Last night I reckon I enjoyed the best meal I’ve had since Christmas lunch, a lunch which, looking back, could easily fit on to the list described here. Lyn took me to a pub called Crock Log near welling. Not The Crock log, just Crock Log, something which struck me kind of odd. Anyway, this turned out to be what I call a food pub, as opposed to a drinking pub. You know the kind of place. Anyway, I think it worth recording how nice the food was there – I had a huge slab of beef with lots of vegetables. Just what the doctor ordered. Mind you, I must add that Lyn found a huge hair in her meal, and it had to be replaced. This did, however, qualify us for free pudding, and, stuffed though I was, free chocolate cake is always welcome.

We both came back home stuffed, feeling much heavier than when we left. I didn’t think I’d want to eat all weekend. yet now, the day has dawned bright and sunny, and it is already rather warm. I can’t help but wonder what today will bring; I would like to explore Danson Park, which the pub was near. On the map it looks huge. Mind you, I don’t think I could eat another enormous roast – not today anyway.

I think I really must be getting old. I reckon it is a sure sign that you are getting older when become less tolerant of your glasses being dirty. I’ve been wearing specs since I was nine or so, and, growing up, I always had dirty glasses. Unless they were absolutely filthy, I didn’t seem to mind. My grandma always wanted to clean them, and, often without warning, used to rip them off my face and take them to the sink. Needless to say, this used to irritate the life out of me. Yet, these days, I’m the opposite: I can’t stand dirty glasses. The thing is, I can’t clean them myself, and whenever I try they always seem to end up dirtier than when I started, so I usually hand them to my PA to do. Ironically, though, this has become such a regular occurrence that I’m sure soon they’ll be the ones getting irritated. In fact, I think I might go ask for them to be cleaned right now.

I still need to write that entry about the word cripple. It’s not as simple as it seems: the thing is, it’s what I call a reclaimed word – a word once used as a term of offence but is now used sort of as a badge of membership. My friends in the disability community use it, for the most part ironically, to refer to themselves. The thing is, as Ricardio points out in his comments, it’s like the word nigger; it’s used by black people to refer to themselves, but should anyone else use it, it is seen as extremely offensive. It might be more complicated than that, though, because I let some of my non-disabled friends use it to refer to me, and it’s sort of funny. Mind you, it all depends on when and where it’s used, and how it’s meant. In this way, I don’t think it can fully be explained: as with the N word, there are still instances when the word cripple can be highly offensive. Yet I still find it okay to use it to refer to myself. I suppose this is a case where Ferdinand de Sesseur’s observation that, in language, the relationship between sign and signified is arbitrary holds most sharply and takes on a new dimension.

More on this intriguing subject soon.

I fully intend to respond to Ricardio’s request for an explanation of my use of the word cripple, and I have been thinking about it all day. It’s an interesting debate he raises, and one which deserves a fairly long entry. However, I hope my good friend will understand when I say it’ll have to wait for another day, as today I have something even more controversial on my mind.

I find myself, tonight, questioning a person’s right to protest. Even typing those words feels faintly ridiculous: everyone has an inalienable right to express their point of view, whatever it is. But earlier I came across something which boiled my blood: something proclaiming itself a ”rally against debt” – a counter-protest to the recent anti-cuts march in London. It was on facebook so I told them exactly what I thought of them. Frankly I told them I felt that I thought they had no right to hold any such protest.

They do, of course, but I have a right to raise my objections to it. If this thing goes ahead, it strikes me as a childish act, deliberately inflammatory to those concerned about the cuts. It’s almost hateful in the way it presents itself. I guess I’m opening up myself up to accusations of holding my right to protest up while denying other people theirs, and the irony of my use of the word ‘fascist’ is not lost on me, but if you saw someone intending to protest against your way of life, your livelihood, would you knot object? We all realise what these cuts will do; I’m very concerned indeed about the impact they will have on me and Lyn, and all disabled people. So I think my objection to this puerile act is justifiable; I see it as a march against the wealth fare state, the NHS, and pretty much all I hold dear, just as Osbourne’s cuts are manifestly an attack on those things. Thus I have a right to try to stop this insipid rally from happening.

All in all it has been quite an amazing few days. As I said, on Thursday we had the surprise of our lives; to suddenly hear a camera crew and quite a famous and prolific reporter were coming was quite a shock. Then on Friday we had all the excitement and anticipation of seeing ourselves on the news, and then the subsequent mild disappointment of our piece not being shown. It turns out that the reporters were still working on it, and it’ll probably be shown at a later date. On Saturday, of course, there was all the sound and fury of the protests in central London. It isn’t every day that you get to march alongside about a quarter of a million people. Yesterday was somewhat tamer, in comparison, although we got to go to quite a cool music night in a small restaurant we know around the corner. It was intimate and friendly, and I now know where I can get a decent martini.

