As I’m a confirmed Mac convert now, this just seemed too funny not to post

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How can assholes like Michael Gove be allowed to call themselves members of parliament? How dare such pieces of scum undo a quarter of a century of progress in education, turning the clock back to a manifestly unfair system biased towards elitism? I am appalled at what this unelected prick is doing: in effectively bringing back the old O-Level, he is effectively restoring class division, turning his back on every shred of evidence on the subject and reinstating a system favouring only the few. Words cannot describe my disgust at this piece of shit’s arrogance.

I sat GCSEs. I began my GCSE English in 97 and finished two years later. That seems a lifetime ago; I don’t think I’ve fully described my school education on here before, and it is probably worth doing so. I am what some call a ‘survivor’ of the special school system, an expression referring to the fact that I managed to leave school with a few half decent qualifications, but now imbued with a savage irony given the rate at which my old classmates seem to be dropping. The special school I went to stands next door to a comprehensive, so a few of the most able students could take classes there. That’s where I took my GCSE English, and where I first discovered that I could excel in something.

Writing is my first love – it always has been. It is the reason why my office is so full of books, and the reason why I keep typing blog entries. I had always written, but it wasn’t until gcse English that I realised that I could be any good at it, for it was then that I started to receive my first proper feedback. Before that stage, when I wrote a piece of work it was either put on the wall or filed away: it may have got the odd tick, but that was it. At GCSE, Mr. Dale took the time to go through my coursework, explaining where I was going wrong and suggesting improvements.

That is the advantage of coursework. It allows candidates to demonstrate their true abilities in much more relaxed, realistic circumstances. Exams are artificial, taken in artificial environments thus producing artificial unrealistic results. We all know that some people are better at taking results than others; for people like myself hey can be tortuous ordeals. My three GCSE English exams lasted six hours each because I had extra time, and left me a physical wreck. I did, however, get an A in them, but the fact is that was only because of the marks I was getting in my coursework. Coursework both boosted my overall mark and gave me the confidence to sit exams.

Looking back, I suppose you could argue that the A I got at GCSE English set in motion a chain of events, beginning something which hasn’t yet quite stopped. I once wrote that my path to university and beyond started with a simple google search, but it occurs to me that I would never have had the confidence to even perform that search had it not been for my A in English. That was my first taste of success, the first time I realised that I was not a failure, and it was only due to the way in which GCSEs were structured that I received the result I did. In short, had I not done GCSE English, I might not be sitting here in south London wondering when my future wife would be ready to go to the pub, but still sitting in the same bedroom I had as a child feeling utterly valueless, wondering how best to end his worthless life.

I could never have passed a course based solely on exam results. What gove is doing, then, is consigning millions of young people, both disabled and not, to a scrapheap. He is saying that if you do not fit his narrow, elitist, essentially baseless criteria, then you are worthless. How can we let such bigots run the country? Why is this unelected fool allowed to ruin so many lives, dashing the hopes of so may children even before their lives have started? Standards might have been falling, and some reform was clearly necessary, but what gove has done in reverting to baseless Tory doctrine is turn the educational clock back a century. I am utterly revolted by the actions of this unelected little git, but I am more concerned about the children whose futures he has ruined. If he had any honour – and what Tory does? – his resignation will be covered in tonight’s news.

It’s lazy blogging I know, but today I think I’ll just direct you here, to Crippen’s latest, very astute, cartoon. It concerns a pastor in america who somehow links disability to women having abortions, an attitude wrong on so many levels, but one with some parallels with circumstances here. As Crippen says, ‘It’s not a far step from what our own government are doing to the disabled people of this country – demonising us by persuading people that we Crips are all benefits scroungers, and soley responsible for the current financial crisis!” A valid point, I think, and very worrying: as the financial situation becomes worse, minorities always get more and more demonized. It is not unthinkable that we will soon start to see such intolerance in britain too.

Lyn and I just watched the Paraorchestra documentary in full for the first time. Of course, we were out when it first aired, and although the production company sent us a copy, it was not until this afternoon that we both had a chance to sit down and watch it together. I just want to record how pleased I am with it: I never thought I would be in a Channel Four documentary, unless it was in something like ‘The UK’s strangest People’. More to the point, I found it to be a great piece of television well rounded, telling a good story, but not too sentimental. Some have accused it of being too medical model, and although I can see what they mean, I don’t think it overly suffers for it. However, I must say that the main effect the program had on me personally was to make me feel even more proud of the members of the Paraorchestra. Through Lyn I have got to know them over the last few months: to a man they are all wonderful people whom I am truly honoured to know. Again, seeing them up on stage with Coldplay last Sunday was just about the proudest moment of my life, and seeing the woman I love among them must make me the proudest, luckiest man that ever lived.

(The full version can now be seen here.)

