I was hungry last night due to my habit of forgetting about lunch, so I decided to do some spaggy bog. Lee came round, and I told him of my plan. He then kindly offered to take me to sainsburies to get the ingredients. We took mum’s recipe, so we could remember to get everything. I think Mayer found the idea of putting beans in the mixture rather dubious, so he only got a small can of beans.

I only noticed that something was amiss when we got home. What my friend had actually picked up was some beans and sausages. ‘oh well’ I thought ‘More meat.’

Lee insisted he could cook himself, and it actually turned out rather nice. It was a little dry – I think the bean juice from the full size can has a purpose. And I definitely prefer it without the sausages.

Mrs Waldron, our old life skills teacher at school, would be proud.

Tomorrow it will be two years since I found out about Richard Simpson. I still remember it quite vividly: the trip to Weston, the two men outside the village hall, and the long, cold road back. It still hurts. Rich deserved a long, happy life. I was expecting an invitation to Richard and Michelle’s wedding. I wanted to discuss the lord of the rings with him one day. I had seen myself occasionally visiting them, growing old together, talking about school, remembering.

I still think of him, from time to time, but when I think too much about it, itt seems to grab my heart and squeeze it. I think about Michelle: she is still hurting, of course. I feel so sorry for her, but there’s fuck all I can do about it. Regardless of where you stand on the special schools debate, this is one of the consequences of growing up in such institutions: from time to time the ghastly question of which of your friends you’ll loose next crosses your mind.

Dad would probably tell me to stop being mawkish at this point. He’d be right, but posting entries like this is my way of remembering, reminding myself, and commemorating.

Today I decided that all writing must be art, whatever the purpose. Amusingly, this implies that all scientists, including my brothers, are artists. They write for a purpose: to get information across in the most direct, least ambiguous manner. This is nevertheless an aesthetic, and thus scientists make aesthetic choices. Trying to minimise style is still stylistic.

I’ve been pondering this a lot recently. What, exactly is the relationship between art and science? They seem to be the two poles of academia (the study of sport being pointless to me). How can these poles be reconciled? Do they have any commonalities? If not, why should one be privileged over the other? They sometimes seem totally different disciplines, yet without science there would be no art, and without the art form of writing, science would be unable to communicate itself.

Today has been dull as hell. I’ve mostly been in my room, where nobody has treated me as a second class citizen. I haven’t written anything, just looked at stuff by Jenkins and read some online essays about fandom. I found this most interesting essay, more or less precisely focussed on my area of study. If you’re interested, go look.

I am starting to agree with those who, before now, I have derided as paranoid and reactionary. If one needed proof that disabledism exists, one need only look at the bus system. I was in Crewe today, because I was pissed off at having no lightwriter and needed some retail therapy. Its amazing how buying something girly can cheer me up. I decided to go back to Crewe campus and take the intersite after visiting Trish as Alan had suggested asking her about my thesis. When I decided to head for home, the intersite was an inaccessible double-decker. Obviously, I’d have to take the twenty. One came without stopping; another came, stopped but refused to let me on. I mean, given it is no longer acceptable to make black people sit at the back of the bus, why are we disabled people only allowed on some busses, and then only when the driver’s not being a dick? I can think of no physical reason why all busses can’t be accessible, apart from cost. If double-deckers take more people, just put more busses on. This is not fair. Sorry mahatma, but this is pure discrimination – no more ‘trying to understand’ or ‘turning the other cheek’.

Then when I went back inside to ask people for help, I had to use a fucking letter chart. Degrading, drawn out, embarrassing. I felt like I was five. And I couldn’t make anyone understand.

For the first time in five years, I went to the student-staff forum today. Rob convinced me to go – I fancied a trip to Crewe anyway. I thought I’d see what they were about. However, now I remember why I’d never previously gone: I’d always suspected such forums to be mere talking shops, and I was right. Apart from the teaching staff and the guys from the union, there were about five or six students there, most of whom I’d never seen before. They talked and talked, without saying much, going round and round in circles. I, of course, couldn’t say anything due to my lightwriter being broken, so I just sat there, yawning from time to time.

One of the topics on the agenda was why were such meetings so poorly attended. It was obvious to me that only a certain kind of politically focussed, up-own-arse student would go to such a thing. Rob suggested solving the problem by opening the bar during the meeting, which if you ask me is a great idea, but I may have fallen asleep had I had a beer.

