As part of our work on Roadwork, a steven King novella about the negative effects of urban regeneration, last night I went with Rob, Jo and Mark to meet Ricardio at the coachmakers arms, Hanley. Initially, we were going to meet a potential musical director there, but he didn’t show up. The coachmakers is doomed for closure. They’re going to build a whopping great car park in its place, but the pub is fascinating. It was unlike any other pub I’d ever been to, composed not of a big central bar area but four smaller, more intimate rooms. They have an enormous range of beers, changed as and when they run out. And by beer I mean good real ale.

I usually like new things, but surely to knock down such an historic place – 150 years old – is a herasy. We attended a meeting of their customers, who are trying to save it, and I got a real sense of community, and of that communities anger. We’re going to try to help them by adapting Roadwork so it’s more specifically about this pub; I hope it works; I now see why Ricardio is so interested in such issues.

I had to go to Crewe today to pick up a few books from the library. While I was there, I headed into town for a quick scout round. Needless to say, I didn’t find much, except one charity shop was selling the entire seven seasons of ds9 on vhs for seventeen quid; I almost bought it, but I realised I’d have trouble getting all 70 videos home.

What was odd about this trip, however, was that I was refused entry onto a bus not once but twice. It wasn’t as if they were full – the driver just gave some bullshit excuse and refused to let me on. I have a feeling it was the same driver both times, but I am not sure.

Now, I know some people who would cry disabledism at this. they would accuse the driver of hating disabled people, having a vendetta against them, and so on. I no longer think such talk is either accurate or helpful; for one, it smacks of paranoia, and for another making such accusations is hardly going to help the problem, or make such drivers more inclined towards letting people like me onto their busses. There are lots of reasons why those drivers wouldn’t let me on, only some of them to do with hatred. Perhaps the driver was unsure about the rules governing wheelchairs, or had had a bad experience with one.

My point is that we should look deeper than the obvious; we should avoid paranoia. Although I was initially very angry at the driver I must admit, we should never resort to the simplistic cry of hatred. If we do, we risk descending into a pit of bitterness, and the prophecy would surely forfil itself.

I went home this weekend. To be honest, after the initial parental nagging, it was quite blissful. I hadn’t been home in five weeks or so – probably my longest period away – so it was good to have a nice rest and decent food. Now, though, I’m off out to the pub with Ricardio and Chris. Need to talk to Ricardio about a few things concerning rehearsal. Then, tomorrow, back to heavy research.

Life rules.

I find it rather weird that my friends are now all becoming things like ”miss branch”, ”miss Jones” and ”miss avery”, rather than Nicky, Charlotte and Emma. It’s mking me feel old – they’re all now teachers or teaching assistants. On the one hand I think ”aren’t teachers meant to be older than I am” but on the other I think it’s cool because my generation is now becoming the generation in charge. We’re starting to hold positions of power; we can influence young people. it’s quite a strange feeling.

I guess, when you go to a university like MMU, teaching is an obvious career move. Nobody pretends it’s up there with oxford or Cambridge, but it provides you with a fairly good knowledge base well suited for teaching. As for myself, I have decided that I would not be well suited for teaching, at least not the teaching of kids. I am still nevertheless interested in pedagogy; I’m starting to wonder if I could somehow link this with my desire to make film. Thus I doubt I’d ever be ”Mr Goodsell”, but education and issues surrounding it interest me greatly.

I stand by what I wrote on Monday evening. I think we all need to compromise. I did not say inclusion was unobtainable; I just liberalised my stance on special schools. We can all have these lofty ideals, but we must be cautious not to throw the baby out with the bath water. Sometimes, such schools work; sometimes they do a good job. On the other hand, we need inclusion to break down social barriers. Question is, which is the greater requirement?

I guess it has fallen to us – my generation – to find out.

I was on one of my now regular forays into star trek fandom earlier and found this. I’d guess it dates from the early 90s, when tng was still current. I knew tng was big but hadn’t realised how mainstream it was.

I went back to the nmc today. What I’d planned as a morning trip turned into a day trip, but at least I paid my fees en route. Why are busses so damn slow? Anyway it has been a monumental day: I saw a face, albeit with a trendy beard. Which yesterday morning I’d feared I’d never see again.

Phil apparently had a dental appointment, but Donno was there. I didn’t recognise him at first glance, but he recognised me. He’s doing very well indeed, and we chatted for quite a while. The nmc functions as a graphic design / printing company at the same time as supplying physio for the people who work there, most of whom have md. We sat at Lee’s desk – he’s quite expert at graphic design, and I watched him for a while. Ironically, there were gaps in the conversation where neither of us could think of what to say, despite having not seen each other for six or seven years. Frankly, I was just happy to see my friend; he’s much more cheerful than I remember, although that could just be because we’ve both outgrown adolescence.