I just watched an absolutely brilliant bit of radio. It has been ages since I listened to radio five’s film review show on Friday afternoon, but today they were doing a special program which involved the bbc philharmonic playing various pieces of James bond music. Although I feel guilty about exiling Lyn to the garden, albeit not intentionally, I decided to watch the entire thing on our TV via the red button. I really did fid it wonderful: as both a Bond fan and a student of film, I realise that one of the defining features of the 007 franchise is it’s music.

Of course, they couldn’t play all the themes, although I thought they could have fitted more in. they kept cutting away to stuff like travel and weather, which irritated me, but then it is five live and that is their remit. I was glad to hear the inclusion of ”Nobody Does it Better”, my favourite bond theme, which apparently came second in their poll. Live and Let Die, another awesome track, came first. Mark Kermode insisted that they play the theme from On Her Majesty’s Secret Service, despite nobody having voted for it. That’s something of a coincidence: a week o two ago, I set myself he task of watching all the bond films in order before Skyfall comes out, and OHMSS is next on my list. What Kermode said bout it was quite interesting, so I think I’ll pop it on soon. Now, however, enough geeking out: time to go make up for exiling Lyn to the garden.

Just a quick entry today to direct you here, to quite a wonderful article in the Telegraph about the Paraorchestra. It seems things really have taken off, and I suddenly find myself the boyfriend of a megastar who is being quoted extensively in national newspapers. Lyn takes it all in her stride – in fact she is working on her newest track as I type – but part of me still can’t get over the enormity of what happened on sunday.

Sunday was one of the coolest days of my life, but I should record that Saturday was rather cool too. Charlotte was in town for the closing ceremony, and, since yesterday was her birthday, she and her family were having a party over in blackheath. Lyn and I were invited, but rather sensibly Lyn decided to stay home and prepare for the next day. This meant that I went with Dominic, meeting up with the Jones family in a pub by the river. I had planed to just have a couple of beers with Charlie and then be sensible and come home, but I must admit once I have a beer or two inside me, sense gets rather lost somewhere. Besides, it had been over a year since I had seen my best friend from university.

In the end we had dinner with them in a lovely restaurant with it’s own miro-brewery*. I’m pleased to report that the joneses are all as I remember them: intelligent, energetic, but ever so slightly eccentric (in the best possible sense). I must say too that I had what must be the best pizza I have ever tasted, in a meal which easily ranks alongside these. I also had the opportunity to chat to Hugh.

Hugh jones makes his own instruments; in a way he’s rather like Rolf Gellher of the Paraorchestra. They both specialize in creating innovative ways of creating music, and I would love to introduce those two to each other somehow. Lyn had asked me to ask Hugh if he could make her something: at the moment Lyn uses her Ipad to create music, as shown here, but I think she wants a way of performing live more effectively. Hugh said he’d be happy to help, so now I think I need to chat with Lyn and bash out an outline of what she needs. Plus it would be a great excuse to get hugh here in order to catch up with him.

Anyway, it was not very late before we headed home. It had been a great evening, and, after a rendition of When The Night Feels My Song for old times sake, Dom pushed me back, my mind unusually not on what had just happened, but on the day to come.

*No prizes for guessing where I’ll be taking Lyn at the earliest opportunity.

I noticed looking at the bbc news website this morning that there was, for the first time in ages, almost no mention of the Olympics on the front page. I suppose it is a sign that the party is indeed now over, and that ordinary life has resumed. But we in the disabled community cannot afford to let things return to the way they were. The Paralympics went a long way to opening peoples eyes and minds to ‘our world’. The world has been shown what we are capable of, from extraordinary feats of incredible speed in the wheelchair racing to playing alongside one of the biggest bands of our era. To paraphrase Charles Hazelwood, there cannot be an intelligent person alive who thinks that people with disabilities cannot rank alongside their able-bodied peers in any discipline. We cannot let the opportunity that presents to us slip. We must now capitalise on our new found recognition; we must make the world see what is now at stake for disabled people in the UK. As my friend James put it, ” after the truly inspirational Parraolympics [sic] Cameron MUST now reverse every single cut to disabled benefit”. Indeed, without such benefits none of what just occurred would have been possible. As Ade Adepitan, the Paralympic wheelchair medallist who presented for Channel 4 during the Games, said: “Without DLA I would not have been able to do what I did or be a top athlete.”

Thus we as a community find ourselves in an odd position. On one level, this has been a glorious summer after which people can finally see us as people, many of whom have extraordinary abilities. The old stereotypes about disabled people being useless has been smashed. Yet at the same time I fear we are about to enter a winter of great discontent and hardship. The cuts are barely starting to bite yet and already people are suffering: hundreds have been turfed off benefits and told to find jobs when it is obviously impossible for them to do so. The barbarity and callousness of Ian Duncan-Smith’s proposal to change the benefits system to ‘universal credit’ makes me shudder. The repercussions of the changes will see a huge drop in income for many disabled people. Thus we must capitalise on the current heightened awareness and profile of disability and make sure the legacy of the Olympics is a happy one.