It is now, however, Monday morning, and we have the real world to contend with again. Life in London does, though, seem to throw up these odd stints of excitement – maybe there’s something in the water. I wonder what this lunatic of a city will throw up next.

I once wrote on here that I felt a riot is no place for a cripple. I stand by that. A protest is another matter, of course: anyone can and should be able to attend a peaceful protest and have their voice heard. I went to the protest in central London today, together with Lyn and Adrian, where I saw a great many people using wheelchairs. They were all, I assume, as worried as I am about what this government is doing. Like last time, there was a carnival atmosphere at the protest for most of today. We walked along, listening to the drums and whistles. I was eager to get up to hyde park, where I knew a rally was being held, and where I suspected some of my friends to be. I also suspected there would be less chance of trouble there.

But it wasn’t to be: we were following the crowd past fortnum and mason when trouble started. Some protesters – mostly masked – were on the roof. Suddenly a bunch of riot police rushed past. I decided it was time to press on, when a woman told us to get out of there, as the police were about to kettle.

We got out just in time. I felt the same sense of fear I felt last time, and told Adrian we needed to go somewhere safe. We decided this was home, and about ninety minutes later we were back here, pizza in the oven and beer open on the table. I guess I’m not the revolutionary I want myself to be, but at least it seems a great many others who are feel as strongly as I do about the cuts.

How the smeg am I going to even start explaining this one? I better start at the beginning. Yesterday morning I popped over to see chopper; I think we like each other, and I find him interesting on a number of levels. I often pop over to his place for a cup of coffee and a natter. At about half twelve or one, I decided to come home to see what Lyn was up to. Our PA, Adrian, opened the door.

”You’re gonna be on television” he said. I was dumbfounded. It turns out that my friend Becca, to whom I am now profoundly and forever indebted, had reposted the film Lyn made about the theft of her computer onto a site called Pistonheads, where it had been seen by someone who knew someone at Channel Four. They were interested in the story, and decided to come and investigate. Even when I write it that seems incredible, but that’s what happened. At about half five last night, after a flurry of emails on Lyn’s part and much worrying and squealing on mine, a camera man and a reporter came.

I think it went well. I had promised Becca I wouldn’t let them turn it into a cripsploitation story, and, although I cannot be sure, I don’t think it will be. The reporter, Carl Dennon, was obviously very used to disabled people; they included us in the choice of shots, which, as a film student, I loved. I suppose we can only be sure when we see it on channel four, tonight, between seven and eight.

I better go warn my parents.

If you can do so, I’d ask anyone reading this to go to Lyn’s facebook page. There she has posted a short film about recent events. Without wanting to be too blunt about it, in January we were burgled; the video is her appeal for information and help. It hasn’t appeared on Youtube yet, but I’ll post a link to it as and when it does.

Edit: the film can be found here

I know that yesterday I stated that I wanted to blog about subjects other than disability and politics, but last night this guardian article got my attention. It’s about the reforms to the wealth fare system the coalition government propose to push through, and, quite frankly, they are fucking stupid. The system we have at the moment isn’t perfect, but it works. Why, then, does disability living allowance need to become personal independence payment? How, exactly, do the Tories want to cut the claimant number by twenty percent? And where is the logic in saying ”you already have a wheelchair, therefore you don’t need the mobility component”? It is totally and utterly stupid – a cost-cutting scam from a narrow-minded government.

I was thinking earlier, and I reckon that I have good reason to be rather pleased with my blog – even proud. Granted, it may not be as incisive the main blogs, and hardly gets any traffic (in fact I doubt it’s read by anyone other than family and friends), but I’ve kept it up for eight years, and I think that’s something to be proud of. I was thinking the other day, if I blog every two days, at about 100 to 200 words an entry, that’s 500 words a week, 26000 a year; in fact I reckon I’ve written over a hundred thousand words on my website over the years, which is pretty good going for a lazy little cripple.

With that in mind, I think a change is in order. I’ve been trying to keep on the subject of disability, but while presenting the perspective of a disabled person in the current political climate is incredibly important, I don’t want to define myself just by my disability. I think I’ve earned the right to expand into other areas: There are other sides to me too, I’ll have you know, and it’s important people realise that we crips are well-rounded individuals. This occurred to me last night, when I saw that the cast of The Hobbit films had been announced; I was highly tempted to make a blog entry simply linking to the appropriate website with some short yet highly enthusiastic message. But this would have been a poor excuse for a blog entry, and would have had nothing to do with the purpose of my blog.

And yet the fact is I adore Tolkien, and I can’t wait to see these films. As with my interest in star trek and james bond, this obsession is part of who I am. As a student of film, I find myself wanting to wax lyrical about what I think if this film, how glad I am that Peter Jackson is helming it, or about how I almost wet my pants when I heard that Brian Blessed might be in it, playing one of the dwarfs*. But this would have had nothing whatsoever to do with disability, so I kind of censor myself, trying to keep on subject.