I just noticed something interesting under my nose, and I don’t mean a bogie. I’ve known the name futureshorts for a while, but before now have dismissed them as just another bunch of no-nothing amateurs who don’t know Bazin from Barthes. I just took a look at them though, and I think what they’ve set up is something truly novel. Bazin, author of ‘in Defence of Mixed Cinema’ would certainly have been fascinated. Go look.

In other news, my lightwriter is broken and has had to go to be repaired. I might not be too cheerful for the next week or so.

The initial plan yesterday was to go shopping in stoke, but I woke up with an idea: it would be far more fun to go to Chester. That way we could see a much more engaging city, and, with any luck, I could introduce Lyn to Charlie. Before we set off, we tried to phone c, but without much luck, so we took her number.

The trip there was uneventful. I expected Crewe to Chester by bus would take about an hour, but it took slightly longer, which would have a bearing on what time we could leave. We got to Chester, starving, at about half two, so we popped into m&s for a bite to eat. Everywhere was crowded. Before we ate though, we got Denny to phone Charlie, who said we should pop over at four, for tea. So we had some m+s toasted sandwiches to fill our rumbling bellies before setting off to find the burrow.

This took longer than expected – I swear those roads keep moving. They never look the same twice. Anyway, when we did find Charlie’s house – or rather Charlie’s old house, as she no longer officially lives there – we were welcomed in with open arms. It is always such a pleasure to go there, which is why I do it so often. Mrs Jones bade us sit by the fire: ‘you must be freezing’. And there we sat, with coffee and whiskey-macks, and talked. At one point, Lyn and Charlie were discussing music, and I had no idea what they were going on about – they seemed to get on really well.

The time to head off came too soon. we came up with an embryonic plan to go to Amsterdam together, which has got me really excited. Charlie’s half term is coming, so we agreed to see each other sometime then. I’ll probably pop over one afternoon, and stay the night. Mrs. J made us sandwiches and snacks to take with us, which I am now extremely grateful for. As she says: ”you never know when you’ll see food again”. She then guided us back to the station.

Traffic was less heavy last night, so it didn’t take so long to get home. It was still a bit of a hurry to get from Crewe bus station to the train station, but when we did, we had just enough time for one last drink. Then it was time to hurry to the platform. Randomly, I bumped into mike, Ricardio’s landlord, but was in too much of a hurry to say hi. I plan to pop over to theirs to explain later.

I managed to make a proper farewell to Lyn this time. Then Denny got his train back to Liverpool. And suddenly I was alone, there on the platform. I sighed, and turned for home.

I made for the bus stop outside Crewe campus. I must have waited at least 45 minutes. Then the bus came, and I put my arm out, but the bus refused to stop. I started to panic. I wondered about driving home myself, in by chair, but then I told myself not to be so stupid. I went back to campus and told security. They tried to get hold of someone who could take me home, but with no luck. The next bus would be an hour, so I sat in the bar and ate Mrs. Joneses sandwiches. Never have I been so grateful for a cheese sarnie and hot-crossed bun.

An hour later, feeling much better, I went back out to the bus stop. Ten minutes later, one of the security guys came and sat by me: ‘I’ll make sure it stops this time’. It is people like that, and people like the joneses, who re-affirm my faith in mankind. I got in shortly before eleven, checked my mail, blogged, and went to bed smiling.

Today has been a most excellent day. I took Lyn to Chester, and we had a great time. We dropped in on the Joneses, and Lyn got to meet Charlie. They seemed to get on very well, although I suspected they would since they’re both musicians. We also started a plot to go to Amsterdam together – Lyn with her PA Denny in tow which I’m very excited about. I’ll write more about today’s events tomorrow, as I am really tired (I only just got in, as the first bus failed to stop). Nevertheless, I’m going to bed very happy indeed.

Lyn is coming tonight. She’ll be here quite soon – well, in 85 minutes. Whenever I’m expecting anyone, be it Lyn, Charlie, my parents, I always feel uneasy. It’s a sort of restlessness of anticipation, tinged with concern. Will she get here ok? What will we do for tea? Have I bought her enough presents. Well, on this last count, I know I haven’t, because I was prevented from getting on the bus to go shopping yesterday. Lyn said she understood, but it’s still bloody annoying.

