I realise I have not written much on here concerning dsability politics recently, so tonight I think I’ll simply direct you here. This Guardian article spells out explicitly the impact the Government’s cuts will have for people not unlike me and lyn. To be honest, I’ve started to stop reading such articles as they terrify me too much, and make me too angry.

I watched Sherlock on Iplayer earlier. I started watching it on the telly last night, but decided to watch something else at nine. However, I was so taken by the half hour I did watch that I thought it well worth a proper reading. I was not disappointed: I thought it a masterful adaptation and modernisation of the original; I was extremely impressed with the writing, which has the subtlety and precision of a scalpel wielded by a master surgeon, yet wasn’t without humour. I was especially impressed with the characterisation of Holmes himself, which seemed both utterly modern yet retained something of the nineteenth century original. Making Watson into a blogger was a master stroke too. In all, it really was a damn fine bit of TV, and one I heartily recommend.

Today saw the last space shuttle land for the last time, bringing to an end the shuttle project. I can’t help feeling pretty glum about it: of course, those machines were getting pretty old, but given NASA doesn’t have anything to go in it’s place, and given the financial positions of both Europe and Russia, it seems like mankind’s exploration of space has been put on hold. Ever since I was a kid, I have loved programmes like Star trek, portraying a future where we all explored space as one people. perhaps rather sillily, in a way I hoped that one day this would come true – my brothers and I played at flying around in space ships, exploring strange, new worlds. Now, reality has hit, and it would seem that economics has brought that dream to an end, for the foreseeable future, at least.

Yet, maybe one day, perhaps in fifty one years, seven months and fourteen days*, that dream will be reborn. Then, maybe, humanity will achieve her first, best, destiny, and we’ll leave the confines of our planet behind. If we don’t, we are forever doomed to bicker over resources which will grow sparser and sparser, ultimately wiping ourselves out. That’s why I’m so concerned about this halt in progress. You could argue that the billions of dollars spent on space exploration could be better spent on, say, finding new renewable energy sources or better crops, and it would be a good argument, but, in the long run, in terms of the future of the species, I really believe we need to spread out into the galaxy.

*feel free to check my maths

Changing the subject slightly, those interested in cinema might be interested in this article on Godard. It’s only short, so it doesn’t go into too much depth, but it gives one a little insight into one of the last great auteurs; a person who saw film not just as a medium for telling stories and making money, but as the quintesential art form of the twentieth century.

I was going to do an analysis of what happened yesterday today, going into what I think the implications will be for the Murdochs, CaMoron and all the other parties involved. Butt I can’t – the truth is, we had guests round last night, certain quantities of alcohol were consumed, and I fell asleep on the sofa. I therefore missed Newsnight, so I cannot write the cutting edge analysis you usually get from this website. For this I apologise. Besides, it’s probably too early to judge what the political fall-out will be from this farce anyway. Instead, I’ll just send you here, to a clip of what is surely the most memorable moment of the day.

Do you ever get the feeling that you just watched a piece of dynamite explode? I just watched Panorama on bbc1, and it suddenly truck struck me how monumental the events of tomorrow may turn out to me. Tomorrow, the CEO of News international, one of the biggest news organisations in all the world, will be questioned in part of a scandal which also has a good chance of forcing the Prime minister to resign. Rarely has he word seen the like.

I would like to be able to say I’ve never liked Murdoch or Sky, but that would be untrue. As a kid I practically begged my dad to get Sky so I could watch American wrestling and therefore blend in more at school. I soon realised that wrestling was a soap opera in trunks, and not long after that Sky was only interested in taking my dad’s money. I now realise that the whole organisation is a sham; a con for swindling the gullible. I loathe the Murdoch press and media, and so I must admit to relishing the prospect of Murdoch being torn to shreds tomorrow.

Yet, at the same time, I know I must not relish it so much. My brother Luke once told me of a very wise motto: ‘I do not agree with what you say, but I will defend your right to say it to my death’. We lefties might be bouncing up and down at the prospect of seeing the right wing media take a trouncing tomorrow, but at the same time they have a right to be there. Mind you, in the way that Murdoch himself shut down news of the world in an effort to save his own skin, we can see he doesn’t care about that sort of thing himself. I thought the News of the World utterly juvenile, but what Murdoch did was an act of a mann who had grown too powerful; a man too used to invincibility. The problem, then, is not with the right-wing papers; the problem is the fact that so much of the media is controlled by one man and his son. A man who, until now, has enjoyed far too much power. I think tomorrow he’ll fall. The question, as tonight’s Panorama made clear, is who he’ll take with him.

I hope James gets home okay. He came to visit us this weekend. even though we have only met twice, we have been talking online for quite a while, and in many respects we are pretty similar. I think this weekend, then, was long overdue. The thing with people you meet in the online world is that your friendships never feel concrete until you meet in person. Mind you, at this point I should state that, although it’s how I met the person I hope to one day marry, one should always be cautious about meeting people who you encounter online. In this case, however, I was pretty sure James was who he claimed to be.

What I was less prepared for, though, was his wit. Perhaps for the first time I was struck by how intelligent James is. He has CP, and is doing an MPhil in politics, so I knew he was intelligent, but I didn’t realise quite how bright he is. We were talking last night, and he was throwing out references to lots of writers, many of whom I’d never heard of, let alone read. Even though I didn’t agree with him all the time – for instance, he puts too much emphasis on elitism, which I see as a subjective construct – I found our conversations this weekend very interesting indeed. Speaking face to face with someone, rather than just online, adds an extra dimension to a conversation; I think it lets you understand more.

I think James Cullis went from being an online associate to being a friend this weekend. He is a great guy, and I must say that I love his rather plumy accent. As he said as I saw him off at the station earlier, we really must see each other more regularly than once a year from now on.