We have exchanged email addresses, and agreed to meet again soon. It has been a great day. In a way, I feel like a dark cloud has finally been lifted.

What started this morning as my usual weekly trip to the bank, and coffee with lee, turned out to be a day of discovery and revelation – day which, in a way, stopped my in my tracks and made me question my beliefs. A day on which deamons have been put to rest. I think this will be a long one.

Before we start, let me assure you I am still working on my masters. It’s just today other stuff took priority.

I don’t know much about muscular dystrophy. All I know is that your muscles waste away, and people with it die early. It’s a bastard, and I have lost two good friends to it. Two of my other friends, donno and phiil, have it. I lost contact with these two about five or six years ago – possibly more – and this morning me and Mayer got talking about them. Turns out he had not seen either of them in ages; they hadn’t been at Rich’s funeral.

I began to worry. A dread came upon me: could it be that they, too, had…I needed to know. I needed to find out. Now! When I had taken my leave of Mayer, I got on a bus to winsford. When I spoke to them last, they were both working at a place called the neuro-muscular centre, winsford. I reasoned that, if my friends weren’t still there, the staff at the NMC would know what became of them – where they were working now, or if they had passed away. I am acutely aware that time is moving on and running out.

I was dropped off on the high street in winsford. Although I had been driven up and down that road every weekday during term time for 13 years, it took a while for me to get my bearings. When I did, I crossed the road and headed for woodford lane, west, home of both the NMC and, of course, my old school.

I must admit I was scared. I didn’t know what I’d find; frankly, I found it likely that I would be sitting here tonight bashing my keyboard reporting that they were both dead. That entry will come eventually…but not tonight.

I met a nice fellow called Matthew. He asked if he could help, so I explained my quest, expecting the worst. He, smiled: ”they work here Tuesdays and Fridays.” He said, making it quite clear that I’d be welcome to visit tomorrow if I wanted. I think I’ll accept his offer. I also met a physio who used to work at school but now works at the NMC; we chatted, and I told her what I’d been doing these last seven years. It was good to see her. However, when it was time to leave, I asked her whether I should pop into school or not, and was quite surprised to hear her say that she didn’t see why not.

I couldn’t resist, in more ways than one. this was the place where I grew up, after all, and, all politics all the negative stuff aside, I still have great affection for the place – whether I or you like it or not. The staff there are good people who mean well.

I was greeted with surprise, but also warmth. I had made my views on inclusion known to them, and I could sense a kind of hesitancy from certain people – even a coldness. I have been extremely critical of special schools in the past, and believe in inclusion, and yet these people are not bad people. they want what is best for disabled children, and I think they might have a point. As Mrs. Whitaker said, inclusion is not black and white. Simply to dump a disabled kid into a mainstream school, unaided, often does more harm than good. There’s also something to be said for the resources special schools offer in terms of access to equipment and expertise. Hebden’s ”access team”, which equips kids with communication aids, is perhaps one of the best in the country – it could only work effectively at a special school, and I have reason to believe that it has saved lives. Kirsty dallow, I was told this afternoon, is now living independently with her own team of Pas, thanks to the work done at Hebden.

There was a time when I thought of school as an evil place. Where else, I reasoned, could a kid have three classmates die during his time there, and another after leaving? If they were included, I reasoned, then the pain would have been spread more thinly. Yet Hebden is not the cause of their deaths; it is not evil. I no longer believe, moreover, that a special school’s aim is to overtly or covertly repress disabled children, but to supply a stable environment where they might be educated. Disabled people are not hated; we are not being ‘kept down’ as the bourgeoisie once kept the proletariat down. I still believe that, in terms of equality, inclusion would be best for all; but I no longer believe it is that simple – it is not black and white.

I’m starting to worry that the disability community might be charging headlong into inclusion, without taking stock. Our former teachers are not our former repressors. For all my rhetoric over the years, I am still very fond of my old teachers. They have some knowledge, some expertise, and I think their views are valid, even for the time being necessary, until the best solution can be found for all kids. Today stopped me in my tracks, and made me think. are we going too fast? are we doing what is best for all kids, or are we simply settling our own grudges? We must be sure – absolutely sure – that we are doing the right thing. We all need days like these.

Lyn came up to visit me yesterday afternoon. She drove all the way up from London just to spend a few hours with me – it was the sweetest thing, and I’ll certainly be working on finding a way to repay the complement. The fact is, we do not spend enough time with each other -how can we when we live 200 miles apart?

