its been a bit of a busy day, so I’ll just link to this frankly very disturbing article from tom Shakespeare about violence against cripples. I’m off to organise paying my p.a before she gets violent! [kidding]

I went to brandies again last night, for the dickshow. It was superhero night, so there was spandex galore – I especially like the catwoman outfits a few of the girls were wearing. I had on a red cape, blue unitard and the letters ‘S C’ pinned to my chest, for Supercripple. Well, it amused me at least.

Yet halfway or so through the evening, it occurred to me that I wasn’t supposed to be there. I’m now a postgrad, supposed to be respectable. My life as a tearaway undergrad is over – maybe I should stop going. I put this to jen, who swiftly told me to stop being stupid. I had every right to be there, she said, more than most. I smiled: I was, after all, enjoying myself. Then I thought of the past, about school. About the lads who never got to go to uni, let alone graduate, or go to discos. I had, therefore, a duty to enjoy myself, in whatever way I see fit.

With that I sipped my beer.

While I am usually cautious about singling out any one person to stand for an entire group – people aren’t metonyms – I think this is quite a good short film about how one little girl has been included in the American school system. As far as I can see, that’s one thing Americans do better than us. I think this film is exemplary; I’d like to draw attention especially to the section where the teacher outlines how, without prompting, all the other kids help the girl. I hope all the anti-inclusion, nay saying idiots watch this.

It’s rather ironic that a day after my lightwriter breaks vocas feature on radio 4. I’m listening to it as I type, and have already heard nadia speak in the intro. As for me, I’ll continue to use my shoebox-mounted letter chart till I get my lw back. My friends have already named it barry, colins little bro. Anyway, go listen to mondays you and yours here

Evenings on campus can be quite beautiful, especially in the autumn when the leaves start to turn golden in the sunset. The view, as I drove defiant home this evening, was stunning. Just a fraction of a second, when the light of the setting sun hit the puddles, I was in awe. All weekend I had this nagging feeling at the back of my mind: do I still belong here? All my friends have gone from my year – should I have returned? Am I up to the task at hand? And then the light hit the water, and I could hear my friends talking as they turned or their homes, and the answer came: yes. I can do this! already I’m more comfortable with my subject. I can grasp it. In that moment, all fear left me, and I felt once more at home.

Colin broke again yesterday. It won’t respond to anything I do. Dad and mum had to come get him earlier in order to send him to be repaired, and from the way it looked I doubt I’ll get him back soon. This, as you can imagine, is a pain in the ass. It makes communication with anyone – especially those who don’t know me – ten times more difficult. I suppose it could be worse – this year I only have weekly meetings with Alan, rather than lessons per say, so academically it won’t hold me back too much. It’s just when I’m with friends, or in the library. But to every problem there is a solution: jen has already made me a ‘letter chart’, and when going to the library I can print off the book reference I need before setting off. Ho hum.

And I cant be too glum when Palin’s on tonight!

Last night I was in ashleys room. She’s American, but we don’t hold that against her (much). We were waiting for jen and co to return from the beauticians, and were planning to just drink and talk, which is pretty cool. Anyway, probably inspired by watching olly throw a ball about her room, Ashley showed us this. I thunk it’s one of the most astute orations ever. It may be just about monkeys, but it is what we are. A hairless ape. Go listen.

I was at the centre for social inclusion today – finally got round to picking the photos from my exhibition thingy – and joss west-Burnham was there. I guess that isn’t surprising given that she is in charge of it. She greeted me: ‘I’m glad you came, Matt, we’ve had an idea. We think it would be good if you stood for disability officer at the union.’ Now, this was coming from a highly respected member of the academic staff. She told me to think about it, offering to help me with my election bid.

Now, I’ve got to ask certain questions of certain people, but, as it stands, I think I’ll say yes.

Need a hobby anyway.

I now feel much better! Daunted, but better. My meeting with Alan went well, and we sorted out precisely what I’m going to look at. We had a long talk, he gave me various instructions and tips, and set me to work. I have quite a bit of reading to do, but that’s cool. Not much else to do during the day. Tonight, however, is disco night; I’ve missed it tremendously. Of course, it will not be quite the same without my mates – I’ll miss going round to charlottes before the disco especially – but now I have jen, olly and the gang to leech off, err, I mean hang out with. Jen’s coming her at 7 to help me get ready. Should be cool. Then, after breakfast tomorrow, reading proper commences.

Life is good!

This is natural – or should be – and kind of hardly worth noting, but there are two more cripples on campus this year. Both wheelchair users. I was going about campus today, turning the corner of the Wes, and I saw a girl in an electric wheelchair, being followed by a person who I presume to be her PA. they both went over to look at the map by the bushes, looking rather lost. I decided to go over, being a responsible master’s student, and offer my help.