However, I think from now on a new blogging philosophy is in order. Trying to keep to a fixed set of subjects** – disability, politics or world affairs – has given rise to a load of lacklustre entries recently, and I think that has to stop. From now on I’ll be broadening out: I’ll try to give a disability slant if I can, but as long as I don’t go back to simply making one-line entries linking to youtube videos, as I did in the early days of my blogging career, I think it’s all good.

So, how about that English cricket team…?

*unfortunately, this turned out only to be a rumour it seems, but had Blessed been cast as, say, Balin, it would have been up there with other pieces of casting genius, such as Sean Bean as Boromir, Alan Rickman as Marvin the paranoid android, and so on.

**I know I often strayed from this, but it was what I tried to do.

We were just watching the news. Like most people, I suppose, I like to keep up to date with what is going on in the world. Yet increasingly these days I turn the bbc news channel on reluctantly. I cannot remember ever seeing two such big stories break at the same time: we are currently seeing a major world economy crippled by the most terrible natural disaster, and simultaneously allied forces are in action over Libya. I am worried about what horrifying images will appear on our screens next. I should say that, while I’m in two minds about the UNs involvement in Libya, I think, on the whole, going in was the right thing to do: gadaffi is a lunatic despot unafraid to kill his own people. we can see how fragile his grip on reality is from the speeches he makes. The UN needed to intervene,. At the same time, as I was saying to dad on Friday, since when was it our role to decide the course of history. Mind you, if we decided to keep out of this conflict, it might mean sitting idly by while Gadaffi’s thugs slaughter thousands, and I doubt any off us could stomach that.

I think I just ought to record that I had a wonderful birthday yesterday. I saw mum and dad for the first time since Christmas – it was, as ever good to see them. I opened my presents after breakfast, with everyone sitting round, watching. We talked a bit, and started to sort some things out that needed to be sorted. In the afternoon, Lyn needed to pop to the bank, and then we went to the pub for a bit and came home. Unfortunately, the party we intended to have never materialised as nobody came, but we had a great time anyway listening to the cat Empire and Beatles.

Well, today is bright and sunny, and I have things to do. May the birthday weekend continue!

I can’t help reflecting upon the fact that it has now been a week since the earthquake and tsunami hit Japan. I remember, last Friday morning, warming up my computer and turning on facebook. I often check out the news first, but that morning I felt like checking what everyone was up to. I noticed a few odd status messages, referring to something in Japan, but then one referred specifically to an earthquake. I ran through and put the TV news on, and what I saw totally horrified me. I suspect it will be one of those events where you will always remember where you were where you first heard about it – like the death of Princess Dianna, or the September 11 attacks, events of sufficient magnitude stick in your mind, imprinting firmly onto one’s memory. Of course, that was even before the tsunami struck, and days before the nuclear crisis. In Japan, horror is following horror, and my heart goes out to the Japanese people.

I noticed something rather irritating about my lightwriter yesterday. We were in Costa’s, talking about puns. Lyn and I both like to play with words, and she is especially good at coming up with naff, often cringeworthy ones. I decided to tell her my favourite play on words, which can be attributed to Humphrey Lyttelton, if memory serves: ”this is called orthinology, the art of word-botching” I said, using my lightwriter. This is a deliberate mispronunciation of ornithology, of course, which is bird watching. This pun is, in my opinion, a thing of absolute genius – the pinnacle of wit; but the problem was my lightwriter didn’t pronounce orthinology correctly. The damn thing said it as though there was a C in there somewhere. Needless to say I was extremely dischuffed, and spent about the next five minutes trying to get my lightwriter to say orthinology the right way, by which time all comic effect was lost. I suppose it just goes to show the chaps at Toby Churchill still have some bugs to work out, especially when it comes to things like puns.

Last night on channel 4 we saw the first open comparison between CaMoron’s ‘Big Society’ and privatisation. In a great programme, Dispatches openly likened the big society to opening the wealth fare state up to free-market economics. This is the first time I have seen the mainstream media declare what I, and I’m sure many others, have suspected: the big society is a con – a ruse. Far from empowering people, as last night’s programme made it clear, the big society simply hands services which should be controlled by the state over to big business. And what the Tories don’t seem to get is that does not work. Far from pushing up standards through competition, the free-market model pushes standard down: corners are cut, prices go up. Because we are marginal, the needs of minorities like people with disabilities are pushed to the back of the queue in the drive for profit. Things like schools and hospitals need to be controlled centrally by the state, or else we get falling standards and a two tier system. Because those people who already have wealth behind them are better placed to get involved with the big society, it will also maintain power in the hands of the few rather than empowering the many. In other words, it will help re-establish class divisions Is this the kind of place we want Britain to be? Or perhaps a better question would be, now the big society is being exposed for the lie it is, how long can the Tories stay in power? Anyway, go look dispatches up on 4oD

I was just watching ‘the big questions’ – one of these debate shows where a studio audience discuss the topics of the day. They were talking about whether the disaster in Japan was a reason not to believe in god. as anyone who has seen me watching such a thing knows, pretty soon I was hurling abuse at the telly: it gets to me that people can go on there, defend a bronze-age superstition and an invisible being for which they have no empirical evidence, and then accuse sceptics of being arrogant and aggressive. Even more frighteningly, I learned to day that there is a ‘centre for intelligent design’ in Britain – I thought that bullshit was confined to America, and had died out after Michael Behe took the stand in Dover.

