There can be no doubt that yesterday’s bi-election in Scotland was the death-knell for Gordon brown. As much as I loathe that weasel CaMoron and his imageobsessed Tories, I cannot see any way out for labour. The thought of an election turns my stomach with fear but I now think one is probably imminent. If only people would see CaMoron for what he is; more and more people are turning back to the Tories. If only they had the brains to realise that, under the Tories, the situation would be much worse.

Yet I suppose I better keep some perspective. I was just checking the bbc website, and I read in the history section that on this day in 1939, ‘Nazi Germany begins the systematic ‘euthanasia’ of disabled children, killing many thousands.” While I may hurl abuse at the Tories and their leader, I know they remain rational.

Then again, if only others had enough perspective to realise how much better off the country is than in, say, 1996! They wouldn’t be so enamoured with CaMoron then!

I must say that, even though I’ve had multiple distractions recently, I’m finding my research as fascinating as ever. It has, of course, taken something of a diversion recently, into fan culture. I must say that I find the discourse of the fan hugely engaging; it isn’t too far removed from that of the cinephile, and yet it is also very postmodern in the way it merges media. Yet there are places where the two discourses overlap, too: they both fixate on the contingent, for example.

I sometimes think I’ll be at university forever. I’m in two minds about this – part of me says I should move on, to find bigger pastures, as most of my friends have done; on the other hand, the environment here on campus is pretty much ideal for my needs: secure and safe, but allowing me the independence I need. What is quite certain though is that I’ll be here till December finishing my thesis. And then? Who knows? Maybe a PhD, either here or another university. I certainly think that what I’m doing has a PhD in it, and frankly it makes sense from the perspective of my needs.

In the light of Beth’s own response to what I wrote yesterday, I’d like to apologise. It seems I grossly misunderstood her words. She corrects me: ”I am happy and confident all the time, this includes when I go out with my friends from mainstream school and do ‘normal things’.” …which is as it should be, and I must stop talking shit. Sorry beth

I know it breaks my non link posting rule, but this is the work of genius. I’ve been reading a book on star wars fan’s and online communities – the fan-scholar being, in my opinion, every bit as engaged with his subject as the cinephile – which referenced several fan films. I was watching some, and George Lucas in Love seems too good not to share. It’s just chock full of intertextual references; one can tell that it was produced by a cinephile.

I find Onevoice, as an organisation, reparable. What it does in supplying a support framework for kids who use aac and their families, by bringing them together with role-models, is utterly pronominal. And yet there is something which isn’t quite right.

I was sitting,, yesterday afternoon, to a talk by a young voca user called Beth. Beth has the new lightwriter, and is bright as a button. Yet she described Onevoice as ‘her world’, a place where she could feel strong and confident, the implication being, of course, that outside of the biannual Onevoice events, she was not so confident.

This frankly worried me. I would guess that it isn’t just Beth that feels this way. Why should the worlds of such kids be so small? Why should they have to wait six months or so to show their true selves? You know me – I like to think I’m pretty confident enough (indeed, my confidence often seeps into stupidity) but it strikes me as unfair that kids like Beth should feel so constantly in the minority that she becomes shy.

I would like to tell her that ‘her world’ is ‘our world’; it exists everywhere. The fact that she uses a lightwriter is part of who she is, but only in the way that her brown hair is part of who she is. I fear she has restricted herself, as many do, to the sphere of her disability, which rhetorically exists separate from the mainstream. Thus, to her, ‘her word’ only exists twice a year.

I am glad Onevoice gives people confidence. But it mustn’t end there. It makes me sad that I don’t really know the solution.

I won’t write much tonight. I just got in from Onevoice. My old friend lee took me, and we both enjoyed it. As I say, I found such work very for filling, and it as good to show my old school friend another aspect of my new life. Anyway, I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow, for now I have dinner to get and stuff to sort.

Tuesday afternoon something weird happened on my way to Chester; I’ve been in two minds over whether to record it here, since I don’t like dwelling on such matters. It is, however, very pertinent to this blog.