They asked for the contemporary arts block was. I pointed to it, and asked hem to follow me. They did, and I lead them to the door (my chair is faster than hers!) The new girl thanked me, and we parted. Not a good story, I know, and hardly worth noting, but it was cool to me. Finally more wheelies! Hopefully this is a sign of things to come, although, it should be said that if CaMoron gets elected and instigates his anti-inclusion policy, I fear this trend has a real chance of being reversed.

So, here I am, back at uni. I’m back to do my masters. This should hopefully be a lot of fun, and I’m looking forward to getting down to it. For the time being, though, I’m just sorting stuff out with Esther, doing paperwork, etc. research proper should begin on Wednesday after my first meeting with Alan. Then it’s onto the scopic drive and post-Metzian filmic grammatics (or whatever it now is).

For the most part, I’m happy. the one thing which is currently tugging on my heart is that nearly all of my friends from my year are not here. I’m already missing them, and have been all summer, but it’s just the nature of things. They’re all off doing their own thing, naturally, as I am. And it’s not as if I won’t see them again. It’s just that…well, you know.

On the upside, it’s kind of like I’ve just said ‘bank’ on the Weakest link. Scary as it may be – and it is rather scary – this year I’m adding to what is my finest ever achievement. It makes me smile to know I have that safety net, as well as giving me a huge boost of confidence. I’m probably waffling now.

Anyway, normal service will now resume. I’ll now be able to write daily blog entries again. If you like piffle, stay tuned. Should be quite an interesting year..

We got back from our summer holiday in Crete at three last night. For some reason, the only flight from hiraklion to Manchester is always at the dead of night, which is foolish because then you have to waste much of the next day recovering. This morning, I must say I feel worse than I did when we got back from Sydney, but part of this feeling is worry about going back to uni on Monday. It’s scary.

Anyway, Crete: I must say it didn’t strike me as very beautiful. There’s no running water on the island in terms of rivers and streams – not in these summer months so the mountains are rather dry. We had many drives up into the hills; ordinarily, this would have fascinated me, but wherever we went, there seemed to be a lack of colour and beauty.

Don’t get me wrong: there are certainly beautiful places on the island. I saw a few of the most stunning sunsets I or anyone would ever hope to witness while there. My brother Luke, it seems, is a good amateur photographer, and he took some jaw-dropping shots from the pier of our hotel. I was reminded of Basil Pao’s work when I saw them. With a bit of luck he’ll let me post some on facebook.

My archaeological side got sated too. I got to romp around some magnificent ruins this holiday. Mind you I must say that the famous palace at Knossos has been rather ruined (forgive the pun) – it is now too much of a tourist attraction, where one can be lead by a tour guide who clearly knows nothing of history, around re-built structures based on conjecture. It was tourism, not history. Far more impressive were the ruins in the south of the island [matt forgets name] where one can see an actual ancient law court with an inscription of all the ancient Greek laws on the rear wall. It was almost like looking at the birth of democracy, or perhaps it’s grandparents.

As with our trip to Australia, there isn’t time to tell you everything that happened in one blog entry. I should say though that Crete isn’t the best place for wheelchair users; in fact, its pretty bad. Oh yeah, and people there all drive like lunatics. Other than that, we all had a pretty good time I think. High point: getting dad listening to cat empire (although he says the lead singer sounds like a ‘south London wideboy’). Low point: not seeing any minotaurs. All that remains now is to catch up on my correspondence and hope this crick in the neck wears off soon.

Did anyone see ‘coming down the mountain’ last night on bbc1? To me, it was the most interesting thing on telly for a while, and it would be awfully poor form for me, as both a student of film and a disabled person, not to say anything about it here. It concerned the relationship between two brothers, one of whom had Downs Syndrome. To begin with, their relationship is tense, and the ‘normal’ brother strongly resents the needs of his SEN sibling. They have to move so that the bro with downs could go to a special school (something which wouldn’t happen if all schools were inclusive). Things get worse and worse, until the ‘normal’ one takes them both up a mountain and, in a rage, pushes his bro off a cliff. He instantly regrets this, but his bro isn’t dead. He gets the rescue team, yada yada yada, the boy recovers. During this time, the two get to know each other – it seems that they had never actually talked. They find that they have a lot in common.

Thus this is a fairly simple story about somebody realising what needed to be realised. On one level, it’s a fairly innocuous little tale, if somewhat melodramatic, about two brothers finding each other. The outcome was obvious, even predictable from the title. Yet, on another level, both characters are metonyms for widespread society: all disabled people were once resented as burdens, and in quite a few places, mainstream culture tried to get rid of us. Now things have changed and ‘we’ are being accepted. I think there is cause to share the optimism shown at the end of the piece – indeed, the very fact that the brother with ds was shown to have a girlfriend, albeit one who herself has ds, is a symptom of the change in the portrayal of disability. While there is still quite a way to go, and I long for a day when disability is purely incidental in TV drama, I see this as a good step in the right direction.

