I think I agree with my friend Steve, who suggested this afternoon that a massive fire at an aerosol factory in Crewe was a conspiracy to make the town smell nicer. Finally, something interesting happens around here. Apparently, the explosion was huge.

link

I just got back here. Things will not be the same on campus with over half my friends gone: Charlie’s back home, preparing for Ibiza; Emma, Nicky and switch have jobs. I’m sure they understand that, although I won’t constantly mention them here on my blog, they are never far from my thoughts. To be sure, I have no real reason o feel glum: I was sitting in our back garden on Saturday, with dad, worrying about my friends. Suddenly, dad remembered something – he got out the phone, and rang one of his old uni mates: ‘hi [matt forgets name]. glad you’re in…I was just thinking about a trip to Barcelona next march…” I suddenly remembered, every two years, my parents go on a trip with their university friends from Southampton. Cool or what? I suddenly saw that it was by no means goodbye! University, as with school to a slightly lesser extent, forges lifelong friendships.

It thrusts people together. Kids come to university more or less alone, often very frightened. I found the first week of my first year petrifying. But I gradually grew, I made friends, I learned that my disability didn’t matter one jot here. I found I was learning so much and having so much fun that all longing for the comfort of home disappeared. My brothers were far away, but I kind of gained new siblings. I still intend to be in contact with all of them when I’m ninety. Uni, I feel, did me so much good. Whereas school stifled me, both academically and socially, university accelerated me to warp drive. Socially I am more positive, academically I am more critical.

I feel I must now evangelise: I must spread the word of higher education. Many kids with disabilities are told so much piffle about their limits at school stage that they do not push their selves. They tend, I think, to accept menial rolls and second rate educations because they are told, as I once was, that such things are all they are capable of. How disgustingly patronising?

Admittedly, this is problematic: I should not impose my ideas on everyone; many people do not want to go to university, and would rather work. This is fair enough, but it’s hard for me not to want to spread the word when I have got so much out of university. It opens so many doors, leading anywhere to string theory research to concert violin playing to brain surgery to the presidency of the United States. Indeed, even to film studies research. I just feel that something so great, which did so much for me, should be open to everyone.

May I refer back to this entry.

My friend are having one last get together tonight. Many leave this weekend, including Charlie. This fact alone has put me in a morbid stupor all day – my great fear is that we’ll never see each other again.

I vowed this morning to make sure that does not happen. In Australia over Christmas we met two old university friends of my parents, who live just outside Sydney in a castle made by a crazy irish dude. Even though they left uni about 30 years ago, and they live half the world away, they’re still good friends. In this I take great stock. I dearly hope that, from time to time, I still see Steve, Emma, Nicky, switch, Charlie et al.

I’ll make sure they know where I can be found, and I better warn them that, wherever they end up living, they would be advised to keep a stock of straws in their cupboard!

I stole this from ouch. I don’t usually watch deal or no deal – once you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all, I feel – but noel edmonds’ reaction in this clip is a very good example of how scared we now all are of offending anyone. his instant change of mind is as if his life depends on it.

I went to a ctp show last night, and I must say I was distinctly unimpressed. I have tried to understand Ctp (contemporary theatre and performance) for a while now, but last night brought me to a somewhat heretical conclusion: ctp is bullshit. I’m sorry, but it is. As far as I can make out, ctp is about taking a base text (last night’s was Quartet) and playing about with it. The problem is, this removes all of the meaning and beauty of the original, leaving a garbled mess. The result is neither intellectually or aesthetically pleasing.

Now, I like to see myself as an artistic liberal: I am open to anything from opera to star trek. Klingon Hamlet? Why not? But that – that was taking a base text, and a beautiful one at that, and virtually scribbling on it. It is like turning Lady Macbeth into a drag queen. I have no problem with postmodernism, but I fail to see the point. I also loathe the way it is caked in pseudo-intellectual mumbo-jumbo: given the stated aim is to produce a performance without meaning, any and all justifications of what I saw last night are null and void. Any questions one may have about why the actors did what they did are irrelevant, as that would be to incur meaning. What, then, is the point?

