Newham, and, checking the map, thought it close enough for look. There was a DLR station not too far away, and, once I had never ridden the docklands light railway alone before, thought it high tim I broke that duck.

So I went, and found the place without a problem. I must admit, when I looked into the place through the window, that my first thought was ”Oh fuck, it’s a spazzfest! Let’s go home.” I was worried that it was one of those condescending, sing-for-the-cripples pieces of shit we all had to endure. Yet I have an orchestra too plug, so I went in anyway.

I soon realised how mistaken I was. It was indeed a spazzfest, but of the best sort: these crips were angry and political, and were venting their anger at the government through poetry and song. I met Penny Pepper, a first class performance poet who I now would seriously like to collaborate, and who kindly gave me a free copy of her book. I also met Mik Scarlett, who was comparing the gig, and who kindly mentioned the fact that the Paraorchestra will be on the One Show tonight (bbc1, 7pm). It was a great gig, and made me realise how much I need to get into the disability arts scene (apart from just writing and blogging, I mean). Now more than ever, disability art must be an art form of protest.

That’s why we need more events like last night: disabled people must show the world what is happening to us. We are going out shortly, so I’ll discuss this in greater depth in tomorrow’s entry, but disability art, including things like the Paraorchestra, is more important today than ever. How else can we tell the world we are suffering?

I missed it when it first aired last week, so I think I’ll just flag this bbc breakfast interview up. It is with disabled activist and blogger Martyn Sibley. As i noted recently, sibley iss a very eloquent young man who articulate disability issues very well. Definitely one of the rising stars of our movement.

Today I better just mention the sad death of disability activist, dancer and musician Alan Martin. I can’t claim to have known alan very well: we just met a couple of times at Onevoice events, where I remember sharing a dinner table with him. However, he struck me as a truly great person, and an outstanding member of the disability community. As one person on facebook put it, ‘ As a species, humankind is lessened. He was a top fella … Made a difference he did, left the world a better place for having been here.”

Today I think I need to flag this remarkable, heartfelt letter up. Published in the New Statesman, it is from journalist Laurie Penny to a disabled friend of hers who has written in saying she is considering suicide. It is quite horrific, demonstrating the depths to which our government is currently pushing people. Penny writes: ”When society tells you that you are worth less because you are unwell, that’s society’s fault, not yours. They may be pursuing a doctrine of shame, but that doesn’t mean you have to feel ashamed. You have no reason whatsoever to feel ashamed. You are not a burden, and you are not a scrounger… ” Does CaMoron not realize the pain he is putting people through, or does he realize and simply not give a damn?

I did not get a chance to catch up with the news until late last night. After QI, I left it on for newsnight, and what I saw then made me feel suddenly cold. I saw president Obama announcing yet another school shooting, and, looking into his eyes, I thought I knew what he was thinking. He was asking himself ”is this why I came into politics? Is this the reason I went through all that pain? The electoral colleges, the TV debates? So I can stand here in front of millions and describe how some brainless little prick has taken his mother’s gun, gone into a primary school and killed twenty kids?” That is what I would be thinking had I been I standing where Obama was.

On my way back from the cinema last night, I thought about my dad. I remembered a night some twenty years ago, upon which he had began a new bedtime story. It had started ”In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.” I remember in that moment I had imagined the type of small hole dad usually dug in the back garden for planting things, and wondering what a hobbit was and how it would fit. That night saw the birth of my love for Tolkien – a love which continues even now, and has been made even stronger by Peter Jackson’s films. Watching the first part off the Hobbit film adaption last night brought it all back to me – I felt like I had that night long ago with dad, for those very words are used in the film. In a way it had brought that night back to the present. And in that moment on my way home last night I resolved to skype my parents again quite soon.

This morning, however, I find myself thinking of those school children, and their parents who, because of some thug probably seeking some kind of place in history, are never going to get to read to their children again. I had a great childhood: one filled with stories of hobbits and dragons and rings – a world which Peter Jackson has renewed. These kids are now never going to experience such joy, and their parents are never going to have the pleasure my mum and dad had, of getting to see their kids discover such tales. And I, like Obama and everyone else, find that very sad indeed.

I just returned home from watching the first part of the hobbit. As with my review of Skyfall, I better not give too much away, save to say that I thoroughly enjoyed returning to Middle-Earth, and that I’ll probably be humming this for weeks. Besides, I could not review it properly until I’ve seen all three, so my review will have to wait two years.