Given that I have been plugging Hugh Jones’ work on here quite a bit, I might as well plug that of his sister. I don’t think I’ve sent you here, to the harmonettes website, before. Charlotte, it seems, has been her usual absurdly busy self: she’s now part of a group called the harmonettes – she and two other girls, Georgie and Sarra, go round fairs and festivals singing in the style of the Anderson sisters or the Puppinis. I’m pleased to say that, by all reports, they seem to be doing rather well. It’s also good to hear that they came together as normal groups should, rather than being put together by some producer for money. Anyway, please go check them out.

It is to my great shame and embarrassment that I knew nothing of this. it is a short film by Michael Reed about the difficulties faced by some people who use AAC in accessing literacy and communication. I know Michael from Onevoice, but, now I’m living with Lyn and dealing with life as a south Londoner, I’ve fallen out of touch with that brilliant organisation. Thus this film slipped under my radar, and I’m kicking myself for it. Anyway, it’s a brilliant bit of animation, serving as an introduction to the complexities of educating kids with AAC, and the often inane prejudices they have to face.

There is a hell of a lot to think and write about tonight. It’s been quite an amazing day – the day on which Rupert Murdoch withdrew his bid for sky. I am, of course, no expert, but it seems to me that the implications and ramifications of what happened today are huge. The damage to Murdoch’s reputation this scandal has done is one thing, but now the Americans are talking about the possibility that Murdoch’s people hacked into the phones of 9/11 victims. Most worrying for us, though, is the possibly that the newspapers will have to be more tightly regulated. I can see why parliament could have no choice but to impose regulations, but this would directly conflict with the principal of the free press. Moreover, the question was raised in parliament earlier over whether things like blogs or Facebook would then come under regulation. I’d like to consider this in greater detail soon, but it seems to me that this debacle may have lead us into some very, very dangerous territory.

A rather interesting question keeps jumping into my head: what if it was the Beeb, and not news international, that got caught hacking into people’s phones? The bbc has, of course, had it’s share of controversy, most notably over the Iraq war, but the current scandal is of a different kind. Granted, the bbc accused the government of exaggerating claims about WMD, which is rather serious, but it did not hack into people’s phones or bribe police. Had it done so, I have no doubt that the bbc would be no more. It is a publicly funded institution, and had it been found to have engaged in the type of activity news int seems to condone, it would have had to be broken up at the very least. This begs the question, what should happen to news int? their bid for sky has already been blocked, but should it be broken up? Is it possible to do so?

One of the things which irritated me the most about the filmic adaptation of the Lord of the Rings was that, whenever the good guys were in a tight spot, it seemed that someone would come to their rescue in the nick of time. For instance, at the battle of Minas Tirith, all seemed lost until the elves came and saved the day (hence Legolas’ exclamation ”that is no orc horn”). This happened several times during the films, and it irritated the hell out of me. We all know that in real life there’s no guarantee of such things happening, so tonight, with pressure mounting on CaMoron and Murdoch, it’s hard to see how either of them could get out of their predicaments. There will be no cliches, no mighty cavalry charges, just two scumbags getting their comeuppances. Both their reputations are in ruins, especially Murdoch’s, who I think can now kiss Sky goodbye. Sometimes, just sometimes, reality turns out to be more interesting than fiction.

I have just finished watching the return of the King; it’s taken me about a week and a bit to get through the whole Lord of the Rings trilogy. As I said , I have the extended edition, so the whole thing is in six parts. I think that in itself adds to the experience, as it retains the episodic quality of the novel. The books take a while to get through; one reads them chapter by chapter, and you have to pause. This means that, unlike something you experience in one go from start to finish, these books become part of your life for some time. I think the films have retained that quality. Thus, Jackson has not simply made a film, but something different, something which requires extended attention – something between a film and a novel.

It is not, of course, without it’s faults. It certainly isn’t a shot for shot adaptation of Tolkien’s novel, and I disagree with some of the choices he’s made. For instance, I hate the way he’s turned the character of Gimli into little more than comic relief; there are also quite a few americanisms and modern transtextual, pop-culture references which irritate me and which I suspect Tolkien himself would have loathed. I could write at length the pros and cons of this adaptation, and part of me still resents their making, yet while I was watching these films I began to feel as I did reading the books. They made me yearn to go walking along the lanes of Cheshire again, between the fields pretending there were black riders again. Despite it’s faults, and I can see why Tolkien purists hate this film, I think peter Jackson has done a remarkable job in adapting a novel once said to be unfilmable. I’ll probably write more on this soon, but all in all, I think he deserve praise and gratitude.

Far be it for me to revel in the misfortune of others [pause for parental and fraternal sniggers] but it is rather gratifying two of the people I hate the most take such a kicking this week. I was amazed when Murdoch closed News of the Word on Thursday evening, and startled when Coulson was arrested yesterday. Serious doubt must now be cast on the reputations of both David CaMoron and Rupert Murdoch.

Yet shortly after the news broke on Thursday about NOTW, my amazement and mirth turned into concern. It is true that it was little more than a gossip-spewing rag, but it didn’t have to be shut down. As many more knowledgeable commentators have pointed out, this closure was entirely tactical, as it paves the way for both a seven day sun and the Newscorp Takeover of Sky. In effect, then, Murdoch as sacrificed a paper, many of whose reporters had nothing to do with phone hacking, in order to tighten his grip on the UK Media. Moreover, many of the execs who were indeed responsible for phone hacking have kept their jobs. Surely this seems very dodgy: Rupert Murdoch is playing games with the UK media. It just goes to show how powerful and manipulative this man is. It also raises several questions which I do not know the answer to, but which leave a nasty taste in my mouth.

And what about David CaMoron’s involvement in all this? This morning he seems to be off the hook, yet the fact remains he employed a man now charged with the most underhand of practices. He is also an associate of Rebekah Brooks, one of Murdoch’s chief lieutenants who, despite her involvement in the NOTW scandal, has kept her job. He also is good friends with Matthew Freud, who is married to Murdoch’s daughter Elisabeth. They’re all part of the so called ”chipping Norton set”. In short, they’re all part of the same clique – a very powerful clique which seems able to play us all for fools and seems almost above the law.