I, personally, like to think of all art as having two components: meaning and beauty. The quantities may vary from piece to piece. Bach’s moonlight sonata does not have much meaning – there is no message within – but it sure as hell is beautiful. At the other end of the spectrum, my brother’s PhD thesis is not beautiful, but I’m sure it means a lot. It seems to me that ctp has neither meaning or beauty, rendering it obsolete. It’s proponents seek to make neither, even dismissing the idea of pleasing an audience as antiquated. The audience, they seem to argue, is irrelevent. If this is so, would someone teach me the difference between ctp and a complete waste of time. Humbug!

In the breaks between doing my various assorted tasks, including, but not limited to, drinking coffee and talking, I am still going to the final music performances. Charlie’s last one was today: it was good, workmanlike, but, I hesitate to say, didn’t have quite as much panache as her violin recital. Jess, however, did quite a good set of operatic arias, including one from Bizet. I just love Carmen, and it was a joy to hear live. It must be noted that our main theatre on campus – The Axis – doesn’t have the brilliant acoustics of, say, the bruntwood at the RNCM, so its not a great venue. Frankly, it reminds one of a school hall, and the fact that my music student friends have the total mark of one unit resting on this performance is enough to raise ones eyebrow.

Speaking of theatres, last night Kate c and I came up with quite a good idea. We are going to collaborate writing and directing a play. I better not record the details here – it is, after all, only in the embryonic stage – but I’m quite excited about it. I really hope it takes off. Well, watch this space!

My home computer isn’t up – it keeps crashing anyway – so I’m only able to blog from university. I just got in, and after my mail is checked, I’m, weather permitting, off to a barbeque.

Monster monster was cool it was quite fascinating. It was burlesque-come-porn-cum-light bondage, butt not in a seedy way. It was pretty freaky. My bro Luke and cousin Cyril felt a bit out of water, and the drum and bass music isn’t quite what we usually listen to, but I nevertheless had a great time. Although the place was downstairs, and I had to stand up to see anything (I was on my pins for over an hour, making my back hurt and forcing my early retirement) I most definitely intend to go again.

Well, better make this a brief one. I have emails to read and then sausages to eat. One final question: where does one get body paint?

I really am liking my friend’s music recitals. They’re top mates, so I want to support them, and given that my course is over apart from a few bits and bobs, I go to everything I can. this morning was Becky’s trombone recital, followed one bag of crisps later by Nicky’s singing recital.

Becky gave a competent performance – very competent – but Nicky’s had more umph, I felt. More swing. It was jazz; the type of jazz sung late at night clubs; the type that puts me in the mood for a martini. Mind you, long day tomorrow. Me and Luke are, all being well, going to Monster Monster, and I want to be at peak performance for it. Better not drink. Anyway, where was I? yeah, jazz. It rocked! It was a most excellent performers. The pianist accompanying Nicky was especially good, and sounded like he too should be in a late night club.

Things feel good right now. I think I’ve sorted out my support for the rest of term. Can’t wait till tomorrow though!

it may be lazy blogging, but I’m posting this for nostalgia reasons. It’ll probably mean nothing to most readers, but it’ll have my family jumping up and down with recognition

I just got back from charlotte’s violin recital. She invited me along, as she did all her friends. I must admit I am quite lost for words. It was beautiful. For the duration, charlotte was no longer c or Charlie but miss Jones, a woman with sublime musical ability. It far surpassed my expectations; I daresay in the past I have paid good money to see something of half the quality of that recital.