This has, of course, nothing to do with the thrust of this blog, but it’s impossible for any blogger not to say how horrified they were at the images coming from Japan. I’ve never seen anything more terrible. Yet, it strikes me that, just two days after the event, we have a TV program with a studio audience discussing whether it was the work of some Sky Fairy or not. It’s crass, puerile, and makes me very angry…and somewhat scared.

I may have stumbled upon this at random, but this joke strikes me as so fitting with my current thoughts to be worth repeating: ”A banker, a Daily Mail reader and a benefit claimant are sat round a table and have 12 biscuits to share. The banker grabs 11 of them, then leans over to the Daily Mail reader and says ”Watch out for the benefit claimant – he’s after your biscuit.’ ”

Very apt, don’t you think?

Bit of a lazy post today: I think I ought to direct you here, to my friend Sally’s band. I know sally from university, where she did music and drama; she was also in the campus gospel choir, which I was sort of involved in. it’s good to see her doing something she loves, and I think they are well on the way to breaking into the music industry.

I realise my recent entries have sort of been all over the place; I really must get round to doing a proper entry. For one thing, I must do a properly researched article on how the cuts will affect disabled people. But spring is almost here and I have other things on my mind. For instance, this morning I watched quite a cool film called Chopper. My friend of the same name dropped it off for me to watch last night, and what I expected to be a puerile splatterfest turned out to be a very interesting portrait of quite an intriguing, if somewhat violent, man. This afternoon I’ll do some reading and then take the DVD back in a bit. In other words, I’m simply not in the mood for all this political doom and gloom.

I think I’ll just link to this today, not just because it mixes two of my prime interests – james bond and dressing up – but it carries with it a very important message. Sexism is a very real issue, and I have no doubt that all of what this advert claims is true. Frankly, though, I think something similar could be said about people with disabilities, although the discrimination people like me face is different. We are not beaten up by our partners, but we are often abused in other ways. Anyway, having the actor who plays one of the biggest misogynists in fiction help deliver a message about sexism is a stroke of ironic genius. Go watch.

Thiis naturally caught my eye yesterday afternoon, althoughh I can’t find a link to it now. It’s about a new type of voice for communication aids, one modelled on a real voice. It was created by a guy who has motor-neurone disease, and who wants to be able to keep speaking to his son using his own voice. He recorded something like 2000 sentences, which are then broken down into their constituent chunks so the sounds can be used to create new sentences. It’s quite touching really, but it strikes me that we VOCA users could do with something like that too. Although voice synthesisers are improving, I have long wished for a more natural sounding voice. Quite an obvious idea occurred to me. What if we got actors to record the voice – actors like Daniel Craig, Judi Dench or Patrick Stewart? How awesome would that be? Mind you, I’d be forever asking my PA for ”Tea, earl grey, hot.”

I was just trying to decide what I should write about today. The cricket is going well: we had a dramatic win over South Africa yesterday, and, although we lost to the Irish, we’re doing surprisingly well. To be honest I expected England just to give up after the emotional effort of winning the ashes. Mind you, how well we’ll do now Pietersen has come home remains to be seen.

I could also blog about Libya, where the situation continues to unsettle me. The bbc still refuse to call it a civil war, even though that is obviously what is happening. How much more like a civil war could it get before they call it one? I also don’t know what to make of the reports that members of the SAS were captured by rebel forces: the SAS are the most elite fighting force on earth – how could they have been captured by a militia? It just adds to my belief that we aren’t being told all the facts.

I could also blog about the Tory party conference. I didn’t watch much of it, having no interest in watching a bunch of arrogant toffs plot how they will fuck us all over, but I did catch the gist of CaMoron’s speech. It was the same old free-market nonsense we get from the Tories. What they fail to understand is it was freemarket economics that got us into this crisis, and it would have been even worse without the regulation put in place by labour. CaMoron may rail against the red tape, but what he doesn’t seem to grasp is that it is there for a reason: it ensures equality, transparency and a level playing field. Without it, the banks and business run amock, screwing each other and the rest of us over. If he were to remove this red tape, we will slip back into a recession which would make the current one look like a picnic. It’s clear that CaMoron and osbourne simply do not have the mental capacity to grasp the realities, and can only see the world through a right-wing distortion. Surely they cannot be allowed to remain in power.

