Last night something pretty cool happened. Dad came here at about 7 to repair the chair, and after that I headed over to ps1 to catch up with g and the guys. I found that the rehearsal had just ended, but Richard and Justin were hanging around to work on the music. I waited about for ten minutes, then rich returned with some beers, and I watched the guys jam.

Those two guys were awesome. Justin, a friend of graham’s from the south, is quite a good bass player; Richard was on the drums. They must have just played for about ten minutes, just riffing. The lights were low, and I had a beer, and a huge feeling off contentment slipped over me.

Its been quite a long day at art school. I work 9 till four, which are longer hours than I’m used to. Today I was working in the gallery, showing kids round with their teachers. It’s mostly the children’s work in there, but, in the corner, on one stand, there’s an abstracted version of my exhibition – the only work of an mmu student in there. I gotta say that’s quite an ego boost, especially given that it was uni who asked me if they could put it up. I think its quite a complement.

oh, I forgot to clarify: I did indeed get a first. the letter was on the kitchen table when I got home on friday, confirming it. Not bad eh. the good news is that all of my friends passed too. nice one guys.

now, if only going to places like ibiza and chester was as simple as writing essays. [here I should ask the jones clan to bear with me. I will see you [i]sometime[/i]this summer (if you still want me)]

Dad and I argued yesterday evening. It was my fault – I neglected to tell him my chair was damaged, among other things. The back lights had come loose. I would ask him now to go here.

sorry dad

Its been ages since I have had a political rant. Recently I’ve been focussing on writing about the events around me. This is what has seemed important to me: my friends have been leaving, I’m going home soon myself, and I can’t help but feel morose about it. Now that campus is virtually empty, and nobody is about, I can focus on other stuff. My parents took my clothes home last night, leaving me just enough for the week, so I can’t have fun dressing up either. Boo.

Anyway, I was eating breakfast in the wes earlier, and David CaMoron was being interviewed on bbc news. In his ‘reasonable’ ‘jovial’ manner,, he was attacking labour’s tactic of ‘top down’ government. Naturally as a conservative, he thinks that institutions should be controlled by the people, not the government. When he said this, I realised just how stupid he and the philosophy he expounds is. The government, in a liberal democracy, IS the people. the people elect the government to control the institutions by proxy. If we allowed institutions such as the NHS to be run independently, as in free market capitalism, they would be run for profit. The result will be streamlined, cost-efficient, but also uncaring, unfair and open to mistakes. It’s executives would care more about their purses than patients. In short, it would be catastrophic.

People who vote conservative fail to understand this. we need government to help things run. People on their own are selfish, but working together we can be so much more. Thus we need governmental control for efficient administration. Conservatism, as we found before ’97, does not work. Frankly, I find it a sham philosophy – the only governing principals behind it are greed, fear of difference and fear of others. It means clinging on to the status quo – sort of an ‘I’m alright, sod you’ mentality. It’s exponents, of course, claim that it is ran my ‘social Darwinism’, i.e., left to its own devices, society will improve, but this is to misunderstand Darwin. He was describing nature, or rather it’s unconscious mechanisms. If we apply pure Darwinian principals to society, there would be a huge waste of talent – it would be a case of survival of the greediest and most opportunistic, not the ‘fittest’.

More pertinently to this blog, where would it leave us cripples? If society was based on conservatism, I think we would be screwed. We, without support such as direct payments, would not be able to keep up (I’m talking literal, physical support). It is the government which should be expected to provide this support on two counts: A) expecting people to pay for their own support would lead to an unfair, inhumane lottery of life. B) under the social model, it is society which disables us through it’s barriers; it follows that society should be expected to remove those barriers.

Why don’t people see conservatism for what it is? It is a sham, poorly thought out, centred on the self; it is as worrying as it is ridiculous. Why it didn’t die out in the late nineteenth century would be beyond me, had I not factored in people’s inability to understand new ideas.

The question is, how do I start this and what to include? How do I put this? It’s almost too incredible for words, this feeling – this euphoric feeling – is almost impossible to describe. Yesterday three of the most incredible years of my life reached a peak. It’s as if a grand symphony reached the very moment of climax and all the notes and phrases which had been before were added up to make one divine chord.

These really have been the best years of my life. I have loved almost every moment of my university experience, both academically and socially. Of course, I think the second equated the first. I think that if a student flourishes socially at university, he or she is more likely to flourish academically. I found that I was in a very supportive environment, so surrounded by friends which made university seem like a positive place to be. This made me more inclined to push myself. I think that staying in halls has helped greatly with this, for I was able to enjoy the company of people in exactly my position. Living at uni and finding it a fun place to be is more likely to foster a positive work ethic. I think my friends felt the same. In other words, if you are allowed to play hard, you are more likely to work hard. I think we all play hard. I have so many good memories; going to Paris in the second year, going to Newquay in the third year, discos at Brandies every Wednesday, doing my exhibition, winning the pub quiz two weeks in a row, going to Steve’s house party, going to Charlotte’s house and staying overnight, going to my first every night club, the list goes on. I don’t think this would have been possible had it not been for two factors which overlock slightly. Firstly, I have the best group of friends a man could ask for. People who I love dearly and who support me. Second, I have a very good set of Pas – without them I couldn’t possibly have come to uni. I wouldn’t be able to eat for one, or take notes, or do virtually anything that made university so much fun. As I say, the two groups overlap, it is impossible not to regard your Pas as your friends if you see them day-in, day-out. As I said on Wednesday, there is some overlap. While some may frown upon this over issues of control, I found it works exceptionally well.

Finally, Esther, without her none of this would be possible. She took my notes and gave me lunches, but she also did much more, she kept me on the straight and narrow, reminded me to do things. I owe her a lot, as with Steve, Charlie, and Nicky, I am extremely fond of her.