It’s beauty was not that of a beautiful woman – a vulgar beauty – nor was it possessed of the beauty of a good meal. It’s beauty was far deeper, like the nights sky over Uluru, or that morning in Yosemite. It was a profound beauty: her violin made a haunting sound, textured and subtle. I say this not as her friend, but as one who appreciates good things; as a writer, and as an ‘intellectual’ (although I use that term loosely). I found her choice of music ever so slightly questionable – they weren’t all the pieces I would have chosen – but the inclusion of the theme from schindler’s list at the finale was inspired. It’s just such a spellbinding, heartbreaking piece.

What can I say? It was simply awesome. During the performance I felt myself drift away, letting the music carry me off. I found myself with the profound urge to write again. And read. And watch, and listen and talk. Performances like that fill one with joie de vivre; it made me think of travelling and reading and everything good. It was as if it reminded me, through it’s beauty and majesty, that there is still beauty and majesty to be found in the world. It was just inspirational.

Carrying on with the goat theme, this makes me laugh. It had been a pretty poor day owing to last night’s excesses, but it just got better. You can just imagine it: ‘what are you doing with my goat?’

A few days ago, graham told me about this. did you know that goats climbed trees? well, there’s the proof. they look perfectly happy up there. in fact, it is my considered opinion that they’re nesting, like sheep.

need to research this too!

I am starting to think writing, as an art form is quite limited. Sure it is the central art of culture, we all write and use language – how else would we communicate? Its scope is also huge: this art ranges from the snows of Kilimanjaro, to the Sun. I still adore literature and writing, but part of me says it’s a bit boring. While it can be very powerful, I want now something more, some extra quality. I write by sitting at a computer, typing, just as Hemingway sat at his typewriter in Idaho, or Tolkien at his desk at Oxford. But for all its greatness, for its scope, and rage, and beauty, writing remains a solitary act. Hemingway fished with friends, but he wrote alone.

I don’t even know what I’m looking for, perhaps it’s a new art. Graham recently opened my eyes to drama. Somehow it seems more alive. Writing for all its wonders will always be words on a page. It can utterly chill someone. It can change lives, but I need something more.

It’s too general, I see myself as a writer, but so is everybody. My brothers write, so they’re writers. But I am thinking of/about pursuing a less general art, something more visual. I love film, so maybe that would be it, but first the difference between film and language still needs work. What are the boundaries of film?

All this intrigues me.

I’ve been all too miserable recently. Things are starting to wrap up here at college, my friends starting to leave. I have to decide whether to go home in two weeks and commute in, since I still have stuff to do here, or stay here in halls, for which I’d need a new p.a, as charlotte is going home on the first. No p.a, no dinner. Hungry cripple. Bad medicine. Cant decide what to do.

This problem is getting to me, as there are too many variables. How feasible is commuting etc. Argh. I prefer essays. Writing essays I can manage. Making decisions never!

Time to cheer up. I heard today of the tragic news about the cutty sark. I should be sad, but I’m not because it will be rebuilt. It is part of our heritage. If that problem can be overcome, so can mine. Okay, I’m not a 19th century tea clipper, nor have I recently been on fire, but you get the idea. Mine is, in the grand scheme, a minor problem.

Right. Time to stop typing drivel and actually do something.

I’m afraid to say things got depressing around here today. Rocky said goodbye, making her the first of our cohort to leave, and there were indeed tears. It wasn’t so much fun, and to be honest it made me a bit homesick. Think I’m ready to go home – not that I want to leave my friends, but when they leave I want to leave myself. Campus without them will just fill with ghosts. Yes, I’ll soon be ready to go home. I still have artscool to work on, but sin ce thats in crewe, I think it would be more viable to commute. (mind you, either way its aa head ache)

Powerful drama

I guess its why academia is so great. One cannot realise how powerful or how beautiful an art form is until you start to study it. Read a poem once and it may strike you as beautiful, but once you start to read and study literature in general, then a whole new world opens up. You get to compare and contrast; you get to see more in that poem when you read it in relation to a whole literature. I have found this with writing and film, of course, as I have studied them for many years, but I have only just discovered the wonders of drama.