The circus, as they say, has now left town. Things will return to normal: no more events to watch, no more queens jumping out of helicopters. The danger is now that we crips will be forgotten again – the stereotypes will creep back, and we will once more be seen as a burden. How can we let that happen? We must maintain our profile; we must show ourselves as active, productive members of society. And, above all, we must let the world know what is being done to people with disabilities.

I suppose it could be validly argued that I should have stayed home yesterday. Lyn and Marta would have gone to the Paralympic closing ceremony without me: Marta could have focussed on supporting Lyn without me getting in the way, and I would have been safe here at home watching it all on tv. That would have been the logical thing to do, especially given I still don’t have my electric wheelchair so I have to walk everywhere.

Well, logic can go take a nice long holiday in Rio! There was no way I was staying home yesterday, no way I was going to miss the chance to see my Lyn play in front of thousands alongside coldplay. Thus yesterday I went with Lyn to the closing ceremony of the London 2012 paralympics, the final ceremony of a festival the likes of which I doubt London will see again for quite some time. I must say how proud I am of my city and my country: what we have achieved this year is truly phenomenal. Politically things may be rather dire right now, and most people despise our current government, but that is no reason not to be proud of what happened in London this summer. This city has just put on perhaps the greatest Olympics ever, and seeing Lyn performing at it’s last ceremony last night, having been sneaked in just for their song despite officially having to stay backstage, was the greatest, proudest moment of my life.

I know I should write more. Part of me thinks I should try to detail every moment of the day, recording it for posterity, but I cant. How could any writer convey the excitement of being backstage, or the feeling of awe and admiration I felt when I looked at Lyn and her fellow musicians, about to perform in front of billions? I can’t convey how proud I am, as I doubt words exist in any human tongue which would come close. I can just direct you here, and say that I am now the proudest boyfriend that ever lived.

I usually try to avoid advertising tv programs, but I strongly suggest you watch this at 5.25 tomorrow afternoon on channel four. I’ll have to watch it on 4od though, as lets just say I suspect I’ll be rather occupied by that time.

Lyn and I have a very, VERY three days coming up. Although I’m now officially allowed to say what she is up to since it has been leaked on Twitter and in the press,

I sill don’t want to state it openly on here in order that those who don’t know still have a surprise on sunday (big hint there!) Today is the last day of calm before the storm, and even then L has a photoshoot this afternoon. Thus this morning I’ve just been mulling around on the web, checking up on things I check up on from time to time.

On such thing is the possibility of a new Star Trek series coming out. With the first Hobbit film coming out soon, and Skyfall due for release in October, the only thing missing to complete my trilogy of obsessions was a new Trek. I know the sequel to Abrams’ reboot comes out next year, but to me that doesn’t count as I don’t really consider it cannon. On the other hand, it will have Benedict Cumberbatch playing Kahn, which is an intriguing prospect.

Anyway, earlier I googled ‘new star trek series’ and hit what might well be the jackpot. there are reports that Michael Dorn is working on a series called ‘captain Worf’. I rather like worf, and certainly agree that there is plenty of scope in the character for exploration, so to me this sounds like a great idea. Mind you, there have been reports of such things before which came to nothing, and the project is far from being green lit. Whether anything come of it remains to be seen. However, at the conclusion of Deep Space Nine worf was made federation ambassador to the klingon homeworld, giving rise to the possibility that this series could be more political in theme and revolve around Klingon/federation relations. That to me would certainly be worth watching, for, as is often noted, such series usually act as allegories for politics here on earth. For example, the sixth star trek film, the undescovered country, was on the surface about klingons and humans making peace, but is actually about the collapse of the USSR. Thus such a series could function as boromiter for contemporary American politics, especially when compared to previous trek incarnations, which is an intriguing prospect. This is certainly something I am going to keep an eye on; I better stop writing before I get too geeky, though.

Yesterday I started the process of looking for a new chair. Given my rather gung-ho driving style, maybe this would be a good candidate, although I daresay getting it on and off busses and around corner shops might be interesting. The search continues, and I’d welcome any suggestions.

If you were in any doubt about how unpopular our current government is, go here. The booing of george osbourne at the Olympics yesterday surely demonstrates how little support there is for this tory government, and that is for one simple fact: it was not elected in the first place. at the last election, people just voted against labour, causing the split result we saw. In other words, most people did not vote tory because they wanted the tories in power. Thus this essentially tory government has no mandate to rule; it has no right to do what it is doing. It has no right to wreck peoples lives; no right to turn the education system back 25 years. The people of this country know this – no wonder they boo an unelected chancellor imposing deeply unfair, ideologically-inspired cuts.

In my entry yesterday I neglected to mention something very important which was also happening Friday. There was a huge protest by people with disabilities at the Atos headquarters in Euston. It got quite a bit of media attention, including this report from the bbc. Of course, these protests have my wholehearted support: there is no reason why one cannot get fully behind our Paralympics team while being opposed to the fascist organisation sponsoring the games. After all, the Paralympic athletes themselves had nothing to do with the selection of the sponsor. But seeing the Atos logo at the games does put a bad taste in my mouth: the Paralympics is doing so much good for the profile of disabled people in general, it is just a shame that a company doing so much harm to many disabled people will be allowed to benefit from it.