But the biggest thing to get my attention is this: just as I was coming to the computer, I heard that the Barclays chief executive Bob Diamond has got a £6.5m bonus. This is at a time when the rest of us are struggling to survive thanks to a crisis created in the banking sector. How the hell can these bastards give themselves such bonuses, and, more importantly, how can CaMoron do nothing to prevent it and instead speak of deregulating the banks even further? If you ask me it is not only immoral but criminal; all of them – the bankers, osbourne, CaMoron – should not only loose their jobs but their liberty for it. Jail the dishonourable fuckers!

Something rather odd happened last night. I was in the antigalligan with chopper, having used his short-cut, enjoying my Friday night pint. Chopper, or Eddie to give him his proper name, is one of those people who knows just about everyone in the local area, so he was introducing me to some of his mates. I think they were a bit surprised to see him out with a ‘raspberry ripple’, but that’s another entry. At one point, anyway, one fairly young guy came over; he was about my age or maybe slightly younger. I thought he looked a bit like someone I once knew, but I thought nothing of it to begin with. But then he introduced himself: he said his name was Richard, and was a farmer.

Now, anyone who knows me knows I am not superstitious or anything. I am an atheist. But something in this fellows face and hair reminded me of Richard Simpson. When he told me his name and job, I did a double take – it was very strange indeed. I told myself that there are no such things and ghosts, and it was a coincidence, but the resemblance of this man to my old school friend struck me as very odd indeed. Could it be that this man was some sort of metaphysical echo of my oldest friend?

Such an idea is, of course, nonsense. We went through special school together, seeing each other every term-time day for over ten years. We had lessons and breaktimes together, and together we lost three classmates to their conditions. But Rich Simpson has himself been dead now for four or five years; he is gone in the most final, brutal sense. Yet I’m sure it wasn’t just the beer playing tricks on my sight – although the guy was ambulant, the resemblance was astonishing. In the end I put it down to chance, and didn’t mention it to the guy, other than to say ‘you remind me of someone I knew a very, very long time ago.”

I am not sure it is my rightful place to mention it, but the memorial and celebration of Gordon Smith will take place in Chester this Saturday. Gordon was the partner of Miss Denis queen, one of the leading lights of the modern disability rights movement. Denis and I have only met once, and I never met Gordon, but by all accounts they were and are pioneers in the fields of disability and gender. Denis, who also sometimes goes by the name Claire, is one of those people at the cutting edge of culture and politics. It makes me very sad to hear that she has lost someone so dear to her.

link

I just came back from one of my voyages of exploration – my first proper roll this year. I don’t know why but going out in my chair seems to relax me, as I’ve written on here before. I can spend hours, literally just driving, not knowing quite where I’m going, simply seeing what there is to see. When I was living with my parents, there was a route I called the Swettenham run, which took me up into the lanes to the north of Congleton, past the centuries old Swettenham arms, along the bridal paths which extend beyond the back of the pub, and back via the main Congleton to Holmes Chapel road. The whole route must have been seven or eight miles, and took me hours.

Ever since I moved down to London, I’ve been looking for a route which is similar in length and beauty, and today I think I found it. A few days ago, my friend Chopper showed me a shortcut up to the north Greenwich Peninsular. It’s a sunny day for once, and this afternoon I fancied a look at the Thames, so, taking my new shortcut, I headed for the Anchor and Hope Lane. As I had suspected, the river looked pretty in the sun, full of ships and smaller boats going about their business. I watched them for a while, resisting the urge to get a pint in the pub which lends the lane it’s name, before pressing on along the Thames path towards the dome. This is a very industrial area, where large trucks shift dirt and coal on and off the ships. It felt a very long way from the bridal paths, country lanes and streams I used to know. Yet, with the Thames Barrier glinting in the sun, it was just as beautiful.

I headed west for a while, till I got to north Greenwich. There I turned back, having seen the dome and it’s surroundings many timed before, and, passing the pub again, headed eastwards towards the barrier. This was uncharted territory, but I knew roughly where I was going. I must admit I got slightly lost – London can be fairly labyrinthine at times – but my knowledge of geography and my nose held me in good stead. I left the river at the barrier and headed south, through an industrial area and back into residential. Part of the thrill of following one’s nose is being faintly surprised when you discover where you are, and so I was faintly surprised when I eventually found myself on the road to Woolwich. From there it was a simple journey home, stopping by at chopper’s en route.

London continues o thrill and intrigue me. It is, of course, quite different to rural Cheshire, and part of me still misses the fields and the hedges. London is chaotic and beguiling; like any city, it is, as Benjamin put it, a maelstrom. I now think I understand what he meant more fully now, not just in terms of people but in terms of geography. Roads and paths run in all directions; there are buildings of every conceivable shape and size; it is a three-dimensional cacophony of brick and tarmac. And in it people of every kind and creed go about, talking thousands of languages, doing a thousand jobs. It is truly fascinating, a little frightening, yet utterly exhilarating. Never have I felt so alive than in such a place.