Well, this evening should be fun. We are going to the pub with Ricardio; I need to find out what’s happening with roadwork. Then we come home, then…[trails off in weird spastic chuckles; Esther looks bemused] Make that 70 minutes

It just happened again. I was waiting for the twenty to take me to Crewe. One turns up but the driver – the same one as before – refused to let me on. I could easily have rolled onto the bus. Never have I encountered such a flagrant case of discrimination against disabled people, personally speaking. Rarely have I been so angry.

Legal advice welcome.

I was going to go to Crewe this morning for more money, but I experienced the same problem as yesterday – the battery hit red before I got to the bus stop. I returned to campus, emailed my father, and began thinking about Freud.

Freud fascinates me increasingly these days, especially the relationship between language, art and the unconscious. Recently I’ve been thinking about the idea of contingent, where symbolic structures like language go beyond themselves and reveal or trigger something in the unconscious. The classic example is the Freudian slip; another is the punctum of Barthes. We can never fully articulate why we are effected by the contingent because it goes beyond language – what Lacan calls the symbolic. This is why I think the real of Lacan and the id of Freud are, if not the same thing then very similar. Mind you, when I put this to Alan, he said ‘don’t go there, just don’t.’

This morning I was thinking about music and how it fits into all this. music is a structural art; many would say it is a language. Yet, lyrics aside, it seems to go beyond the symbolic and taps straight into the unconscious. Often it can move us deeply, but we can never express why. Thus there is something of both the symbolic and the real to it. It’s sort of like pure emotion; we are moved by it, but can never say why. Is it therefore all contingent? After all, music is often composed by trial and error unless you’re Mozart, you try several things out before deciding on the ‘right’ notes. But, then again, what about music’s language-like qualities? In music, the relationship between sign and signified are arbitrary, as in language, yet this relationship is fixed and universal. If you play the same piece of music to several ethnic groups from across the world, do they not feel the same thing? It seems that music fits both categories – symbolic and real, contingent and linguistic, id and ego. It is (a) language, yet goes beyond language.

This, of course, has a bearing on my work on cinephilia. Film too taps directly into the emotions: we experience cinephiliac moments (Keathley) and are ‘wounded’ by the accident in the image. Yet film too is linguistic and structural, and there for us to decode. In a way, film is sort of like music inasmuch as editing follows rhythmic patterns and so on. Both have a direct route into the unconscious, and I think that is why they are the two most ubiquitous art forms of our time.

I have been trying out another chair today – a groove, for the second time. It certainly is the best of the bunch, going like shit off a shovel and manoeuvring like an Apache helicopter. My one reservation is that the model I have has no stamina: me and lee were going for a ride, him in defiant, me in the as yet unnamed groove; halfway down church road, heading into the village, my charge-metre was already on red. I’m sure it arrived full of charge, and I’d only used it a bit on campus. I strongly suspect that this problem is specific to this machine, and when I get a new one – which now seems likely – it’ll have as much go as defiant. Nevertheless, I’ve had to place her on charge and use my old chair this evening.

This is unfair I was just on facebook, where I did three things: first, I replied to Alex’s message. I hadn’t heard from him in about two years, probably since graduation. He’s currently in Jakarta teaching English (well, Scottish) to Indonesian kids. Then I saw Emma’s profile. Her visa has arrived. She’s off to china to work for six months. Then I looked at the pictures my friend Natalie (who I went to Paris with the first time) posted, taken in Thailand and consisting mostly of images of beaches and yacht decks. Meanwhile I’m still in alsager, where it looks like rain. It aint right!

oh yeah, my hitcount has ticked over the 30,000 mark. 30,000 is also the number of words my m.a thesis has to be, but i hope it doesn’t takke 6 years to get to that point.

Yesterday was a most interesting day indeed. On Friday Esther mentioned that she and her family intended to go to Holly Holy Day, an annual event held in

Nantwich where the Sealed Knot recreate the battle of said town. Being into that sort of thing, yet never actually having seen a battle recreation before, I asked rob to take me.

I wasn’t disappointed. First we found this quaint old pub in which to wait for the battle. It was something out of Tolkien, with rustic music and people in seventeent century clothing coming in and out. I also bumped into one of my former classroom assistants from school.