The more I think about it the stranger what happened yesterday seems. Lyn had a concert yesterday with the Paraorchestra, and, not wanting to be left home alone all day, I went with her. My chairs are still broken, so once again I was walking; it kills my feet, but even so it’s definitely better than staying at home twiddling my thumbs. So we both got up early and set off for the queen Elisabeth hall on the south bank, taking the bus then the tube.

It was quite a long day. We had to be there by nine, but the gig itself wasn’t until about seven in the evening. That meant a day backstage for me and our PA John, talking to people, using my Ipad and, in john’s case, making boxes out of leaflets (his new obsession to replace cigarettes). I get on well with the Paraorchestra guys and, although I don’t play, I think I’m seen as something of an honorary member, so it was okay. Now that I’m the boyfriend of a megastar, I suppose I better get used to hanging around in green rooms and back stage.

However, just before the show, something very uncanny happened. The artists bar was by then doubling as the accessible bar. At one stage a lady in a wheelchair came in to ask if there were any tickets left. At first I took little notice of her, but then I realised that she was Australian and her name was Stella, and I suddenly had the oddest hunch of my life. About seven years ago, an Australian lady called Stella used to comment on my blog, and I suddenly felt that this was the same person. Now that I think about it, it seems laughable: there must be many disabled Australians called Stella. The chances of this being the same person were tiny, but I was so taken with the idea that they could be one and the same that I just had to ask.

Yet that is precisely who it turned out to be. Before I could ask her, she was whisked away to the performance, but later I had a chance to chat to her. I showed her my blog on my Ipad, and, to both our astonishment, she recognised it! It was one of the oddest moments of my life. She is here covering the Paralympics for ABC Australia. That I just bumped into her, and recognised her from such scant details, is truly, truly uncanny. Where but in London could something like that happen?

The show itself went well, apparently: I couldn’t see it as all the tickets were sold. I stayed backstage, bought myself a beer, and tried to calculate the probability of what just happened while I waited for my megastar to return.

Earlier I was wondering why Bond didn’t appear at last nights paralympic opening ceremony, and came across this explanation. The strange thing is, the dude in the video looks a lot like me, and even shares my name…

Last night I could not help thinking ‘this is us’. It was as if my people, the vibrant community to which I belong, had suddenly taken centre stage, and I have rarely felt more proud. I felt as if the eyes of the world have turned towards the disabled community, and the British disabled community in particular, and finally saw us for who we truly are. In short I found the Paralympic opening ceremony a triumph.

I had feared I would find it condescending; I had feared it would be full of patronising imagery and slogans like ‘triumph over adversity’ and ‘don’t they do well’, as if this was something which had to be done after the Olympics to keep us cripples happy. Instead, I felt last night’s ceremony was just as impressive, grandiose and enthusiastic as the first. This was no afterthought, no tagged on sequel, but a pre-planned second volume of an epic novel, the denouement of a tale started by norms but continued by us crips. To see the second event being taken no less seriously than the first felt very gratifying indeed.

Unfortunately, there was no grand entrance by the queen. I must admit to being mildly disappointed by that. After she parachuted in with double-oh-seven last time, I was half expecting something similar. I thought there was an outside chance that they might just replay that film, although I daresay that would have just looked lazy. It would have been cooler, in my opinion, to have done something similar but with a disability slant. What if Francesca Martinez and Matt Frazer had gone to collect her majesty in a dial-a-ride bus, or Steven Hawking had ‘beamed’ her in with his star-trek style transporter? In the event she simply appeared: not as cool as being escorted to the stadium by James Bond, but fair enough, the joke had been done.

I was glad to see that Professor Hawking did indeed have a major role to play in the ceremony. Proffessor Hawking has been one of my rolemodels for as long as I can remember, being the first VOCA user I ever knew about. I was thrilled to see him being featured so prominently. Mind you, it must be said that hawking is a bit of a living, breathing disability stereotype – that of the crippled genius – so his inclusion might have been rather obvious. Think cripple, think Hawking. On the whole, though, I think including him as narrator was a good move, and I must admit it brought a tear to my eye when he exulted everyone to look up at the stars and not down at our feet. When he said ” We are all different, there is no such thing as a standard or run-of-the-mill human being but we share the same human spirit. What is important is that we have the ability to create. This creativity can take many forms, from physical achievement to theoretical physics” I realised this ceremony was being used as a tool to ram home messages that disability rights campaigners have been trying to convey for many years.

I also liked the inclusion of Sir Ian Mackellen, not for any disability link but simply because he is one of my current favourite actors. Whenever he appeared, I couldn’t help but think ‘Mithrandir’. I had to raise an eyebrow, though, at the fact he was reading prospero’s lines from The Tempest. After all, in part The Tempest sings the praises of colonialism and imperialism: prospero is very much portrayed as superior to Caliban, the subjugated native of the island who in some ways can be seen as disabled. Miranda irritates me too, being a wimpish, naive girl always accepting her father’s word.