CaMoron will, of course, keep his job. After thirteen years in opposition, the Tories won’t relinquish power that easily. More importantly, though, he will now allow Murdoch to take control of sky in return for his support. The combination of the Tories and the most powerful media company on the planet seems a very frightening prospect indeed. What all this will lead to I cannot say, but Mudoch is now in a position to utterly control the british media, and he will have the governments backing in doing so; in return, the tories will have Murdoch’s backing. Something is afoot and it doesn’t sound right.

I just want to direct you here to an excellent blog entry from simon Stevens about the real effects on the big society. While I have a slightly different take on it, I completely aagree that it’s essentially a 19th century policy wrapped in a 21st century package, and will hurt people like simon and myself.

I have always known that Rupert Murdoch is a scumbag, so it’s rather pleasing to watch one of his papers being exposed for being the seedy rag it is. Like almost everyone else, I think phone hacking is deplorable. I’ve been watching the coverage of this story on the beeb, but I’m considering flipping over to sky news for a bit, to see how they’re covering it; I might also check out the news of the world too. My bet is they both will have just ignored the story.

I’ve noticed, however, that there isn’t much being made of the links between the paper and our current government. CaMoron’s chief spin-doctor, Andy Coulson, was once the editor of NOTW, and probably commissioned some of this phone hacking himself. Does this not strike anyone else as dodgy? Even without the current scandal, the fact that CaMoron is prepared to employ the former editor of such a piece of filth is surely indicative of the type of guy he is: even more than Blair, he’s obsessed by his image, and will employ pornographers to help him present it. Even if CaMoron didn’t know about the phone hacking – which I frankly doubt – he knew of Coulson’s past, and the type of paper he produced. Everyone is rightly condemning the News of the World for it’s reprehensible actions, but some of the shit must also wash on to CaMoron. For all his nice-guy image, he’s as scummy and puerile as the people he employs.

It gives me a great deal of pleasure to send you all here, to a review of Crewdson’s debut album, Gravity. The review is glowing, but what makes it so incredible is that it’s by the BBC. It would seem my friend hugh is bound for great things; I just hope he remembers to invite me when he goes to those celebrity-packed parties.

I was thinking earlier about the political right; in recent weeks I’ve come into contact with people with some far right views, and I think I need to mull them over. Before I go on, though, I should point out that this is unconnected with my recent musings on Tolkien: although his work has been used by those on the far right to support their views, to claim that Tolkien was somehow writing about racial politics is to gravely and deliberately misinterpret his work.

Anyway, the question I ask myself is, what do I make of the far right? I’m not talking about the Tories, who, frankly, are bad enough, but people like members of the BNP and EDL; people who seem revolted by almost all I hold dear. People who still think black people are somehow different to and inferior to white people, that disabled babies should be killed at birth, and that transsexual people are somehow degenerate. People who rail against the progress society has made towards sexual and ethnic equality over the last fifty years, and then hypocritically claim that they are being discriminated against due to their views. For a long time, I thought it was best to think what they liked, and that if I was entitled to my views, they were entitled to theirs.

This is, I think, the view taken by most on the liberal left. But I’m beginning to think we must engage with such people. it is my conviction that this is an argument we can win, as we have logic on our side. I know this sounds arrogant, but I really believe that if you engage with the far right on any intellectual level, their views quickly fall apart. For example, the entire concept of race can easily be shown to be an artificial construction by pointing to genetics, history and sociology. I also refuse to let the idea that disabled people or transexuals go uncontested. The far right is diminishing as, time and time again, it’s arguments have been shown to be baseless, but I think there are a few far-right extremists left who continue to spread their moronic yet dangerous views. Rather than letting them get on with it, I think its time those with the inclination engaged with such views and demonstrated how intellectually baseless they are.

Almost exactly twenty-four hours ago I was sitting where I am now, at my computer, about to go out. Little did I know that I was in for quite a ride. Dominic had proposed we go up to the Tate, just for a look around and where he could meet a couple of his friends, so we went. Now, I usually try to record the most major happenings of my life on here in order to give people a taste of what life is like for a guy with CP, but today I’m not even going to attempt it. I’ll just say that, when I got up this morning, Dom and two girls were sleeping in a tent in the back garden. There is, of course, quite a good reason why they were there – or at least why Dom was there – but it is rather complicated, involving my need to get up early for a hospital appointment and a rather unexpected party. Make of that what you will, but I must just stress that, for once, it was not my idea!

Stuff like this never happened with my parents.

After prattling on about it for so long in my last entry, last night I decided to give the Lord of the Rings a watch. It had been ages since I had seen it; we have the special collectors extended version, so I only got through the first half of the first film before the DVD had to be changed, by which time Mitchel had already gone so the next sixth will have to wait. It occurred to me, however, that this is indeed a remarkable bit of film, and Peter Jackson tried his best to live up to the grandeur of Tolkien. Other directors would, no doubt, have condensed the film into one more marketable piece, leaving much of the rich detail. I dread to think what the Walt Disney company would have turned it into. While I disagree with some of Jackson’s choices and the way in which he changes things slightly, I am glad that it was he who made these films.

However, that was not the point I was trying to make last time. Whoever made them, the lord of the rings as a cultural entity has changed: it is no longer a book read by geeks and people with beards, but a mainstream film. I think in a way this changes the text philosophically, and part of me wishes it had remained the book I knew as a child. Part of me thinks that the magnificent work of JRR Tolkien should have stayed as it was, on the page, rather than being brought into the shallow world of mainstream cinema.

Yet I realised last night that this is not quite the case. Jackson did not simply make a movie; in a way, I think Lord of the rings is an experimental piece of cinema. It is far longer than any other mainstream film I can think of, and it is in three parts. It stands apart from other films, and is special in it’s own right. It has a rather low pace, which is a quality Jackson deliberately took from the book. It is clear that Jackson and his studio respected Tolkien’s work enough to make them into something special and unique, and not just another film. As I wrote here, an adaptation of a book is an interpretation of it, and it is natural that the two will differ. But Jackson clearly did his best to keep the grandeur of the books; Like Tolkiens prose, the films are slow and detailed, and I also think the fact that they take time and considerable effort to get through reflects the complexity of Tolkien’s writing. I am relieved that, if these books had too be adapted for the screen, the result is something as special as the original in it’s own right.

