It is rather apt that this article appeared on ouch now. My little brother Luke is going to be getting married soon. so posting a link to an article about marriage and disability seems to tick two or three boxes. Mind you, I doubt either Luke or yan will allow me to be their bridesmaid…

My parents friends went home earlier. To be honest, I think I was too pessimistic yesterday; after I blogged, I got changed and went downstairs. Rather than being sidelined, I felt as much as part of the conversation as anyone else. In fact, at one point last night, nick, lez and Pete were all up here looking through all my crazy shit. I showed them my blog, all my photos, my videos (including this one). they seemed very impressed with my draft thesis, and I told them a bit about film theory.

The conversation often got political at meal times. We’re all educated, thinking liberals, and there was a sort of consensus that the Tories will get in next year. This prospect really upsets me: whenever the Tories get in, the less fortunate in society suffer. CaMoron is loaded – do you really think he gives a shit about the likes of me? The conservatives simply care about themselves and what is best for them; theirs is a selfish, childish philosophy. As soon as they get in, they’ll just lurch to the right: say goodbye to stuff like the benefit system and the NHS.

In all, then, I really liked this weekend. I feel stimulated. Today we had a top-notch lunch up at the Swettenham Arms. I think mum and dad should have their friends over more often.

I suppose it was over-optimistic to hope for anything resembling a house party last night. We ended up having a quiet night, just talking, although I did have three or four drinks. My parents friends are quite nice blokes, although I think they’re not quite sure how to interact with me. Mostly I just sit there, listening to the conversation, contributing here and there (mostly witty comments). They’re my parents’ friends after all, so I don’t want to take centre stage. At the same time, I don’t want to hide myself away up here and withdraw from the action. What can I do, though? I feel rather out of place down there, yet rather antisocial if I stay up here. I think I’ll go back downstairs soon: I came up to check the cricket, blog, and talk to Lyn. Lyn has gone out, rain has stopped play, and this blog is almost done. But when I go downstairs I won’t be able to help feeling like a little kid who needs to keep quiet while the adults talk.

We have guests coming this afternoon. A few of my father’s university friends are coming to stay for the bank holiday, which is cool. It’s quite a rare event; I can hardly remember the last time it happened. I’m rather looking forward to it – the place is too quiet, especially without mark and Luke.

I’m not going back to alsager. For now I’m stuck here, then, in this big old house. It’s comfortable and safe, and food here is definitely better than in the Wes, but after the mad-cap days of uni, the place seems awfully sleepy. I’m looking forward to more people being here; hopefully there will be a little more noise. Mind you, I suppose a Steve and Chris style house party would be a little too much to expect. On the other hand, we have plenty of beer and vodka and other good things, and we have plenty of music to play, so who knows.

Oh well. I guess the days of dressing up and drinking till I fall asleep are over. Part of me thinks they’re gone forever, and that it’ll never be as good as it was at uni. But I still have my friends, just as my parents have theirs from Southampton. Who knows, maybe in 30 years, I’ll be the one out shopping for supplies before folk like Steve and charlotte and Emma come, while Lyn prepares the cake and fruit salad in the kitchen and our son writes self-pitying crap on his blog.

I suppose I had better admit this. I realised today that I have a prejudice: I hate boys. Not all boys, mind. Half my friends are male, after all. I mean a certain type of male, between twelve and twenty, who cuts his hair short and wears football shirts and hangs around on park benches with his mates. I don’t know why, but the sight of such people just makes me angry – I automatically think ‘scum’. I know, of course, that I’m resorting to stereotype; there’s no such thing as ‘scum’. But the way they look at me, as if I was some piece of shit; the way they snikker and talk about me; the way they seem to think they’re ‘hard’ and own the place, makes me want to shout at them. I’d like to tell them that I’m older than they are, that I have a degree, which is probably more than they’ll ever have. I’d tell them to stop looking at me, and to fuck off back to their mothers. I guess I’d just like a little respect, which, I guess, is what they want too, but unlike them I don’t feel I need to pretend to be ‘hard’.

In all my years in going there, I’m only just getting to know London properly. My parents took us down regularly as kids, but that was only to see our grandparents in Harlesden. Except for trips to see father Christmas in selfriges, we rarely went into the city centre. It would have been very difficult – my parents would have to cope with three extremely excitable young boys, one of whom was in a pram, then a wheelchair. Plus, these were the days before the busses with ramps and the tube station with lifts.