Before now, I have seen drama as writing made visual – that is to say, a secondary outlet. But in and of itself, drama can be beautiful. I realised this only after I started hanging around with graham; going to rehearsals, seeing how a play is put together. I got to see how scenes are put together. It isn’t a case of merely reading lines: it is far less clinical, more human, and quite quite fascinating. Whereas writing is a solitary rather simple process – you just sit at a desk and tap away upon your keyboard – creating a piece of theatre takes more time and physical, emotional and, to an extent, intellectual effort. Theatre also kind of bridges the gap between my two loves of writing and film, or else fits comfortably into a tripartite, so knowledge of the dramatic process as well as the literary and filmic ones will almost certainly come in handy with my m.a.

Watching the rehearsal this afternoon, I had an idea. The actors were trying out ways of becoming old people. they were working with a dancer, who was teaching them how to walk like old people. I was suddenly hit by a fascinating thought – is it possible to act disabled? Is it possible for a normal person to simulate something like athetoid cerebral palsy? Earlier today, me and graham had been throwing about ideas to do with working together: if I transformed Moby dick into a script, he would direct it. Now, melleville’s classic has a great narrative, but the narrative is largely secondary to the human story of Ahab and his decent into vengeful madness. It is this which interests me, especially when applied to disability and it’s representations.

My mind is now abuzz with ideas; the two link rather well. Is it possible to explore the nature of disability through drama. I try to bring people into my world through my writing, articulating the paradox of being different, yet the same on my blog. But would it be possible to do this more physically through drama? Can people be brought into my world, not just through writing but through playing? And what would we all learn?

Fascinating. Absolutely fascinating.

Amazingly, I had no idea the FA cup final was on until my carer-lady came breezing in, telling me all about it this morning. To be honest its pretty upsetting news me and graham hatched a plan yesterday to meet in the yeoman this afternoon to watch the cricket, but now it seems all pubs will be packed, their televisions set to the football. Mind you, I suspect g forgot too. Ho hum, I guess I could watch the football, silly sport though it is, and watch cricket tomorrow. Mind you, if England bowl as well as they batted yesterday, it’ll be over by kick-off.

I found a decent interview with Michael Palin on youtube yesterday. I don’t get to watch much TV these days, since I don’t have a TV in my room. There’s hardly anything on these days, but oddly I miss the ability to channel hop. You know, when you just want to crash out on the sofa and turn off. Maybe I’m a little homesick, and this has brought forth a need for my old favourites – Palin, Attenborough etc. they both kind of give you a warm glow. I also think my wanderlust is fermenting again. Uni is a little depressing, now everyone’s going away. thats why I drank so much at steve’s party last night. it’s sad.

Ho hum, summer’s almost here. Cricket’s on the TV in the wes, and I’m out tonight. Wonder what Mr. Palin would make of brandies.

link. [warning – 50 mins long]

Those of you who know me quite well will know I’m a sucker for fantasy novels and films. I simply adore Tolkien, ever since dad read it to me and my brothers when I was 8 or 9. you can guess my elation, then, when I came across this yesterday. It seems the film of the hobbit will be out in two years. If lotr was anything to go by, it will be superb.

See also this

its raining here, but it is with great pleasure that I send you here. henceforth this song will be forever one of my favourites.

enjoy

when writing last nights entry, i forgot two things. firstly, ‘hey beautiful day’ is not called ‘hey beutiful day’. Its called ‘when the night fills my soul. I’ve been humming it all morning secondly, the magnificent sum of £47 was raised for onevoice. I think this is wonderful. thanks to evveryone in the gospel choir!

I have turned my computer on simply to record this feeling. This evening’s gospel choir concert was wonderful. It was beyond beautiful. The singing itself was extremely good, but it was something else that made the concert so bittersweet. It acted as a swansong for the entire third year, and once again I found myself wanting to cry.