That aside, the latter half of the ceremony struck me as a great success, for after Shakespeare came something far more up to date. The moment Ian Dury’s Spasticus Autisticus struck up, I realised the ceremony directors had actually been listening to us crips, and if there is one thing we like it’s ironically playing with others’ perceptions of us. It was great to see that kind of self-knowing crip humour on such a major stage. The moment that song started, I thought ”this is for us!” as it displayed the same type of self-awareness I read in many disability activists. After that, I was kind of hoping that someone would say something about the cuts – after all, there is something to be said about the spectacle of so many disabled people performing in front of a prime minister who is depriving them of the means to live but that would have gone too far. It was just good to see a bit of true disability culture, rather than seeing the usual patronising images of poor crippled kids or disabled people who think they’re being provocative by playing pranks on the public when in fact they are reinforcing stereotypes.

All in all, then, I thought the opening ceremony of the Paralympics was a great success. For me, the greatest and most telling aspect was the fact that it was very much the equal to it’s predecessor: it was no less spectacular than the Olympic opening ceremony; no doubt it took no less effort to create and perform. It occurs to me that this is a sign that disability culture and politics may be about to enter the mainstream a bit more, and that the disability community might be about to raise it’s profile. After all, that’s exactly what happened in china after Beijing hosted the Olympics. I certainly hope so: who knows, these games could herald something of a renaissance for the disability community. If it does, however, we must work hard not to squander the political capital that would come with it: we must show that, while we have triumphed, it is despite and not because of the government’s current actions. The disability community now has a golden opportunity to take centre stage: we can ill afford to let it pass us by right now.

Rarely have I seen a more aggressive piece of writing in a newspaper, but I really must link to this article about Atos by Mark Steel. It is openly one sided, sarcastic, combative and very very angry – I absolutely love it!

For some reason earlier today I was struck by the urge to find out about India. It might have been inspired by my friend Jonathon’s pictures, who, it would appear, recently came back from a holiday in the subcontinent. After seeing his pictures, I suddenly wanted to read up about India and it’s history. I have a habit of letting my mind go off on tangents like that; I wonder whether that is related to my cerebral palsy, but I digress.

I also just watched the latest episode of Himalaya with Michael Palin on bbc iplayer, currently being repeated on bbc four on Sundays. That only made matters worse, for it now appears my wanderlust has returned. Lyn has recently started to talk about going on holiday again: I may not have seemed that keen on the idea at the time, but, believe me, nothing makes me more excited than the prospect of having another adventure. I think it’s a brilliant idea, and it certainly is high time that we had a nice break in somewhere exotic. It feels like ages since we went away, and I miss the buzz of anticipation and excitement you get when you are sitting in an aeroplane ready to take off, bound for a place you have never been before. Lyn is working her arse off right now especially, and deserves a break: our eyes need new sights to see, our lungs fresh air to breathe, our noses new smells to sample, and our tongues new tastes to try.

I suppose that will have to wait though. We have things to do here before we can think about heading off to parts unknown; we’ll also have to save up cash. Thus I’ll have to content myself with continuing to explore the concrete jungles of south London until I get to see the more leafy jungles of Bengal. Besides, the events of Saturday were pretty cool, and it’s not as if we don’t also have some pretty exciting things coming up, although I can’t tell you about that yet. Travel, then, must wait, at least until adventures at home have ran their course, and then, who knows? Mr. Palin’s footprints might well be followed by our tyre tracks.

Today I would just like to revisit this entry. Over the weekend I was thinking about geography, and how living in London does weird things to one’s sense of place. I still can’t get my head around just how vast this city is: on Saturday, on the coach to Snape Maltings, we seemed to be driving for ages before we left the city. It is almost as if London is it’s own world: back in Cheshire I could easily leave the town limits of Congleton and go to another village or town which had it’s own character and was divided from it by fields. In the metropolis I rarely feel that sense of entering another place: London just goes on and on, so that in a way it feels like it’s own world. Indeed, inasmuch as London doesn’t resemble anywhere else in Britain, it feels like I live in another country or even dimension, with it’s own rules. People behave differently here; you even have to think differently about things like space, place and travel, and you seem to forget there is a world outside London so that London becomes the world. It’s as if the very texture of the word is different. Although I do still sometimes miss driving down country lanes through the fields, London fascinates me in terms of being it’s own mini world, where there will always be new places to explore, as well as the strange things it does to one’s psyche.

Yesterday saw the second official performance of the British Paraorchestra, in which Lyn plays. What can I say? Never have I felt more proud than I did yesterday evening, sat amongst a large audience, looking down at the stage at Snape Maltings, watching my fiancee play. I know that some will try to say that the idea of an orchestra made up of disabled musicians doesn’t sound very inclusive, but on the contrary inclusivity at it’s heart. This is an orchestra where each members ability is carefully nurtured; pieces are intricately tailored to showoff each players’ ability and talent. The aim is not to exclude musicians who don’t have a disability, but to showcase what musicians with a disability can do. The result is a first class orchestra making first class music which I have no doubt is bound for great heights.