London, then, remained alien, and a little scary. It was a place of big houses, cars, and street lights which kept you awake at night. Truth be told, I didn’t like going there, for many years. Yet now, London has changed. The metropolis now seems a place to explore; still huge, but fear has been replaced by fascination. Last week, I saw London as I saw Paris; I fell in love with the south bank; I went over that cool new bridge; I saw Shakespeare’s globe. I saw a throbbing city full of history. The underground, I decided, ruled. The new busses are brilliant: accessible, yet red and double-decked as London busses should be.

However, these things aren’t perfect. There’s only one wheelchair space, meaning me and Lyn had to travel in convoy. I took the first bus, she took the second. Fortunately, the bus we needed came every 5 minutes or so. Yet I’d have much preferred to travel on the same bus, side by side, as a boyfriend should travel with his girlfriend. It seems as if nobody thinks us crips fall in love. It’s funny that, even so much progress has been made, I find myself longing for such little improvements.

Despite the fact Lyn uses macs, which for me constitute a terra incognita, I was able to check my email most days last week. On Thursday or thereabouts I received rather a cool one from a girl called Eva, in the states. She writes: ” I am a 26-year-old female with cerebral palsy and I have a video blog where I tape videos of people treating me bizarrely. My video camera is mounted to my wheelchair (very discreetly) and I basically just press record whenever I go out and then edit the good stuff. Then I write about the encounter. Its meant to show society’s views and treatment of disabled people. At times it can be quite funny and at other times very infuriating.” She asked me if I could post a link. Of course, this struck me as sub-zero; I mean, what a cool idea. She only has two such videos posted, but I really hope she makes more. This type of work really highlights the sort of stuff we crips face – stuff which most people I daresay just don’t notice.

I am back from London and I have much to blog about. My week in the capital really ruled; I haven’t felt that alive since Paris. It was truly exhilarating. Yesterday, for example, we went up the Thames on boat (the tube was shut). We caught it at the O2 (which I finally saw the point of) and got off near parliament. Tuesday we went to Buckingham palace, saw big ben, zoomed past parliament. From there we went to soho, which was interesting. As usual, there’s too much to write about. Weeks lie this make m feel alive though. The normal, everyday stuff, like eating breakfast in the park, or having the barbeques. I didn’t want to leave/

I’m shattered, and need to rest. I need to mention something which happened on my way home: I was about to get off in Crewe; thee train stopped and I went to the door, but nobody came with the ramp. I thought they were just being slow, but suddenly the door shut and the train started to move. I’d been forgotten. ‘Oh fuck’, I thought ‘Dad’s gonna kill me’. Luckily, a member of staff came, and she got the train manager. I was let off at Wilmslow, and put on the next train back to Crewe. This time, I was able to get off. Scary though. All in all, a great week. Plus the Ashes are again ours!

I am off to London for the next week or so. I probably won’t be able to blog down there, so if there’s no activity on my site, don’t worry. I’ll be staying with my girlfriend – I’m very excited at the prospect o f getting to spend an entire week with Lyn! I only hope that she doesn’t get too fed up with me lying around her house causing a mess. Well, if you’re in the capital, drop me or Lyn a line on facebook or something!

It all goes back to things like the sculpture of David by Michelangelo, or other classical images of bodily perfection. Art has been, by and large, obsessed with the idealised human form – blond hair, blue eyes, muscular men and slender women. It has, for many centuries, held these up to be ideal examples of the human form. Even Christ on his cross was always painted as somehow handsome.

Yet, slowly, I think this is changing. In this post-modern era, there is no such thing as thee perfect human, so art is no longer concerned with producing images of bodily perfection. And that’s where people like me come in. my body is not perfect or beautiful; it moves in unusual ways, arms and wrists jutting out at odd angles. Yet I am just as much a human as anyone else. Hence, mine is, in a sense, a post-modern body.

Just as postmodernism is being embraced, just as old values are being torn down, so other forms of beauty are coming forth. My girlfriends body is the perfect example – in previous times, people like Lyn and I would have been thought of as sub-human; her body was masculine, but now is feminine; it transgresses ideals of gender and disability. Lyn does not conform to any classical, modernist ideal of beauty, yet she is beautiful. Hers is a post-modern body, an exemplar of this brave new world; it is astonishing, fascinating, and to me utterly insepiring.