I was on the twenty, sitting quietly, on my way to Crewe. There were two boys at the back of the bus – they must have been about 16 or 17, in baseball caps and tracksuits. You know the type: scallies. I noticed them giggling at something, but thought little of it. The giggling, however, persisted. After a while the lady in front of theem turned around and told them to shut up. It was obvious then that I was the butt of their joke.

I am not used to being laughed at. Stared at, perhaps, but not laughed at. I suddenly felt angry. Am I comic? Am I so inferior to them that it inspires mirth? I wanted to throttle them; I wanted to tell them I have a degree, which is probably a damn sight more than they’re going to get (yes, I know I’m stereotyping here, but I was pissed off). That was the first time anyone has actually laughed at me, without me doing anything to cause it, and I did not like it one bit.

My chair came back yesterday. It was actually quite a scary day, and rather exhilarating at the same time, because I was supposed to be in Chester by half four, and it still hadn’t arrived at lunchtime. I was using a seriously underpowered one lent to me. I also had a meeting t half one concerning my continued support.

So, we had to leave the loaned chair in reception while we went to the meeting, in the hope that my own chair would be delivered in the meantime. Luckily, it was, and after the meeting – about half two – I had to bomb it down into the village centre, picking up my stuff here of course. From there I got the 20 to Crewe, getting into Crewe bus station just in time to see the bus to Chester depart. 4.30 was then unachievable. However, I had a list of contacts on my lap, and I asked a friendly bus driver to phone Charlie to tell her I was going to be late.

Charlie then asked him to phone her when we got to Chester so that she could come meet me at the terminus. About 90 minutes later – between 5.30 and 6, I think – I was in Chester bus station, and quite soon after that I saw C come round the corner. The joneses don’t live far from the city centre, and I was soon once again at the burrow eating beans on toast.

Charlie and her sister poppy then changed – c wore one of the dresses she got in Paris – and we drove to the school where charlotte teaches. It was a very good concert; Charlie is extremely good at getting choirs into shape, of course, but I must admit the highlight was an amazing piano solo by a young person whose name sadly escapes me. The talent this girl had was quite astounding – I have seldom heard a piano being played like that, let alone seen it.

This morning, having told homecare I wasn’t going to be home, I stayed in Chester. Charlie suggested we have lunch together, and after that we walked together back to the bus station. The trip back was uneventful, if slow due to the early rush hour, and I got back here about an hour ago. I still have a lot to organise – getting to Onevoice on Saturday for one thing – but going to see friends, under my own steam,, boosts my confidence. I see such trips as essential: not only does it help me maintain a very dear friendship, but it reminds me how much I can do, and have yet to do but haven’t yet tried.

As a person currently looking for his own place, this article from Laurence Clarke strikes a chord. I can find nowhere, in the local area, which fits my needs. I’m therefore torn between staying here, at uni, or going back home. Both my parents and I agree that I have more freedom here, access to facilities etc, and I have the ability to come and go. Yet, problem is, I cant stay here forever…

I was listening to radio four this morning. I think it was on there that I heard David CaMoron talking about how he believes we should all regain our principles of what is right and wrong. Sounds good, doesn’t it, but think about it foe a mo. Right and wrong are not absolutes. For example, people say stealing is bad, but is it wrong to condemn a man for stealing a loaf to feed a starving family? People say drugs are bad, then go down the pub for a crafty Pint. What is alcohol if not a drug? While I acknowledge that some things are unacceptable, I just say that, before we describe them as good or bad, we must understand the context.

I have long known that moral absolutes don’t exist. The concepts of good and evil are just that: concepts. They are interchangeable, depending on one’s perspective. Nothing is as ever as simple as a gut reaction distinction between fair and foul, which the leader of the opposition seems too be arguing for. Frankly, in this enlightened age, CaMoron appears a numpty for suggesting a return to such antiquated values.. I mean, think about it! The moment they aree placed under any inteligent analysis, historical, plilosophical or psychological, the concepts of good and bad merg.