Charlie did an excellent job. No doubt about it. It was almost intended to make us cry – why else should she include tearjerkers such as Joe and sally singing ‘eye of the sparrow’ and John singing ‘what a wonderful world’? there was sort of a terrible beauty about it, for the entire third year saw it as a final assembly. We all know what’s about to happen; we know our parting is inevitable, but none of us want it to happen.

Of course, there were happy tunes too. It would not be a concert by Charlie if it did not include a bob Marley medley. I suspect that she had me in mind when she left my favourite – ‘hey beautiful day – to last, allowing me to dance with Emma. In all probability, that moment was, at one and the same time, both the happiest and saddest of my life.

Charlie’s most apt inclusion was her own song, Smile When you say Goodbye, written for her brother. It truly is a happy song; yet, as I ay, we all know we will soon part.

At the end of the concert, I just felt…well, I can’t describe it. Both elated and desperately sad. It is both happy and heartbreaking. I find myself wanting time to stand still, to live forever in this moment, with all my friends. But I know it won’t. Time never ceases – there will be other people to meet, other places to see. If uni has taught me anything, it is that there are no barriers.

Sitting there, after the concert, I suddenly remembered a line from what was once my favourite book, and one which I still cherish. The words of a wise old man, delivered at a parting of friends: ”I will not say do not cry, for not all tears are evil.”

It’s been a long long day. I’ve been filling in forms and sending off letters and going to meetings. I’m just knackered, and irritated by all the little things that go wrong, and short tempered. I got the feeling that all my applications for funding would be rejected. I simply do not have experience in those things. I shouldn’t be so down because today Dave told me my mark for my heimat essay – 72, a first. I should be feeling happy, but for ome reason I’m not. Maybe later, after dinner, when I get time to relax, I’ll calm down and cheer up. Anyway, it’s the gospel choir concert tonight; they’re raising money for 1voice. Maybe by then this mood will have passed.

Forms suck. Or rather filling them in sucks. These days my life is devoted to filling in forms. Applications for funding. Applications for support. I understand why it’s necessary, and they come purely through choice – nobody is, after all, forcing me to do a master’s – but they still suck. I suppose they are the best way to do things, so they can’t be avoided. They’re just irritating, and, more to the point, dull.

On a happier note, comments are back. My brilliant brothers have re-established comments with a new improved spam-filter. Hopefully my website will no longer clog up with spam. The downside of this is you can once again disagree argue and prove me wrong once more. Boo.

Ho hum. Back to silly form-filling.

Two couples, one old one young, were walking round b and q. it’s a big massive store so they both manage to lose their wives. The husbands meet each other, and decide to seek their missing better halves together.

‘what does your wife look like?’ Asks the older man.

‘She has nice, long legs; blond hair and is wearing a short black dress. ‘ the younger man replies, ‘what’s yours look like?’ The older man thinks a moment, and then says ‘Oh, forget her. Let’s find yours!’

ever since our visit to australia, I have wanted a helicopter. go here to see why.

Last night was emotional, and as much as I enjoyed it in parts I felt like crying. Last night was my last summer ball, or at least my last as an undergraduate. Therefore it was the last one my whole cohort of friends would attend. I’ve grown to love all pf them these past three years: they are rather like a family; they all care enormously for each other, and it will be hard to say goodbye to them.

Pretty soon – too soon – we will all go our separate ways. It’s inevitable that sooner or later we will loose contact, and I don’t want this to happen. With all my heart I don’t. people like Vikki and Dan, Nicky and switch, Rocky, Steve and Chris. becky, scott and vanessa

Emma. And Charlie.

You know, I sincerely believe Charlie is one of the most beautiful humans ever. Not just aesthetically – although I daresay she is very pretty – but inwardly. She is deeply caring, always smiling, frequently singing. She’s like that to everyone. She’s also genuine. I have grown to know her and her family – Hugh, her brother, frequently visits campus – and they really are nice people. Saying goodbye to Charlie will be especially difficult.

