Continuing the vein of my recent ‘what I did yesterday / last night / today’ entries, I want to write a bit about the events of yesterday afternoon. We didn’t go far this time – indeed just to the park down the road – but what happened there was pretty incredible. Lyn and I were invited by our PA, Dominic, to go with him to watch his friends play some music. I thought they were just going to have a jam, and muck around in the park; but I can only describe what I saw yesterday as a pseudoreligious ceremony.

First we found a space under a tall oak, then cleared the ground. Incense was lit and wafted around with a feather, as I’ve seen native Americans do. There were about twelve of us sat in a semi-circle. First Dominick played the didgeridoo, then they put resonating bowls out, and a gong. Two people played these, hitting them not quite in a tune but melodically, for I know not how long. The effect was one of complete calm – it seemed to put everyone in a trance. I can’t really describe it; I can only say it was one off the most interesting events of my life. I wasn’t sure what I’d just seen – it had a deeply therapeutic, calming, almost mystical power to it. I try to see such things in scientific, rational terms, but I can easily see how such events induce experiences some call sacred.

Lyn and I were talking earlier, and, if you think about it, it has been quite a cool, if somewhat hectic, couple of weeks. At this moment I don’t think I’ve ever been so independent – a fact which charlotte noted on Tuesday. I now go on busses, the tube, and overground trains, and think nothing of it. I know that’s not particularly special, but there was a time, not long ago, when such things seemed very risky indeed, and totally out of bounds for little old me. I have had chance to pause this evening, and reflect on my recent little adventures to central London, Kilburn and so on, and, if I may be so bold, I daresay I’ve come a long way from the boy who never wanted to leave home. It’s not really blog worthy, but tonight I just wanted to note how vast that contrast seems, now I have chance to reflect on it. Mind you, the bigger question is, what adventures will tomorrow bring?

I would be a very poor blogger indeed if I didn’t write an entry about what happened in the world of TV this week, given that we had at least two highly controversial disability-related TV programmes. First, as I’m sure many readers will probably know, there was a Panorama programme on the disgusting treatment of people with learning disabilities in care homes. I’m sure I hardly need to record how appalled I was when I saw this: Lyn and I watched it two nights ago on iplayer, and we were both aghast. I think I was most struck by the fact that the people carrying out the abuse seemed to be treating it as a game, and that the residents were theirs to toy with. I sincerely hope those responsible – both those who carried out the abuse and those who allowed such a situation to come about – are now in jail. What gets me even more, though, is when I come on line I see people actually sticking up for the abusers, referring to the residents as ‘retards’ and thinking it’s somehow big, intelligent or clever to justify this appalling behaviour. But then, such people are surely ere trolls whose opinions count for nothing and deserve only to be ignored.

The second programme which caught my eye was on channel four last night, about the so-called elephant man. I only caught the end of it, but they seemed to be trying to recreate his physical deformities. I was struck by the question ‘why’? Why would we want to resurrect this individual, if not just to stare at him? Was he not stared at enough when he was alive? In other words, are such programmes not just a continuation of the nineteenth century freak-show, wrapped up in a thin veil of science? I suppose the guy is dead now, so such programmes can’t hurt him, but surely we have grown out of this childish voyeurism; surely we have grown out of abusing anyone seen as different? And if not, isn’t it time we did so?

I was not going to blog today, having not been on any mad adventures like the last two days, but I just want to record how struck I am bb the current FIFA debacle. I just tuned into the news, not having watched a bulletin all day and wanting to catch up, but the first thing I saw was some absurd story about how FIFA’s corrupt president has been re-elected unopposed. I know I usually steer clear of footballing matters, as ordinarily I have no interest in the subject, but the fact that any international body can be so blatantly corrupt, not to say anti-English, really strikes me as stupid. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t let this subject go without giving my two cents on the subject, especially when it is at the top of the main BBC news programme: FIFA, the governing body of world football, must be disbanded and built anew. It’s only football, but we cannot let corruption stand. Surely such a body can be more open and democratic; it’s only a sport, after all…

For the second day in a row I find myself exhilarated and exhausted in equal measure, as, for the second day in a row, it has been one both thrilling and knackering. As I recorded the other day, charlotte and Emma were going to come visit. This morning, however, I realised how little cash I had in my wallet. Ordinarily, this would simply have meant a trip to Woolwich; but the Woolwich branch of my building society has shut for some reason, causing me quite a problem.

According to google maps, there was a branch in Greenwich, so off I went, intending to be back well before I had to go meet C and E at the o2. When I reached the historic naval suburb, there was no building society: I looked around for a bit, even straying as far as Deptford, but there was no Nationwide. I remembered there was a branch in Lewisham – I knew that for a fact – so I caught the bus there. It was, thankfully, only a short trip, but the thing was, (and this is something which, now I come to think of it I’m quite concerned about) the Nationwide branch was no longer there. By then, however, time really was moving on: there was no time to go home but I had to go straight to the o2 to have any chance of seeing my friends. I got myself a bag of crisps, not having eaten in ages, and tried to catch a bus, but they all refused to stop. This was turning into the day from hell. In desperation, I hopped into a taxi, the first time I’d ever done so, and by good fortune got there only fifteen minutes late. I was still penniless so my friends leant me the fare.