I guess I began my career as a disability consultant today. As I said, I had been invited to this ‘thing’ at the new vic theatre, hanley, about disability. I was reluctant to let my friends down, so I went.

It was certainly interesting. It turns out that it was for the learning support staff at the Newcastle FE college. It was about good practice, acceptable language etc in conjunction with students with disabilities. People used performance to explore these issues. Apart from a lady with dyspraxia, I was the only disabled person there, and was relied upon to give input, pointers and opinions. I felt rather important. In my opinion, you jut have to be yourself in such situations: people call themselves ‘disability consultants’, offering their homespun, poorly thought-out opinions to anyone who’ll pay them, when all you have to do is to be open and honest.

Anyway, it was quite an interesting day. Although I did feel kind of like the token cripple there, I was glad to help. Who knows, maybe this could lead to something.

Defiant broke last night. I was on my way to a meeting – conveniently enough in the pub so I could have dinner at the same time – when clonk! The right motor stops working. I was already late for the meeting, but now I came to a total stop. Luckily, I gott a kindly passer-by to call the pub, who got hold of graham and the woman I was meeting, who took me home.

I’ve been kind of low all day. After the excitement of Paris, life in alsager now seems an endless list of things to sort out. Masters…accommodation…next year…now the chair and the prospect of being stuck over the weekend. I have an appointment Tuesday in Chester I’d rather not miss.

Oh well. At least it keeps me occupied.

Interestingly, I have been invited to a drama thing on Friday. I call it a thing, as both Ricardo and Chris seem rather vague on the subject.. it has something to do with disability, and will be at Newcastle college. I think I have to give my perspective on the subject. They’re my friends, so I’ve agreed, but I can’t help feeling apprehensive.

Today was such a busy day – literally, non stop. I’ll go to bed soon, but stay tuned – I’ll fill you in when I have more information and energy.

Today was my little brother’s graduation day. Because of school and stuff, we only graduated a year apart, despite me being three years older than he is. Mum and dad went, but I couldn’t attend. They popped by about six. Surprisingly, Luke was with them, rather than out partying where he should have been!

Well done Luke! Well, three firsts out of three isn’t bad!

I just got back from Paris. Except maybe for Sydney, Paris is the city I love the most in all the world. I went with my friend Charlie – who, incidentally, just passed her PGCE – and I think it’s fair to say that we both had a whale of a time. Charlotte seems to have the ability to do anything she puts her mind to, including pushing me through the streets of Paris for hours, looking at the sights, stopping for coffees, doing a little shopping as we went. There is simply nothing better than exploring such a great city with one of your best friends. I must say that charlotte astounded me this holiday, but I think she thought it wasn’t that big of a deal. Her thirst for life and her warmth and humanity makes her a truly remarkable person, and one whom I am honoured to call one of my best friends.

Giving a complete step-by-step account would be far too tedious, and I could never recapture the sense of fun and freedom I had. Highlights included getting to the front of the crowd to look at the Mona Lisa – we were let beyond the barrier, but if you ask me its just a picture of a bored woman; going for a boat trip along the seine; going up the Eiffel tower (for a discount!) and, of course, euro Disney! Degree or no degree, you can never be too old for Disneyland, and wee both had a great time zooming about the park skipping the cues. another highlight was eating something we decided to call ‘cow ib a pot’ – a giant dish of about 6 types of meat on top of potatoes and saurcraut.

These are things which I will remember for the rest of my life. The sense of fun Charlie has is infectious, and I have never felt so alive. Trips like this make me feel like I can do anything – with friends like charlotte, the sky is the limit. I now feel ready to return to my work – and, to this end, visiting the home of cinephilia was an advantage, for it has inspired me. It was probably a combination of the city and charlotte’s joix d’vive that has refreshed my appetite. Travelling always seems to have tat effect on me, but this time, because it was a more or less independent trip, that effect is redoubled. There’s something I cannot quite explain – I now feel a sense of satisfaction, great admiration for charlotte, happiness, sorrow that its over, and eagerness to go again.