I don’t have too much to write about today, but I think I’ll flag this up. According to a study by the BBC, Three-quarters of Britons feel more positive about the role of people with disabilities in the UK following the Paralympics. That is good news surely, and I suppose not that surprising given the increased attention we cripples got. It must be time to capitalize on this: we can’t let this good feeling diminish. That is why the new single from the paraorchestra is so timely, and I would urge everyone to buy it. It must be said, though, that this Paralympic positivity is the one ray of light in an otherwise very bleak picture: from what I have been hearing, at GAD and other places, is that people with disabilities are becoming increasingly resented. People are becoming more and more hostile towards us due to the cuts: as money becomes more scarce, anyone on benefits, including us crips, is becoming a target for ostracisation and even, I’ve heard, open aggression. This is very worrying indeed, so I think that anything that can keep that paralympic positivity alive, no matter how small, must be a good thing.

One of the best things about living in London is that there is always something to do; another is that you never know when such things will crop up. Late on Monday evening I noticed on Facebook that my friend Hugh had a gig the next day with his band, Saltwater Samurai. It wasn’t too far away, so I popped in to the studio to ask Lyn about it. She was up for it, so last night, at around six, we headed out into the dark London night, first to Woolwich, and from there taking the DLR to the George Tavern in Stepney.

I suppose it was our first proper night out in ages, save the night out with my family. Apart from that, we have just been too busy. We needed a good old fashioned night out, with good music, good drinks and good company – and that is exactly what we got. There were three bands playing, of which Saltwater Samurai was the second: all three were great, and after his set Hugh popped by to have a chat. I think he was a bit surprised to see us there, but as ever he was in good spirits. He and his family are doing well: busy as ever, charlotte is touring with the Harmonettes. Incidentally, the joneses were at the Paralympic closing ceremony, and had loved seeing Lyn and the Paraorchestra play with Coldplay.

In all, then, a very good night out. I really liked all three bands, to be honest. The cool thing about London is that it is full of little niche nooks and crannies where bands play and people party. What’s more, Hugh told me that more of my old uni friends from Alsager are planning to move to the capital, which sounds like a potential source of fun. For now, though, Lyn and I are chilling out today, recovering – nights out seem to take a lot more out of me than they used to.

‘Vengeance on a dumb brute!” cried Starbuck, ”that simply smote thee from blindest instinct! Madness! To be enraged with a dumb thing, Captain Ahab, seems blasphemous.”

Ahab turned round. ”Dude,” he replied, ”STFU and go pay your tax!”

I better not pass too much comment, for fear of not knowing all the facts, but I must say that this story of forced institutionalization is truly appalling. A 14 year old Girl with CP died just hours after being forcibly taken into care by Florida state authorities. They argued that it was cheaper to take the kid into care than to provide home help: the institution didn’t know enough about the child to care for it properly, and she died from a seizure just twelve hours later.

I had hoped such dark things were behind us. Obviously not, and what can happen in america can happen in the UK too.

Something happened last night that I think is worth mulling over. We have a new PA,, Monika; a very clever woman with a background in photography. All yesterday afternoon we had been discussing art and film so after dinner last night I decided to ask her about the famous Olympic bond sequence: she seems more in tune with contemporary ideas in the art world than I am, and I wanted to know whether there was any intellectual mileage in seriously looking at that scene. Monika replied that of course there was, and that the convergence of fiction and reality was a huge, fascinating area. I showed her some of my blog entries on the subject, and she seemed rather interested.

But when I showed her the scene itself, she laughed: she thought it rather stupid. Interestingly, she would not accept that the queen actually played herself, and was adamant that it must have been a double. I tried to tell her that it was widely known that, while her majesty did not jump out of the helicopter herself, she did indeed play herself in the first part of the film. But it was getting late, and I had no luck.

But here’s the interesting part: what if that wasn’t the queen? On one level, it does not matter – all that matters is that a representation of her majesty acted alongside Daniel Craig. For all we know, it could indeed have been a double – our reactions would have been the same. Whether it was her or not doesn’t matter. Mind you, on another level, it matters a great deal: given the context of this film, where it was screened and it’s audience, if that was not the queen, we have all been royally duped. The deception would have had to have gone to the highest level; this country would have had to deceive the IOC and the entire world, just so that her majesty didn’t do the small bit of acting she did. I find that scenario very unlikely indeed.

I think the problem was I didn’t explain the context of this film well enough to Monika. Had the film had any other background, had it been a joke film made for a television comedy show, then of course, her majesty would never have been in it. But, that night, the world’s eyes were upon the UK and London, and we needed to make an impression. We needed to do something big, something unusual, something novel: I think we succeeded.