The battle itself was loud and chaotic. Parts resembled a rugby match. They had three cannon which fired with a huge boom (as one might expect from a cannon). I was a bit disappointed that nobody appeared to be dying. Well, not really dying – I did not expect people to lay down their lives for the sake of reinactment – but simulated death. Nobody was lying down, or having to go off the field (as in warhammer). There didn’t appear to be any blood either. I thought the thing would have been considerably more gruesome.

Nantwich as it turns out was something of a turning point in the civil war. According to wikipedia, ” Nantwich was considered to be strategically significant both by the Parliamentarians and the Royalists since it was a conjunction of several roads. It is seen by some as a watershed in the Civil War since it is thought that if Nantwich had fallen the Royalists would have been clear to march to Scotland to join forces with General Montrose, who was ready to combine with them.”

In the end, parliament won the battle, again. It was a fascinating insight into that period of our history; I felt I learned rather a lot. After the battle, we went back to the pub, and then back home, getting a pizza on our way. I wonder if they had pizzas in 1644.

I was inspired to put together this short video a couple of nights ago. I’ll let ot speak for itself, save to say that I hope you like it.

A curious paradox has occurred to me. On Wednesday night I was in Brandies. I had decided to dress up: I was in a pink skirt and cardigan. Theses days it’s not unusual for me to dress in girls clothes. However, part way through the evening I saw one of the football players had blacked up and dressed as John Vashanou. I felt utterly disgusted – it struck me as very racist indeed. But then I asked myself why it is okay for me to transgress gender boundaries but not okay for him to transgress skin colour boundaries. Why was The Black and White Minstrel Show banned, but not Eddie Izzard or Lilly Savage? I think part of the answer lies in motivation. I do not dress to take the piss but to experience something of femininity. It’s part of my personality. This jackass was just being provocative and racist. I suspect he thought he was being brave and witty.

I guess I should have expected it from one of the footballers.

Last night was crazy. I must admit I was actually scared, just for a few moments. It was the interfaculty cup yesterday, where MMU play MMU Cheshire at various sports. In the evening everyone goes to brandies, so last night the place was packed. The bar had been open since noon so a lot of the sportsmen – especially the footballers – were well on their way to inebriation. Not wanting to miss a good piss-up, I got there just after seven, and got myself a shandy.

The footballers were in their social, being as purile and childish as ever. The guys from the Manchester faculty were in a large group. To begin with it was very peaceful, and I was happy watching girls in very short skirts. However, at about nine things got decidedly dodgy. The two groups started shouting and chanting at each other; this got louder and louder. I retreated to the bar area – things didn’t feel safe and if this really kicked off there wan no way I could defend myself. I asked one of the bar staff if she thought I better leave, but she replied they were just being dickheads and it would calm down in a while. I did see one person being wrestled out of the door by security.

Things did indeed calm down, but for a few moments I was worried. If that happens again, but does indeed ignite, how would I cope? I go without a PA. I better go ask the guys in the s.u about it.

On another note, tally was there. She was in my year, and I was glad to see another of the old gang. Tally is one of the people in my favourite graduation photo – the one on the wall at home (the one on the left as you face it). She told me she’d just applied for a job as an air hostesa. Good luck tally!

Today is the interfaculty cup. If the rain stays away, after posting this I’ll be going out to watch the sports. Then, since it has already become a thousand word day, I think I’ll take myself to brandies. I seem to be on good form these days, and research has thrown up some interesting little paradoxes.

Yesterday went well. We saw phill – lee wasn’t there – and he seemed in good spirits. I’m now thinking of ways we could all get back together, perhaps here on campus, but most probably in a place like the Trafford centre. I do think, however, that this must happen sooner rather than later, if you get my meaning,

I cannot help wondering what today might bring, both personally and on a world wide scale. It was my friend lee’s birthday, so I went over to Crewe to find him and wish him happy birthday. I know roughly where he lives, but decided to make a stop at Crewe campus library to look up his address and get a map. When I eventually got to his place, on totally the opposite side of town, Lee’s dad told me he’d gone out with a couple of mates. He told me where they were, but when I eventually found them (which was, incidentally, mostly by chance) they told me that they were about to go to a club in hanley. I couldn’t go, for a couple of reasons, but we did draw up a hazy plan to meet up in Crewe today and go to see donno and phil in winsford. This sounds crazy, but enjoyable, and I look forward to seeing if anything comes of it.