The subject of the disabled body and postmodernism could be deallt with over several thick volumes. I’ve only just started to think about it. I’ll probably return to this subject soon.

He may be currently in southern France, but today I’d just like to whish my big brother Mark a very happy birthday. Right now he’s with Kat and their friends, hopefully getting drunk in a seafront bar. Love you, bro; have a great day and a great holiday!

I guess I got rather heavy yesterday. Although the dilemma remains, I feel a lot more content today. Such issues take years to resolve – indeed, it has been on and off my mind since I was about fourteen – and, as Lyn pointed out, there’s no point rushing it. Anyway, I’m quite content: I have a wonderful girlfriend in Lyn, who fascinates me; I have a great family who support me in everything I do; and I have a great set of friends who are always there for me. Although at the moment they’re just photos on my bedroom wall, I know my friends are just an email away.

However, one thing I certainly am not happy about is the busses. I was over at the main Congleton bus stop yesterday; it turns out that the only accessible busses that run to macc or Crewe may or may not run in the evenings, according to the driver I spoke to. That is, frankly, no good. Without a regular service of accessible busses, I cannot go anywhere. I can’t risk getting on a bus without knowing I’ll be able to get home, so it seems I’m stuck. It’s odd: at uni it felt like the world was my oyster; I felt I could get anywhere – Crewe, Chester, London, – simply because I could go down church road and hop on the 20. but now it feels like my world has shrank to a two-horse town with hardly any pubs and no good clubs. There certainly isn’t anywhere where I feel I could dress up to. It’s true that you never know what you have till it’s gone.

Changing the subject totally, a girl from Onevoice I know is currently very ill in hospital with swine flue. I’m very worried, and my thoughts are with her and her family.

Since posting my last entry, the truth is I’ve been more confused than ever about my feelings. I’ve been thinking a lot about my own sexuality and gender. There are times when the thought of becoming a girl seems utterly preposterous: I’m happy as a guy; I have no real reason to change and to do so would cause no end of trouble. Yet there are also times when the idea seems so compelling that it’s all I can think of; that I need to change in order to be happy, and that things aren’t right as they are.

The thing is, at the moment I feel trapped. I feel like I need to escape, but don’t know how or where to. There are, it seems, no accessible busses out of this goddamn town. I’m pretty sure the two are linked. I don’t know how becoming a woman would help; perhaps it would calm me down, make me happier, give me a fresh start. I know that’s probably an illusion, and that in transitioning I would probably estrange most of my friends and family, so I’m stuck as matt. Well, I think my friends would get used to it; not sure about my family. Either way, I’m still not sure whether this is what I truly want, and the confusion is getting be down even more.

I have a theory. My girlfriend Lyn has both cerebral palsy and gender identity disorder, and I was sort of wondering how many people there are in the country like her. So I worked it out. If the incidence of CP is 1 in 400, and depending on which figure you use the incidence of GID is anywhere from 1 in 1000 to 1 in 30000, then there are statistically between 5 and 150 people with both cp and GID in the uk population of 60 million. So there are as many as 149 more people like Lyn out there.

Yet there’s a problem. People with cp often have difficulty expressing themselves. For example, you may have a speech impediment; you may live within the restrictive walls of an institution; or you may not want to make yourself stand out even more. I think these factors combine so that that 150 quickly drops to 0. using this logic, the chances of another TV with CP coming out and finding us is practically nill.

But here’s my theory. I have strong evidence that there are lots of people like Lyn out there, a significant amount more than thie above reason would predict. To have our level of cp is to accept that normal rules do not apply. I gave up trying to fit in long ago. This allows one to express things others repress. It could be that my transvestism is the expression of my attraction to women, and that having CP means that my sexuality has manifested itself differently than it might otherwise have done. People like me free the,mselves from the pressures to conform in order to find partners, meaning that sexuality is free to find other outlets, other manifestationss. That is not to say that my desire to dress up or Lyn’s desire to be a woman is any less earnest or heartfelt than if we didn’t have cp; I don’t think either of us is doing what we do for a laugh, or that we are in any way confused. It’s just that having CP means that feelings which would otherwise remain hidden can surface. I’m not arguing that people like lyn chose to transition because they have CP, but that her sisability made it easier and more likely. In turn, though, this could imply one if two things: either that the incidence of things like GID is higher among people with cp, or that the incidence of things like GID is higher altogether, and that cerebral palsy just gives one the green light to express it more. the latter would explain why, as society becomes more and more open and tolerant, more and more people, with and without cp, are coming out as transpeople.