The rest of the afternoon, I’m pleased to report, was much more pleasant: we caught the underground to the south bank and had a good catch-up. It ended too soon, as usual, but Emma had to get back to her new family. Charlie and I came back here on the overground train, and, after a few beers here, she went back to her brother’s in New Cross. In all its been quite a tiring couple of days, but these two days have taught me a lot. The tube is no limit; the overground is accessible, and, if you really want to, you can always make an appointment to meet up with good friends. Knowing I’m able to manage all this makes me feel proud, but I think I could sleep for a week.

I was looking at a map of the tube system this morning when I noticed something: the local station, north Greenwich, and Kilburn, up near my grandmothers house, are on the Jubilee line, and both are marked as accessible. This gave me an idea – what better way to start getting to know the underground system than to go to visit my grandmother? To be honest, having lived it the same city for a year and a half now, going to hers for a ‘drop by’ visit was long overdue. So off I set: to save battery power, I caught the bus to the tube station, then it was on to the train. I’d done this before, but always with a PA by me, so I was sailing in to the unknown.

Getting to Kilburn took a fair while, but the trip was uneventful. I must admit I was a little surprised when the train suddenly whirred into broad daylight; I was even more surprised when, upon reaching my stop, I found there was quite a large step on to the platform. But there was no turning back, and eventually I made it onto the platform, and then the streets of north London.

I’d checked google maps before leaving, and the walk from the station to Yeaya’s looked straightforward enough. my sense of direction wasn’t behaving as well as it usually does, though, and eventually I had to ask for directions. Soon enough, however, the street names started to become ones I know from childhood, and I was able to find my Grandmother’s house without much more difficulty. I had toyed with the idea of getting back and simply turning back, not wanting to trouble Yeaya or cause her to worry; when I reached the house, though, I thought I might as well see if she was in, and I rang the bell.

Yeaya was, of course, quite surprised to see me, but pretty soon I was sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea and being fed apple pies. We had quite a good cha, and she asked me if I wanted to stay for dinner or even spend the night there. But I wanted to get back here before the rain the skies were threatening started to come down in earnest, so I set off back home after about 45 minutes. It was a flying visit I know, but I’m sure now that I’ve done it once, I’ll be going there more often. Other members of the family go there quite frequently, and I’d like to see them too.

Well, I had thought the trip home would be as straightforward as the one there, but it wasn’t to be. There turns out to be two tube stations in Kilburn – Kilburn and Kilburn Park – the latter of which is neither accessible nor on the jubilee line, and you can probably guess which I was directed to. I knew it didn’t look familiar, but the station master put me on a bus to the correct station and eventually I was on my way home, quietly feeling rather pleased with myself, despite that hiccup.

I feel as though I’ve mastered the underground, or at least I’m on my way to doing so. Of course, I can only go to stations marked as accusable, which only a handful seem to be, but, looking at the tube map, I can’t help but feel rather excited about where this endeavour could take me.

I am pleased to say that yesterday was a very good day indeed. It was good to see so many of my friends, including Charlie, passing through the capital on her way down to Brighton. Mind you, it was good to get away from facebook for a while, where all the stuff about Claire Khaw is fast becoming nauseatingly inane. I have my main chair back, so I set off for Greenwich park an hour early yesterday, as I didn’t want to miss any of the action, but, as it turns out, the other guests arrived an hour late. This meant I was hanging around the park for over an hour. Fortunately, I had had the genius idea of telling Lyn to stay home, and asking C to call our PA, Laura, once everything started properly. This worked a treat, and Lyn arrived just as we were starting on the home-made cakes and flapjacks.

It was, all in all, a great afternoon. After we had eaten, we played rounders – something I’d not done since school. It came to an end all too soon, but it was getting cold. All being well, I’ll see Charlie on Tuesday, on her way back from Brighton; Emma should be with her, so I’m really looking forward to it. C and E aside, it struck me yesterday that I have many other friends in the capital I feel I should be seeing more of; I’m going to have to get my finger out and figure out the train Network!

Today is a day full of the promise of fun; a day which I have been looking forward to for at least a couple of weeks. It seems my friends from Chester, most of whom now live down here, have organised a picnic in the park, and, thanks to the wonders of facebook, have invited us along too. This means that, for the first time in ages, I’ll get to see the Jones siblings, including, all being well, Charlie. It feels like ages since I saw her last, and I’m looking forward to having the chance to catch up. Mind you, how today will pan out remains to be seen: it looks decidedly overcast outside. I’ll let you know how it goes tomorrow – I suspect it might end up with a pub involved. Right now, though, I just can’t wait to get going, to go to see my good old friends, and to fill them in on all the Charlton gossip.