I met my paternal grandfather for the first tome this weekend. For various reasons, which we need not go into here, I’d never met or spoken to dad’s father before. Yesterday, we were an my cousin Dan’s wedding. This was, needless to say, a most excellent event in itself – it was at a vineyard in Sussex, and the sun was out. Dad, mum and I were down there, and we had a great time. The music at the reception ruled, and my family kept buying me drinks! Lord knows how much I drank, but I knew about it in the morning. The music also ruled – Dan and Ruth are evidently rockers, and the band they chose kicked ass. You should have seen the guitarist! Guns and roses, Hendrix, woooohooo. Seems it is possible to have a good night out with one’s parents, as last night certainly was a good night out!

I was talking to an old friend of mine from school last night. Rory went to the same school as I did, Hebden green, and coincidentally is now going to south Cheshire college, just as I did, where he is about to embark on a foundation degree. Anyway, it would seem I’m not alone in my criticism of Hebden green: Rory is also highly critical of the standard of teaching there. He drew my attention to * the syllabus for business studies in the post-16 department. In our opinion, a child of 9 could do this! I mean, it’s meant for 17 year olds – at an age when most people have the skills sufficient for, say, assessing the role of the Tsarina on the February 1917 Russian revolution, and other such complex, interesting things, kids in special schools are being asked ‘what is a business’. If this wasn’t bad enough, this is virtually the only subject taught: other time is spent faffing and drinking coffee, if memory serves.

Its just ridiculous! Utterly ridiculous!

*the link is now missing

You may have noticed – in fact, I’m sure everyone will have – that it has been ten years since the death of the princess of Wales, and that the press are commemorating this fact fervently. I was watching breakfast TV earlier today, and they were talking about it. While I see no point whatsoever in this, as I feel that it would be best to let her lie, what appalled me is the fact that the guests they had on to discuss the issue were two tabloid editors. It is certainly true that Dianna manipulated the press to suit her own ends, but it is also true that had it not been for the press’s constant harassment of her, their almost bestial, inane hunger for every bit of gossip and every photo of her, she would still be alive today. This also reflects badly on the public who bought such tabloids – we too had a hand in her death, yet what sickens me is the editors who now speak as though they are not guilty, trying to feed us the line that the driver was drunk and that was the soul cause of the accident. At the same time they act as ringleaders of grief, champions of Dianna; when she was alive, the tabloids treated her despicably. They’re hypocrites, each and every one of them. The press manipulated Dianna, and they’re trying to manipulate us.

Perhaps I am once again being a luddite in attacking something which I haven’t properly researched, but this afternoon I came across the concept of ‘rebound therapy’. This is a ‘lesson’ in special schools, wherein kids get to go on a trampoline. Now, there appears to be some research to suggest that this may be beneficial for muscle tone in kids with cp, but it strikes me as a huge waste of time, quite literally as one Ofstead report says ‘a considerable amount of time is absorbed as pupils have to travel between school sites to use the swimming pool, Rebound Therapy and some other specialist facilities.’ I have two questions, 1. How does bouncing on a trampoline help kids in the long run? Trampolines are fun, but I fail to see how it helps kids in the long term, especially when you have to sacrifice so much teaching time for it. 2. wouldn’t it be better to do such things out of school time, such as at the weekends, if it is so beneficial. This is another example of the misguided medical model philosophy that giving a child things like physio is more important than educating him. To me, this is to squander a child’s future to an almost criminal extent. What good is the ability to walk if it would mean sacrificing the ability to read or count? Focussing on education rather than physio is better in the long term, as physical issues can be overcome mechanically, with things like chairs and vocas, whereas a poor education is a real disability. I personally think trampolines are most fun when they’re at a friends house, visited on a break from uni, bounced upon at dusk between swigs of beer.

source

We have just got in from my meeting at A.S, who organise and fund my learning support at uni. It was, I think, quite a productive meeting, certainly pretty straightforward.’ I found out I’m entitled to money for books, which as a bibliophile is brilliant. Alan sent me a list of books a short while ago, which I need to get. I also want to get hold of some of mulvey’s work – I had a look for a copy online, but no such luck.

Speaking of books, we had lunch in Blackwell’s earlier. Why didn’t anyone tell me of this place? Books and food! How cool. Although they didn’t have any of mulvey’s work, they did sell some good quiche and not bad coffee. I reckon if they did one more thing, Blackwell’s would be heaven: if Blackwell’s sold real ale, you’d never get me out of there!

Something unusual has come to my attention. Last week, I was channel hopping about 4pm. I flipped over to CBBC, and found something rather cool. Desperados, a programme about a kids wheelchair basketball team, came onto the screen. It seems to be a great piece of disability representation, and most of the actors are themselves disabled. At last ‘we’ are being portrayed accurately. Why is it that kids TV is always ahead of television meant for adults in such matters?

We just got back from London, where we were visiting my yaiya. You know, the house in haycroft gardens is, as it always has been, a kind of base of operations for the whole family. We’re quite a far-flung group, now spread more than ever, but my brothers, cousins, aunts and parents know we are always welcome there. Chris also came down from oxford too – she’s doing research there these days, so she can pop down to London rather easily. As usual, it was good to see her – we had a much-needed chat about how every bachelor’s student, at the end of his or her course, goes through the same thing: the same sense of absence. Everybody misses their friends. It’s probably worse for Chris, as she did her undergrad course in Brazil, but she tells me she sees them whenever she can.