I have absolutely no clue why these guys are so angry, nor any idea what they are saying, but this will have me laughing until bedtime. It has nothing to do with my blog, and I may be being slightly xenophobic in a ‘laugh at the angry french men’ way, but it was so laugh out loud funny that I just had to link to it.

As you may or may not know, 2011 is the UK year of communication. I came across this article earlier, about communication aid users. It features Beth, a young woman whom I’ve had the pleasure of meeting, and a truly outstanding spokesperson for the communication-aid using community. I’m not sure what impact having our own year will have – it is, after all, also the year of feeding tubes, as well as a great many other things apparently – but if it makes people more aware of voca users, then it can only be a good thing. Anyway, go and have a look.

I cannot really tell you how I found it, but yesterday evening I came upon this rather interesting article about the Maryland youth ballet involving children with disabilities in their productions. Let me state from the get-go that I have no objections to this: there’s nothing more natural than little girls wanting to dress up and dance. Yet it does raise a few interesting questions pertinent to the subjects of inclusion and disability.

Ballet is traditionally quite an elitist art form; I’m sure most of us have read about the body fascism that seems endemic in ballet schools. These are places where anorexia seems almost normal, and where any girl even remotely plump is bullied mercilessly. That’s what makes this article so interesting: dance seems almost innately anti-inclusive, but they are applying the principles of inclusion to it. While it’s wonderful, it’s also kind of odd: its sort of oxymoronic, in a way, to open an art form where physical ability is prized over all else up to those with very little physical ability. Of course, you could argue the same of disability sport – kids with disabilities are frequently included in, say, football clubs. But I think it is in this case that the paradox is most pronounced, and thus the most awesome. I know none of these girls will ever dance professionally, just as nobody with cerebral palsy will ever play in the premiership, probably; but it is a symbolic blow against the elitism in society which seems to prize physical ability above all else.I suppose some may argue that this is nothing but a shallow gesture, and ask why these disabled girls should have the chance to dance while other able-bodied girls are turned away, despite being more physically able. After all, one goes to the ballet to watch examples of physical perfection, grace and beauty. Yet I would counter this by pointing out that the nature off all art is, in part, to ask questions of itself and the world, which is exactly what this does. If a person with severe cerebral palsy can dance alongside able-bodied professionals, then surely there is no limit to inclusion.

I must note that today is also my brother’s twenty-fifth birthday. Happy birthday Luke. I don’t get to see him much these days, and nowhere neaar as much as I’d like. Mind you, I’ve recently been ruminating over the fact that it’s now well over a year since I had any face-to-face contact with my older brrother, Mark. I know it’s a natural part of life, but I am very fond indeed of my brothers, and I think I better do something about seing them. Whille I’m sure we’ll talk on skype soon, I think something like a reunion must soon be arranged.

I am probably as alarmed as anyone at what is currently happening in north Africa and the middle east. The entire region seems to be ablaze; even seasoned commentators seem not to know what to make of it. Of course, as for myself, there is not much I can add to the debate or discourse: I know next to nothing of that region, or it’s politics. I can only really register my shock, horror and, if I’m honest, my fascination at what is going on.

For I must admit I do find it fascinating, as I’m sure anyone with even the slightest interest in world politics and history will. In the last few weeks, four or five of the regions dictatorships have fallen. Has there ever been such a spate in the history of the world? People compare it to the events of 1989 and the fall of the soviet union, but it could be even more monumental than that: the entire arab region is going through a huge shift. It’s like the UK, France, Germany and Italy all changing forms of government at once.

I suppose the next question is one nobody can answer: where is it all leading? We in the west hope democracies will be established in these countries. I truly hope freer countries are the result of these upheavals. Yet we cannot be sure that what eventually comes out of this won’t be regimes even more vicious and repressive than those of Gadaffi and Mubarak, which is why I am as worried as I am fascinated. All we can do is watch the news as the great drama plays itself out.

For all my writing and grandstanding about politics and about how these cuts will hurt us all, and about how CaMoron must go, I realise how comfortable and sheltered my life has been. I live a comfortable existence with the woman I love, the equipment I need and a supportive family within reach. While Lyn and I are worried about the impact of these cuts, I know I have the resources behind me in terms of friends and family to weather the storm. If you want to get an idea of the true impact of what the Tories are doing, please go here. Lives are being ruined, families torn apart. It’s heartbreaking, and it must be stopped.

I know this is not one of the usual subjects I blog about, but given who my future wife is and my taste in clothes, I see no reason why I shouldn’t comment on such issues. Worryingly, homophobic cards have appeared on the streets of Whitechapel and Shoreditch, declaring it a ”Gay Free Zone”. It’s evidence that there is a homophobic undercurrent stirring up in the east end of London. Perhaps even more worryingly is that the signs reference passages from the Koran.