As a blogger who tries to keep up at least a veneer of fairness and objectivity [pause for sniggering], today I will simply reprint an email I got earlier. It’s from Claire Khaw in reply to this entry. I must say, though, I find her sentiments pretty abhorrent, particularly the idea that she or anyone would have their baby smothered were it born severely disabled. We all know that, when placed under any degree of intellectual scrutiny, such views are shown to be utterly without metit, which is why I’m baffled as to how anyone can still hold them. I think, however, I’ll just let her words, which terrify me to the core, speak for their selves.

[quote=”Claire Khaw”]May I point out that all I said was I would have the midwife smother my own severely disabled baby?

It is up to others what they want to do with their babies, disabled or not.

My view is that no one should be made to pay for the children of another, whether able-bodied or disabled.

At no time did I advocate a government policy of general extermination of the disabled, in the way so many mentally challenged people like to pretend I did.[/quote]

[shudders]

I usually aim to contribute to debates on my blog, adding my own comments to the sites I link to. But today I’ll just send you here, to a speech I found inspiring: if, as Obama says, the grandson of a Kenyan chef serving in the british navy can speak in Westminster hall as president of the united states, then everything is indeed possible. I may have become caught up in Obama fandom like many others across the globe, but to me he’s a symbol of hope, and to see him speak in that echoing hall today was truly inspirational.

(Mind you, I still get irritated when Hague’s bald head appears.)

I must say I feel rather thrilled to see Obama here in the UK. It’s probably even more thrilling for me on this occasion because it’s the first time I’m in the very city where it’s all going on. I keep thinking ”I’m in the same city as barrack Obama.” That doesn’t sound much I know, but for a boy from sleepy old Cheshire it’s pretty cool. I was just watching the coverage of the grand royal banquet on t.v: if there’s one thing we brits can do it’s put on a slap-up meal*. Mind you, I keep catching the galling sight of William Hague’s bald pate or Osbourne’s smug little face and thinking how little right they have to be dining with a man who presently symbolises such hope; they who are cutting away at the livelihood and dignity of so many people. People like brown, Charles Clarke* and the brothers Milliband should be there, not those gits. Now I come to think about it, how can we afford this visit at this time? I know it’s not quite in the spirit of the visit, but the question must be raised, especially with the current government in power.

*We are especially good at curries.

I have decided it’s high time I mastered the tube. I would really like to see a bit more of London; for the last few weeks I’ve just been milling around the south east of the city, which, apart from places like Greenwich, is starting to feel somewhat drab. What I need, I decided last night, is a few more adventures. Of course, I’ve been on the DLR before, but only once, and I have used the tube on occasion with the help of a PA, but it seems to me that if I could get to grips with the London underground system, the entire city could be my oyster. I know it won’t be that simple, as not all the stations are accessible and there’s a lot that can go wrong, but I really would like to try it. Now the big question is, where should ii go first? Any suggestions?

James recently brought this radio programme to my attention. It took me a day or so to get round to listening to it; as a whole it’s quite a good programme about the problems involved in bringing up severely disabled kids, but I want to draw your attention to the comments of a caller about 27 minutes in. I must say these comments have enraged me: the caller, Claire Khaw, actually advocates the abortion or killing of disabled kids. According to her, they are a ”burden on the tax payer”. I had hoped that such despicable eugenicist views had died out, but apparently not. James has started a facebook group called Disabled People Against Claire Khaw which, given Khaw is apparently a possible BNP London mayoral contender, I’d advise anyone reading this to join.

I can not decide whether it is convenient or inconvenient to have the birthdays of two such important people so close. Today is dad’s birthday: he is a great man and a truly excellent father. I cannot let his birthday go by without noting it on here. I know I haven’t always been the perfect son, and that there are times when dad must despair of me, but I have to say dad seems one in a million. He and mum brought me and my brothers up to be honest and brave, and I just want to say how bloody lucky I feel to have him.

But I am, of course, doubly lucky: not only do I have dad, not to mention Mum; I also have Lyn as my girlfriend. It’s her birthday tomorrow; Lyn has to be one of the most amazing people I have ever met. I find her just as exciting, courageous and kind today as the day we met, and I thank my lucky stars that she tolerates me and my antics. I must record again here how dearly I love her.

Indeed, I love both these people more than words can describe. I will probably be blogging about Lyn’s birthday specifically soon, but for now I wish both my father and my fiance the happiest of respective birthdays.