At this, I felt a bit better – I was reminded that I needn’t worry. In fact, it struck me that I was in quite a privileged position. How many other people with disabilities get to contract post-bachelor disorder? Historically speaking, not many. of course, this must change: although I could be accused of snobbery here, I see university as having opened so many doors for me, both intellectually and socially, that I think it quite dire that more people do not go. I feel more confident than ever in both areas. Moreover, I, like many others, view it as a vital part of growing up.

This is why I, rather like CaMoron, worry about yob culture: I don’t wish to sound un-pc here, but so-called ‘hoodies’ seem to reject all that I and my family hold dear. To them, learning is uncool (they haven’t seen the photographs on my wall, obviously) which may account for the growing discipline problems in schools. They would rather be on the streets with their friends than in the classrooms, for you can’t look ‘hard’ if you like to learn. The educational establishment needs to re-engage the youth, to make learning cool. Then, maybe, kids will stop trying to look hard and realise there are cooler ways to solve arguments than shooting each other.

Blimey. It’s the 24th of August already. If memory serves, my good friend Charlie comes home today. She and Hollie (whose dress sense I love, by the way) have spent all summer in Ibiza. I hope they had an excellent time. Unfortunately, due to diary clashes, it’s unclear when I’m going to be able to go and see Charlie, something which I’d really like to do. I’d really like to hear her stories, and to tell here some of mine! Plus, I’d really like more of her mum’s chocolate pudding!

Anyway WELCOME HOME CHARLIE AND HOLLIE! I and I’m sure all the guys at mmu wish you the most pleasant of homecomings.

There is nothing like a roll up to swettenham for a good think, and today I think I’ve realised something most interesting. In fact, it might become part of my m.a. Then again, it might be totally wrong.

I was thinking, once again, about Lacan. I’ve been reading up on mulvey recently, and I think I now grasp the centrality of the mirror stage and formation of the egoideal. When the mother holds the baby up to the mirror, it sees both itself and a competitor for it’s mother’s affection; it therefore identifies with itself in order to overcome the competition. Therefore we generate our ego-ideal in the symbolic, which forms the basis for the scopic drive. ”The Ego is constructed by identification with the specular image. The relationship between the Ego and the specular image means that the Ego and the Imaginary order itself are places of radical alienation: ”alienation is constitutive of the Imaginary order” (see Seminar III The Psychoses). We may add that this relationship is also narcissistic. Thus the Imaginary is the field of images and imagination, and deception: the main illusions of this order are synthesis, autonomy, duality, similarity.” [source] this leads directly to film theory: the idealised self-image leads to identification with it and thereafher the on-screen hero (I think that’s basically it – just recapping Lacan)

Recently, I’ve been pondering Marx too, and have decided Marxism today is all about school and TV. The ruling class are no longer the factory owners; today, the bourgeoisie are the inteligencia. Think about it – to get anywhere in life today you need a degree. Now, what is at the heart of education? Literacy! I cant think of anything the educational establishment prises more than the written word. In effect, the inteligencia control the symbolic order for they make up most of the writers and film makers. Hence they can manipulate our ego-ideals. He who has mastery over the symbolic, be that language or otherwise, has mastery over the subject, for the ability to manipulate the representation of the ego-ideal is the ability to manipulate the ego. If you can control the on screen hero, you control the idealised self image. The imaginary is structured by the symbolic, which, as mulvey wrote, is controlled by the bourgeois patriarchy. Freud, through Lacan, relates directly to Marx.

However, there is a way out. Rather than class conflict, it is mastery over the symbolic which has the ability to make us all equal: in short, education sets us free. (academia is based on philology). If we all have equal control over the symbolic order, we are all equal. Now, you can see why this has a personal resonance, for it would seem to unite my three major interests of film, education and communication. All three are concerned with controlling the symbolic, which is central to the formation of the ego. Direct control of oneself necessitates direct control of the symbolic, both societally and personally. This, I think, is why disabled people are looked down upon in society – we don’t have enough access to the symbolic. Both inclusion and vocas are ways of remedying this. (see here).

All these ideas are playing around in my head. I may have got it wrong; it may not be new. Right now, though, it fascinates me; perhaps I need to make more trips to swettenham to work it out.

I was listening, while I was eating lunch today, to the news on radio 4. apparently, ” David Cameron has called for a ‘three-dimensional’ fight against youth crime, focusing on families, policing and the justice system.” On the face of it, this looks quite reasonable and liberal, almost echoing ‘tough on crime, tough on the causes of crime’. Nobody would disagree with this, even me. But if you think about it, there seems to be a contradiction. Even though CaMoron wants to appear liberal and balanced, underneath what he is saying still lie the same old tenets of conservatism. For one, he’s still seeing things in terms of absolutes – in terms of black and white. ‘hoodies are bad’ he says, without really understanding suburban youth culture and it’s disenfranchisement. Instead, he says that this ‘yobbism’ is caused by the breakdown of the family and family values. The conservatives were saying pretty much the same thing in 1909, at the time of the constitution crisis. Moreover, to sociologists, the family is a repressive structure intended to reinforce patriarchy. Thus this 3d approach is nothing of the sort – CaMoron is still seeing in monochrome.