It has been quite some time since I wrote anything on here about film, and probably even longer since I wrote anything about Tolkien. (It grieves me to realise how intertwined those two subjects now seem, but it now appears that Middle Earth could be seen as much a creation of Peter Jackson as professor Tolkien.) A few days ago, for some reason or another, I began to think about the Lord of the Rings again: it’s definitely time Lyn saw the trilogy, and I have a hankering to watch it with her. These stories have been with me from my childhood, since my father started reading the books to me and my brothers at bedtime. As such they have a deeply personal value for me, which is why I want to share them with Lyn. Since I can’t read the books to her myself, watching the film adaptations with her seems a good alternative.

But it recently occurs o me that therein lies a problem. The Lord of The Rings no longer has the status it had when I first encountered it. It is not a book written by an obscure Oxford don, or a would conjured through my father’s deep, comforting voice; it is now a massive, multi Oscar winning film, with figures sold with every happy meal and a thousand asinine Playstation games associated with it. Don’t get me wrong: I think Jackson did an excellent job with these films, and I think, under the circumstances, he was as faithful as he could be. But these films are not the lord of the rings: the lord of the rings is a work of literature, in a fairly archaic, obscure style, with footnotes and endnotes and appendices. It is something I adore, and I don’t think any film could match it. Yet a film – or three films rather – have taken it’s place in culture. Culturally, the two are synonymous, so we now have kids calling themselves Lord of the Rings fans who do not know who Tom Bombadil is, or how many strings were on the tipsy cat’s fiddle, but can get to level twelve of ”The war in The North”.

All this occurred to me this morning, when I was looking for news of The Hobbit Adaptation. Until now, I had been really looking forward to this film, but then I began to consider how drastically Jackson seems to be diverging from the text. How, for example, is he going to get Frodo into these films? Indeed, as is stated in this article, Jackson seems to be making what is essentially a fairly gentle kids book into an epic saga akin to it’s sequel. When I first read that, I thought, for the first time, ”Oh god, it’s gonna suck”. It is clear that this is no longer the work of JRR Tolkien, but a work of the market, made for the fans of the Lord of the Rings films who know nothing of the books and expect the hobbit to be filled with massive battles and Legolas and Gimli making witty one line gags about dwarf-tossing. I must admit this makes me somewhat angry: I once revered these books above all others – they were a huge part of my childhood – but the way in which Tolkien’s massive work of creation has now become something else, yet another piece of harry potter/star wars mass-market drivel, strikes me as sad, and I feel The Hobbit films will send it even further down that road.

I have nothing against film. I love it, I study it, I see myself as a cinephile. Yet cinephilia in the correct sense, the discourse first exemplified in Cahiers du Cinema in the fifties and sixties, was always a questioning type of love. They too had very similar debates over the relationship between film and literature, especially in relation to authorship – the love of film is a love which can open film up to such questions. Jackson proved me wrong before; the lord of the rings films were an astonishing work which still seem influential. Yet in making those films, Jackson brought these texts into another realm, no longer a cherished childhood memory, no longer something personal, but something open to the pressures of the mass market. In doing so he has changed them irrevocably, destroyed them and replaced them with something different. I fear this will be especially applicable to the hobbit: with Lord of the rings, Jackson had less pressure from the market because it didn’t know what to expect, but with the Hobbit, the audience is expecting certain things which Jackson must produce. It expects big battles, cate blanchet and things it can make a video game from. Thus the hobbit must be changed to appease the game-players and the hoards raised on post Star Wars filmic dross, which means it can never be a truly faithful adaptation. This is, of course, symptomatic of what film has become – no longer an art form but a medium for showing people some spectacular images while depriving them of their money. George Lucas was responsible for this when he made star wars in 1977. Now the books I loved as a child have been introduced into this puerile world, so that now the lord of the rings is no longer the sprawling creation of an oxford professor, or the book which brought about my love for the English countryside, but just another film filled with big battles and special effects. Although the films could have been much worse, and are special in their own right, the very fact of their creation changes the status of the texts. They are now as much a creation of Jackson as of Tolkien, and I think they have lost something fundamental in the process. After all, Tolkien’s writing was all about the language he used, an aspect of the text which does not translate to film. Thus to me the lord of the rings, as a cultural artefact, can never be what it was; in making these films, Jackson changed the very status of the text forever, and it almost feels like something of my childhood has gone with it.

I did not have a problem with this until now, as I fear the changes Jackson will have to make to the text of the Hobbit will be so vast that it will deviate too much from the spirit of the original book and become something else, not just an adaptation but a completely different text, taking the place of the original in cultural terms. I do not mean this in an absolute sense, as Tolkien’s novels will always endure; but the films were so big that the books are now synonymous with the film, and I think that alters the status of the text, for me losing something personal and dear in the process.

What Professor Tolkien himself would say about this I dread to think, but I cannot help but wonder if Jackson has ever had a pint at the Eagle and Child.

You may recall me posting this entry back in may about Claire Khaw, the BNP member who advocates the killing of disabled babies. Those who are interested will be pleased to know that Khaw has now been suspended from the party for her comments. It seems even that bunch of moronic thugs draws the line somewhere. You know, I’ve been trying to monitor what Khaw has been saying over the last few weeks, and it strikes me that this is a seriously disturbed woman. She admires Gadaffi, and despises women’s liberation. She seems to want to take the UK back to some mythical past where everyone was white and women stayed at home and did the washing. I know this is another ad Hominem entry, but I find myself baffled that such people still exist, refusing to admit that they lost the argument long, long ago.