As I said on Monday, me and Lyn went to see the new harry potter film on Monday. I suppose that, being a film student and all, I should write something about it. The thing is, deciding how to write this. having read the book, I, like most of us, know the plot, so found it reasonably easy to follow. Yet Lyn, who was unfamiliar with the text, said she found it a bit hard to follow. Having said that, it wasn’t the most faithful of adaptations, famously detracting from it at the denouement. However, truth be told, I wasn’t concentrating on the plot, for the shooting style caught my eye the most. It is magnificently shot, with every frame composed with precision. A real sense of doom came through the mise-en-scene. In fact, I do not think this was a kids film, and why children were allowed in – children who didn’t shut up throughout the screening – gets me. If I was prime minister, nobody under 15 would be allowed to the cinema.

SPOILERS

Now, as for the so-called unfortunate event: the death of Dumbledore and snape’s shhh gesture. In my opinion, Harry was being a good student in trusting snape, and

I think snape was saving Harry’s bacon by keeping him quiet. As for why the scen=e was changed, I’m not sure, but I think it may be concerned with duty, loyalty. I need to rewatch it anyway/

Tonight I would like to correct a mistake I made a while ago. I once wrote on here that we shouldn’t try to ram our disabilities down peoples throats, or accentuate them. In other words we shouldn’t try to stand out for ‘political’ reasons. I didn’t want people going around saying ”look at me, I’m different”, for I feared that would set us apart. Yet I realised yesterday that that was utter folly.

On the train, coming up from Lyn’s, I was sat opposite a family of orthodox jews. As you know, they dress differently, and the men and boys have funny strands of hair either side of their faces. Nice people. it occurred to me that jewish people and disabled people are kind of similar, inasmuch as they are both oppressed. I began to wonder why they wanted to stand out so much; surely it would just be easier to cut the hair, pull on some jeans and blend in. it then occurred to me that this would mean giving up their culture; a culture of which they could be proud. Why should they sacrifice that for the sake of conformity? Surely the problem lies with those who see them as different, for they are the architects of Aushvits.

The same principle applies to us cripples. We are proud; we have a nascent subculture. Why should we hide that?

This weekend ruled. I must admit, though, that using the train is less of a novelty – it’s becoming routine, which is, I suppose, as it should be. On the other hand, I still find it cool that I can be in central London in less than two hours, and at Lyn’s in less than three.

Anyway, I had great fun this weekend. highlights included practicing my Greek in a Greek restaurant by the river (they didn’t serve tahini though); watching the new harry potter film; buying new clothes. We also went to the big giant white pimple called the O2: at first I was impressed, but then I realised there was zark all in there. It’s like the Trafford centre, only without the underwear shops. How dull. Paris gets the mighty louve, with its remarkable mix of the ancient and modern; we get that stupid dome. Grr.

Okay, rant over. There isn’t much more I can write here. I rode the tube for the first time since childhood; had a shower in Lyn’s nifty step-in bathtub; and I met a family of orthodox jews coming up here. All in all, a cool weekend.

And I didn’t have any alcohol whatsoever.

I am going to London tomorrow, and I can’t wait. I’ll get to spend four full days with Lyn, which is probably the longest time we’ve been together. I’ll have to start packing soon, but that should only take half an hour of rummaging, chucking clothes about my room and generally making a mess. Mind you, I’m not sure what to take.

The subject of clothes turned up in the news. I think in Britain we are very fortunate: here, as in other western democracies, we can wear what we want, pretty much. I can go down the pub in a dress, or through the campus gym in a zentai suit. It might turn a few heads or raise a few eyebrows, but I won’t get arrested. In terms of personal expression, I can do whatever I like.

However, it seems that this isn’t the case worldwide. A Sudanese woman has recently been sentenced to 40 lashes and a fine of $100 just for wearing trousers. Such cases, of course, split liberals like me in two: do we respect the views of other cultures, upholding the principals of non-interference a la star trek’s prime directive? Or do we side with the individual and individual freedom? This also recalls my own contradictory stance on religion: I believe that, while religion is a form of mind control that we could all do without, people have a right to worship what, who and how they wish. Nobody has the right to tell anyone what to think.