Anyway it was a great evening. Lyn bought me some shoes and scents; I bought the wine, pizza and stuffed potatoes. I know it doesn’t seem fair and now I feel guilty about not buying her anything. We put some music on (I have got Lyn into Cat Empire) and spent the time chatting. I tried on my new shoes, which more or less fit, then Zita, Lyn’s PA, took some photos of us together. I think photos are very important to a relationship – they kind of cement it, make it more real. We then spent some quality time together.

It all went too quickly, and too soon we were saying goodbye. I don’t know when I’ll see lyn again, which makes me sad, but hopefully it won’t be too long. It was a wonderful evening.

Well, time to tidy up.

I was going to write this up and post it yesterday evening, but there was rehearsal, and the usual trip to brandies after, and I was slightly drunk…

Wednesday evening my left footplate fell off. The lower part just fell away on my way home from the post grad thing. It was too late to do much about it, so I picked it up and came home. One good thing about living on campus is there are people who know stuff about mechanics about, so after breakfast yesterday I went over to the workshops to find someone to help. There’s this awesome guy with a beard, whose name I do not know; he’s very good at repairing things. So I asked him to look at it. He said ”let’s see what you’ve done this time.”

Within minutes he had turned the footplate pipe upside down, fixed the pedal to the other end and put it back on the chair, good as new. Jokingly, he said ”now that’s four beers you owe me” but I thought fair’s fair and set off to get him beer from Sainsbury’s. Six pints of Boddingtons for £5.

When I returned the man looked shocked. ”I can’t accept it,,” he said ”I’d lose my job. Just have a word with the dean and tell him what a good job we do here.”

Well, the day was beginning. I spent yesterday either working at my PC or in the library, working till five, going round in logic circles. It was then time for rehearsals, at six. First we played indoor cricket to warm up, then Ricardio set the guys a boring repetitive exercise which looked like it would take them all night to complete. Then, randomly, Burien showed up, and I had an idea. I asked Burien to help me fetch the beers from my room, and he obliged.

So there we were, watching the guys doing a team building exercise over and over again to the tune of right said Fred’s deeply dippy, sipping beer. The actors had to throw stuff to each other in a set pattern; if they failed, they had to start all over again. It was quite balletic really. The entire scene amused me greatly: I kind of felt like Hawkeye Pierce in M*A*S*H, sipping martini, watching orchestrated chaos. Life is good.

I have discovered why I never see my fellow postgrad students on brandies on Wednesday nights (other than the fact that they have more sense and taste). Every Wednesday night, they have a research program meeting in Crewe, from whence I have just returned. It was quite interesting – all about research methodologies empiricism, the difference between qualitative and quantitative forms of enquiry. I usually find that stuff dry as hell, but tonight was rather cool.

I’m currently using an autoreflexive methodology. Now, I know what you lot are going to say, but the only way to deal with things like cinephilia and fandom is from the inside. Fans are neither lab rats, nor are they diseased. Also, we are all fans of something or other ourselves. Thus there is a movement, started by people like Henry Jenkins and matt hills, that says to deal with something like fandom, the researcher can do no better than look at ourselves. Of course, the guys from the more traditional sciences, and even the psychologists and sociologists have all pointed and laughed at us aartists, but I have no problem with either this, or the practice-asresearch which is currently all the rage in places like MMU. Objectivity is a myth anyway.

It has been a good day; my first thousand word day in weeks. I think I’m starting to get back into the swing of things.. popped over to see Alan this afternoon, and apart from a howling error I had made (which can easily be corrected and used to my advantage) he was very positive.

I think I made a mistake in yesterday’s blog entry too. Well, I’d like to add a bit, at least. I was naval gazing earlier, and I realised that there is a reason for the correlation between conservatism and religiosity. It seems to me that one aspect of conservatism is the belief in the moral absolutes like right and wrong. If god doesn’t exist, then such absolutes are the constructs of man, and therefore morality is subjective. If you believe god does exist, you can appeal to a higher power – a fixed point – and therefore right and wrong are not just constructs, as in liberalism, but god-given facts. This might lead one to conclude that a belief in god would lead one to conservatism – the two seem to go hand in hand in America. A belief in god justifies a belief in moral absolutes, and vice versa – but on the other hand you could also the opposite because the god of the New Testament forgives all sins. Then again, this assumes you believe in an objective concept of sin. So I guess I’m back to where I was yesterday. I don’t think I’ve explained my thinking very well, and its giving me a head ache. Hmm…what do you reckon – is it possible for one to believe in both god and moral relativism?