Exactly the same can be said of the special schools debate. Those who favour special schools speak of how ‘one size does not fit all’. Again, at first glance appears accurate, but when it and the motives behind it are examined, it shows a lack of understanding of the issue. Segregating kids causes far more harm than inclusion ever will. It is repressive. So again we see the same distortion – CaMoron’s views and statements, while at first appearing reasonable, are the same old, discredited, ridiculous Tory ideas.

source

I must admit this is pretty scary; it also confirms my suspicions that the people who make kids tv ara all high. how else do you explain the tweenies.

Was over at Ross’s place this morning. Their new house is lovely. Its huge too. It’s completely flat – there’s no step over the threshold, so I could just roll in. I had a fairly good chat with rods and his parents, during which I found out something most interesting indeed: Hebden green is shutting.

My old school is shutting and a new, inclusive school will be made from the 5 or so schools in winsford. According to Ross’s dad, this new hyper-school will be made which will accommodate every shade of pupil. Funnily, I’m not sure how to react: suppressive though it was, Hebden and I go back a long time. The mosaic is there. This is not to say I don’t support the new idea but….

I was struck by a fear. This school will accommodate every ‘type’ of student: A.b, P.D. L.D and also BED. I’ve admitted before on here that I have very little experience with Bed, but I was struck by the thought: what if some kid with behavioural difficulties, say, hits a kid like Ross? Such a thing would be terrible – Ross is tiny, and unable to defend himself. I am not doubting my belief in inclusion, but I really hope the right safeguards will be in place.

any input on this will be most welcome

It looks like October outside. A cold, wet November afternoon with nothing to do, and nothing n the box. You wouldn’t believe it’s late august, would you? I just watched the first ten minutes of Johnny English, decided it was an embarrassment to art, and turned my TV off. Last night, in contrast, I watched rear window – now that’s a film! No, scratch that: its more than a film – it is an essay in scoppophilia. It is entirely about films, how we watch them, how we construct stories. I noticed that the james stewart character was, in effect, acting as a viewer, constructing stories. I’m gonna definitely have to watch that again. Here, I should thank my brother Mark for the Hitchcock box set he gave me for graduation.

For many years, university seemed like a destination. Now, having got there, having got to the top of the hill, do I see the path goes further – through hills and valleys more beautiful than I ever thought. There’s so much more to learn, not just in my own subject of film but everything. Academia is immense, ranging from the study of Arthurian legend, to Zoology. Even though I have only a cursory knowledge of either, I am both captivated by the tales off the Knights of the round table and accounts of natural history, especially that pertaining to evolution. Film captivates me the most, however. While I love reading and being read to, film brings such things to life – only in film can those knights say Ni, and only in film can you actually see a tyrannosaurus become a bird. Thus it is how information is presented, both in terms of fiction and non-fiction, which interests me, not so much the information in itself. It goes without saying that I believe that academia should concern itself with both. How can you ever know the truth without examining both art and science? While one deals with the natural state of external things, from strings to stars, the other deals with the internal things. As much as my brothers like to dismiss the arts, I believe the generation and study of art has as much claim to the truth as any of the sciences. This is why both are studied on campuses, and any wider model of philosophy should take both into account.

That is the landscape I see before me now. A world with so much to learn, to study, to read and write about. One full of cool little philosophical debates, which, in the end, always turned my head to mush, but that doesn’t stop me liking them. The thing is, unlike climbing real hills, I don’t feel tired, but, on the contrary, want to go further. I must admit to being egged on in pursuit of mark. University is a place I found extraordinarily welcoming – I loved every day there, both due to the work, the atmosphere of mental stimulation, and my friends. In climbing the hill, one acquires a taste for mountaineering, but one can only know that once one takes the first step. Only once you get to uni that you feel the thrill, the love of learning, the enjoyment you get from being around like-minded people.

This is part of inclusion too. So many kids – not just those with disabilities – a told they can’t. I think people need to be shown how broad and beautiful that landscape can be. I hope that others follow me into that land, and that it enthrals them as much as it enthrals me.

Gad to see this is finally posted on youtube. It’s the music video we made at 1voice. Well, I say ‘we’ – the young people made it. I didn’t do too much. Nevertheless, I am proud of it. They all worked damn hard to make it, but I think they all had fun too.