Last night, I realised this, and I wanted to hug each one of them and not let go. It was a wonderful evening. Apart from the casino tables (which I didn’t have a go on) there was a chocolate fountain, a high roller ride, a food stall, a duck-fishing thing, as well as the disco in the bar. Last night, they had a Robbie Williams tribute band in there, and dancing showgirls! I told myself I wouldn’t get drunk, since I wanted to stay to the very end this year. With the help of trusty old Red Bull, I succeeded. I was dancing most of the evening, as, each time I sat down, another of my friends got me up for yet more dancing.

It was great fun, although not completely wholesome, as a few of my friends thought they’d treat me to a lap dance. They were very good at it too!

I ache this morning, but it’s a great ache to have. It’s a sign of a great evening. Indeed, it was an evening I never want to forget, at the end of the best three years of my life.

Its going to rule. It is my small fantasy that commander bond will actually show up, that, when we get there, a grey Aston martin will be parked outside brandies. Quite what business 007 would have at the end of term summer ball at an obscure university I did not know. It could have something to do with the group called the jocks. Either way I know for a fact that nobody behind the bar knows how to mix Martini. No doubt he would have kicked up a stir in M’s office:”Why do I have to go there? Can’t you send somebody else?” M would have replied that he was the only man available and that besides they were having casino tables. At this Bond’s eyes would have lit up.

I wouldn’t be surprised if as we are all partying away in Brandies, we hear the low rumble of a sports car, or the roar of a harrier overhead, preparing to land on the football pitch.

Yes tonight’s going to rule.

As a kid my family and I used to play dungeons and dragons. I loved it – that type of fantasy world appeals 2 me. I often whished it could somehow be more real; I wanted to go charging off into the woods to slay orcs and goblins. Apparently I wasn’t alone. Go here.

I want a go

Btw I got my mark for my exhibition. 70% – a first!

It is as typical as it is ironic – if that isn’t a contradiction – that when I rolled up to use the fund finder software in the student advice centre, I was told that it was housed in a completely inaccessible part of the building. I need to find funding for my MA and was told this software could help me find people to ask. It’s typical its as if they don’t expect us crips to do master’s degrees. Mind you, I was once told I wouldn’t be able to do GCSEs and now look! Anyway, the staff there are looking for me, so, for the time being, I might go watch the cricket.

I went to see new British film This is England with a few friends last night. To be honest I was very ambivalent about the whole thing – I couldn’t quite decide which side of the fence the film sat. it’s about neo-nazis in 1983. a young boy befriends a group of men on the extreme right of the political spectrum. These boys seem very friendly to the boy, who, having a father killed in the Falklands, seems to be taken in by their rhetoric.

This makes for very uncomfortable viewing. These thugs seem like nice people – they are after all, human. They are friendly and tender to the lad. The film is therefore brave in that it does not simply dismiss such people as mindless thugs. It is, I guess, all too easy to do so, and much to simplistic. We must concede that they are not Neanderthals, for were we not to do so would make us as bad as them.

And yet, at the same time, the film almost seemed sympathetic to what they were saying. I disagree utterly with what they were saying – there was not even one tiny grain of truth in it. The fact is, this country needs immigration: without it, we would simply cease to function. Moreover, I think back to the story of my own family: my maternal grandparents came over from Cyprus in the late forties, met, and married. My bappou (grandfather) was a tailor, and had a shop down in London. They worked their socks off all their life: I can still remember watching bappou and yaiya working at their sewing machines up until their retirement. Their offspring are all equally hard working – my aunt doula is a teacher; my uncle is a journalist; my mother is an information scientist (hi mum). They then had six grandchildren: let’s see… at last count, they all have or are doing degrees; two are about to complete PhD’s (hi mark and Chris) I think alex is doing a Master’s; I am about to graduate; I’ve not spoken to my cousin Cyril in a while – does he graduate this year or next year? Luke is also about to enter his final year of his four year bioinformatics degree. That is, all told, one physicist, two biologists, one bioinfomatician, one neuroscientist (something like that) and one film student. So much for this ‘immigrants don’t work’ bullshit.