It is starting to rain again. I just popped out for a short drive and I could feel it in the air. While I was at the local branch of Co-Op, though, I noticed the front page of the Daily Mail. I often scan the headlines while I’m there, and the Mail’s headline usually annoys me, but it’s front page today takes the biscuit. It reads: ”Defy the Strike Bullies”. When I first saw it I was astonished.. I had always thought the newspapers were supposed to report the news; the angle at which they approached stories could vary, obviously, but on the whole they are supposed to report the facts. The daily Mail has gone far beyond reporting today – it seems to be giving orders to it’s readers, and by branding the strikers bullies, it looses the last semblance of impartiality and is printing mere opinion. This is not what the press is for, and to me this is a clear breach of ethics. Never have I seen a more biased headline – even Fox news, which is about as fair and balanced as Mein Kampf, draws the line at telling its viewers what to do in such blatant, one-sided terms. This headline disgusts me, the Daily Mail disgusts me, and I now question its right to print. Freedom of the press is one thing, but this isn’t journalism, it’s using a paper to tell people what to think and how to act, and it has no place in any democracy.

I do not like making ad Hominem attacks on my blog; it has brought me a lot of trouble in the past, and strikes me as bad blogging. But this entry I think I’ll make an exception. I want to address some comments I came across today, or, rather, yesterday by now, made by my friend James. He states two things: first, that the strike by teachers ” is at best illogical: at worst, anti-intellectual” and that the private schools – by which I assume he means public schools – wouldn’t strike, because they are

”decent”. When I first read these words, I was aghast, firstly at how anyone in my age range and peer group could be dogmatic enough to defend what this government is doing over a teacher’s right to fair wages and pensions, and secondly at how anyone could be so pompous. James’ sentiments imply that he regards state schools as somehow indecent, and public schools as of superior quality and breeding. The reason why teachers from public schools might not be going on strike tomorrow is because they charge their students, or rather their parents, fees – fees which the vast majority of people cannot afford. This leads one to assume James believes that schools which do not charge fees, and thus the kids who attend them, are not ‘decent’ and somehow lesser than those that do. This may only be a simple statement, but the arrogance behind it sickens me. I doubt it’s author has any compassion for the public sector workers whose jobs are threatened, or the teachers forced to strike from the job they love through fear of losing their pension. All that matters to people who make such statements is not the education of young people but maintaining the Tory worldview is propagated: that the cuts are vital, strikers are selfish and those who have money are superior – or should that be more ‘decent’ than those who do not. Do they not have a right to defend their wellbeing, or should they be forced to accept whatever menial wage they get and be grateful for it, out of a sense of duty? I am sorry this is a bit of an ad Hominem attack on a guy I otherwise respect, by and large, but such views must not go unchallenged. I for one believe that the strikes later today, and the many that will hopefully follow, are vital in telling the government that we do not want their ideologically inspired cuts. People deserve fair wages.

I just stumbled across this and flew into spastic shrieks of joy: the Monty Python team are apparently reuniting to make a film, this time based on the memoirs of Graham Chapman. To be honest, all I would still definitely call myself a fan, I had not thought about python or seen anything pythonic in ages; I was just browsing the BBC website when I saw the link. I also strongly suspected it was now part of history. Nevertheless, the team, apart from Eric Idle, are reuniting to make a film. Whether it will be any good or not remains to be seen, of course, but if there is a chance they still possess the ability to reduce me to uncontrollable fits of giggles, then I can’t wait to see this film.

It is odd how things turn out sometimes, and how one’s words can often be strangely prophetic. In my last entry, I wrote about how London could be seen as a chaotic maelstrom where you never quite knew what was going to happen. Soon after posting that entry, I decided to go for a roll. First I decided to go see chopper, as he and I had things to discuss, but he wasn’t in, so I decided to go over to Greenwich. I’d heard there was a fair on there, and I wanted to check it out.

When I got there, I saw that there was indeed some sort of festival, but to be honest it seemed pretty mundane. I was going through the indoor market, thinking about returning home, when I suddenly saw a familiar face, then another. Hugh and his friends were there. At first I didn’t quite believe it was him, but sure enough it was. We talked a bit, and decided to go see an acrobatic performance together. Now, at this point I should point out that this performance in itself was blog worthy: it was a mix of contortion, balance and rope tricks, but the performers were a mixture of able-bodied and disabled people. There was a guy in a chair, for example, with incredible strength, who could hold two women over his head with one hand; another woman, of limited growth, climbed a rope and did amazing tricks. It was very cool.

After this performance it was time to head home, but before we parted, Hugh mentioned he had a gig in Deptford the next day – yesterday – and invited me along. I thought it would be something Lyn would be into too, so I mentioned it to her when I got home. We went, of course, and I’m now very pleased we did. Hugh plays an interesting type of electronic music, where he samples sounds on stage and builds up rhythms from them. He also has a very impressive singer who he performs with. Hugh’s type of music is, of course, right up Lyn’s street. She has recently started experimenting with sampling herself, so I think she was rather enthralled. It was an amazing performance, and I must say I found both performers incredible. I also think getting Hugh and Lyn collaborating on something is now a priority, although I suspect they might now organise such a thing theirselves.

After the show, we went to a nearby pub. Jodie, Hugh’s girlfriend and an old university friend of mine, was there, as was Tom, Hugh’s film-making friend with whom I really want to talk sometime. It turned out to be a great day, with Hugh talking to Lyn about music and computer stuff. I was really pleased how things had turned out; perhaps I should go to Greenwich more often.

Walter Benjamin was right when he called a city a maelstrom. I’ve been living in London a year and a half, and I still can’t decide what I think of her. First off, I still can’t get my head around how huge this place is: I try to go exploring as often as I can, yet I know I’ve seen only a tiny proportion of the capital. Onto this concrete and tarmac labyrinth is mapped a vast array off human systems – people going to work, trains driving through the tube, beer being delivered to the pubs – which somehow all come together to make this city work. I was thinking about this recently, and it occurs to me that it would be impossible to document all the billions of activities which allow this city to function. Put that way, London is essentially chaos: a three dimensional concrete organism inhabited by a vast array of different people from all over the globe, each with their own story to tell. I think it is this chaotic nature which I find fascinating. Of course, it can also be frightening at times it is unpredictable, and often very violent; it can also be alienating and cold. But something within it’s vastness and diversity intrigues me: there are a billion things going on at once in this microcosm, and trying to document some of them, if just in my own mind, draws me into the metropolis.