By the same token, we don’t have the right to tell the Sudanese government what laws to make; yet the same ethos holds that the Sudanese government has no right in telling it’s citizens what they cannot wear. The two positions are mutually exclusive, yet stem from the same philosophy. So, while my gut reaction is to intervene in this barbarity, this is tempered by the knowledge that, to them, it is not barbarous.

link

I suppose Congleton is okay. It looks like I’ll be here for a while now. Thing is, unless my parents throw me out and I declare myself homeless, I have next to no chance of getting a council home. We did think about buying a place and converting it ourselves, but I have to agree with my father is right and such an investment wouldn’t be sensible right now. I’m not even sure where I want to live. So, for the time being, it looks like I’m staying put.

I guess it’s not that bad. I have broadband, food, and my clothes; three things which, along with beer, I cannot live without. I’m also investigating the bus services to Crewe and Macclesfield. If I can get to Crewe, I can visit Esther or lee; I can also go from there to Chester, to visit charlotte, or get the train to London to visit Lyn. The thing is, the bus from macc to Crewe, which goes via Congleton, is more often than not a double Decker. I just emailed Arriva Transport for the times of the accessible busses, so fingers crossed. Truth is, I’d feel much more free if those busses were accessible, or if I knew when the accessible ones were. Ho hum. In a way, my freedom is dependant on that bus being accessible.

I just watched a bbc3 programme on beauty pageants for little girls. While it obviously brings them joy, I find myself appalled at the amount of stock these girls’ parents put in the need to look beautiful. To them, looking good is everything. It may surprise you, despite my obsession with feminine clothes, that I disagree. What matters is the person inside the dress, so what does it matter how you look? Whether I’m in a skirt, trousers, or a leotard, I’m still me, and I think by going out in such things I demonstrate that. I know that, to some, I might look ugly, but that’s the point. We are all different, all equal, all special and all beautiful. But such competitions help to uphold a very narrow definition of beauty, quantifying it, saying some are more beautiful than others. I wouldn’t mind the dressing up and dancing and stuff – it lookss like fun – but at the level at which it teaches kids that some are beautiful but most are ugly, I find them harmful and repugnant.

It’s strange. I’m aware of the contradiction in liking to dress up and looking pretty, but knowing too that beuty is only skin deep.

CaMoron has today described the economic mess he would inherit were he to become prime minister as daunting. Frankly, what daunts me is the mess he would make for the likes of me were he to become PM. Any Tory government will make cutbacks in spending and rush to the aid of industry and individualism. This everyman-for-himself philosophy benefits only the most able and privileged in society, thus maintaining the status quo. If you think about it, it is wasteful. People like us, were the Tories to be elected, would be left by the wayside. Thus I am furious about the stupidity and short-sightedness of the people of north Norwich. I find CaMoron’s talk of fairness laughable, for it is clear that he means fair only for the rich and privileged. And to hear him accuse labour of lying about the Tories almost made me physically sick. I’m dreading the next election, and would strongly urge any crip considering voting Tory to really think about what their plans would mean for us.

Well, I’m back. After 6 years, I’m sat in the spot where the butterfly first flapped her wings, only things are different. And I don’t just mean my roomhas been redecorated. As predicted, Lyn’s chatting on msn, and c and my other friends are beaming down at me from their photos. University has changed me: I was once so timid, half afraid of the big wide world. But now I feel I can do anything. While the future is still unclear, I somehow doubt I’ll be sat here for too long.

I started this film in my first year, and never got round to uploading it, it seems appropriate that tonight I finish it. Its funny how prophetic the backing track was.

I went over to Nantwich earlier, to visit the grave of my friend rich. I had to, as it would have been my last chance before going home. Busses between Crewe and Congleton are usually inaccessible. I’m not sure why though: it’s just a stone sticking out of the ground in a row of such stones, yet something forces me back to that goddamn place. Richard was a good friend, and a great man. My time at uni has been great, but I’ll never forget the day I set out from campus to find him. Thus, the story of my time here is also the story of my relationship with Richards’s death. I don’t often think about it these days, but when I do, it hurts like hell.

Check this out. I know Nadia from Onevoice, and, truth be told, I’m not surprised she’s doing well. She is probably brighter than I am, and if she has even half the energy of her mother she’ll be a real force to be reckoned with. I reckon it’s a toss up between her and Katie Caryer as to who becomes our first disabled prime minister.