I think we both would like to go again sometime. Who knows: with any luck, this will be just the first of many such adventures.

I watch with revulsion as an unstable, possibly insane old man tries so desparately to cling to power – and I’m not talking about brown. Things in Zimbabwe look grim, and you have to wonder A) how could we have let things get this bad, and B) if e invaded Iraq because saddam was so bad, why don’t we invade Zimbabwe? Oh yes, there’s no oil in Zimbabwe is there?

On top of this we look towards nelson Mandela to do something. Isn’t it ironic that, amid the war on terror, we call a former terrorist a statesman, and look to him to solve our problems. Don’t get me wrong: I respect Mandela, but hate hierocracy.

this story, about a man caught driving his wheelchair while drunk, could be bad news for me. It is technically against the law for me to drive my wheelchair while over the limit. Boo. That’s half the fun! Especially when my eyes automatically close driving home from the pub.

Seriously though: I am sensible, flipping it to manual when I’ve had too much and asking my friend for a push. Either that or I just take my manual chair. Either way, I have never gone down any motorway access roads, drunk or otherwise.

Back at home, in our conservatory on the opposite side of the dresser to my degree certificate, hang two drawings. They are quite extraordinary: very bright and vivid, made up of swirls which combine to create recognisable features. They were given to my parents as a Christmas present from Arina Zinovyeva, a friend of my brother’s who came to stay. Luke emailed today to say that arina now has her own website. He wrote: ” If you see anything you like, be sure to pass a link on to your friends; Arina could do with more publicity.” I must agree, and therefore suggest you check arina’s artwork out here.

I went shopping this morning. Nothing unusual – the wes is now closed at the weekends, so I needed lunch. On the way back from the village centre, I spotted one of those scooter things for old folks going my way, and decided to have some fun. I waited for the old guy in the scooter to draw parallel, then floored it…only something unthinkable happened. The scooter – quite a big one, mind, not a flimsy fold-up – started to pull away. How could that be? It gradually got quite a sizable lead.

DAMN IT!

i am still working on the answer to Katie’s question. The truth is, that even though I see the use of such language as, in a way, counterproductive inasmuch as it sets up rhetorical divisions, I still enjoy the irony in referring to myself as a cripple. I love how people react; I love the sense of power it gives me. I suppose too that I need to remember the history of disabled people, and how, by using such language, we right the wrongs of the past. This brings one back to that paradox, which I’m still uneasy about. Part of me wants to embrace it, but part of me thinks that to try to have our cake and to eat it politically stymies us.

I need to think more on this.

There is one thing that unites humanity – we are all unique. To two people are alike, save for identical twins, and even they differ in terms of personality. Thus the idea of normal is a paradox: nobody is normal, and everyone is; basically, there’s no such thing as normal, and therefore, cp or no cp, I have as much right to brand myself normal as anyone. This is why I am extremely hesitant about the idea of freakism – of deliberately branding yourself not normal. It is a politics based on difference, which strikes me as essentially conservative. To see any one character trait as the core of one’s identity leads only to the internalisation of difference. To say ”I am black” ”I am Jewish” ”I am a woman” instantly sets up barriers, leading only to a separatist mindset. People talk of pride – disability pride, gay pride, black pride – but pride to what end? I am proud to be me, proud of my achievements, proud too of my friends and family. Why should I be proud of my disability any more than my brown hair.

This is coming from a guy who wears girl’s clothes and zentai suits. That’s just part of who I am, neither a source of pride nor disgrace. I say let everyone be who they are; take pleasure in the differences between all people, but remember too that everyone is equal.

I guess what I’m trying to say is don’t stereotype. To internalise any one aspect to the core of one’s being is to conform to one’s stereotype. There are some people who hold that if one has a disability, one must emphasise that aspect of yourself in order to reclaim it; one must enact disability stereotypes, to ‘be proud’. However, I see this as a type of conformity – to embrace the stereotype is to conform to it. Rather, I think we need to break free from the stereotypes, but not in a way that conforms to an arbitrary norm. anticonformity is a type of conformity. Thus the only way to break free from the stereotypes, to extend the concept of normal so that it embraces us, is just to be ourselves.