I reckon it’s a load of urban myths that ‘immigrants take our jobs’ or ‘they just collect benefits’ or ‘they get priority over housing’. Bull. This to me smacks of paranoid xenophobia. I also seriously doubt that they get priority over jobs: while employment quotas do exist, what employer in his right mind would choose anyone because of their ethnicity alone? It is true that most come seeking a better life – which I take as a complement – but it is also true, and often forgotten, that most are fleeing persecution, deprevation, extreme poverty or even torture. Why else would they come all this way. At this point, of course, many point out that migrants could have stayed in the first EU country they came across, and conclude that Britain is seen as a soft touch. I do not think this is quite the case: they come to Britain because they speak the language, or have family here, both of which are the direct result of our former colonial days. Hell, we invited many such people over ourselves after losing India, and windrush. We have a history of welcoming migrants to this country, where they subsequently prosper. Is it any wonder that they want their families to do the same?

There is just so much crap being spoken about the immigration ‘problem’ these days. It plays straight into the hands of the far right, especially when CaMoron starts telling people ‘it isn’t racist to worry about immigration’. It is, because it is born of xenophobia.

I love it when films get everyone talking. This one certainly has. The debate got quite heated on the way home last night. It is also quite important to me too, as I worry that the public mood might be swinging back to the right, which is never a good thing. I fear we are being duped by the Tories once again, and then, as the film I saw last night illustrated clearly, it’s back to the dark days of Thatcherism, but this time with a nice smile.

I came across this yesterday, and laughed my head off when I did. The boys on wheels give us such songs as ‘my balls are ok’ and ‘making love in the handicap toilet’. Of course, it’s obscene filth, and may just give the bloodhound gang a run for its money, but it strikes a chord. It’s the articulation of the sexual repression imposed upon us by the able-bodied. Or just smut.

Yesterday was bliss. Pure, undiluted bliss. Once again graham has asked me to help him with one of his plays – this time an adaptation of camus’ The Outsider. It’s a short book, which I whizzed through in two days, so yesterday I was out on the field reading his script. It was hot and sunny and lovely.

We ate dinner outside too. Charlie and I decided to lay out a couple of towels on the grass just outside my room and eat there. I’d planned to eat a ready meal, but had accidentally put it in the freezer rather than fridge, so, rather than wait for it to defrost, I had a pizza. Emma came round later on. Charlie had quite an excellent new Zealand rose which we shared, and all three of us talked while the sun set before our eyes.

It was a moment of heaven: good wine, good food, and the best friends ever.

a day or two ago, est and I were talking about this advert. not sure why. for nostalgias sake, I’ll post a link

Can the people of this country be so stupid as to fall for the obviously hollow promises of that half-brained smiling jackass Cameron? Do they not realise who he is? Sure, he may sound reasonable; he may have a nice smile. But a Tory is a Tory, and 18 years of misrule and mismanagement showed us that they cannot be trusted.

I love my life here at uni. I have flourished. As things stand, I’m on course for a 2:1. (got my film essay mark today; 64% – well within the 2:1 range). But the fact is, under the Tories with their cost-cutting initiatives and reluctance to fund anything which doesn’t help them directly, I simply would not be here. If we once again chose the Tories, disability rights take a step backwards.

I am very scared and very angry at today’s election result. More cursing to come.

Now that my course is over, I guess I can reflect upon it. The old adage that one should never study the books you love does not hold: I have an increased love of both writing and film now I have finished my course. I can probably also appreciate them more. Take Heimat, for instance: in all probability, I would once have dismissed it as boring. It is afterall 15 hours long and in German, but now that I’ve seen it I’ve done the background reading which goes with it, I find myself really liking it. It is problematic in its relationship to the war and the Holocaust and I can see how some can accuse Edgar Reitz of revisionism. But at the same time I can also see his problem – how can you represent the Holocaust paradoxically, you cannot and yet you have to. This is, I think, quite a profound and interesting debate.