The article touches upon the inclusion debate. While the needs of individual children must be taken into account, to reverse the policy of inclusion, as CaMoron proposes, thereby putting the majority of kids with SEN back into special schools, is abhorrent. It would do far more harm than good. My parents pushed me, but had they not done so, had they left Hebden to ‘educate’ me, I doubt I would be sat here. Hell, I doubt id be literate! So while I see the points of those who urge caution, I remain convinced that inclusion must proceed. After all, to go back to the subject of Monday’s waffle, how can we celebrate diversity if we are all kept separate?

As Lyn says in her comment, I had no net for most of yesterday, nor much of today. It’s been playing up in halls. I wouldn’t mind, but I need the net to communicate with my girlfriend, and I miss her if I don’t speak to her regularly. Indeed, the internet is where we met in the first place. As a matter of fact, without the net none of this would have happened: a simple google search in 2003 lead me to south Cheshire college, who proposed I apply to uni. This lead me to MMU where I could let myself loose in brandies. Photographs were taken which eventually got on to youtube. These, in turn, gained the attention of Lyn, who contacted me, and the rest, as they say, is history. Moreover, without that google search I would never have met Esther, Charlie, Emma, Steve, or any of my closest friends. I wouldn’t have been able to get back in contact with lee Mayer either. Talk about the butterfly effect.

On Friday I move out of halls for the last time. I’ll miss this place – campus, my little room, this desk. It has served me well these last five years. Ironically enough, dad will soon be setting up my pc on the desk in my room back home where this great adventure began. It will almost be like it never happened, but only until I see Lyn flashing on msn, or look up to the pictures Charlie gave me, of the green zentai suit, and of our trip to Paris. Then I’ll know it wasn’t a dream, and account it high time for another google search.

I have been naval gazing again, and I think I’ve managed to resolve a few paradoxes. I was thinking about Lyn, and how utterly unique she is. Well, there can’t be very many transpeople with cerebral palsy out there. I also find the strength she must have had in overcoming the pressures to conform incredible. Yet, at the same time, Lyn is normal: she’s just a woman going about her life, same as everyone else.

I think we are all normal, because normality exists at the level at which we are all unique. Think about it: we’re all different, and thus all the same. I came to the conclusion that we must celebrate this. we must celebrate our diversity. Only then can we see that our differences are both valuable and irrelevant.

A good illustration of this duality is the fact that disability exists in virual worlds like second life. There is no reason that people should use wheelchairs in such worlds other than as a celebration of diversity. It’s like saying, ”hi guys, this is me. I’m a bit different, but I’m also just like you.” Such users are showing that they have the strength to be themselves, irrespective of societal and other pressures to conform. While such worlds are ideal places in which to play around with identity, such users have used them to make valid political points about inclusion and diversity. More power to them, I say.

Similarly, I was musing earlier about how great it would be to have a character like Lyn in a story. I’d make a fictionalised version of her, of course, but how great would such a character be in playing out stories of diversity, inclusion and acceptance. I also have other artistic plans for Lyn, involving cameras, but that’s another story. The bottom line is, though, the only way for people to see how similar we all are is to celebrate our uniqueness.

It has been quite a cool week really. Over the last few days I have been able to see the three most amazing people in my life. On Sunday I saw Lyn, who is probably the most astounding person I’ve ever met. The truth is, Lyn inspires me: she grabs life, living it on her own terms. I think of her more and more these days – the way she looks at me with her deep wise eyes; the cute little noises she makes. I imagine myself catching whiffs of her smell every now and again. I feel very privaledged to have such a strong, unique, incredible person as my girlfriend.

I also feel privaledged to have Charlie as my best friend. It was great to catch up with her. Yesterday, I caught a glimpse of her job, and I got the distinct impression that teaching wasn’t for me. School life seems far too noisy and violent for my liking. Apparently the day before one kid had been hospitalised after a ‘pile-on’. Charlie seems ideally suited for it, on the other hand. In fact she says she loves it. At the mo she only teaches year seven students – who, frankly, seem crazy enough but she’ll soon be let loose on older kids. I whish her luck.

I saw Esther earlier today. I popped over to her house about lunch time. Although I don’t mention her much here, I am very fond of her and her family. I’ve known her the longest, and can confide in her. She’s a very quiet person, perhaps not as exhuberant as Charlie or Lyn, but in her own way she too amazes me.