I just want to post a short entry today expressing my regret at the passing of Niel Armstrong. I remember learning about the apollo missions in school, and in my opinion Armstrong was not just an american hero, but a hero for all of mankind. It is a shame that we have lost a person who made such an important piece of human history, but it is an even greater shame that his legacy – the continued exploration of space – now seems to be waning. Click here for details.

My electric wheelchair is broken, and has been all week. Normally It would just mean a week on the sofa, but, as luck would have it, this week has been the busiest lyn and I have had in ages (see the latter half of tonight’s Paralympics show to see why). I’m rather tired, but oddly happy. I’ve walked everywhere: to begin with I dreaded it, but somehow I feel fitter. Today, for instance, has been a long active day, but I don’t think I’m as knackered as I expected to be. It reached a point where I actually began to enjoy being on my legs, especially getting to face forward on busses. That doesn’t mean, of course, that I don’t want my chair back: you should have heard the string of obscenities that came out of my mouth this evening when, getting onto a bus, nobody gave up their seat until after the damn thing started to move.

It has often been noted that adversity and struggle inspires the greatest art. Many of the best novels ever written, for instance, are those that argue against injustice or expose wrongs. This is also the case with the disabled people’s movement, especially now that we are being placed under so much pressure due to the current financial environment. I’d like to send you here, then, to a recording of a song by Dennis Queen. It was originally by Alan Holdsworth, and tells a story which is becoming alarmingly familiar. Such protest songs are now vital if we are going to expose what the cuts are doing to people with disabilities; the same goes for any other art form. The danger lies in our stories going unsaid, and thus unheard.

I do not have much to say today, but given that I commented briefly on this case a week ago, I’d like to extend my sympathies to the Nicklinson family. Tony Nicklinson died this morning of natural causes, having lost his case to be legally allowed to be assisted to commit suicide. I must say, though, that it does strike me as a bit odd, and I can’t help but smell a rat given that he died so soon after the case. That implies that he was quite close to death anyway: if so, why go through the stress of the case? However, given that the police aren’t treating his death as suspicious, the issue probably best be left alone, and I’ll just say my thoughts are with his family.

Sorry to resort to ad hominen bitchiness, but I think I need to note this. Having watched I’m Spazticus last night, this blog entry seems all the more ironic. The article I cite in it is by one of the actors in the show. In it he berates others for using disability a a ‘lifestyle choice’, but hypocritically exaggerates his own condition. On the evidence from last nights show, he can talk clearly yet insists on using a lightwriter, and can walk much better than I can but insists on using a chair. That alone I wouldn’t mind, but the fact he is so prejudiced against people he sees as pretending to be disabled, and then parades himself on channel four as a paragon of disability culture, really is hypocrisy beyond the pale. The rest of the show I did not have a problem with – infact I found it quite funny – I just cant abide either hypocrisy or prejudice.

Yesterday was another of those awesome days which were indeed awesome but I can’t blog about as it would give certain surprises away. It’s much too hot for sitting in here writing blog entries anyway. I will just say that we were with the sort of people who refer to the London Philharmonic Orchestra as the LPO, as if hanging around with such an illustrious organisation is just something one does, and that, if you can bear to buy a Murdoch paper, things will all be clarified in next week’s Sunday Times. Things right now are so exciting I really want to say more, but can’t. my urge to write must be suppressed, which is difficult, but it’s made easier by the knowledge that, when eventually you do find out what Lyn and I have been up to, which you will not long from now, you’ll all be blown away.

After my two glorious days in Middle-Earth, it’s back to the real world and far less comfortable things. I think I ought to just direct you here, to a blog entry by Miss queen concerning the case of Tony Nicklnson, who yesterday lost his case to be allowed to ask a doctor to kill him. While I’m not sure I agree with everything Phoebe says, she makes some very valid points, especially about self-pity and the perception of disabled people in general – it’s definitely worth a read for anyone interested in crip politics. As for myself, I do not know what to think, but on the whole I guess that I’m glad that the murder of cripples was not effectively legalized yesterday.