I am still very much an atheist. My sense of logic means that, for me, atheism is the only ‘right’ conclusion to make. For one thing, what is this being known as god, and why did he make the world to look so convincingly like it evolved naturally? And why did he endow us with a sense of logic which could so easily fool us into thinking he didn’t exist? Why is he so ambiguous? For me, religion does not add up.

Yet recently I have been thinking more about it. I used to dismiss it as childish make believe; I now think I was wrong to do so. Religion offers people hope; it can give us reason; it can help inspire great acts. The bible speaks about being kind, about helping others. The bible says god loves everyone, and that we should love our neighbours. These are good values to live by, and if religion – not just the bible but the Torah and Koran and other such texts – can inspire us to live peacefully together, to help others and to help one another, then I am all for it. It recently occurred to me that religion has, at least in part, helped to inspire some of thee most wonderful things in my life. Thing is, religion can also be used to inspire genocide, war, and terrorism, which is why I have condemned it in the past. But I now see it as essentially neutral – religion is a tool which can be used for both good and ill, and to condemn the many for the deeds of the few is wrong.

It wasn’t sitting comfortably in my head. How could I, in the same breath, proclaim myself tolerant and liberal and then proclaim all religious people morons? It was wrong. I used to believe that religion lead always to a conservative stance, but I now think it is politically neutral, and can be used to back up whatever political stance one cares to take. For me, this renders it benign; while I don’t have faith myself, it is something I can live comfortably with, and even respect. Looks like my days of going up to religious people and trying to convert them are over.

Another long day. This time spent in ps1, rehearsing. We haven’t started on the text yet, just doing he preparatory work. Before u came to uni, what I hadn’t realised is that most of the business of theatre is not what is seen on stage. Fascinatingly, most of what goes on in the rehearsal space is like brain-storming – actors are set games to play by the director, through which they explore certain emotions. To watch it, its not always obvious what the director is getting at, but gradually it comes together to form a picture. At least that’s how graham works; I frankly find the process more intriguing than the end product. It isn’t a case of a director bossing actors about.

I was watching them in PS1 this afternoon. I must admit I felt like a loose end, especially when I ran into Chris during the game of American football. But at the same time, I was thinking that I couldn’t wait to see how Ricardio is going to bring this together. And he will – the game of football, the seemingly pointless exercises, all come together like the T1000 in that scene from terminator two. Gradually, a general picture begins to emerge. I must admit, this lesson, which is still kind of hobby, is one of the best I’ve learned at university.

If you’re interested in reading rage, the text me and ricardio are adapting for the stage, go here. It’s only short, readable in five or six hours, and, as I found this evening, quite fascinating.

Today I showed Mayer where rich was buried. He turned up at about half three – he has the habit of just turning up randomly. I do it myself to others, so I cant complain. Earlier in the week I had told him where rich was, and this afternoon he asked if we could go. So we went. in many ways, lee was even closer to rich than I was. Infernal, godawful business. I know I’m not the only one – many people my age have lost friends, including those from special schools. But I cant help the feeling that it’s all fucked up.

I read CaMoron’s speech last night, while I was eating dinner. I tried to read it with an open mind, honest, but the more I read the angrier I got. I don’t think I ever read a bigger piece of nonsense; no, scrap that – it can only be nonsense if it actually has substance. This was mostly rhetoric based on a few simplistic ideas.

For a start, it was built up of short sound bytes, like this.

For another, blaming brown for this current economic crisis is a clear sign that the guy’s a moron. If the Tories hadn’t screwed the banking system up in the nineties we would not be in this mess. And to criticise brown for founding a decade of prosperity on ‘borrowing’ is a clear sign that these are no more than the ravings of an idiot. Brown saved us from the economic doom and gloom major left us in. for CaMoron to then praise Thatcher as some kind of hero when she destroyed the livelihoods of so many people is, frankly, despicable.

He attacks the ‘short term initiatives’ and what he calls the beurocracy without understanding that we need the testing and the safeguards to ensure that nothing goes wrong. We need the paperwork; we need standardisation. He is clearly trying to appeal to those people bored of filling in forms.

And as for character and judgement mattering more than experience – give me strength. He only says that because he thinks he has character and judgement, as everyone knows he lacks experience. Well, his judgement is clearly flawed, and his character is so vapid, shallow and cloying it makes me want to vomit. Either way, he’s wrong – tried and tested and proven experience is what matters, unlike in 97.