I’m also looking forward to Obama’s inauguration today; aren’t we all? In many respects, this is just another swearing in of an American president, albeit a somewhat brighter one than his predecessor. But from the vantage point of human history, this is quite phenomenal. Never before has there been a black leader of the ‘free world’. This is not a racist statement, but a simple fact. Conservatives say it is, because I think they don’t like being reminded that, if conservatism had had its way, no black person would ever have been elected. Anyway, enough of that.

The sky is bright and clear. I think I’m in for a very good day.

I found myself missing my friends today. About mid-afternoon I realised that, apart from staff and my Pas, I hardly talk to anyone around campus. Before graduation, I had a cohort of about thirty close friends with whom I spoke often; these days there are only three or four people who I can call true friends.

On the other hand it has been a good day. It was my first thousand word day in a while, and I’m looking forward to Obama’s inauguration tomorrow. Before dinner, I was arguing with an idiot over facebook who was claiming that what I wrote yesterday was somehow racist, and that we liberals were the racist ones for making a big deal out of the colour of Obama’s skin. He claims to be a conservative, and thus didn’t like it when I pointed out that, had conservatism prevailed, Obama and his family wouldn’t even have equal rights, let alone be moving in to the white house. I seem to attract these fools, but they seem to have a knack of winding me up.

Mind you, I suppose I ask for it sometimes. Keeps life interesting.

I had a chance to catch up with the news this weekend, and it occurred to me that for once the three top stories were all good. The first is the ceasefire in the middleeast. I think the Israelis bowed to UN pressure to halt their heavy-handed bombing of innocent people. mind you, I suspect it’s a ploy: as soon as the Palestinians start throwing petrol bombs again – and they will, out of frustration – Olmert will use it at justification to start air strikes again, kind of like kids saying ‘well they started it, so ban ki moon can shut up’.

The second piece of good news was that astounding bit of piloting. The way Capt Chesley B ”Sully” Sullenberger landed his plane on the Hudson river was incredible. It could have ended so tragically, but the pilot made a perfect crash landing. If I had seen that in a film, I’d have derided it as Hollywood make-believe. I think that captain Sullenberger is currently everybody’s hero.

However, I think the greatest news – indeed, world-shattering news – is the forthcoming inauguration of Barack Obama. For the first time in human history, the leader of the western world will be something other than a white male. This is monumental. I think it is a triumph of liberalism; not only in the sense of democrat over republican, but of the liberal ideal that all people are equal, that a person should be judged not by his or her gender, ethnicity, or religious beliefs, but by their ideas, ideals and so on. These, to me, are and always have been liberal ideals: if the forces of pure conservatism had prevailed, Obama and his family would still be going to separate schools, drinking at separate water fountains. To me, his election has resurrected my faith in the American dream. I intend to write more about this on Tuesday, but this weekend, for the first time in perhaps eight years, I found myself wanting to go to America again.

I go home for the weekend later, but before I go, I’ll send you here. George Lucas is at it again. Apparently he’s going to make Indiana Jones 5 and 6. It seems the guy just doesn’t know whereto stop. The first three films were a great trilogy, but they were just that: a trilogy. Then came number 4, which, at a stretch, was bearable. But 5 and 6? The franchise will get too big and it will be ruined, just as he ruined star wars. Kenneth Von Gunden counts Lucas as a ‘Post-modern auteur’. Perhaps he’s right – but only if by post-modern auteur you mean greedy capitalistic fool, who thinks he’s better than he is.

I found the coolest book ever this morning. I needed a pretty simplistic guide to Lacan as I still don’t fully understand him, so I ordered one from the library. It arrived this morning, so I took it to the wes to read it over a coffee. When I opened it, I burst out laughing.

It had pictures!

Do you remember the reading books at school with large cartoonish drawings and a few lines of writing? The book was laid out exactly like that! You should see the dubious drawings of Freud! Mind you, the text wasn’t so childish – Lacanian theory is fairly complex, no matter how simply you try to put it.

To me, this book is the epitome of cool. It’s just so kitsch, in that it juxtapositions the childish and the adult. It’s also probably a Lacanian statement, although I’m not sure. Either way, it proves that psychologists do have a sense of humour after all.