One of the recurrent themes in the song is Beth’s enunciation: my voice is my power. I’ve been mulling over this principal quite a bit recently. I agree – to have power, to have the ability to control what goes on, one must have the ability to communicate.. the problem is that society demands we must communicate through certain means in certain, often limited means. I am communicating to you now. I can do this only because I have two things: first, I have literacy skills enough to access the words. Second, I have an expanded keyboard, so that, despite my cp, I can type up my thoughts. Only with these two things can I communicate to you. Only with these two things can I tell you that its currently raining here, or that dad’s taken apart the rooter, or that I miss my university friends, Katie, my brothers and everyone very much. The same applies to natural voices and vocas – it’s interesting how often overlook and undervalue the ability to communicate. It, in actuality, is everything. Our voices are our power.

Ghandi is on later today. Its interesting that he freed India, not through violence, but through words. His voice truly was powerful. This is why his speeches, like those of dr. King, live on through time. The ability to communicate is greater than any other ability I can think of.

The Tories have today announced a proposal to cut inheritance tax were they to become the next government. I greet this news with a sigh. Its abundantly clear that, despite wanting to appear centrist, this proposal appeals predominantly to the rich, and thus reveals the rightist substructure of the Tory party. I say again: beneath this veneer of friendliness lies the same bunch of moronic pseudo-fascists we had in the 80s. mind you, it is ironic that this cut will now appeal to more people due to the benefits of a labour government. More people are above the lower threshold for this tax due to the fact that we are, for the most part, considerably more wealthy than we were before 97. in effect, the Tories are riding on Labour’s successes. Are these the actions of a nice trustworthy party or a bunch of liars and sneakthiefs?

its been a bit of a dull day. well, dull for me: the a-level results are at their highest, and, apparently, we’re heading for a recession or depression. summit like that. if I had my way, we’d do away with economics – the stock market is a load of men in suits feeling more important than they actually are. I mean, its just a form of gambling.

thinking of something to write about is hard sometimes. Now, I know I said no more crap from youtube but this is better crap than most. youtube has produced a rather cool democratisation of film, don’t you think?

I keep going in circles with research. Mind you, I haven’t been doing enough of that; summer always makes me lazy. I sit down to read, and read for perhaps 30 to 60 minutes, then my mind wanders. Its interesting stuff – I like the boardwellian/formalist approach, but how do you unite that detailed close textual analysis and grammatical analysis with ideas of scoppophilia? Its not enough to detail the on screen structures. I wanna know why they work, almost. I guess I should read more, but, as I say, my mind wonders.

My shortening attention span aside, I still love learning. I love examining stuff, arguing a point. I guess this is, in part, why I keep a blog. I think I have my family to blame for this, especially my parents. They have been very supportive. They’re a pair of bibliophiles, really. Incidentally, dad finished reading to mum and myself Deathly Hallows last night, but I’ll refrain from saying anything about it for fear of spoiling it for anyone yet to finish. My family is thus an academic one, and it is largely (but not solely) the environment which I grew up in that ensured my success.

There were other forces in play, of course: the fact that I love learning helped, as well as the fact that I saw college, university, and to a certain extent school as positive environments. These factors came together, and what had once seemed impossible was proved possible. The barriers to my entrance to uni fell quite easily all that was needed was my lightwriter, wheelchairs, electric door-opener, Pas and so on – physical things to overcome physical problems.

That, however, is what I’m now becoming concerned about. Before now, I’ve seen inclusively as mostly a physical problem, and I’m becoming aware this is too simplistic. Inclusion, for the likes of me, is relatively easily achieved, but it must not stop at me. I was talking to an old friend of mine last night; he used to be my LSA at Mac. He still works there, and he told me how he works with kids with ‘behavioural difficulties’ and so forth. During our conversation, over msn, I realised how little I know about that side of inclusion, and this struck me as a problem. Of course, I speak on my blog from a personal perspective (that of a white, middle class suburban man). If I truly care about inclusion beyond my own, and if I believe education must be for all, I should not ignore such issues. To a certain extent, the inclusion of kids with purely physical disabilities is just the tip of the iceberg. I must admit, too, that it kind of fascinates me.

My friend and I decided to hook up. According to him, these kids had low self esteem, which is a major cause of their problems. He suggested it could help if I went in to meet these kids; naturally, I’d be honoured – perhaps these kids just need some role models, or someone to show them how bril life in academia is, both mentally and socially. I also think such a scheme would also further my knowledge of the inclusion debate. However, now I have yet more research to do.

The DVD recording of my graduation ceremony came today. That was a very emotional day – undoubtedly one of the happiest days of my life – and I am glad we got the DVD to commemorate it. Such things serve as anchors, fixing us to the past. I look at the photos and remember, with great fondness, what has been; yet they also make me wonder what is yet to come. Not just for me, but for those like me.

University, as I have said before, was the greatest experience of my life, and with luck it will continue into my masters. Yet I was lucky. If my parents had left it to school, I would never have done GCSEs, let alone A-levels. Well, to qualify that, they would have put me in for the foundation GCSE, where the top grade is a D. they would have described me as incapable of doing anything higher. My parents, of course, thought otherwise, and the DVD downstairs, as well as the photographs of me in my cap and gown, are testimony to their confidence and bloody mindedness.