I could go on, I could go through this speech line by line and tear it to pieces. I could spend pages just explaining why claiming that society is somehow broken represents a level of arrogance that makes me want to tear the guy’s head off. I mean, just because society no longer conforms to your narrow-minded, illiberal and paternalistic view of how it should be doesn’t mean it’s broken. But I have work to do and things to read. If you have time the speech can be found here.

If anyone is interested in an extraordinary bit of cinema history – science fiction from beyond the iron curtain – go here.

amazing, isnt it?

For the last few days I have been thinking about a comment someone made to me. We had been arguing over msn about my lifestyle, and he said I should respect his intolerant point of view because ”it was his culture”. At one and the same time, this struck me as both pathetically stupid and philosophically interesting.

I am well aware of a paradox in liberalism. It is, basically, that liberalism means respecting all beliefs but the belief which says you shouldn’t respect other’s beliefs. I like to think I’m a pretty open minded sort of guy. Indeed, I have recently modified my attitude to faith after a comment by my father made me realise that, just as faith can inspire great ill, it can also inspire great kindness. This made me realise that maybe religion isn’t such a bad thing; maybe there’s something to it. As Tony Blair recently commented, religion can be used for both good and ill, and by and large I think it is a force for good. But I digress.

The point is, should I, then, respect intolerance? It may well be cultural, transmitted to parent to child like any other belief system. Yet it runs counter to liberality, to the foundations of culture. I also think that what in liberalism is a paradox in conservatism is a hypocrisy: he expects me to respect his views, yet refuses, by the very nature of those views, to respect mine. What in liberalism means respecting all beliefs but the belief which says you shouldn’t respect other’s beliefs, in conservatism means demanding people respect your beliefs while refusing to respect theirs. Frankly, a paradox is an interesting anomaly perhaps leading to the avoidance of certain subjects when talking to certain people, while a hypocrisy, in this case, is just plain dumb.

I just caught a bit of bbc breakfast news in the wes. It would seem that CaMoron is on the warpath, making it seem like the current economic downturn is the fault of the current government, somehow claiming that it is the result of the ‘borrowing fuelled prosperity’ of the last eleven years that we are in this mess. The petaQ even has the audacity to claim that the government is spending too much on advertisements and it’s own image, and has grossly mismanaged this world crisis. I find this insulting to my intelligence: brown was the best chancellor for years; labour got us out of the fetid hole the Tories had dug by 97. but now the world economy has hit the rails, the Tories are making out they can do better. Total bullshit. When the fuck did the Tories give a damn about lower-income families? When the fuck was conservatism compassionate? The cloying hypocrisy, the dissembling, and the smarmy act of this guy really gets my goat, as does his attempt to rewrite history. If everything hadn’t been privatised, perhaps we would be in less of a mess. Assholes.

I must admit I have been reluctant to pass comment on this before now. It is, of course, the story of the mother who drowned her four year old daughter in the bath, simply because she had c.p. I refused to pass comment because I did not know what to say. I could spit hysteric venom at the mother, accuse her of disabledism and breach godwin’s law; but I suspect this woman must have been mentally ill. No woman would kill her daughter were she of sound mind and judgement, disabled or not. I therefore think this woman needs help and psychiatric support, not to be demonised. Our hatred would get us nowhere.

Guess where I have just been. A fair! Excluding theme parks, which are completely different, I haven’t been to a fair in years. It turns out theres currently one in sandbach. The original plan was for me, Ricardio and Jo to go after a pub tea, but R wimped out, so I went with jo and her housemates. Although only two rides were open – it is Sunday evening, after all – I think we had fun. Jo’s friends turned out to be wimps, but I guess they were ok. In all, I think it was a nice end to a rather cool week – met new friends, got re-acquainted with an old one, and finally found something which I needed to find.

Its been a long day and I’m very tired. I decided to go out this morning in search of the stables where Michelle rides. It’s not far from campus, and I found it easily enough. we got back in contact via facebook, and it turns out she rides near alsager.

She is doing well, considering. She seems cheerful enough, but I sensed a few pangs of melancholy in her. It was she, however, who brought the subject of rich up to begin with; its clear she misses him very much, and I think she is still mourning him. We chatted for well over an hour, about old times, friends, and life in general, during which time she told me rich was buried in Nantwich cemetery.

After we had parted, I popped back to campus to check my mail then headed back out. My initial plan was to get the Crewe bus, then see which bus went to Nantwich. However, I looked at the timetable which said there was a direct service, which I assumed would be faster. I was wrong – it did go directly to Nantwich, but via about 10 other places first. A 30 minute journey tool over an hour.