I must say that I am truly astonished that Ken Clarke is still in a position of power this evening, and what’s mire is said to be ‘laughing off’ calls for his resignation. Now, we all know by now what he said: he implied on national radio that some cases of rape were less serious than others, and later that he thought the term rape was sometimes added to a story to hype it up. Is it me, or do these words sound like those of men who think that some women almost want to be raped, and often bring it on themselves? Such notions are of course, repugnant, and easily dismissed when placed under any form of scrutiny. The bigger question, then, is what the hell is still doing in office tonight; surely it casts doubt over this entire farce of a government for David CaMoron to allow Clarke to stay. He seems to be saying ”don’t worry about ken, he’s just speaking his mind.” I must say I have started to see CaMoron as very patronising indeed, in his attitude to ed Miliband and the public at large; this just adds to that impression. CaMoron is ignoring public opinion and acting like he knows best. This entire situation is repulsive, and for Clarke, this antiquated, bigoted misogynist to go around acting like he’s done nothing wrong and that it is public opinion which is wrong, once again appals me.

I would like to try something new today. My blog is usually text only, with the ocasional link, but last week at the school I volunteer at we learned about embedding videos in blogs. Today I came across the following demonstration of a new type of car door, which I think is pretty awesome, not least due to it’s potential for making cars more accessable for wheelchair users and wobbly-types. It seems rather apt that the first video I try to embed demonstrates something so cool.

[Rats! Embedding didn’t work. I don’t think my brother Luke gave my site the ability to embed videos. I’ll try again another time. Here’s a link to the clip anyway]

Dear most mighty and powerful god of London busses. Thank you for making London busses accessible after such a long time – I really do appreciate the ability to get on public transport. But why, in your near-infinite wisdom, do you allow mums with prams to fill the space? And why this afternoon in Lewisham, did you send not one but two such busses, meaning I couldn’t get home? And why did you then plant the foolish notion in my head that I could walk home, only to direct me to a ‘shortcut’ which actually took me on a long loop straight back into the centre of the aforesaid Lewisham? I must say that it is a good job I was not in a particular hurry, lest I would be burning Peter Hendy dolls in effigy. Oh bus-god, you are wise and powerful, but your ways are yet a mystery to me.

In an odd way it feels like I have been reacquainted with two good old friends. Dad brought down my old F55 powerchair, the Defiant, this morning, my newer one is still being repaired. It’s good to have one of my chairs at least, rather than a slow, underpowered temporary replacement from the mechanic’s, but at this point I must say how truly awesome I think my father is. By the end of today he will have driven for around seven hours just so I have my chair. He is, and always has been, an absolutely brilliant dad.

On top of my chair problems, though, there is something up with my – or rather Lyn’s – lightwriter. Since she got her Ipad, she has kindly allowed me to use her SL40. That too started playing up over the weekend, so it also needs to be looked at. As a result, I’m back using my trusty old SL35, so not only am I using my old chair but my old communication aid too. The funny thing is, it feels rather good: it was on these very machines that I took my first steps to independence, had my first true tastes of freedom. I remember taking Defiant up to the Swettenham arms for the first time, ordering my first beer on my own; my SL35 saw me through university, where my friends dubbed it Colin. In a way I feel quite nostalgic. Don’t get me wrong: it’s good to have the newer equipment, and I look forward to it’s return. But for now, me and my two old friends are just fine.

I think I will change my tack today – my last few entries have become far too vitriolic, not to say probably somewhat repetitive. Yesterday afternoon saw me in something of a pickle: I needed to go to Greenwich to get a couple of thinks. I kind of like Greenwich, as it sort of reminds me of Chester, and it has a good range of shops. However, I’m still using my replacement chair, so getting there was fairly slow going, and by the time I got back the battery was totally flat. Once I got home, though, my battery was not my main concern: there was no sign of Lyn or Laura, our PA. Initially I thought that they had just popped to the co-op, and would be back shortly, so I let myself in with my electric key and waited for an hour. I then started to worry.

After looking frantically, I realised I didn’t have Laura’s number. Facebook claimed Lyn was online, but I couldn’t be sure that was her Ipad and not her desktop, lying idle but still on in her studio. I left her a message anyway, but when she didn’t answer I had a somewhat foolish idea: I decided to go see if chopper had Laura’s number. The battery was still dead so that meant walking; it’s not really that far, but it’s still the longest distance I’ve walked for some time. When I got there, chopper was still at work; Angela, chopper’s wife, insisted I wait there and wouldn’t let me walk home, during which time I had really started to worry.

When eventually I did get back, having been driven the three hundred metres back by chopper’s workmate john, there was still no sign of Lyn and Laura; chopper had been unable to get through to them on his phone. It was then that I really began to worry, until I checked my email to see Lyn had emailed: ”on bus”. Those two short words made me sigh with relief, as they meant everything was ok, and a short while later I saw them both – Lyn unmistakable in bright pink – coming round the corner. It turns out that they had been to Lewisham; Lyn had texted me to rendezvous there, but for some reason I didn’t get that message. It’s a shame because dinner in a pub in Lewisham would have been nice, but at least we were both home, safe and well.