Thus I find myself loving films more than I ever did; I wish to know more about them. I also love learning more than I ever did, be it science, or art, or history. At school I met kids who turned their backs on learning completely; while this is a great shame, it also represents a worrying trend more and more I see kids claiming that it is uncool to learn. They value ignorance over learning, they are only interested in Playstations, and ironically films. It is only now that I see the extent to which they are missing out – both academically and socially (for the two go hand in hand) university is great fun.

I was recently asked to prepare a paper on my experiences of uni. I think I’ll write it along these lines. It is vital that we re-envigour the enthusiasm of the youth, both for their sake and that of the country.

I really think life can’t get much better. Today was just spent chilling. Many people finished their degrees today, or are quite close to doing so, so there is quite a festive mood on campus. The sun helps too. I am doing what needs to be done, honest, but have been advised to rest a while before continuing with my master’s.

The firsts were playing cricket. I had intended this blog to be about how glorious watching cricket is, but, before heading across to the pitch with the four-pack I’d just bought, I noticed a few friends sitting on the grass by the wes. I went to join them, and ended up whiling away the afternoon with them. I gave them three of my four cans of Stella. Believe it or not we ended up playing wrestling. Adults my butt!

I eventually got to the cricket just before teatime, and again just before close of play. It was glorious – there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. What’s more, we won.

I’m off out again – can’t waste an evening like this inside!

Oh, before I go, if anyone knows about file recovery on the music programme sebelius, please contact me

It gives me great, almost infinite pleasure to record that I handed in my final essay today. Part of me still can’t believe it, and yet another part of me says I might have forgotten something, even though I’ve checked with my peers a thousand times. If there are no nasty surprises, I reckon I can afford a brief period of respite before organising master’s funding. Now I cant wait to get on with my master’s in september!

I think I will stay at college for some time – I work better here than at home – access to books and films etc. I also need est helping me. besides, all my friends are here. To be quite honest, I don’t want uni to end. mind you, this bit will probably be harder than my dgree!

I must admit, I’m pretty adept at bullshit. Most students are. Whether undergrad or post grad, you become good at writing bull. Well, not bull in general – we leave that to politicians and newspaper writers – but a specific, academic type. This type is particularly refined; you can smell academic writing a mile off. It is dense, impenetrable to the uninitiated, and enough to make one cringe or scratch one’s head in bemusement.

My brother had his PhD viva on Friday, and it makes me the proudest sibling in the world to report that he passed, and, once he has corrected the five spelling errors his examiners pointed out and submitted his thesis, he will officially become Dr. Mark D. Goodsell. He came down to my parents house on Friday night so that we could all eat together; I was just in awe.

Mark and Kat stayed the weekend, going to a wedding on Saturday, then staying with us on Sunday. Luke buggered off after tea on Friday, to everyone’s disappointment, but he had things to do in Manchester. Yesterday afternoon, after a very good pub lunch, while we were sitting out on the lawn (by which time, I must admit, I had had a bit to drink) mark went and fetched his draft thesis. We all knew full well that we would not understand it, but just for the sake of pride, we had dad read the abstract aloud

I understood some words, such as ‘the’ and ‘and’, but it was impenetrable! If one can judge the quality of an academic work by how understandable it is or isn’t to a lay person, that was very good indeed.

Today is another good day; mind you, me and Esther haven’t done much. It’s the day of the rest of the class’s exhibitions – I did mine earlier this year, a fact which, I feel, gives me certain advantages: for instance, I had the entire gallery, whereas the rest of my class have to share it. I had a week to exhibit my work, whereas theirs is just on this afternoon. Mind you, they too had free wine, two glasses of which have made me feel smug.

Last night was the neon party. I’m not telling you what I wore, but I’ll just say it ruled out going to the loo. I therefore did not drink and stayed sober. I still had a really good time.

Uni rules; I’m going to miss it so badly!