Anyway, I got to Nantwich okay, if slightly off schedule. I don’t know the town at all, so I asked about for the cemetery. It took quite some time to find, as it turns out there are two of them – one old, one new. I assumed I needed the newer one, and eventually got someone to tell me where it was.

I found it. It was full of shiny new grave stones. Oh, man, I hate cemeteries. At length, tucked away in a remote corner, I found Richard’s grave. I’d asked a passer by to help, and he kindly obliged. I said: ”I went to school with him. I’d known him since we were 5”

The guy asked if I was ok, and I said I was. I was upset. There is a small firari logo on the grave – rich was really into his cars; for some reason that hit me the most.

I don’t know why I went, I just had to. I’m glad I found it but suddenly it seems colder outside.

Its been a good week: progress on my thesis is once again picking up, my room now looks the same as it always did, only with an updated year planner, and last night went well. I’m still highly bemused that Ricardio wants me to co-direct his play, but given that I want eventually to be a director of films, this is an offer I can’t refuse. I remember all those evenings in my third year watching him craft 100 years of solitude from nothing but the original text; I remember it being a highly communal affair, where all the cast became like a family; I remember my admiration for Ricardio growing by the week.

This is why I love campus: although it has little to do with my thesis, I love to be involved in such activities; to meet new friends and find new interests. Much of the cast is drawn from the first year, so last night I got to meet new people who will probably become friends. While I love my own work, writing my thesis is a solitary affair, so I relish this opportunity. I must admit I can’t wait till rehearsals proper begin Sunday afternoon.

This represents an unusual manifestation of cinephilia, but I’m sure that it is nevertheless a type of cinephilia which this man exhibits. He loves – or claims to, at least old vhs videos, and despises DVDs. The rarer and crappier, it seems, the better. Its kind of like a collector of old books or vintage wines: they may not be very good, but you just have to have them. Sure: some may describe this as pretentious, but I think it represents an interesting approach to film which has certainly given me more to think about.

Ricardio is crazy. It’s the only explanation.

I went to the pub last night with Ricardio and rich – possibly the only two people who have been here longer than I have. We always go on a Tuesday night to do the quiz and scoff cheese garlic bread. I’d already eaten, but I couldn’t refuse the garlic bread as it’s so good. Plus it was free – Ricardio bought me some as I’d only steal some of his anyway. True enough.

Anyway, we got to talking. We discussed what we did over summer, and so forth. It was then that Ricardio offered me the job as co-director of his next play. I was stunned and flattered. I’ve never done anything like co-directing, but Ricardio seems sure I’m the right man for the job. It would mean giving up two or three nights a week, reading some books etc, and to be honest I’m relishing the idea. I think I need something to do in the evenings other than going to the bar, and it’ll make a change from research.

Our first rehearsal is tomorrow at 6 in ps1. I just hope I don’t let Ricardio down.

A few of you may be interested in this. it’s the first part of the pilot episode of ‘I’m Spazticus’; I personally find it highly amusing, and I’m pleased to hear it has just got commissioned. Mind you, I bet I could do a better impression of professor hawking!

So here I am, back on campus. I must admit it is an odd feeling; everyone seems very pleased to see me, yet at the back of my mind there’s this feeling that I no longer belong here, that I should have left by now. I suppose, though, given the amount of work I have to do, that’s wher5e it must stay – at the back of my mind.

On the other hand, I am still fond of campus. It feels now like a second home, and I’m sure once I get back into the swing of things, that feeling will disappear.

Well, I better get on with sorting things out.

Dad just came into my room and placed a cap on my head. The cap I had been looking for all summer; the one with the pink Mickey Mouse badge. It had been put in a bag and taken to grandmas for storage. This cap, or rather the badge attached to it, means a lot to me, as its part of a pair me and Charlie bought in Euro Disney. I am now very happy indeed.

For those of you who are interested, here’s the theme to the new James Bond film. To my mind, it’s a little strange; it’s in the vein of the more recent bond themes from Tomorrow Never Dies onwards, whereas I prefer the earlier themes – Carly Simon’s nobody does it better probably being my favourite. Mind You, the last one, You know my name, grow on me, so perhaps this one will too.

For me, travelling, it seems, is less of aa question of how or when, but who. The first two factors are indeed important, as is cost, but the first thing I think about when I need to take a trip of any size is who is going to help me get there.

I need to take two trips; precisely when is yet to be fixed. Quite ironically they are to opposite ends of the country: I need to go see Lyn in London, and Steve has invited me to Edinburgh where he and jenny now live. I’d like to take both trips before the coming of Christmas. While I’m sure I can find a way of doing this cheaply enough, the question is how.