Well, I suppose it beat staying home.

I find myself becoming increasingly agitated at the prospect of the so-called rally against debt tomorrow. I know I shouldn’t be: I know that, on the one hand, people have the right to make their views known whatever they may be, and on the other, if I blog about it I only publicise their cause more. But tomorrow people plan to march in favour of Osborne’s cuts, as a kind of counter-strike to the recent protests against them. I have to say, I find this utterly contemptible: they argue, of course, that these cuts are necessary and will help avoid passing the burden of debt on to future generations. But any fool can see that these cuts are primarily inspired by Tory ideology, and are intended to enable too cut taxes. Thus those marching tomorrow do so in favour of a hugely diminished wealth fare state, an essentially privatised healthcare system and the prospect of starvation for millions of people with disabilities. I love freedom of expression, but I view tomorrows march as an event beyond contempt, derision or democratic, liberal, civilised values. People can go on such a march if they want, but don’t expect me to respect anyone who is selfish enough to do so.

I had an idea in the bath this morning. I thought it would be rather cool to google all the news articles concerning yesterday’s protests and write a short review of each for my blog. The thing is, when I got out of the bath and onto the web, I realised that there was very little coverage of it. The beeb reported it, of course, but somewhat half-heartedly: the article about it on their website seems a tad patronising, and I saw they were going to report it on their news channel yesterday, but when the link to their live reporter failed, they opted to cut away to a report about a boy who decided to wear a skirt to school.* The Guardian also has an article on it today, but that too seems patronising, and written in a somewhat pitying manner.

These are news outlets which you would expect to cover such a story, of course. Interestingly, in my cursory search I did not see anything from the mail or the express. And, having just contaminated my PC by checking the Daily Mail website , I don’t think they covered the story at all. It is as if, for the right wing press, there were no protests. Read into that what you will, but I have to say I am rather sad at how little coverage there is of the plight of us crips in the mainstream media as a whole. We are, after all, the hardest hit, but nobody seems to care.

*Something which I also found interesting, but for entirely different reasons.

I must admit I feel like such a traitor right now. Right at this moment I should be up in central London marching alongside GAD and my fellow disabled people in protest against the cuts. But my wheelchair is still being repaired, it’s lift mechanism having been broken since a week ago Friday, so I’m stuck here. The replacement chair I have simply isn’t capable of covering the distances that would probably be involved were I to go up there. I can only watch the news for reports. Earlier I watched CaMoron lie through his teeth about how the Tories are protecting the NHS when the truth is he will bring about it’s end; he and his party are poised to force millions of disabled people off benefits and onto a jobs market in which they have very little chance of sustaining themselves. Such blatant injustices make my blood boil, yet, because I have no chair, I cannot make my voice heard. I know there will be other protests – I hope to fuck there will be at least – but I can’t describe how frustrated I feel right now. Only by going onto the streets can we show our contempt for what these Tory bastards are doing.

I just watched last nights Panorama programme on the killing of bin laden, and I must say it left me with a nasty taste in my mouth. There seem to be more questions than answers concerning the whole episode, not least that of why bin laden was killed rather than captured. Was this, despite the American claims, simply a mission to take the sonofabitch out? But what troubles me most is the fact I agree with the Americans over Pakistan: I think it’s hard not to. The guy was found in a compound not half a mile from Pakistan’s top military academy; the place was crawling with soldiers. How the smeg could they not know the worlds most wanted man was there? The Pakistanis claim to have wanted him too, but obviously weren’t looking very hard. Part of me now sympathises, in a way, with those on the American right who now want to cut all ties with Pakistan, but cutting aid would only increase fundamentalism. Anyway the whole thing stinks; I suspect Pakistan’s relationship with the west is about to take a distinct turn for the worse. Can the regime there be trusted? I now find it hard to answer ‘yes’.

I cannot pretend to understand all the intricacies of the debate, but broadly speaking, there is widespread suspicion within the disabled community of the so-called charities which profess to represent our interests. It is pretty well known that Scope, for instance, has long been run by non-disabled people on the most patronising, repressive manner. In an era of protest and upheaval probably unseen since the sixties, there is a feeling among us cripples that these organisations, while claiming to represent us, are in fact, our jailers. Dennis Queen, who is much more aware and clued up about such things than I am, writes ”Self-serving multi-million companies are organising a well resourced and publicised ‘disability’ protest march, on Wedneday (11th May) as part of their Hardest Hit campaign. It is put together by the Disability Benefits Consortoium (DBC) who are trying to absorb the feisty new wave of protest against increasing discrimination and poverty. The cosortium is, for disabled people, a wolf in sheeps clothing. They are preying on the real fear and hardship facing many of us since the cuts got worse, to protect their interests.” The fear is that these organisations are only in it for themselves, and the only way to truly achieve our goal of social equality and true freedom is to represent ourselves through organisations like Dan. I must say I agree vehemently with her – we do not need such organisations, who for many years ran institutions not much better than prisons, claiming to represent us while actually representing only their selves.