I just got in from my first proper trip in the bat’leth, by which I mean a trip of considerable length. I took her to Chester yesterday, to see charlotte. C had invited me to a school performance based around fair trade. Truth be told, I remain to be convinced about fair trade: it smells iffy to me, like a capitalist ploy disguised as this great ethical thing, but then I’m a cynic. Nevertheless, it was good to see Charlie and the joneses again. I feel I’m fast becoming good friends with Poppy, C’s little sister, too.

Last night I had one of those good long all-evening conversations with Lyn. I think we really opened up to one another. I had been reading a book on meterosexuality and sports culture yesterday afternoon, which sent thoughts whizzing around my head like a kitten in a washing machine. I really find jock culture repugnant – it’s so misogynistic and homophobic, not to mention so blatantly repressed. To me, people like me and Lyn reject precisely that repugnant nonsense, for in opening our feminine sides up rather than repressing them, we kind of learn the value of both genders. It has to be more adult and open minded than the homophobic, reactionary culture of many of our male contemporaries.

It has been a great afternoon. As planned I met Lyn in Crewe; I think that, for Lyn, today was an exercise in independence. She told me that she used too make such solo trips quite regularly, but recently has been lacking the courage. It was therefore great to see her up here, and I think the exercise was a great success. She was already talking about doing it again next Saturday, but I might be going home for the weekend, so it depends.

We didn’t get up to too much. We were alone, and without P.As there’s not much we could do. We managed to cause a bit of mayhem, but not as much as I’d have liked. Having said that, an ambulance was involved at one point: coming out of a pub, Lyn almost fell out of her chair; her arse slipped off the seat. I called ‘help’ to a couple of men passing by, who unfortunately turned out to be idiots. Instead of simply pulling Lyn back up onto her chair, they decided to call an ambulance. I tried to explain, to no avail. Then another guy came who understood the problem. once Lyn was back on her chair, we scarpered to where we were due to meet Lyn’s taxi.

5 minutes later, guess what: up rolls an ambulance. I type faster than Lyn, so I explained what had happened, and that we were both fine. The ambulance man understood, and I apologised for wasting his time. He needed to hear Lyn tell him that she was o.k.

So, all in all, great fun. Going out, alone, with Lyn may have it’s drawbacks, but it was good to be ‘just us two’ so to speak, jut like a regular couple.

It seems the next three days will be busy. First, Lyn is coming up tomorrow, just for the afternoon. I’m going to show her Crewe. Thing is, she’ll be alone – without a PA – so I’m slightly concerned. What if something happens? I can barely look after myself, let alone a woman. Well, if the worst comes to the worst, Esther doesn’t live too far away.

On Monday, dad’s coming, bringing housing forms to fill in. this will probably be very dull, but hopefully we’ll do it in the wes over a few coffees. Coffee makes form-filling easier.

Tuesday should be more fun. A meeting with Alan, which I’m optimistic about, then I’m off to Chester for an evening with the joneses. Charlie is putting on what she describes as a ‘year 7 visual and performing arts evening’, and has invited me. Sounds great fun. My one concern is getting my new chair, which dad brought back to me on Monday, through their front door, as it’s heavier than the other one. I think I’ll ask if I can put it in their garage instead.

All in all, a busy few days. Well, at least I’m not bored.

I think I may have done something to my ears last night, but it was awesome. Rob and I headed into Crewe to find some fun – karaokie perhaps. We got the bus and headed for the Limelight club. What we found there ruled: it was an aerosmith tribute band! I mean, how uncanny is that? Of course, we went in.

Aerosmith are one of my favourite groups of all time, and this tribute band was a reasonably good one. the lead singer had Steve Tyler’s rather strange body movements down to a tee. The sound, too, was amazing: we were sat close to a stage, so it was quite ear-splitting at times. We had to leave early, though, in order to catch the bus, but I managed to catch most of my favourite songs. Walk This Way came on as we were leaving. Alas, I didn’t get to hear I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing, which would probably come on at the close.

What an awesome night though. I thought it’d just be a few pints listening to locals murder music, but I stumbled onto something truly awesome! There’s a guns and roses tribute band there tonight; guess who’s going,

Rob is in the kitchen microwaving dinner. We just got home from a joint shopping trip (although no joints were procured). Like a married couple, we needed to get food in for over the weekend; the fridge is now well stocked with ready-meals, chocolate and beer. Yesterday, however, I had a very different problem: rob was missing. He’s usually waiting for me when I get home at 5, but yesterday, he wasn’t. I waited, and waited. Usually on such occasions I go get myself a pizza, but I didn’t really fancy it.