Lyn has reposted her video about being robbed onto Youtube, after taking it down in order not to jeopardise the police investigation. This seems to have proven fruitless, so in an effort to catch the scum who took our stuff, please watch this and send us any information you might have.

My entry yesterday was quite long, so I’ll think I’ll just post something brief today. I just played this song: I think it’s an adaptation of a track by Hugh Jones, a good friend of mine working under the name Crewdson. It seems that someone has put words to one of his pieces. I’m not entirely sure he was aware of it, whether it was a proper collaboration or someone just stole Hugh’s work, but the result is quite interesting and worth a listen. Either way, I think Hugh is definitely becoming a musician to look out for. Mind you, I’m still trying to organise a collaboration between him and Lyn.

Yesterday was a very cool day indeed. It was long, hectic, and towards the end a little stressful, but on the whole very cool. It started pleasantly enough, with my shower and shave: Lyn and I had plans, and I wanted to look presentable. Darryl was still in the country, and on Friday we mutually decided to meet again before he went back to Australia. This time, we thought it might be nice to meet up in the centre of the city, so I suggested the south bank. When Dominic our PA came yesterday morning, however, he told us about a gig in the north of London he thought we might like. Given that we were intending to meet Dazz in the afternoon, and Dom said the gig started at about ten in the evening, there was no reason why we couldn’t do both; it would just make for quite a hectic day.

I suppose my first mistake of the day was arranging a time with darryl and not checking whether it was okay with Lyn. I’m not a fan of hanging about, so I agreed to meet Dazz at two. When I told this to Lyn, however, she told me that she wouldn’t be ready, and that four would be better. By then, though, it was too late, but no matter: I’d just go on my own, and she would catch up with us later. I’m now pretty confident using the tube, and thought I could easily get to the rendezvous point at the London eye on my own, so off I went. Lyn advised me to get off at London bridge and then roll from there. This I did, but when I came out of the station I immediately lost my bearings, and, thinking I was the other side of the river for some reason, sped off in the wrong direction. When I eventually found the right way to go, having gone back and forth past the Golden Hind three or four times, I realised London Bridge station was a fair distance from where I was supposed to be, and that it would have been easier to get off at Westminster then simply cross the river. As I rolled up to the eye, about an hour late and with a little less battery than I would have liked, I made a mental note to reprimand Lyn the next time I saw her.

Darryl himself was easy enough to find. I drew my chair up next to him and said hi. He was admiring the view, I think, David his PA close by. I explained that Lyn would be joining us a little later on, and we went to get a coffee. We started chatting, mostly about the cricket; it’s funny how we’ve only met, physically, two or three times, but we’ve been chatting online for years, and share quite a few interests and experiences, so we get on like old friends. As I wrote the other day, I really do admire darryl; he and David both seem very good blokes. Mind you, as we were sitting drinking coffee, I suddenly realised that I was surrounded by Australians, as the couple sitting at the table behind me were also from Australia. Needless to say, this made for some lively debate, me being the only ‘pom’ there.

We sat, talking, for an hour or so, before it was time to go and try to find Lyn. She, too, was rather late, I think as a result of the rain and the fact she may have made the same mistake I did. When she got to us, most of the attractions were closing: I came pretty close to proposing that we find the nearest pub, but I knew that I had quite a long night ahead of us. We ended up sitting, talking and watching the rain on the balcony of the southbank centre. I couldn’t help remarking how pretty the capital looks in the rain: there’s something about London in a steady downpour which just looks right.

The time came, rather too quickly, for Darryl and David to go back to their hotel. As for us, it was time to eat. Time was pressing on, and I reckoned that if w were going to have a chance of getting to the gig in north London, we needed to get a move on. One should, however, always make time for dinner, and we ate in the Italian restaurant in the Southbank centre. The meal was as enjoyable as it was welcome – especially my tiramisu – but it was then that things became a little bit more stressful.

We had been trying to decide the best way to get to our destination near Notting Hill over dinner. There did not seem to be any direct, accessible tube route. We ended up taking quite a convoluted route involving trains and busses. At this point I must say how disappointed as a wheelchair user I am that many, perhaps most, tube stations still aren’t accessible. There are some which claim to be, but when you come to get on the train, the gap between the platform and carriage is so vast that it’s almost impossible for me to board. And, unlike the national railway system, there are no ramps available. It was lucky I was in my old electric wheelchair: as my father sagely explained a few days ago, we bought my new chair at a time when I needed something to go around university campuses in. as a result, unlike my old chair, it’s not intended for long journeys, getting on and off busses and trains. My old one, I realised yesterday, is a bit of an old war horse. In fact, despite going several miles yesterday, it barely lost half it’s battery power.

We eventually got to our destination, a house in what seemed to be a very smart suburb or north-west London, at almost half eleven. I must say that I was rather cranky, wondering where the smeg we were and how we were going to get home at that time of night. We could, however, hear some fantastic tango music coming from within. We went in, only to see a set of stairs. Swearing under my breath, quietly relieved that it was not me who had instigated this debacle, I got out of my chair and climbed up, Lyn being pulled up by Dominic in her manual chair. We got there just as the band was playing their last song. I must say that what I heard sounded excellent, and I was disappointed that we had not had chance to hear more.

Well, what could we then do but start to head home? The pubs were closed by then, and, let me tell you, I could have murdered a beer. We started to look for possible routes, and, irony of ironies, we found a bus running direct to Westminster. Had we known about that bus earlier that night, we would have made the gig easily! I think it was at that point, as we waited for the 53 bus from Westminster to Charlton, that things started to seem quite funny: looking back, it had been a hell of a day, full of mistakes, adventures, and, most of all, great fun.