This is a complex issue, and I’m not sure I’ve explained it well enough. i am not saying we should abandon our wheelchairs; nor should we be all drawing attention to the fact we’re disabled, for the two are in a way the same thing. We should just be doing what comes naturally.

Surprisingly, there doesn’t appear to be much coverage of this, even on ouch, but on the breakfast news this morning there was a story about a group of lads with duchenne muscular dystrophy going to protest at downing street. They’re demanding more money be given towards stem cell research. Having lost three friends to DMD, I completely support them, and kind of whish I could be there. It was quite a painful experience, you know, having to watch your school friends pass away one by one; when I hear of l.d’s passing – and I know it’ll come – I don’t know how I’ll react. In my opinion, this is the worst aspect of the special school system, and renders moot any arguments against inclusion. Yes, disabled kids may be bullied etc by their able-bodied peers etc, but with all due respect this is nothing compared to what special schools make you go through. Either way, I hope that protest succeeds – call me medical model, but there’s little I want more than a cure for DMD.

Not that it has much to do with disability, but apparently the new out from animals album is now available to download. This is an up-and-coming technoband from Chester, whom I know through charlotte. They aren’t a bad group, so why don’t you go have a listen?

link

While I broadly agree with Laurence clarks article here, it’s about five years behind the times. Indeed, it’s quite passe. I used to refer to myself as a spastic, then a ‘toid, but then I realised if we crips are ever going to achieve true equality, why set up a linguistic barrier? The reclamation of language, while lauded by some in the disabled community, looks from some angles like counterproductive political agitationism. It reinforces barriers rather than breaking them down. Only from certain angles, mind.

I know I was kind to the Tories on Thursday; I was trying to take a balanced view. I am aware that I must not get too blinkered, putting the party name before their policies and not listening to what they are saying. But what the fuck is David davis doing?! It is one thing to be opposed to this stupid 42 days thing, but quite another to use it as a springboard for some attention-grabbing stunt. We all know brown’s a dead duck, but what is davis quitting for? Principals my butt. The whole thing is nauseating.

Politics seems more and more childish these days.

Dad just dropped me off after a fairly good weekend at home. We got here just in time for my p.a, enabling me to have a much needed shave and shower, so now I smell of aftershave and am quite looking forward to the day ahead.

It was quite a good weekend: dad got back from a business trip to the states on Saturday at lunch, and Saturday afternoon was spent polishing off ‘Devil May care’, the new 007 novel by Faulks. He’s done a really good job in emulating Fleming’s style – not that I’m much of an expert – and the book was hard to put down between lunch and tea on Saturday. I must ask Chris Flackett about it, as he’s much more expert than I am on such things. Mind you, I needed to get it out of the way so I could get on with reading Mr. Barthes and Mr. Bazin.

Is it me, or is Barthes’ Pleasures Of The Text impenetrable gobledigook?

Sunday was cool. It was both father’s day and Mum’s birthday, so Luke came down with Yan (I hope that’s spelled right) and we went to watch the new Indiana Jones Film. I must say that, despite it being rather far fetched in places (tip of the day: when an atomic bomb is about to go off nearby, hide in the fridge) I think we all enjoyed it. There are genuinely touching moments in this film, and I left the auditorium feeling quite satisfied…until I fell over in the car park, which is another story.

After that, it was up the lane to the black swan for lunch, and a delicious piece of salmon and some very good wine. I don’t usually drink white wine, but the one we had with the meal yesterday was first rate, although I’ve forgotten it’s name. dad?

Thereafter, home, feeling quite content. Life is good.

Anyway, time to get on.