I hope dad doesn’t mind me writing this, but I think it fair to say that my father did not like my headmaster. As I wasn’t at all the meetings, I cannot relay all the details, but the discussions over my future apparently got quite heated. Neither of my parents liked school, and always maintained that I wasn’t being pushed enough. Indeed, my brothers referred to Hebden as ‘day-care’. As much as I protested at the time, I see now that mark and Luke were just about right. Schools like that virtually are day-care: holding places for disabled children. Staff were caring enough, but they didn’t push kids. They did not foster any kind of motivation to learn quite the opposite, in fact. We were just allowed to play.

It was all bullshit. Kids were pushed into doing these so-called vocational, ‘ASDAN’ qualifications at post-16. according to the aimhigher website, ‘It is the principal vehicle in the ASDAN Aimhigher HEFC national project for raising attainment, developing more independent and autonomous learners, and widening participation amongst the national priority target groups….The certificate has been calibrated by DFES as an equivalent to a Grade ‘B’ GCSE at level 2 achievement (46 points), as an equivalent to a Grade ‘E/F’ GCSE at level 1(25 points),and as an AS level equivalent at level 3. This means it can contribute to raising schools’ average points scores.’ (source) now, in itself this appears to be okay – ordinary schools might use such qualifications to supplement more mainstream qualifications. I see no problem with this. however, it was all Hebden was using. Such certificates, in my experience, are totally lacking in academic rigour. In terms of such rigour, it is often seen that the A-level is closer to bachelor than GCSE level; qualifications like ASDAN are the opposite. Indeed, the way school ran them, they were simply an exercise in copying and pasting, seeing how little work staff could make the kids do. In fact, I do not recall any student on that course having to do an extended piece of prose. Thus, while I was going to Woodford lodge, trying to do my English lit A-Level (and making a hash of it I must add for the sake of fairness) the guys in my class as well as the one above us were doing this asdan bull and drinking coffee.

The guys with md were doing GNVQ art, mind, which is a bit better, but it was still taught in the same half-assed way, lacking in both passion and rigour. In the bungalow, lessons were squeezed between coffee breaks. I think that is why I struggled at macc college: when I finally got into a proper educational establishment, where students were expected to work, I didn’t cope well. I was also completely unaccustomed to the academic mindset, with argument and counter argument. I liked cold, hard facts rather than models and hypotheses. Hebden had not prepared me at all for that.

Special schools foster neither a thirst for knowledge, nor ambition. You are simply supposed to accept one’s place in life, and let staff delude you that they’re giving you a good education when they aren’t. I’ll have to go into the reasons for this at some other time, for they are complex and manifold, but nowI have a DVD to watch, again.

I know I said on Friday that I wasn’t going to post any more random stuff from youtube, but this, of course, isn’t random. It’s the first part of a documentary about a guy with ‘cognitive impairment’ going to university in the states. My initial reaction is a mixture of curiosity and ‘why the fuck not’? why shouldn’t all mean all? Anyway, go watch.

Oh what fun we had this weekend. I’m too tired (make that knackered) to write a full account now, as we had quite an adventure. One high point was getting a flat tire on my way to my brother’s on Friday night, and having to drive at 50mph for about 200 miles. I decided the best way to get through that was to fall asleep. However, special mention must be made of George, the keeper of the guest house at Bowburn, who was extremely concerned and caring; he’s a top guy, and not only that – he makes excellent breakfasts!

Other than the flat tire, the weekend went without a hitch. My brother is, of course, worrying himself silly about moving to Paris, but is otherwise fine. It was good to see him. Had some excellent food, a good beer or two. Now, though, I just want to rest.

Every time I go away, even for two or three days, I come back to find the world and his wife are after me. I had 15 messages in my inbox just now *- I don’t usually get that many over that period. It’s a conspiracy! We’re going up to Durham this weekend for my brothers birthday – I wonder how my emails will be waiting or me when I get back on Sunday/

Although it was unfortunate that I missed the invitation for a trip to Tatton with the joneses, and I regret not being able to meet Chris, charlottes cousin with cp, I have spent a most excellent three days in Wales. I went with dad – we both go stir crazy sitting around the house. We share a mutual passion for just moving, either walking, wheeling or driving. It gives you time to think, talk, or listen to the radio. I must say I got quite engrossed in a serial drama on woman’s hour about a guy in India on a version of ‘who wants to be a millionaire’. I had great fun with the gps too.

Most of all, though, I love the countryside. I love to see things I haven’t seen before. Wales is quite beautiful, often astonishing in its ruggedness. The only way to see a place is to drive all over it, and this we did, setting off on Wednesday morning, going south, heading to Cardiff, thence west. Evening on Wednesday found us at the Beggars Reach inn, near Milford haven. There’s a pub near there, the jolly sailor, overlooking the harbour. It was quite quite beautiful.