According to Chopper I need a haircut, and he offered to take my for one yesterday afternoon, but, given that Lyn wants me to let my hair grow, and that haircuts are practically my least favourite activity, I got out of it. However, Chopper said they also do very good shaves at the barbers in the village, which made me curious: is it possible for me, a guy with problems holding his head still, to have a traditional, barber-shop save?

So, images of blood gushing everywhere running through my head, off we went to the barbers. I guess the first surprise was that they agreed to do it in the first place. Chopper and I were welcomed in, and I rolled up to the mirror; then the fun began. I think yesterday afternoon saw the scariest few minutes of my life, especially when I saw the cut throat razor they were using. I concentrated as hard as I could on keeping my head still, but, of course, with cerebral palsy the more you try to keep still the more you move. I knew one false move could see that razor going through my artery, although it was expertly wielded by the shop manager. Pretty soon, we decided that the best thing was for chopper to hold my head still, but even then I was still bloody scared.

However, the results, I must say, were worth it. After the dangerous bit was over, they put aftershave on, and then a baking hot towel, like you sometimes see in things like Michael Palin programmes. I felt like a million pounds – I felt, in a way, like a man; the type of man who drinks martinis, and can tell the diference between a Vesper and a Gibson. My face felt smoother than ever, and still does this morning. Discussing it in the pub afterwards, I told chopper I think I’d definitely do it again: I never thought I could have a shave like that, but now I know I can, I’m definitely converted. I can’t help but wonder, though, whether that was the first time any guy with my kind of CP has had such a shave.

I suppose I should say something about the recent comments of Tory MP Phillip Davies that people with disabilities should be made to work for mellow the minimum wage. To be honest, I’m not surprised to hear such things coming from a Tory, as they seem to regard us as second class citizens. It’s hard enough for most of us to get work – we have to work far harder than most to do so, and if we do ever find jobs we lose our benefits so we’re then pretty much screwed if the job falls through. I suppose Davies’ point would be that paying us less would give employers an incentive to take us on, and I must admit that has a certain logic to it, but the messages that would send out in terms of disability rights and equality would be cataclysmic. What we need is good, well-funded access to work schemes, where people with disabilities have the support they need to be able to show their skills, but I really can’t see that happening any time soon. what we do not need is some damn Tory MP going around saying we can be paid a pittance and should be grateful for it.

I have not got too much to report this evening, other than the fact that we spent a very enjoyable late afternoon with Darryl. He’s over once again for the ISAAC conference – an event which I really do have to get my arse to one year – and, since it was he who brought me and Lyn together in the first place, we always invite him to ours. It is always good to see him: he is a top guy, and his independence, success and ability to travel mean he is sort of a role model for me. We had a good chat, and he bought us a damn good curry; he told us about Womadelade, a music festival in Australia with the Cat Empire, so I think a visit to his place is definitely on the cards. Good company, good curry: all in all a very good evening.

It would be very poor indeed of me not to post an entry whishing my mum a very happy birthday. We don’t see much of eachother these days, except on Skype, but I still think I have the best mum in the world. We have a couple of family events coming up, so I’ll be able to cuddle her then, but for now I’ll just say I hope she has a great day. Love you Mum!

Dear sir. I have just watched prime minister’s questions, and I am appalled by your performance. It was a disgusting display of lying, dissembling and twisting of facts. Your attitude to the leader of the opposition was utterly patronising; your stance on inclusive education, for instance, shows a lack of understanding of the subject. Most serious, though, is the way in which you perpetuate the blatant lie that our country’s economic woes were caused by the profligacy of the previous government: history records that this crisis was caused by the greed and ineptitude of the banking sector, and would indeed have turned into a depression had not action been taken by the then government. The way you misrepresent this fact is a sign that either you do not understand the situation properly, or are twisting history for your own gain. Either way, these are not the actions of a Prime Minister. I therefore write to demand your immediate resignation. It seems to me that you had no clear mandate in the first place, yet are pushing through savage, ideological cuts and trying to blame the previous government.

Sir, I am frankly tired of your weasel-words and lies. You are not fit to lead this country, and your government is doing untold damage to many people’s lives. You will therefore stand down and call a general election immediately.

Yours

Matt Goodsell

I must admit I am in two minds about the subject of assisted suicide. Ad you will probably already know, there was a programme on it last night by terry pratchett, in which he argues quite forcefully that he has a right to choose the time and manner of his own death. I cannot disagree with him there: if we are indeed a liberal, tolerant society, we must also tolerate such things. As I said to Lyn last night,, he has a right to chose to die, but I have a right to think he’s a fucking coward. But – and this is a huge but – once we go down that path we open a huge, extremely dangerous can of worms. As Dennis Queen eloquently points out here, the implications for people with disabilities are very worrying indeed. The prospect that some vulnerable people may be coerced into choosing to die comes up; indeed, the whole notion kind of makes it seem that we all lead second class lives and can’t wait to top ourselves. I can’t really say too much on the subject, as I don’t think I can fully make my mind up; I’m glad last night’s programme was broadcast, but it did leave a nasty taste in my mouth.

I had another interesting night out yesterday evening, but not as interesting as it might have been, which is a good thing. At about four yesterday afternoon, I decided to go out for a walk. My friend chopper had been unwell, so I thought I’d swing round his to see how he was. He invited me inn, as usual, and then, to my surprise, asked if I wanted to go to Deptford. I hesitated to begin with – frankly, I had planned to have a long, lazy Sunday evening in front of the TV – but Deptford has a reputation which both scares and intrigues me. Besides, I was going with one of the hardest men in south London, or so he says.

So, my Walter Benjamin hat on, at about six yesterday evening we set off. It seemed quite a way, and the busses caused us a bit of trouble, but eventually we got to a pub called the black horse. My friend had made this place sound like a den of rogues and villains, but it seemed friendly enough. chopper said he’d been going there a long time, and he certainly seemed to be well known there. For my part, I was fascinated by the place: it seemed ancient – I guessed it had not been refitted in a century or so. People probably drank there to celebrate victory over napoleon, and I daresay probably used the same bar stools.