Edit: Here is my friend/comrade/co-activist Phoebe’s rousing piece on the same subject, added for good measure

I think it is fair to say that the coalition is dead. The lib dems have been, predictably, wiped out in the local elections and lost the referendum on one of their key aims quite badly. I must admit I am slightly surprised – and disappointed – that the Tories weren’t knocked for six too, but I suppose that can be explained: the people are pissed off at the lib dems for delivering them into the hands of the Tories, but Tory voters will continue to mindlessly vote Tory anyway. Last year people voted for lib dems with a view to getting a lib-lab coalition, but instead they got a Tory government. It is now clearer than ever that the people of this country do not want the coalition in power. Indeed, I can quite understand why the scots voted as they did: I’d want to be independent of the jackasses in power down here too.

I suppose both the Tories and the lib dems will pretend everything is okay still, but it isn’t. The fact is the people of the UK do not want either of them in government. There are already huge cracks in cabinet. How the hell can we go on with this shambles?

I would just like to send you all here, to a most interesting piece by Miss Dennis Queen, about kissing. I agree wholeheartedly with the conclusions she draws. Kissing is natural: Lyn and I kiss regularly – it makes me feel close to her – and I see no problem with doing so in public. I am also not afraid to admit I still kiss my parents when I see them; in fact I’m proud of the fact that the kind of relationship we have lets us do so. The fact that some people find such things innapropriate or unnatural is, frankly, absurd. Anyway, go read.

I suppose it has been quite an extraordinary few days in terms of the news: first there was the royal wedding (damn, I wasn’t going to even mention that waste of time and money). Then there was the killing of bin laden, and yesterday, of course, was the referendum on AV and the local elections. It is these latter two items that I just want to write something about.

Something troubles me about the killing of Osama bin Laden. He was, of course, a deranged lunatic responsible for the deaths of thousands. But that does not justify sending troops into his house and killing him. Surely if we are truly civilised, enlightened people, the rule of law and due process should apply to everyone, no matter how repugnant we find them. Of course, we do not know what actually happened in that raid, but it now appears that bin laden was unarmed, in which case he could have been captured. There was a so-called neocon on Question Time last night saying that we were right to just shoot him, and to try him would be to award him a dignity he did not deserve. But the moment we start thinking such thoughts, that some people should be treated as less than human, we start down a very scary path indeed. As far as I can tell, by the way, neo-conservatism is a form of fascism where people say the first thing which comes into their heads without thinking it through, then claim it to be common sense. Our hard-fought liberal values and rights must be extended to all people, lest we become as bad as the zealots responsible for 9/11 and 7/7.

Talking about conservatism, with any luck CaMoron and Clegg would have got the kicking they deserve last night. I haven’t read through much of the results yet, but I hear it was a very, very bad night for the Lib-Dems. People are punishing them, and rightly so: last year they wanted a lib-lab coalition, and got a Tory government propped up by a bunch of traitors unworthy of the name Liberal. I still say our current government was not democratically elected and that CaMoron should be nothing more than a footnote in the annals of British political history, rather than the man now calling himself prime minister. For all his nice-guy image, like the neocon idiot I mentioned above, such people see the world in two dimensional terms: bad and good, poor and rich, lazy and productive. The world is much more complex, and I hope last nights election results tell CaMoron that we do not him and his band of toff morons in power much longer.

As we all know, the vote on AV starts tomorrow. I still feel fairly cynical about it, but I was watching a debate about it last night, and I realised something interesting: av forces people to think about who they want to vote for, instead of voting as they always have. it asks people to think, which is why the Tories fear it: if people start thinking, they might think about the Tories and realise what a bunch of arrogant, narrow-minded schmucks they actually are. In other words, it forces people to become more engaged with politics, rather than putting a cross in the box they always do. This means that the Tories won’t be able to rely on safe seats, which is why they’re so anti-av: it will break their grip on British politics, and they’ll become one of many parties. That’s why they want us to vote no: they’re scared of losing their grip over us all. Their motives in this referendum are entirely self-motivated: they fear true democracy, favouring the dominance of the rich over the poor – their dominance – by whatever means.

I think I ought to record something which is both minor and rather pertinent at the same time. Helicopters have been buzzing around above us all day. They woke me up this morning, so at first I thought it was somebody going either two or from Woolwich barracks. But they have persisted, and now seem to be constantly in the sky. Both Lyn and chopper think it’s something to do with the death of bin laden, and they’re probably right. We are a fair distance from parliament, but, as L just pointed out in reply to my rather inane question, there’s quite a bit of interesting stuff in east London which needs guarding. It looks like those choppers will be here for some time, then. I just thought this was worth noting for the information of those outside the capital. My, what a world we now live in.