I’m crap at organising stuff, and need practice. As mentioned here, the Paris trip was largely organised by Charlotte. I strongly suspect, however, that miss Jones will be too busy this term to take any such trip, and while she might otherwise be my first choice given her tried and tested and extensive abilities, it would be wrong of me to rely on Charlie as my personal chauffeur. She’s my best friend, not my servant, and besides I need to organise this myself. The question, then, is who?

My first choice would be ricardio. He’s a good PA, very astute and observant. I think he’s met lyn too. Thing is, he can’t drive and might be busy at his theatre. Mind you, I could work around that.

I like Rob, but I’ve never asked him to do stuff like put me to bed or bathe me, so hemay not feel comfortable helping me with these particular tasks. He’s an older gentleman, which may make things awkward when it comes to certain planned activities with Lyn. He has a car, but I’d prefer to go on the train either way.

I’m also considering asking my friend Chris. He and Steve used to live together, and are good friends. Chris isn’t officially a PA, and has never PAed for me before, but he’s a local fellow whose abilities I am extremely confident in.

Then there’s lee, a friend from school, who helped me at Onevoice this year. Capital fellow, but such a trip may be too tiring.

Of course, I’m intending to make two trips, not one, so I could ask two different people. there are also people like Esther to consider. I’ll let you know how I get on. As it stands, I’m just at the beginning of the planning stage, so neither trip might happen. Mind you I thought that last time.

Hold on. I just had an idea…

This video links quite a few of my current interests. Okay, I’m not the worlds biggest potter fan, but I’m interested in fandom, secondlife and the work of professor Henry Jenkins, and this film links all four. Geeky though it may be – and I’m aware of the irony of using that word in conjunction with Jenkins – I suspect many of my reader(s) might like to take a look.

I was dosing about on the web yesterday, looking at various things and sating my addiction to facebook. Among other things, I found the story of what is probably the worlds youngest transsexual. I am interested in such matters, even if it’s hard to explain why. Apparently, children as young as twelve are showing signs that they were born into the wrong gender.

To me, there is nothing abhorrent about this. I see these kids as having what can be equated to a disability caused by a testosterone imbalance at birth; surely, therefore, they should be raised in the gender they feel most comfortable in. however, I found this story on a right-wing homophobic website, whose writers were irate about how this was wrong, part of some sort of homosexual agenda, and that treating this kid as a girl was abusing him.

It really makes me angry how intolerant some people are. To me, they are at odds with the modern world, outdated throwbacks. Ironically, by saying this I risk sounding intolerant myself, but, to me, a refusal to accept the diversity of humankind is a sign of stupidity. Some of us are fat, some thin, some male some female, some black some white, some able-bodied some disabled; only, in all these categories there are shades of grey. Most people have some kind of disability, however minor. I am not white but olive-skinned. The same is true for both sexuality and gender.

I would hope that most people who read my little blog realise this. it would seem that some people, however, do not. They call homosexuality a blasphemy and against god (presumably ignoring the part of the bible which says god loves everyone) and use religion to justify their intolerance. I hate such people; they seem to think that only they have the right answers; that only their way of life is the correct on. Generally, such people come under the category ‘conservatives’, which is why I have come to associate conservatism with stupidity, if an inability to understand modern society can be termed stupidity. It is these intolerant people who have the problem, not anyone else. Their hatred of difference is indeed problematic. The irony is, the moment we move on them, they accuse us of intolerance. Hypocrites

I have been in two minds about posting about this, but since I doubt the couple in question would object, I have decided to go ahead. I am very pleased to announce the engagement of my good friend Vanessa Kirby to Mr Neil Clayton. While I know next to nothing about Mr. Clayton, other than he is bald and has big ears, me and Miss Kirby go back some way, and I count her as a good friend. It is fantastic to see her engaged to a man she so obviously loves, and I wish them the very best.

It would seem I have another wedding to look forward to. Yay!

I was just going through the photographs me and Charlie took in Paris, for the umpteenth time. Whenever I feel down, these days I just have to look at those photos to cheer myself up. It was a remarkable week we spent, in a remarkable city, and the photographs trigger great memories which make me feel warm inside. Frankly the photographs taken in Disney land make me feel like a child again. I also feel a great admiration for charlotte – she just took it in her stride, but her endeavours that week, in terms of both her kindness and sheer physical effort, were quite incredible. I have been reticent in writing this before now for fear of embarrassing c: on one hand, I think we both see our Parisian adventure as just like any other trip taken by two good uni friends; yet on the other, the fact remains that it was Charlie who both organised and powered this trip in an amazing gesture of kindness for which I am extremely grateful. After all, its too rare that a person will push someone miles through the streets of Paris, feeding them, making sure no harm comes to them, simply because they’re their friend. It was like my cp wasn’t an issue. If only the world contained more people like charlotte Jones.