I just took a look at the news from parliament, having been recently so engrossed in personal matters. I must admit I am liking Mr brown less and less. I disagree with him on the issue of ’42 days’ – it seems he is sacrificing civil liberties in favour of the cause of the war on terror. The moment we start to do so, the moment we start to change our way of life and our laws, the terrorists win. CaMoron (perhaps I should spell it Cameron for once) pointed out ”isn’t it cleat that terrorists want to destroy our freedom, and when we trash our liberties we do their work for them?” I can’t help but agree with him. I understand that the intelligence services sometimes need more time to question suspects, but surely the basic principles of freedom and democracy must come first?

Apparently there’s a blind guy in big brother this year. Woohoo – at last everyone will learn that us crips can be as vain and moronic as everyone else. While this must be seen as a step forward for disability rights, however nominal, what interests me is the reaction from some members of the blind community, who fear that this person in big brother will show them all up. A young blind person apparently posted the following on the ouch messageboard: ”I hope he or she is aware that they are representing the visually impaired community and give us a good name. I hope that they don’t have awful blind habits, such as rocking or not looking at people when talking to them. I would like to hope that they will be normal”.

I have a problem with this. why should this person stand for all blind people? if a woman was in that house of idiots, would she be seen as representative of all women? Of course nit. Mind you, it could be slightly different given that cripples are such a minority, but I personally would hate to think I stood for everyone with cp, were I to somehow go on that show. Why should the actions of one be seen to represent the behaviours of the many? And how did we become so concerned with this idea of ‘community’?

link

Something kind of odd happened yesterday. I was going to Crewe, just to meet up with lee for some coffee. After lunch, I took myself to the bus stop, and, reading the timetable, realised I didn’t have too long to wait. Sure enough, a bus soon came, but only let the nondisabled man with me on. The driver asked me to catch the next one, which, oddly enough, was only a few metres behind, so I complied. However, this next bus refused to stop completely, and I was left waiting almost an hour for the next bus.

I must admit that the thought occurred to me that this was an act of disabledism – that both drivers simply couldn’t be arsed to deal with me and my chair – but I’m sure this wasn’t the case. I would like to think that both busses were dimply full, or something. It was hard to feel positive at the time tho.

Especially when the same thing happened on the way home…with what appeared to be the same bloody driver.

I am recording this here for the sake of posterity. Around campus there seems to be a peculiar way of using the expression ‘oh no’; there is a special way in which it is said, with a slightly elongated ‘oh’ and a shortened ‘no’. there is some debate over where it came from, but I would assert that the phrase is one of charlottes – she used it with reference to me last year a lot, for example when I fell off chairs or got particularly drunk. I would assert that the phrase can be attributed to her, but whither charlotte got it, I know not.

Anyway, its on the ‘net now, so it must be true.

Last week I was in Crewe town centre drinking coffee, when I noticed someone roll up and park in an odd three wheeled vehicle, the back of which then proceeded to lower for the driver to wheel out in a wheelchair. I was, naturally, intrigued. I went over for a closer look. The vehicle was open topped; the front looks like a motorbike, the back like a trailer. To be honest it looked like something men with beards and welding equipment make in their garages, but I nevertheless decided I wanted one. no mode waiting around for busses! No more relying on lifts. Just me and the open road…imagine the carnage!

link

I just had an ad hoc meeting with Alan. I was in Crewe anyway, on other business, so I thought I’d swing round. He decided it was a good time to give me an extensive amount of feedback, not all of which was positive, it must be said. My thesis needs a lot of work, but at least now I can start working properly again. My motivation is coming back.

Yeah, I know. Gotta stop using this thing as a diary.

It is odd how much a weekend a home can steady a shaking soul, worn out with worry. I was stressing out on Friday, concerned about the short and long-term future. I had not been home in six weeks or thereabouts, and frankly it was showing. I think I needed a weekend at home, where the tea is made in a pot and the morning papers are on the coffee table.

Over the years my parents have had some rows, but through these I have learned both that they are wise, and that their love for me is infinite. I guess I needed reminding of this, for the future now seems…well, not less uncertain, but more comfortable. I know I am not alone, nor will I ever be. My parents want me to stand on my own two feet, yet it is paradoxically only with the knowledge that they are there, on my side, that I can do that. This morning, although I still have much to sort out, I feel less worried.