I have just finished doing something which, believe it or not, I had never done before. Yesterday morning I was struck by the urge to watch all three parts of The Lord Of the rings in one go. It had been an age since I’d watched it last, so I decided that there was no other thing for it than to sit down and watch it. The problem is, all three volumes of the extended edition come to eleven and a half hours long, so in the event I had to split it over two days, and even then I began to worry about neglecting Lyn. While I did enjoy it, and now feell a sense of accomplishment, the fact that I simply could not view it in one go as I would any other mainstream film begs the question, can Lord of The Rings be seen as a film in the conventional sense? Of course, on the one hand it is a piece of mainstream Hollywood cinema, conforming to many of its conventions (including the overuse of introducing reinforcements when any battle seems lost). But on the other hand, this film is not just another part of mainstream post-classical American cinema: when viewed as one text, as I’m sure both Tolkien and Jackson intended, it is too long to be a mere entertainment, or a distraction. Films usually last ninety minutes, at the end of which everyday life resumes. This film demands a special effort to watch: it is too long to be classed as entertainment – it almost demands too much effort and time to be entertaining. Thus it struck me that, given that to condense the plot any more than Jackson did would make a mockery of Tolkien’s book, the old maxim holds true that the lord of the rings is unfilmable. It cannot be translated into film as the word is conventionally used. Remarkable though it is, and, as an adaptation it could have been far worse*, Jackson could not render Tolkien’s work just as an (entertainment) movie: it demanded to be rendered as something more, something special, and that, in my opinion, is what we got. But on the other hand it strikes me, that in a way it ceased to be a pure piece of entertainment in the process; a great story became more of a work of art, in a way changing it’s status to something Jackson might not have intended. After all his intention was to entertain.

*Tolkien purist have reservations about Jackson’s many changes from the original, as do I, but just imagine what a car crash it would have been had Disney got the rights and decided to make a ninety minute version.

As well as being a musician of the highest order, Lyn seems to be fast becoming a great director. Today she finished her latest music video, which can now be found here. I think it’s great, of course, but I am also quite interested in the elongated transitions. You will see what I mean when you watch the film, but it’s a technique never seen in the mainstream. Cutting is almost always invisible, but here Lyn has drawn attention to them by making them longer, so for a while you have two separate images on the screen, two things to look at, one slowly seeping over the other. I find that cool because it makes you realize how much of film editing is stylized artifice. Anyway, enough of my babble, go watch!

I don’t always agree with Mark Mcgowan, the artist taxi driver, but his video about Atos and the paralympics is surprisingly well informed about disability politics and absolutely spot on. It is also very very funny. It is great to see we crips have such an astute, eloquent ally unafraid too pull his punches. Just watch This!

Given that I wrote about the Olympic opening ceremony on here, I should probably blog about the closing ceremony last night. The problem is, I did not find it that inspiring. It was okay, I suppose. I think it was more oriented towards music this time, which is fair enough, but I found it less spectacular than the opening  ceremony: there was less humour in it – no bits with bond or rowan atkinson. Also, to my ear some of it was out of tune and/or distorted. I found the inclusion of Eric Idle singing ‘Always Look on the Bright Side of Life‘ a good touch, but apart from that I wasn’t that enthused. Oh well, at least we still have the Paralympic ceremonies to look forward to.

I just created a Facebook group called brits for Paris 2024. Boris Johnson recently joked about London hosting another Olympiad within the next twenty years. Such a suggestion is, f course, quite mad: no doubt london now has both the infrastructure and expertise to host the games, but we simply could not afford it. It also struck me that, while part of me does like the idea of living in an Olympic city during the Games again, if london were awarded another olympics in the next twenty years, you’d have to feel sorry for the french. After all, they bid for the games of 2012 too; therefore now that the first part of london 2012 is coming to a successful end, I say we brits should get behind the paris bid for the 2024 olympics. It seems only fair, given their bid for the 2012 games lost to us (much to their chagrin, having also had their bids for previous olympics turned down) and that, by then, it will have been a full century since Paris last hosted the Olympics in 1924. So given that we can’t really expect to host another olympics for another fifty years, and that we had so much fun with these ones, we might as well get behind the bid of a city which we can get to easily, but whose games we won’t have to pay for. And anyway, if we had to put up with this shit, so should the french!

Today is my brother Mark’s 31st birthday. Happy birthday bro! Mark is a physicist, always joking about one ay making a warp drive and exploring space. It is in his honour, then, that I share this astounding picture. It is a view from Mars; the three dots are Jupiter, Venus and Earth. Never before has humanity in it’s entirety looked so small and irrelevant, and never before has an image amazed me as this one does. Anyway, Happy birthday Mark. I hope this picture inspires you as much as it does me.

Our PA Marta has recently learned to drive, so today Lyn and I went for a short trip with her. We just went to one of the local parks, but one where we don’t often go because it is rather out of the way. The park in question, Oxleas Wood, is on a hill and has an amazing view of south London: I reckon you can see beyond the M25 and into the farmland beyond. When we got there, we settled down outside the cafe there to admire thee view; I noticed a few army trucks behind a ringed fence and, assuming it to be some kind of fair, paid it little heed.

A little while later, though, I noticed there were some heavy duty guns there. ”Holy shit,” I thought ”what is this about?” Half aghast half excited, I pointed it out to Lyn, who stated what I should have realized: these were the defenses for the Olympics. No less excited, I spent a while watching the antiaircraft gun swivel automatically, robotically following planes across the sky. Call me a big kid, but part of me wanted the thing to suddenly fire, yet I know, of course, that had that happened, it would herald something far from cool.

Lyn finished her latest track, flying On Sound, today. I heard it for the first time this morning, and if you ask me it sounded magnificent. It can be found here – let us know what you think.