The following morning, after a hearty breakfast, we drove north along the western coast of Wales, then up into the hills. I kept looking at the map, which gave me a better idea of the geography. We stopped at Aberystwyth, then drove further north to Anglesey, then back onto the mainland, finally stopping last night at an old coaching house on the A5.

It didn’t really feel as if we were going far, and yet we covered a hell of a distance in the last few days. I didn’t feel as if we were spending much time in the car, but we were. It was just fun. It gave me a chance to decide on a few things: firstly, I think I need to read more film theory, particularly that relating to psychoanalysis. In short, I too need to return to Freud. Secondly, after discussing it with dad, I’ll now be more focussed in my blog entries; writing about my day to day activities is good as it hopefully gives readers an idea of what life is like for a disabled person. Yet, at the same time, surely reading of the activities of some post adolescent cripple with a taste for frocks, parties and real ale gets dull after a while, so I intend to focus more on doing something more akin to editorial journalism from now on. Actually commenting on disability life, culture and politics. Mind you, there will still be room for the odd ‘what I got up to last night’ entry, but from now on you will have to find your own crap on youtube.

We got back, after taking the long way home, just before midday. Right. Time to repack for Durham.

It is fair to say I’m pretty hacked off this morning. Yesterday was Scott’s birthday. Scott, who took drama at uni, is quite a good friend of mine, and I rather like his sense of humour. I heard from rocky that they were going to Yates’s, in Hanley, last night, and agreed to meet her there. I still don’t have a PA, so I got mum and dad to drive me over. En route, it began bucketing down. We’re talking monsoon here. Thus, when we got to the place, after missing it the first time, there was no sign of rocky or any of my friends, only some dombass at the door who took the piss when me and dad walked in.

We waited in the rain. It was raining, and we had left mum in the car, so we couldn’t really wait long. Besides, it was possible that they’d called it off due to the monsoon. My biggest mistake of the evening was not bringing Rocky’s number. After ten or fifteen minute, we headed back to the car,

Dad phoned rocky when we got home. It seems we’d just missed each other. It’s extremely annoying – I want to see my friends; I want to go for nights out with them. It’s nobody’s fault, of course, except mine: had I picked up Rocky’s phone number from the kitchen table, dad could have called her when we were outside the pub. Ho hum. I’m sure there will be many more such occasions; it’s just frustrating, and rather sad.

short of anyth,ing better to write about – the highlight of the day being the aquisition of two frames for my graduation photos – I found this articcle to show you. this guy thinks he can make a time machine by ccoiling light. If you ask me, and I’m no physicist (even if I use a VOCA) he’s nuts, but it’s an interestting read.

Anyway, all being well, I’m off out later for a night in handley with a gfew uni mates. It’s Sccotts birthday. I’ve been home for a wile, so I can’t wait!

today I’ll post a link to this, a very witty, observant list of 74 ways to annoy a cripple, written by my friend simon stevens. I hope to be working on a book with simon in the not too distant future. Judging from this list, it should be a very rewarding process indeed.

something very cool has happened, if not sub zero in fact. Mum has a new recipe book. now, anyone who knows my mother, and the contents of the kitchen, will know that this in and of itself is nothing special. What is special is the fact that the book in question was made using contributions from people who work at mum’s company, and the fact that they chose to donate the proceeds to two charities: cancer research and Onevoice. How cool is that? It’s as cool as when Charlie told me the donations from the gospel choir concert were going to Onevoice. It’s bloody brilliant.

Thanks to mum and everyone at Acumed global. You are amazing!

This afternoon I put together this small video. Its just my tribute to my friends at uni. I love them all dearly. I hope they, and you, like it

My parents and I went to see the new Harry potter film last night. It was either this or the Simpson’s. I think we made the right choice: although I haven’t seen the film, I’m reticent about the Simpson’s film. I think that it is best suited for the 25 minute slot. Mind you I still want to see that movie (note I don’t say film – I reserve that term for a work of art of a single auteur. Stuff like the Simpson’s isn’t really art in that sense).

Harry potter and the order of the phoenix is a treat. Its dark and gripping. Although its billed as a kids movie, and there’s stuff in there for children, I think it is now more appropriate to think of them as adult movies. We’re reading the latest novel at the mo, and there are definitely allusions to things such as Nazism and the holocaust. And it is truly dark. Rowling may have began the potter series as sugary sweet escapism, but that sugar has steadily fermented into something far more potent. In OOTP, we see Harry become a man, and general no less. Although this may have been a bit clich, I found him extremely convincing: this angry, disturbed young man essentially alone in the world. It was as powerful as star wars, and I kind of want it to be accompanied by some grandiose overture like the Jedi music! I’m sure the potter films will now be just as immortal as Lucas’s masterpiece, for this is stuff that really grips the soul. I also think Daniel radcliffe has grown into a fine actor – he’s finally stopped being that snotnosed little kid who irritated me. The same goes with the supporting cast.

With two more films to go, these films are becoming as immortal as the books. What we’ll ever do if and when jk Rowling retires I dread to think.