As a blogger concerned in part by current affairs, I should probably write something about the monumental events of yesterday. The problem is, I can’t say anything that would not have already been said. Osama bin Laden is dead; we all know this. The circumstances may be a bit fishy, especially the fact that he was found in Pakistan so close to a military academy. By and large, though, I suppose it’s a good thing that the world’s most dangerous man has been taken out of the equation, save that in stead of one madman we’ll have ten coming to avenge him. Indeed, part of me suspects thee world is more dangerous now he’s gone, although I’m probably just saying what we all think. Huge though these events may be, I can only repeat here what I see on the news; like the rest of us, I can only watch in amazement, shock and horror.

I must admit I have not quite made my mind up about the forthcoming referendum on the voting system. To be honest I haven’t written anything about it on here until know because it is not a topic that catches my imagination. I’m quite sure I’m not alone in thinking this: I suspect most of the country thinks it’s a tedious waste of time. It’s not as if I don’t understand the choice before us – we have to chose between the firs past the post system, which is tried, tested, and simple, but isn’t without it’s faults, and the alternative vote system, which is a bit more complicated but produces results more representative on the views of the people. if I can, in the event, actually be bothered to go and vote – which, this election, is by no means certain – I think I’ll vote for AV. We probably do need a change. Whatever we decide, though, I suppose it will hurt one member of the coalition, which if you ask me can only be a good thing. Al in all, then, if I’m brutally honest, I suppose the biggest reason to vote for AV is to hurt the Tories. I know it’s negative, but it’s true. On the other hand, if we fail to adopt AV, the Lib dems might well fracture leaving the coalition in tatters. Thus there are possible benefits either way. Perhaps that’s whhy I’m so uninterested: this referrendum is a bit of a poison chalace for the coalition: whichever way we vote, the opposition can potentially benefit.

Last night I had an amazing yet wholly unexpected treat. Lyn had been sent tickets by a man at the Southbank centre, whom we hope she’ll be able to work with. It was for a concert, and she invited me along. To be honest I didn’t know what to expect – it could have been any type of music, any type of concert. Yet, as it turned out, it was just as much a treat for me as it was for Lyn: fate had sent us to a screening of Carl Dreyer’s The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928) set to live music. This is a classic bit of cinema, one of the cornerstones of early film, and to get to see it on the big screen was incredible. Some of the shots were absolutely beautiful: Dreyer kept using close-ups of Joan’s face, which, to begin with, I found faintly irritating, but then I realised how emotive her face was: he used it as a refrain – a piece of text to keep coming back to. I was intrigued.

Even more intriguing was that the live orchestra did not use the score of the original film, but had composed new music for it. I think it fitted the film quite well, although, as a film buff, I must raise my eyebrow at it. It sort of shifts authorship away from the original director, which raises all kinds of interesting questions. Is it right to tamper with such a classic text? It is probably best to describe a concert like the one last night as post-modern, which allows such fusions of old and new. Indeed, I think the performance last night was very post-modern indeed, as it was the fusion of three texts: the medieval court records of the original trial of Joan of arc, mentioned in the opening film; the 1928 movie based on those records; and the contemporary score, complete with awesome-sounding electric guitars. I must say I find such a convergence fascinating to reflect on.

I think I got a lot out of last night. It gave me a lot to think about. On top of that, I got very excited when I noticed they were using an ancient reel-to-reel projector. All told, it was an incredible night for me – I can’t believe my luck sometimes.

A very quick one tonight: I ought to state explicitly on here that this wasn’t me, just in case anyone asks.

I think I will just be a lazy blogger today and direct you to two articles I stumbled across this morning. This first one concerns quite a furore stirred up online: apparently, according to one Tory MP, we crips spend too much time on twitter when we should be out finding work. Conservative MP Nadine Dorries said: ” If you Twitter all day, every day, about claiming disability benefit in one tweet whilst arranging a night out in the pub in the next […] don’t expect someone like me not to a) inform the authorities and b) tell you to get of [sic] your Twitter and get a job.” If you ask me, this is typical of the Tories – the internet is a godsend for many disabled people, allowing us to communicate far more efficiently; it lets us conduct our lives. Yet the Tories just think we’re wastrels hanging around facebook.

The second article I want to direct you to, here, concerns something just as stupid. Disabled people below the age of seventeen are being denied the wheelchairs that best suit them because of some quirk in the law which prevents them from driving class three vehicles. Many disabled kids need quite a bit of kit, such as electric wheelchairs with seat-raisers, chair-mounted communication aids, and so on. But this means their chairs have to be sturdy and heavy, and ”the 1988 Road Traffic Act not only bans children under 14 from using very technologically advanced wheelchairs – a ‘class three vehicle’ weighing up to 150kg – but it classes wheelchairs heavier than 150kg as cars, which can only be driven legally by over 17s who hold a driving licence.” This means that charities are prevented by law from giving kids the chairs that best fit their needs. How obscenely stupid is that?