Mum and dad made a few suggestions, which I like the sound of, such as living in Crewe rather than Chester, which makes sense for several reasons. They also gave me a much needed reality check. In short they’ve saved me from the mire of gloom I was descending into (not that Chester is a mire, just that crewe is slightly more feasable).

Well, the day has begun. Time to cease it.

Last night I went to the roughcut screening of ‘The school that Roared’, a film currently being made by the British Youth Film Academy (BYFA) which is based here at mmu. It is a kid’s movie, and it frankly showed, yet it was enough to get me excited: if I can somehow get myself involved with these people, who knows where it might lead. They gave a short talk after the screening, and I was impressed to learn that BYFA has already one several awards. I got myself an application form, which I’ll fill in shortly. How exciting.

The thesis is getting to a stage where I use expletives to refer to it, so I think I need a break. Although its unfinished, I’m frankly tired, and would like nothing more that to sit on the sofa at home, and listen to my father reading. I have been staying at university for god knows how long – must be about five or six weeks – and its starting to irritate me. I find myself getting pissed off at the smallest of things, like the busses. I was supposed to go to a meeting yesterday in Crewe with Alan, but in their wisdom the bus comp any which operates the intersite transport sent the wrong type of bus. Meeting cancelled. Now I still don’t know what to do with my zarking thesis. Ahh!

I know ii must keep my cool, but it’s hard sometimes. I’m just looking forward to Paris.

Today I would like to examine the subject of identity, and how it might relate to disability. There are folk out there who describe it as complex, but when you actually think about it, it is remarkably simple. A very wise woman recently told me that ‘it’s not what you are, it’s who you are’. That is to say, you can be given any label under the sun, but what matters are your actions and personality. I can be described as a person with quite severe cerebral palsy; a man; a cross dresser; a person with brown hair; whatever. These are just labels – constructions in the Lacanian symbolic – what matters is that I am me.

This is what I base my identity on. To have my disability at the core of my being would be to see myself as different from everyone else, like an adolescent Goth moaning ‘nobody knows the pain I feel’ as he listens to depressing music. We are who we are: okay, I happen to use a lightwriter to speak and a chair to get around, but I can communicate with anyone and go anywhere, so it does not matter. I am, quite simply, a person, and label myself as such. To define myself on the basis of my disability would be to set up divisions which need not be there – if I were to define myself as ‘white’, for example, I would automatically create a division between myself and people with different skin colour, implying separateness. Just as it should not matter what skin tone you have, or your gender, why does it matter that I have cp? To base the core of one’s identity on the fact that one may belong to a particular social or ethnic group to my mind betrays a particular kind of parochial attitude; the same surely applies to one’s disability. What matters is that we all strive to be the best person we can be.

This is not to say that I want everyone to act the same way, but the very opposite. Why should we restrict ourselves to one pre-set social group? Different groups produce different things, and have different ways to look at things. I don’t want to destroy that, or for everyone to be the same, but to mix, to try other things. Simply to define myself as one thing – a person with c.p – would imply that I intend to follow a pre-determined path, to act in certain ways. This is not my aim. I will always have cp, just as I will always be white, but at the core such things are not who I am. My father, for example, endowed me with a particular liking for cricket and real ale: I will probably always like them, but this is not to say I cannot also love football and larger, or sumo and sake. In the years to come, all being well, you will find my tyre tracks from Tokyo to los Angeles. The fact that I have cerebral palsy is irrelevant to this.

There is no denying that labour deserved to lose the Crewe by-election, and badly at that. This is not to imply I feel that the Tories deserved to win it – anyone with any memory of the position they left the country in in 1997 will think twice about voting Tory – but it is nevertheless true that labour, under brown, is a bit of a sham.

There is certainly a lot of bad feeling around about Mr brown. He’s acting more like the Tories than…well…the goddamn Tories! And what the devil were they thinking having Tamsin Dunwoody as their candidate and relying solely on a family name to win the election? How naive can you get? Is it any surprise the Tories won?