I ventured out either way, at about 7. however, I was surprised to see the canteen still open, so I swang around. There I bumped into about 150 school kids and their teachers. Apparently they were on a taster day, and had just finished their dinner.

So guess who got the left overs? For free!

About five minutes ago I was feeling rather sorry for myself. Alan is looking at my thesis as I type so I have a feeling of impending doom. This is made greater by the fact that the future is so unclear. I’m really not sure what to do next. However, I’d forgotten one very important fact: today is the eighth of July. The first ashes test starts in 40 minutes. I thought it started tomorrow for some reason. Today we get the chance to make amends for that 5 nil farce down under two years ago. Who cares about the future when the ashes are on? [spastic squeal of excitement]

I have just been thinking about some of what I have written on here over the years, in relation to a recent Panorama programme. I deeply regret what I once thought, especially in relation to DAN. Peaceful protest is, of course, a central part of democracy; people have a right to make their views heard. I once feared that, were disabled people to do that, we’d just come across as balshy cripples and alienate people. why did nobody slap me when I wrote that? I once wrote that ‘we shouldn’t draw attention to our disabilities for specifically political motives: to do so would be crass exhibitionism which will only divide us further from society and increase prejudice.’ In other words, we shouldn’t complain for fear of making too much of a fuss. If other people had used that logic, Gandhi would just have accepted British rule, the US would still be segregated and nobody would know the name Nelson Mandela. Whenever injustice occurs, we need to draw attention to it; and if we come across as balshy cripples, then I say good. Far better to come across as balshy than a walkover, because at least then people realise you exist as a human being.

The truth is, I guess I’m more comfortable than ever before after this weekend. I used to feel such a contradiction: I’m supposed to be a man, a guy, but if that was true how could I go out with someone like Lyn, and how could I go around in dresses and stuff? Well, it’s time I let go of those old ideas of masculinity. If no true man would do what I did this weekend, then I’m not a true man; and you know what? I don’t care. I like being me; and I love going out with Lyn. And if that doesn’t conform to the social norms, then the social norms can fuck off. I am who I am, and proud of it.

It is odd how things that once seemed out of bounds for me now seem routine. Like girlfriends and solo rail travel. This occurred to me yesterday as Lyn and I walked through Greenwich park, up to the observatory overlooking the Thames. never before had London looked quite so beautiful.

Its been a great weekend. I had my first proper taste of make-up, which ruled, and then Lyn had her first taste of margarita! I frightened the living daylights out of two girls in a car: we were walking along and they pulled up, and I heard they were playing the car song by the cat empire, singing along. There was no time to type, so I raised my hands and tried to say ‘cat empire rule’. They didn’t understand, but looked petrified. Mind you, I was in a dress, so they may have been confused. Whahahaha! What fun!

Apart from meeting Ricardio at Euston, the other details are either private or boring. I have, however, mastered the trains, so now I want to go everywhere. Steve, can you still put me up in edinborough?

I neglected to say something very important yesterday which Katie pulled me up on just before bedtime. Charlie didn’t go to Paris as my PA but as my friend: that is she expected nothing in return. This is an important distinction to make. Disabled people need and thus in any civilised society have a right to help. This changes the relationship between that of helped / helper to that of employee / employer. While any good employer will appreciate what his or her employees do, they are paid to do it. The difference comes when nothing is asked for in return, and when people act out of friendship and kindness. I just think we should recognise that for the remarkable thing it is.

I realised yesterday that it has been almost a year since Charlie and I went to Paris. In many ways that was a remarkable trip: I can be, lets say, a bit of a handful in terms of needing to be dressed, fed, and pushed etc. Yet charlotte being charlotte, she just took it in her stride. It’s funny; sometimes I get the impression from the disabled community that we aren’t supposed to feel grateful, but I frankly regard what miss Jones did that week as one of the greatest kindnesses ever bestowed upon me. Then again, c didn’t do it out of a sense of charity: we obviously enjoy each other’s company, and two friend’s taking a trip together isn’t a rare occurrence. It’s kind of odd: it’s almost as if I don’t know what to think, or say. Should one feel grateful?