Here you have two pertinent disability related articles, both examples of the type of stupidity we crips have to put up with. It seems I can still do the ”link and comment” type entry after all.

It is funny how such a corny old joke can amuse someone so much. We were talking in the garden yesterday with chopper, and the subject of sport came up. Lyn said we were very good at football. This took chopper aback: ”how do you mean?” He asked. Lyn replied that we were both good at dribbling. Now, I have known this joke since I was little; since my grandma took me and my brother Mark to thee park to play football, when I was still in my pram. Yet chopper howled with laughter upon hearing it, and today hasn’t stopped repeating it to almost everyone we meet. He seems to think it’s one of the funniest things he’s ever heard. I just think its odd to reflect on how, to those new to the disability community, such jokes can act as a release, helping them to realise that, sometimes, perfectly fine bad to laugh at disability. Chopper has become used to me, and we both poke fun at each other, yet the way he guffawed so heartily made me think he’d kind of realised something: I reckon that sometimes it needs such a corny old pun to let others know it’s okay to laugh.

We went to my grandmother’s house in Harlesden yesterday for Easter Sunday. Just like at Christmas, it felt wonderful to see everyone; although the place wasn’t quite as full as then, I always relish seeing my family. My cousin Cyril was there, whom I hadn’t seen in quite some time, and it was interesting to hear that he’s thinking about developing things for people with disabilities using his background in neuroscience.

We al had a great time, and it was good to see Lyn fast becoming a member of the family. An odd thought occurred to me though: I was struck by the contrast between the type of conversation held by my family and the type of conversation people hold down here in south London. It’s like my family live on a totally different sphere of existence to where I now live. They were talking about stuff like the housing market and the value of modern art, things which would, by and large, probably be of absolutely no consequence to most of the people I meet around Charlton. I guess this is hard to explain without sounding patronising or judgemental: I’m not trying to imply quality or worth here; it just struck me how vast the social, cultural and economic differences between some people are. I need to think this through before I write more about it, but I must say the contrast really did hit me yesterday.

This is my blog and I should be able to record what I whish on it, so tonight I want to record Lyn’s laugh. We were out in the garden again this afternoon, sitting and talking with friends. We were cracking the occasional joke, as you do. Suddenly, although it was at my expense, someone made a joke which sent my fianc into hysterics. Lyn creased up – it seemed to render her incapable. I just want to say how truly brilliant seeing her like that felt: Lyn is a bit of an old soul, and she’s been through a lot, but seeing her laugh like that – as uncontrollably as a child – felt wonderful tonight. It gave me a moment of pure joy. I know blogs are meant for political commentary or social observation, but it occurs to me that recording something so ephemeral as the joy one gets from hearing your partner laugh is just as important, for that is where our humanity lies.

If anyone is reading this, in the next few days, and you’re in England, you must be mad. Why aren’t you outside enjoying the sun? It was lovely out there earlier – Lyn and I spent the afternoon in the garden, bright sunshine streaming down. In fact it was so hot I had to put on my distinctly unstylish straw hat. I know I shouldn’t just blog about the weather – it must be the brit in me. There are far more compelling things to blog about, but I just can’t get over how summerish it feels, especially given it’s a bank holiday. Anyway stop reading second-rate weblogs and go outside for zark’s sake!

Last night saw one of the coolest evenings we have had in a good while, although it was the warmest. We decided to have a barbeque – the sun was out, the sky was clear, and I think we were in the mood for a party. Truth be told, though, I think it was chopper’s idea mostly. We decided to have one Tuesday evening, so yesterday afternoon, Chopper and I went to Asda to get some supplies. I think, though, he had slightly grander ideas than I did – I had envisaged just cooking some sausages and chicken and eating them outside with a few beers, but, thanks to chopper, last night saw us cooking a mountain of food on his whacking great barbeque with a few other friends in our back garden.

That we can have a barbeque this early in the year still strikes me as slightly worrying, but I can’t worry too much after such a great night. There was talking and music and laughter, and, best of all, the tastiest burgers I’ve had in a long while. There’s so much left over that we might have another, smaller one tonight – I can’t wait.

Facebook has informed me that today is Emma’s birthday. I know that just writing blog entries to notify the world of my friends’ birthdays is fairly dull blogging, which is why, save perhaps for charlotte’s, I don’t usually do it. Yet something today struck me: it has been a good two or three years since I saw the majority of my friends from university. As I’ve written on here before, I know this to be a natural part of the human condition; people who go to places like university or school together tend to drift apart. It’s just a fact of life. Yet Emma Avery and I were once reasonably close, and shared many cool adventures. I remember vividly the day we went bowling together. Now we both have partners, of course, and she has a small son, but it strikes me as, well, not quite sad but regrettable that we have not seen each other in such a long time, and might not do so for quite some time. With that in mind, though, I better just whish her a great birthday, and say that I hope she has a great night tonight.