Frankly, and worryingly, it isn’t.

Its been a busy weekend, almost to insane levels. In time I’ll tell you all about it, but tonight I’m knackered. I’m just posting this to assure my reader(s) I am not dead and that the Crewe-bi-election has, let us say, given me pause for thought. Much more detailed blogging soon (after I mull it over).

Perhaps it was necessarry…

Charlie came to visit last night. Initially she was only going to stay for the evening. But about mid-afternoon she emailed to ask me if she could stay the night and could I lend her a sleeping bag and a bottle of Rose from somewhere. So I ventured out, buying a sleeping bag and a good Zimphandel.

She arrived just before seven. Our plan was to book a trip to Paris and then go for a drink somewhere. We soon discovered that neither of us were any good at booking holidays; I got bored and dropped a hint by handing C the bottle opener. We changed the plan – Charlie will pop into Going Places later today. At that, Ricardio and Burien appeared at my window and we all spent a while on the grass mound next to the Astroturf. After the wine was dead, me and C headed back inside to switch everything off before heading into the village. We went to The Bank Corner – the new place in town, I mentioned it yesterday, and we shared a Chianti as we talked about old times. Our three years here were great and we had some good times. Charlie told me how everyone misses it. I suppose pretty soon I’ll be in that position and I suppose too that I’ve been putting it off. University life offers security, you get a sense of belonging here and of community. C rightly pointed out that I must leave it soon, and that sense of uncertainty I felt is something everyone feels. Seeing her last night reassured me, I guess. This friendships built here over the last three years will never fade, and will be like homely ports as I venture out into the world. Interestingly, charlie suggested her hometown of chester as a place to live after I finish my masters – an idea that I rather like and will certainly consider. Chester is suitably cosmopolitain, yet not as hectic or as dangerous as a big city.

We ate breakfast together this morning, and went to Crewe together. I had a meeting there and Charlie needed the train. Her visit was brief, but it served to reassure me that there are still constants in life, and things to look forward to. Paris here we come.

It rather pisses me off tat the talk over breakfast in the wes this morning wholly concerned last night’s match and not the political events much closer to home. Granted, it was a very interesting match, but I am far more interested in the Crewe bi-election, for it seems to me that today truly is make or break day for both brown and CaMoron. I mean, don’t these people care?

As for the football, after finding brandies empty last night I headed into the village. There is a pretty smart bar which has just opened inalsager; it was, surprisingly, only a quarter full, so I went in and asked for a real ale before finding a spot in front of the TV. I told myself I didn’t care who won, but as usual I found myself supporting united as the evening wore on. The match, as you guys probably know, lasted longer than expected, but the right team eventually one. as I drove home, though, I found myself mulling over this disability thing.

I once saw the fact that I had c.p as the core of my identity. This leads one to make some logical deductions – for instance, one internalises the idea that one is wholly different, separated from the mainstream. One internalises the concept that one is ‘a freak’. But I no longer see this as either logical or healthy. I see myself as just a normal jo, as normal as anyone else. I just happen to use a few pieces of equipment to perform certain activities, but given that mankind is a tool-using species, I find nothing freaky about that. Why, then, should I take the position that I am anything other than normal? From this it follows that ‘freakism’ is a self-forfilling prophecy to define oneself as a freak is to let others do so, and hence become the freak. This to me seems the very antithesis of inclusion; to propagate actively the idea that disabled people are freaks is not a celebration of difference but it’s very opposite. To define oneself as normal does not mean trying to conform to ‘normal’ behaviours, like trying to use a knife and fork, but to encourage the idea that the use of a neater-eater is ‘normal’. The only way we can stop people from thinking that we are different tis to encourage the idea that we are normal. This means getting rid of this ”look at how different I am” type behaviour. Frankly, it’s very adolescent. It also means re-evaluating that contradiction, as we cannot have it both ways. To want to be seen as both different and normal is to want ones cake and eat it.

I guess I have rambled a bit today. I just wanted to jot a few things down. Seems driving home from bars is good for thinking.