Here’s where it sort of gets interesting, though, as there is a theory going around that these cards were actually placed there by the English defence League. Although I watch my fair share of science fiction, I must say I find that rather far fetched. It’s too convenient: rather than admitting that homophobia can arise in all sections of society, they would rather maintain that one particular group of far-right morons is stirring up fear of Islam by calling it homophobic. On the other hand, part of me wouldn’t put it past the EDL to do such a thing, then deny it using that very argument.

The truth is, we don’t know who is putting these signs up. It could very well be hard-line Islamists, or it could be the EDL. Either way, both homophobia and xenophobia must be combated.

We needed to get some odds and ends from the shops yesterday afternoon, so we decided to go over to Lewisham. On the way there, quite an unusual thing happened, which I think is worth recording. Lyn and I were both on the bus, having found a nice friendly bus driver who let us both on at the same time. We were sitting there quietly when a man sitting nearby began to take an interest in my lightwriter. This is nothing unusual in itself – people stare at my equipment all the time – but this man was different. It was not until he leaned over and started to gesture to his wife that I realised he was mute. He was interested in my lightwriter because it was something he could possibly use.

We got to talking: I showed him my lightwriter, and Lyn showed him her Ipad. He said he had an Ipad, but, interestingly, he got out a large magnetic stylus thing – the type children use to draw on – in order to write messages on. This struck me as a very low-tech form of communication, and I wondered if the couple had had any input from the relevant authorities about more high-tech equipment. It seemed somehow improvised; like something you might buy if you didn’t know there was specialised equipment.

Both parties got off at the shops, and went our separate ways. I thought about giving the gentleman my blog address so we could tell him more, but we didn’t get chance. While I’m sure he’ll be okay, the feeling of astonishment I got from him as he looked at my lightwriter, which, after all, is a pretty dated bit of equipment by now, gave me the scary impression that this couple had been abandoned by the council and left to find their own way to communicate.

If anyone is still under any illusion that the ‘huge structural deficit’ this country apparently has is anything other than a Tory lie; if anyone thinks the cuts they are imposing are necessary, and not part of the Tory scheme too rip up the state and cut tax for the rich; and if anyone thinks George Osbourne is anything other than a lying, dissembling twat, then I would direct you here. This clip clearly demonstrates that, far from being absolutely necessary, these cuts are provoked by Tory philosophy and will hit the poorest the hardest. While we’re on the subject, I noticed something interesting this week: one of the reasons the Tories cite for opposing the Alternative vote method is that, had it been in use last year, Gordon brown could still be in power. What does that say about the Tory mentality? They don’t give a rats ass about the will of the people, as long as they get to rule. Surely such people have no place in government and should be removed from power as soon as possible.

Regular readers of my blog will know that I usually disdain football, favouring gentler, more noble sports like cricket. Yet for certain matches and tournaments I have made exceptions, and have become as worked up as the rest of the country over the silly ball-kicking game. I think today will be such an occasion. As we all know, today Manchester united, one of the biggest clubs in the history of sport, play Crawley, a place I only know exists because my friend Emma comes from there. Being a northerner, I usually support Manchester when they play big teams. Yet I am a romantic, so today I want the smaller team to win. It would be awesome if Crawley pulled it off, wouldn’t it? In a way it would demonstrate, once and for all, that no matter how much money you have you can still be beaten by those with passion. It’d help cut a few egos down to size too.

I’ll therefore probably take myself round to the pub later, position myself near the screen, and hope against hope for the biggest upset of all time. Of course, my realistic side says it’ll be something like five nill to Manchester, but we can all dream, can’t we?

Surely anyone but a complete fool can see CaMoron’s ‘big society’ for the bullshit it is. He somehow expects the voluntary sector to magically step in and undo the damage caused by his cuts. Call me a pessimist, but that won’t work: volunteering is wonderful, but it won’t put food on the table. Things need doing – roads need sweeping, cripples need feeding – but it is unfair to expect people to do such things for free. What will happen, I strongly suspect, is that, as the state is reduced, it will be the private rather than the voluntary sector which will step in. CaMoron knows this, and all his talk of big society and encouraging altruism is a shallow front for the Tory desire to open things up to the free market.

I struck upon an idea last night which may be somewhat controversial. Feel free to leave a comment or email me if you disagree. Mind you speaking of which, I must first say that I have no intention of killing any bar staff, especially if it means traipsing halfway across London to do so, and I was never as drunk as Ricardio describes. Seldom anyway; and I certainly wasn’t that drunk on Sunday.