After we’d had a couple in the pub, we made for new cross through what seemed to be a very large housing estate. Now, I’m still pretty much a good little cripple from a fairly affluent part of a sleepy town in rural Cheshire, and I found that walk, in the half-light and drizzle, rather scary. Even chopper seemed somewhat on edge. The buildings looked new, and I think there had been recent attempts to renovate it, but something told me I definitely wasn’t in Kansas any more. The estate had the feeling of foreboding and menace, although it may just have been the half-light playing tricks on my imagination. Chopper popped in on his cousin who lived in one of the houses, and then we made our way home.

Clearly there is a lot of this city I have yet to see; Chopper says we will go to many more places, and, to be sure I can’t wait. But, as much as I now love London, it still feels ominous to me sometimes in a way I cannot really describe.

It has been quite some time since I posted a link with very little comment as an entry – this is, after all, a blog not a twitter account – but this story is simply too funny not to link to. It covers Leicester city council’s apparent unpreparedness for a zombie attack. If you ask me, it’s a pretty important situation: I mean, what if a group of marauding zombies attacked the city? And what about other town’s and cities? What if a group of nazgul came up from Kent and attacked London? I blame the cuts!

Okay, that’s enough silliness. That article was simply too absurd not to draw your attention to, and besides there isn’t much else going on today. I think we’re off out to enjoy what there is of the sunshine.

It is not often that I agree with members of the clergy, so I just have to say how odd it is to find myself in complete agreement with the archbishop of Canterbury yesterday. As we probably all know by now, this week he guest edited the new statesman, and used his editorial to openly attack the government. While I haven’t read the article myself – I’d be interested to hear from anyone who has – he reportedly questioned the governments mandate, and called CaMoron’s big society idea ”stale”. As one of my friends on facebook put it ”Go, Rowan, Go!” It seems to me that he has said what everyone else knows to be true: this government has no mandate for such radical, ideologically-inspired cuts and the reforms to health and education it is pushing through. What surprises me, though, is that these comments came from the archbishop of Canterbury: I usually associate the church with the right, with supporting governments and so on. To be honest these comments came from the last person I expected to make them, apart from the queen. Although it does raise questions about the relationship between church and state – I usually prefer the clergy to keep out of politics, as, after all, they believe in great big invisible sky-fairies – it’s good to see the clergy can still stand up for the oppressed.

Mind you, less surprising, and far more irritating, was the way in which CaMoron simply dismissed the archbishop’s article. I found it quite patronising and arrogant, sort of brushing it aside as if to say ”You can say what you like, but I don’t care. You’re wrong and I’m right.” How much more evidence do you want that these cuts are ideological, and CaMoron will proceed with them no matter what anyone else thinks, clergy or otherwise?

I went to bed late last night with a smile on my face, remembering the glorious day that had just ended, completely knackered, and, quite pleasingly, totally sober. It was the first day Lyn and I went outside the M25 in ages, and that alone felt good. We took a day-trip too Brighton: last week, as I got back from Kilburn, Lyn informed me that we were going to Brighton for a day, and that was it: I am seldom one to turn down an adventure. So, yesterday morning we set off: I went first, taking the bus to the o2 then the jubilee line to London Bridge. There I waited for Lyn to catch up, as we have to take separate busses. We also met Laura there, and Dominick’s friend Dominica, who were coming with us, and we caught the train together.

The journey down was a bit crampt, and felt somewhat slow, but I enjoyed catching sight of the fields through the window. I rather miss the sight of rolling green landscapes, so yesterday’s journey made me happy. When we got to Brighton, however, I was immediately taken by it: this place certainly made a change to London. It has amazing Victorian architecture, windy little streets and some cool little shops which sold almost anything, it seemed. I’d been told about these, however, and had my eye out for some funky clothing. It has been ages since I bought anything particularly special, like my cat outfit or big pink tutu, so I was after something awesome. I soon realised, however, that everything is expensive in Brighton, so quickly gave up the task. Besides, by then I needed something to eat.

Dominica had bumped into a few friends of hers, it seemed, and we all ate outside a vegetarian caf in a small street among the shops. The food was delicious, and I felt much better for it. Along the street, I thought I caught sight of a friend of a friend who I’d seen on facebook, which reminded me: I have friends in Brighton too. I asked Laura to text charlotte to ask her for Holly’s number. When the reply came back, though, it turned out holly was busy. I really must learn to plan things ahead of time.

After our rather late lunch, my mind turned to the beach. I had not seen the sea in years, and it was time to put that right. We headed off, by then quite a large group, through the winding little streets, looking at all the funkily-dressed people. There’s sort of an oppressive vibe to London which one gets used to, but which is not there in places like Brighton, so you notice its absence with a relief. It felt good to breathe fresher air, and once again smell the sea. When we got to the beach, my heart filled with joy: the English channel was pure blue, and the sky was just speckled with light cloud. I had expected a seafront like Blackpool’s, to be honest, but what I found was decidedly less crass and much more pleasant. It was made up of basket ball courts and skate parks; we found a grassy area where we could sit and watch the sea. The guys had bought some drums and other percussion instruments so they could have a jam, so, with Lyn using her Ipad, they drummed as the sun set to the west.

I don’t know how long we were there, but it was getting cold, #and about half eight we decided to head home. The train back was much more quiet, and, buying a cheese sandwich each for tea in London Bridge, we got home just before twelve. It had been a wonderful day, and I think we need to take many mire such trips. Usually such things end up involving alcohol at some stage, but this one didn’t, and I think it was all the better for it. Best of all, however, is the fact I went with Lyn: I’ve been out and about quite a bit recently, either alone or with chopper or Charlie, a fact which I was beginning to feel guilty about, so it felt very good to be able to share such an awesome trip with her.

As we were walking back to the train station, I turned and noticed a billboard: ”Brighton Rocks!” it read. ”You know,” I thought, ”That would make a great title for a blog entry.”