This film still fascinates me when I think about it. When you try to look at what is going on, it is quite intriguing: I have written before about the structures involved, and the tension between fiction and reality. The fictional world of Bond drawn into reality, at one and the same time rendering Bond real and the queen a fiction. Yet it also can be seen as alluding to the fact that the monarchy is just as much a national narrative as double-O-seven – both are stories we te-ll about ourselves. Thus this film takes us in an unusual, interesting place where one of the country’s oldest, most sacred institutions is opened up to a form of textual play, taken to the level of any other cultural narrative, at a moment when we had the entire world’s attention for the first time in sixty years. No wonder the morons of the Daily Mail loathed it: it showed that all they like to pretend is solid can melt into air, the same as anything else. From their point of view, her majesty was forced by populist liberals into participating in something far below her station and rank: if the queen is indeed the embodiment of Britain, then to see that figurehead being made to stoop to the level of just another bit of popular culture would have been tantamount to mocking the entire nation and everything that makes it stand out. After all despite the Britishness of the character, the Bond franchise is essentially American, so I can certainly see how, to some, this sequence represented the selling of the monarchy to American commercialism. Some would see it as the trivialisation of a unique aspect of British culture and history. The irony is, her majesty in fact volunteered to play herself in this film: Danny Boyle assumed they would have to use a double, such as Hellen Mirren. However, far from being forced into it, the queen was happy to play herself.

Yet that very contrast between tradition and mainstream entertainment is why I find this film so striking, so bold. In a moment of utter seriousness, Boyle chose to do something utterly postmodern, something both subversive and reverential at the same time. There is a reverence for the queens authority (note how she makes bond wait at the opening of the piece, demonstrating her authority) and a kind of irreverence for it (note how 007 coughs showing his impatience and impetuousness), a combination which I find quite British. It brings together two of our best-loved icons in a way nobody could ever have expected. That brings me back to Monika’s contention that the queen did not play herself, as that ties into the very tension between fiction and reality at the core of this film. The queen did and did not play herself, as, of course, it was a stunt double which jumped out of the helicopter. Thus in the same short film we also have fictional and nonfictional representations of the same person. On top of that we have an interesting juxtaposition of the prerecorded merging with the live: the first part of this film was apparently recorded back in march, but then film suddenly evolves into a live event. I’m sure such a device has been used before, but has it ever been done on such a scale? This is a film which uses a famously fictional character to introduce one of the world’s longest-reigning and most highly regarded heads of state into the world’s biggest sporting ceremony. There can’t be many other pieces of fiction or works of art which have the same context, the same blending of fiction and reality, the same evolution between recorded and live, the same juxtaposition between esteemed head of state and one of mainstream fiction film’s biggest icons, and the same subversion of traditional power structures. Framed in such terms, this short film, intended, no doubt, to be something throw away and comic, can be seen as quite important artistically. It tells us something about our culture, about our so-called traditional hierarchy and our simultaneous reverence and irreverence for it. Given the audience it was intended for – that is, just about the entire world – that’s why I find it so huge and intriguing. That’s why I keep returning to it – a film which at first glance may be throwaway is actually very revealing about British culture.

I must admit that have now become something of a monarchist since the Olympic opening ceremony. It is to her Majesty’s great credit that she made this film, as it would imply that she is aware of her true status in our culture, as a figurehead rather than anything more substantial. She does not see herself as above such things, which, in my book, makes her somehow more accessible, more human, and more worthy of my support. This film lets us know that the queen is aware of her true status as one of many pieces of iconography which combine to represent Britain: in making it she has modernised the monarchy; in admitting to her true position as a cultural construct she makes herself culturally relevant rather than aloof and out of touch. That, I must say, has my respect. Moreover, I think it told the rest of the world about our sense of humour, letting them know that we don’t take ourselves too seriously after all. Whether the queen played herself or not, has any other film made such a bold statement in front of such a vast, worldwide audience before? Would this dynamic change in the unlikely event that it emerges that the queen did not play herself, though? Either way, that is why I find this film so remarkable, fascinating, important an brave; it was thinking about this which spawned my fascination with the Olympics as a political force, which I began to discuss a couple of days ago, for what other event could give rise to this sort of pseudo-political textual play on such a massive scale?

It has been quite a cool day, mostly spent chatting about future projects and making plans. I just came across this quite awesome piece by Martyn Sibley though, and thought I would share it. Essentially it is his take on life as a disabled person, and I find myself agreeing with most if not all of it. He writes: ‘I believe disabled people can start to ‘own’ their differences. Many are kicking ass at school, work and life. If we have sex differently, roll rather than walk, speak with a computer, require sensory stimulation; so what!? By showcasing this, being proud of it and never settling; the bar gets raised a little higher. Moreover the message can be ”disability is cool, sexy and I need to get involved”.’ He writes that we should not hide our disability, but be proud of who we are: We saw with the Paralympics a coming together of worlds. A group of ‘superhuman’ athletes who are cool, sexy and happen to have an impairment. They collided with a public who were on an Olympic high, more socially minded and ready to look beyond medical conditions.’ Wise, inspiring words indeed – who knew I was that sexy!