Just to follow up on this entry, here is a quick but helpful discussion of why the third Hobbit film is necessary, and why most Tolkien fans, myself included, are jumping with joy at the news. As Peter jackson himself says, in a quote cited in this very article, ”The richness of the story of The Hobbit, as well as some of the related material in the appendices of The Lord of the Rings, allows us to tell the full story of the adventures of Bilbo Baggins and the part he played in the sometimes dangerous, but at all times exciting, history of Middle-Earth.” Again: Yay!

I was out for a stroll again today. I don’t like taking the same walk twice, and always try to vary my route. Today I thought I would take a look at woolwich barracks where they are holding some of the Olympic events. I was hoping to brag myself An Atos lanyard, for reasons that I hope will be made apparent soon. Anyway, it was a pleasant enough role, but the sight was almost deserted so I thought I would press on. I turned down a road which I had never explored before. It was a wide enough road, running between the barracks and Woolwich, but about halfway down I came across something which fascinated me.

I found a church, or what remained of one, by the road. It had no roof, and it’s walls were crumbling. Yet there was a beauty to it: you could still see the ornate decoration on it’s inner wall. According to a plaque on the back wall, this church had been hit by a flying bomb in the war and, being consecrated ground, had been left as it was. There was thus something ghostlike to it, something ethereal; not frightening, but timeless. It was as if on this spot, time had stopped.

I was struck too by the way I had just happened upon it. London has that habit – it surprises you. Every now and then, this city springs something on you, something beautiful and fascinating. It is a strange mix of old and new, beautiful and depraved, which has caused me to fall in love with this city. There is also a timelessness to it: you can walk along streets lined with ultra-modern shops selling the latest fashions, yet somehow you are also aware that those streets were once trod in Elizabethan and Victorian heels. You can never forget this place has a past: modern apartment blocks loom over ancient terraces; walk up one street and you find an office building, walk down another and you find the burned out shell of an ancient pub, where the last pint was pulled a century ago but which still bears it’s signs.

Such juxtapositions, such contrasts of modernity and history, fascinate me. I used to think I loved the country. Coming from a small town in rural Cheshire, I loved the fields and woods and rivers and small winding lanes. Part of me still does. But where I was once intimidated by cities, fear has become curiosity, and curiosity has developed into love. There is so much here to explore, so many contrasts, an almost endless variety. I can see now how one can love a city.

I completely forgot that NASA was due to land a rover on mars today, but when I got up and went to the bbc news website this morning, I was greeted with this incredible story. Amid the sound and fury of the Olympics, such events seem to have been eclipsed, if you ill forgive the pun. Yet, in terms of human history, I find such landings much more important, and impressive though the Olympics have been, I am much more impressed with the fact that NASA got this machine down in one piece. I can’t wait to see the pictures that will soon come back from mars and the results of the experiments: I find the prospect of at last establishing whether there was once life on mars far more captivating than any race or competition. Mid you, this landing brings the possibility of teraforming and colonising Mars one step closer, so as our PA Dominic wryly quipped earlier, maybe one day the Olympics could beheld on mars; now that would be cool.

Remind me not to go to Greenwich for the foreseeable future. I was just on a walk over there, and even on a Sunday afternoon, the place is bedlam. However, as often happens, while I was on my walk I got round to doing some thinking, and began to mull over something which I think I’ll sketch out here. I was pondering the Olympic opening ceremony, and the sketch with the queen and James Bond. When you think about it, some quite interesting things are going on there: we all know that James bond is a fictional character, created by Ian Flemming in 1952. Yet last week we saw him interacting with a real person, the queen, at a real event. Of course, it is testimony of the impact of the Bond Phenomenon on our entire culture that they chose to use this particular character in such a prominent way, but on another level something weird is going on. The queen is real, and she addressed bond as if he were a real person. Does this mean that bond is a real person too? If that is so, why would the queen need escorting to the Olympics by such a highly trained government assassin? Why would they film such an event, presumably breaking his cover? Most worryingly, if bond were real and double o agents do exist, then that implies this country has a highly secret group of government assassins running about the place who are above the law – something totally undemocratic and very, very scary. On the other hand, if bond is indeed fiction, would that not imply that her majesty is fictional too? The only things which usually interact with fictional characters are other fictional characters, after all. Yet if that is so, it implies that the Olympics is not real either, at that was the event this entire sketch was a precursor to. When you think about it, there are some very complex rhetorical structures in play here.

What we have, then, is a strange postmodern blurring of fiction and reality, where real people have entered fictional spaces and fictional characters are treated as if they were real at the highest level. Does that not strike anyone else as odd? I might be slightly crazy, but it fascinates me. As I say, I’ve sketched out the bones of the debate here, but I think I’ll continue to ponder this and return to it in other entries. I wonder if there are any other instances of such blurring. I’m sure there probably are, but has such a device ever been used at such a high level, and what does it say about British culture, royalty, power, the bond franchise, and everything else?