That aside, yesterday I stated to wonder whether there was a difference between ‘old crips’ and new crips’ in terms of attitude. Broadly – and this is essentially an arbitrary division – old crips are those with congenital conditions, who have been disabled from birth; new crips are those who have become disabled, through accident or otherwise, later in life. I was on facebook and I came across a woman complaining vehemently that disabled toilets shouldn’t be called disabled toilets but accessible toilets. I thought, ”relax, there are far bigger battles to fight than what bogs are called.” I know the person who said this, and they are a new crip. It occurred to me that, in my experience, those who have been disabled from birth are more likely to let such things slide, having learned over the years that some battles just aren’t worth the energy. I think one can be too combattative, and that this leads to a situation where one rails against the entire world. It’s unhealthy.

New crips are more likely to rail; I think, in some ways, they have more reason to. Yet I think they must learn to calm down, to accept the world as it is sometimes. They must learn, as we did as infants, that the world can never truly be how you want it to be.

I decided not to mention a fairly important detail in my entry yesterday, as I didn’t think it fitted the mood I was trying to convey, but which I think would be well worth recording today. As I said, we went to a pub just off Leicester square. It was quite an old place – the type of pub with a low ceiling and a real fire. Best of all, it had Leffe on tap. I was just getting into the live music when I decided it was time for another pint, so I asked Adrian to go and buy one for me. However, he soon returned with no pint and all the cash I’d given him – apparently, the woman at the bar had refused to serve us, accusing Adrian of being irresponsible for letting disabled people drink too much.

We left in a hurry. It wasn’t as if I’d drunk a lot. Surely it’s up to us and us alone how much we drink. Granted, bar staff have the right to refuse to serve anyone if they see fit, but what this woman apparently said was condescending, patronising and downright offensive.

Earlier today I came to the conclusion that, of any given time throughout the week, I like Sunday afternoons the best. Throughout my life, Sunday afternoons have been the most homely and warm: it was always a Sunday afternoon when my parents drove us home after visiting my grandparents in London, or, later, dropping mark off every term in oxford. It was on Sunday afternoons that I used to settle down before going back to university on Monday morning; a time to watch Time team, David Attenborough, or Michael Palin – the three best things on television.

I was thinking about this earlier. It occurred to me that, time being time, the Sunday afternoons of my past can never be revisited, although their memory remains. I’ll probably never again drive home with my parents after visiting my grandmother, get fed a sandwich by mum and then settle down to watch Tony Robinson drone on about the past. Yet the spirit of Sunday afternoons remains.

We were just up in London, sorting out bits and peices. We decided to get a quick drink in a pub, just off Leicester square. I was sitting by the fire, listening to the live music, when it occurred to me how good life was. It was Sunday afternoon: maybe not like the Sunday afternoons of the past, of long sleepy car rides and good TV to look forward to; but Sunday afternoons with Lyn, as great as they ever were – exploring this great city, and then coming home to eat dinner, snuggle, and look forward to the week ahead.

I have two or three short things to say today. Firstly, in denying prisoners the vote I think that the Tories have demonstrated how simplistically they view the world. In many respects, criminals are victims of societal constraints and pressures. Denying them the right to vote simply pushes them further away from society. This is an utterly stupid, narrow-minded move on the part of the government. Of course, people argue that if you have perpetrated a crime, you should no longer have the full rights of a citizen, but I think this is to view prisoners as untermench – innately bad people who do not deserve to be seen as fully human.

Secondly, I have been fascinated to watch events unfolding in Egypt. When I last saw the news, yesterday evening, mubarack had stepped down. I find this remarkable, not least because it is pretty much the first real revolution I’ve had the chance to watch live. Question is, how much can we in the west interfere: we can’t interfere too much or we risk accusations of imperialism; yet that means we risk extremists like the Muslim brotherhood coming to power, which would not be good. It is very complex when you think about it: we must respect the will of the Egyptian people, but what if that will is to elect leaders whose views run directly counter to our liberal, democratic values.

Both of these things are part of what I call the paradox of liberalism. Liberalism, or the belief in tolerance, seems to bring up many contradictions with itself. but this doesn’t mean we should disregard it for a simpler, more hard-line approach. It seems to me that part of being a liberal is forever being conscious of the contradictions and complexities involved in life. Only then can we see the world as it truly is.

It made me very happy indeed to watch Madagascar, narrated by David Attenborough, last night. I don’t know why, but I find his programmes intriguing. It’s not just that they are beautifully shot; I find it incredible to reflect on the fact that Sir David has been on television since before my parents were born, yet still produces some of the best programmes on television. Of course, part of the credit must go to the BBC natural History unit for taking such beautiful footage, but it is Attenborough, with his engaging yet relaxing narration style, who makes those shows so good. I was thinking about it last night – even when I was young I found his shows amazing: I remember once, when I was young, being very upset at seeing a small monkey gradually get weaker and fall out of a tree. I immediately crawled over to mum for a hug, wanting to know why the camera crew didn’t help. Mum explained that this was part of nature. I suppose it goes to show how much this great man has contributed to the public understanding of nature – I really hope he continues to do so for a long time yet.