I think I was wrong about disabledism. It exists alright, and I hate it. I was in the buss station today waiting for the 20 to come home from Crewe. After a few minutes it came, and I started towards it. The driver, however, gestured that I should go to the part of the station where the bus could pull alongside better, so I did. I waited patiently, in the cold, but a few minutes later I saw the bus pull out and leave without me. The driver could have forgotten, but I strongly suspect that he just didn’t want the hassle of a wheelchair-using passenger. I’ve had problems with this particular driver before – a polish guy with a moustache; I don’t think he likes me, or, rather, my disability.

The next 20 would have been ages, so I rode over to campus to get the intersite, but instead of the accusable bus which should have been going back and forth at that time, they had a double decker. This is, and can only be, prejudice against disabled people.

Barely a week and a half into the new term and I’m already quite exhausted. If I’m not in here, writing, I’m in the library or the wes reading. That’s if I’m not zooming about all over Cheshire: Sunday Hanley, yesterday evening in thee coachmakers in stoke. Today I went to see lee and Phil in winsford. Plus I’m going round in circles with research: trying, essentially to pin down and articulate id impulses, which according to Freud are inarticulatable. To draw a parallel with cosmology, it’s like trying to look for dark matter with a torch.

Anyway, I have a meeting tomorrow at noon with Alan. I need a good night’s sleep. Uni continues to be exhilarating.

The wes is back on normal opening hours from today onwards, which is good because I don’t have to eat any more microwave meals for dinner. However, I was in there this morning and I saw that the cafe bar is now permanently shut. This is, or was, a hatch in the wall in the cool side of the wes where one could buy things like paninis, decent coffee, salads, fresh o.j and so on. My friends and I always used to sit round there to talk, listening to the pannini count, for hours at a time. Now it’s been shut do to staff reductions; and I cant help but mourn the passing of an era. The move to Crewe, which this is all part of, is very wrong indeed.

Oh yeah, in other news, I got rob a parking permit today. He’s now rather happy.

Something slightly more pertinent to the subject of this blog has happened. Rob, my neighbour who works as one of my P.As (very handy), sometimes parks his car on the grass just outside our flat. He doesn’t have a blue badge, which would enable him to use the nearby parking bays, so he has to park there when he’s taking me places etc. security, however, don’t like this. they say rob can’t park on the grass anymore. But if he uses one of the disabled bays, it’ll be a sixty quid fine. The main car park is the other side of campus, and I can’t walk that far.

The obvious solution is for me to ask security if rob could have some kind of permit, like my morning staff do, so we’re going over to the security lodge tomorrow to sort this mess out. I feel, frankly, rather guilty about it.

I have been watching the bbc adaptation of The Diary of Anne Frank over the net. It truly is a gut-wrenching film. I am struck, most of all, by the eloquence of this little girl; but also by the irony which must have been added by the film makers. Anne wonders, for example, whether she will be remembered in the future. The film has a poignant – I might say punctic – quality; never before has one girl spoken for an entire people, yet Anne frank, in a way, does. Speaking as a member of a minority, opressed or not, I think we would all do well to listen to her.

It is bitterly cold out. I just went to sainsbury’s to get stuff for tonight, and nearly frose to death! I was considering going out for the afternoon, but I might stay home, at least for a while. All being well, rob’s going to cook some spaggy bog tonight, and I have a nice red wine to go with it. For now, though, I have a nice warm cup of tea, several books, the internet, and a mound of chocolate, so I’m happy.

Are we really supposed to buy this? Are we supposed to believe that an unmanned drone has killed some al-qa’ida leader, whose name we have never before heard, and not think it’s some cynical attempt by bush to boost enthusiasm for the war on terror? Are we supposed to believe them, despite having no way to confirm their reports? Are we really supposed to ignore the coincidence, the fact that the people telling us such things are unlikely to have any means of confirming what they are saying, or that what they are telling us has more than a whiff of propaganda to it? And are we still supposed to believe that we are not being manipulated?

They’re treating us like idiots.

Me and Lyn were talking online last night, and we worked out that we’ve known each other for just short of a year. It has flown by very quickly, and it seems like last week that I got my first email from her. Frankly, I find myself falling deeper and deeper in love with Lyn, dreaming about her, thinking almost constantly about her.