Today, as we all know, marks another, far graver anniversary than yesterday’s joyous events. Even though I may criticize the American government for their gross mishandling of the aftermath of the atrocities, that anyone would hijack four commercial jets and turn them into missiles is an affront to civilisation itself.

The question, however, remains: why would anyone do such a thing? I mean, how can anyone justify such an act? As a reasonably educated young man in the west, living a comfortable petit-bourgeois life, it is beyond my comprehension; I’m quite sure it will be for anyone likely to read this. to me, however, this fact leads me to think that we need to understand what lead these men to do such things. It cannot be as simple as hatred, unreasoning and pure. Yes old Ahab hated the white whale, but the white whale bit off Ahab’s leg. Indeed, the leg was bitten off, was it not, because Ahab was hunting Moby dick to start with? My point, as I’ve written before, is that instead of going in all guns blazing to get the bad guys, we need to recognise that good and bad are but two sides of one coin, and that the only way to get rid of terrorism is to address the root causes.

First, let me whish my good friend Charlie a very happy birthday. Although at time of writing, Miss Jones will probably be teaching, I really hope she has a good day and gets lots of cool presents. I attended her party two weeks ago, which was a blast, although, knowing the joneses, there will be much frivolity in Chester tonight. Have a good one guys!

Mind you, today is also momentous for science. They turn the large hadron colider on today. Apparently, thwacking two protons together at very high speeds will recreate conditions shortly after the big bang. Err, I’m no physicist but has it not occurred to these people that they might create a universe which will expand to destroy our own. The clue is in the title ‘big bang’ as in kaboom. If you ask me it’s a very bad idea. Mind you, they could equally discover how gravity works, the warp drive, or a new way to make apple sauce, which would be much better if you ask me.

Whatever happens, its exciting, but not quite as exciting as birthday parties.

at last some good news from america. a new candidate has been announced. not me this time, but someone with good common sense, well read and with a good sense of humour. what’s more, his sense of geography is better than bush’s. Click here

We all know that the internet is a wonderful place to meet people. this is especially applicable for us crips, particularly if we can’t get out much. The internet is also good for keeping in contact with offline friends during periods when you can’t physically meet up. I have a great many on- and offline friends, and I try not to differentiate between the two. I love to see how everyone’s getting on on facebook etc.

However, a few of these people have turned out to be morons who seem to like picking fights for the hell of it. They irritate me very much. Yesterday, for example, I got a message from one such person calling me a ”stupid little prick” out of the blue; I responded, saying that he should learn to think for himself, and his reply this morning was ”well, at least I don’t dress like a fucking woman”.

Reading this makes me extremely angry. My dressing is, as I’ve explained before, in part a reaction to the world; I do it in the spirit of postmodernity. Why can’t sex and gender be interchangeable if we are all equal? Why not reread the boundaries? Moreover, his statement implies there is something wrong with women ad their clothes. If such clothing is good enough for women, its good enough for men, or are women inferior? That’s what the statement implies, and that’s why it’s sexist.

I suppose I should have expected it, being so open about my transvestism. But then I think: why? Should we just ignore such intolerance and backwardness? For it is backwards – it’s the inability to accept difference; it is discrimination; it is, in short, immaturity. We could of course ignore such people as Matthew Wedlake like a parent ignores an errant child, but then, how are we ever going to teach such people that their outdated ‘views’ have no place in the modern, liberal world?

The weather is getting us all down, I think. summer seems to have passed us by. So, if I may don my DJ cap, i’ll send you here. In my opinion, Ladysmith Black Mambazo produce some of the most beautiful music being made today; I’ve been listening them for a while now – I find their music both relaxing and evocative of far off places. just what we need oon these cold, wet, summer’s days.

My blog last night got me some stern looks from dad this morning. I guess it wasn’t exactly fair, and to a certain extent showed me to be the lazy mother’s boy I am.

The truth is I like it at home, and I am very fond of my parents. Lyn was right inasmuch as if I wanted control of my beer intake I should move out. Yet the truth is I’m not ready to do this just yet. I tasted independence at university, and on trips like those to Newquay and Paris, but the fact remains my parents have always been there to back me up, to put up the cash, and to bail me up if things go wrong. While I believe we coped well enough in Paris, (superbly, in fact, largely thanks to charlotte’s level-headedness) I think I’ll soon need to go without the lifeline of mum and dad. The thing is, I’m still not sure how.