As I wrote here, not long ago, I worry sometimes that, as I can’t describe it, I’m not sure I know what love is. But I was just pratting about at my desk when Lyn rolled in, just to see what I was up to. Today she is in a soft wooly jumper, and her hair smells of conditioner. We had our cuddle, as we often do, and in that moment, squeezing her body feeling the softness of her top, I found myself wondering how I could be so lucky that one of the most wonderful people on earth loves me so much. I have no idea what love is, but it really does feel good.

I was helping out at GAD today. They hold a weekly wrier’s group, which I volunteered to come to. It was very interesting – the participants had a wide range of abilities. One of the warm-up exercises involved writing about a stimulus like a twig or leaf, so I quickly dashed off the following poem, which I thought I’d share with you.

—

Autumn winds blow

Cold as ice

Shaking brown leaves onto London concrete.

A thousand feet fall

Trampling crisp windfall

Lifeless. Dead

—

Yet next year the sun will return And with it, new life, new green London will again bloom.

Time flows like the mighty Thames

Grey now, yet soon blue as the summer sky.

Question: is a Jerusalem 2032 Olympic bid feasible? What would be necessary to bring such an event about, and what might the implications of it be? I was thinking about this last night, and it seems to me a very interesting proposition. As we all know, this year saw a ‘Golden Summer of Sport’ for Britain – a summer which will not soon be forgotten. Accuse me of sounding like a tourism ad or a cheerleader for Boris if you must, but I really think London and the United Kingdom in general did itself proud this year: we came together, got the job done and put on a hell of a show.

Now it’s over it’s time to think about other things. If London benefited so much from hosting the Olympics, where now might it be good to see the Olympic party go? Such an event can be a massive boost, not just in terms of sport but socially and culturally as well. London is a peaceful first-world city; politics and economics aside, we are not that hard up. It occurs to me that the Olympics can be a tremendous force for good, as it brings the entire world’s attention on one city for four or five weeks. Thus, instead of awarding the Olympics to a flourishing city like London, wouldn’t it be great if the international Olympic Committee directed the world’s attention to a city that needed it, like Jerusalem, or Nicosia in Cyprus? Would the boost London received, primarily to both it’s economy and reputation, not also translate into a force for reconciliation?

What, then, would be necessary to bring such an event about, and what might the implications of it be? Leaving aside the obvious fact that Jerusalem is tiny compared to a city like London, and, as was pointed out to me by Sandy on Facebook, ”it needs to expand quite a lot to put all the stadia in”, what would have to happen before Jerusalem hosts the Olympics. Now, I am no middle east politics expert, and nor do I like being a pessimist, but the answer must surely be a hell of a lot.

Of course, one of the first steps down that road would surely be to grant Palestine statehood, but therein lies the first problem. Whose capital, and thus whose Olympics, would Jerusalem be – Israel’s or Palestine’s? This also gives rise to a chicken-and-egg type paradox: the point of holding an Olympics in Jerusalem would be to encourage peace, but peace would surely have to be a prerequisite before the IOC even considers awarding Jerusalem an Olympics. The IOC must therefore show bravery: any such award right now would be extremely problematic, if not downright dangerous. Yet by awarding Jerusalem the Olympic games they might supply the peace process with the very impetus it needs: it would be a supreme act of faith. Moreover, if palestine is indeed it’s own state by then, why couldn’t the games be jointly hosted by both countries, independent yet united.

The situation is very complex, and I can’t pretend to understand it, but I do sympathise with this piece of creative writing concerning how such a games might come about in twenty years: ” The co-lighting of the flame is thought to be a compromise: Palestine initially wanted to include its dead in the commemoration, while Israel refused to equate the athletes with their killers. The proposed arrangement will acknowledge the slain athletes as individuals and Olympians, and the joint lighting of the flame will symbolize both the tragedy of the event as well as the possibility of reconciliation.” It was this article which proposed the year 2032 – sixty years since the tragedy of Munich. If any human activity is capable of reconciling such a divided people, it is art and sport – the two things which the Olympics seems to fuse perfectly. As we saw this summer, both art and sport, when use in the right way, can be a tremendous force for good. Sporting events, like the Olympics, are capable of bringing people together in a way few other occasions can. Call me a hopeless romantic, an optimist, or utterly unrealistic if you must, but surely this must be worth a try.