I must admit I had my concerns about this relationship. Where was it going? Lyn is so much older than I am; she lives so far away. Then, last week, I realised that such things do not matter. Lyn is a great person, utterly unique yet so much like me. I find myself daydreaming, sometimes, of settling down in a large house where we can just be ourselves. Of course, we still have much to work out between us, but right now I’m very happy in the ‘relationships’ department.

Its been rather a slow day. I went out briefly earlier up the village, but other than that I’ve spent the day in my room. I found a cool Jenkins lecture on Youtube, which is vaguely related to my work. His concept of participatory culture interests me, and it’s certainly on the forefront of cultural studies, but whether it has links to cinephilia as it is dealt with academically remains to be seen. I’m afraid of shoehorning concepts into my work which don’t necessarily fit. The question remains over whether ‘fans, bloggers and gamers’ fettishise the contingent. Problem is, I have yet to see sufficient evidence that they do.

I know that Israel has nothing to do with my blog, and have no special expertise on middle-eastern politics, but I can’t help getting very angry at this. how can anyone now claim that Israel is justified in its actions, when it issues air strikes at schools? These are not the actions of a responsible nation, and sanctions should be placed on Israel immediately. I cannot help but be horrified at what is happening, and astounded that some morons still think Israel is doing the right thing.

Something very stupid has happened. And I’m not sure I want to tell you. It’s embarrassing – yes, even more embarrassing that my usual alcohol- and nylon- fuelled antics. I have come back to uni a week too early. Why I thought I started back today I’m not too sure, but I was certain I was due to come back today. My parents were too, but I think they just wanted shot of me lazing around the house. Campus is empty, the wes is on holiday hours, but at least Rob’s here and the library’s open. It’ll give me chance to get some work done.

My parents have just set off with mark and Kat to the airport. Pretty soon, I should start packing up ready to go back to uni. In a way, I’m looking forward to it, but I could also do with one more week of Christmas holiday. I like being at home, relaxing, and watching bond films on the big screen. Mum’s a very good cook, and I’ve enjoyed eating some proper food these past two weeks. I’ve also managed to see both my brothers, both grandmothers, Charlie, and, of course, Lyn this holiday, so I’m happy.

I think it is time to head back; it’s time to pick my work up where I left off – assuming, of course, I can remember where that is. Truth be told, I’m rather missing

Esther, Ricardio and rob, and indeed all my friends. I’m looking forward to seeing Esther on Friday; to dinner times with Rob; to rehearsals with Ricardio. I’m looking forward to old boys too: I seem to have fallen out of touch with a few of my best friends, like Emma, Steve, and Chris flackett.

On a similar note, I need to get my arse over to winsford again soon. I’m eager to re-establish contacts with Donno and Phil. We still haven’t had that long overdue beer. Perhaps Mayer can drive us over one Tuesday.

So it seems I have a lot to look forward to. Charlotte mentioned a thing with disabled children at her school which she wants me to be involved with, so I need to follow that up. I also have trips to Paris (with Charlie) and Rome (with Lyn) to plan. All in all, should be quite an interesting term.

Bush has confirmed his lack of intelligence in condoning Israeli aggression in Palestine. How can anyone fail to see that Israeli reprisals are completely disproportionate. The fool, and all his mindless, unthinking, narrow-minded supporters, obviously has no sense of history. Using his logic, the American war of independence was unjustified and illegitimate, and America should still be ruled from London. Thank fuck that retard will soon be out of the white house, where he had little right to be in the first place.

Things seem to be going from bad to worse in Israel, with Hamas now promising a ‘day of wrath” in retribution for Israel’s actions. The cycle of violence seems to have started up again after a brief lull. What gets me, though, is how Israel acts all innocent, claiming to be the victim; don’t they don’t realise is that they are causing

the situation by issuing air strikes on largely civilian areas. To me, the Israelis are the aggressors in this situation here for acting so disproportionately. The Palestinians throw a few petrol bombs; the Israelis respond with cruise missiles and jet fighters.

I’m not saying that I condone hamas or its actions. One of it’s stated aims is to destroy Israel, and it denies the holocaust ever happened. But Israel, as a democracy, has to be held to account for it’s war crimes and totally unjustified actions. It uses the ‘war on terror’, it’s closeness to the u.s, and a little residual western guilt, to get away with murder.

1.finish MA

2.decide what to do after MA

3.be better to Lyn

4.travel lots 5.catch brandy