And so we reach the end of this blog entry; the end of my degree, the end of an era. I will miss it. I will miss all my friends. I will miss lectures. I will miss typing out assignments after breakfast and meeting everyone in the Wes at about 11. I will miss dinner with Charlotte. I will miss getting dressed up in the most ridiculous clothes and going to Brandies. I will miss sitting out on the blue benches with Jim. I will miss going to Graham’s rehearsals. I will miss everything. I should say that this blog entry is to be read in the context of all the entries before it, which I made in the last few years.

And now we come to it. It gives me great pleasure to announce that I got my results yesterday. The grand cherry was put on the most delicious cake ever: although I’m yet to see actual written confirmation of this, so it might change, it presently looks like I got a first!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MUM!see you tonight. love you lots

I was over in Crewe earlier today, on business which I’ll blog about tomorrow, when the woman organising artscool came up to me. As I’ve said before, they want to put on my exhibition again, as part of it. However, just as I was taking a bite of my mars bar, she approached me. While she thought my work was brilliant, she had noticed two of the bits of writing had swear words in. as it was for kids, she asked me to change the offending words.

The first piece I had no problem with: its simply a case of changing arse to butt (arse is cooler, but never mind). However, the second piece was different. It is the closing sentence of this blog entry I need to change. While I see her point, I also think that profanity is necessary, especially in such cases. She did, in fact, agree with me, but there are kids involved. I am loathe to change it – those words were written out of hatred and despair. Most of my work in my exhibition, I feel, is very upbeat, but people need to see the contrast.

While the thought of changing those words puts me in a foul mood, I guess I need to change them. After all, there are kids involved. Just don’t expect me to be happy about it.

I find myself fretting over the entry I wrote last night (link); I think there are bits I forgot to say. It is intended simply to question the received notions of who one should employ as a PA. for me, the solution of employing a person who is already a friend or associate works wonderfully, as long as it is handled maturely. Thus, when charlotte first became my PA, we ere already friends. However, I do feel our bonds grew stronger as time went on, and the more we saw of each other, at dinner time etc, the more we wanted to see of each other socially. Provided that you both agree upon what is what I see no harm In this. yes, there are ambiguities (eg, a trip with other friends to the cinema), but these can be talked through and agreed upon (basically you just need to be relaxed, open and honest, three qualities which miss Jones possesses in spades!). I really feel it has lead to a firm and lasting friendship, although whether this friendship would have developed in such a way anyway is hard to discern. I have many other great friends here, but I seem to have grown especially attached to c. we spent a lot of time together, which is why I miss her.

I think, too, that this is only suitable for a few people: you can’t employ any of your friends. Charlie was ideal because she has the right temperament and attitude, as does Steve and Esther. I should say, too, that it is only because Charlie is Charlie that we grew so close. Whether I’ll grow closer to jen next year remains to be seen.

Better stop going on about this. I hope Charlie doesn’t mind me recording all this, but I think it important for me to try to explain to other disabled people my perspective on organising my own care, and the advantages and disadvantages to it. all I am saying is that this method, unorthodox though it is, helped me forge one of the most wonderful friendships of my life. It worked brilliantly for me: all my needs were met, with the minimum of fuss. I think we both had great fun too. You just need to respect eachother. It probably isn’t suitable in all cases, but given the result it produced, – a great year and a hell of a friendship – I do not regret it in the slightest.

I freely admit that choosing a friend to be PA a is very unorthodox. I rather suspect that some of my friends from the disabled community would probably frown upon my asking Charlie and Steve – two of my best friends – to PA for me. There are dangers inherent in such a choice; however, if handled properly, I feel it can work wonderfully, and I am really glad I did it.

I better explain the reasoning behind my decision. Charlotte was, and remains, a good friend of mine. She also lived, this year, on campus, just the other side of the sports hall. The obvious advantages to this were that A) having seen Bill PA for me, Charlie knew exactly what I needed, and B) if need be, I could very easily ask for her help by knocking on her window. Often, this worked better than e-mail. C knows me very well, and can thus meet my needs. Moreover, given that we fitted into the same large social group, our activities matched almost exactly: wherever she wanted to go, I usually wanted to. Also, although she is not a ‘professional’ PA, she was open to helping me shower etc, so she met my needs in that area.

However, one must be careful with this strategy. You must trust each other completely, as well as keeping a level head. The split between social time and PA time must be clear: for example, on Wednesday nights – disco nights – I usually put charlotte down as having worked three hours for me: one hour tea time, another getting me ready, one hour putting me to bed, approximately. Note, too, that I allowed for her to get me drinks too, which an ordinary PA would have to do. The rest of the time we were together in a capacity of friends. We both understood this, and it is why you must show your PA a timesheet to sign. You must therefore be completely open, and, of course, it is a supreme credit to charlotte that she didn’t once try to take advantage of this. Another case in point is newquay: we were both going, so asking charlotte to feed me my meals etc seemed more expedient than taking another person. The rest of the time we were simply together as friends.

It has been suggested by some that this strategy may cause an imbalance in power: one friend wants to do this, another wants to do that. However, I found that, as long as one is open and reasonable, this did not occur. Sometimes, I was happy to go along with Charlie, and visa versa. Campus is so small that options are limited and our intentions often coincided. if they did not, a way to accomodatee my needs was usually found.

Of course, there were occasions when we wanted to be together purely as friends. On such occasions, like Monster Monster, I took another PA. in that way, we could simply have fun together, and it turned out to be a great night. I think this is why I feel so affectionately towards her: we spent a lot of time together, at dinner time etc, and the more time I spent with her, naturally, the more I grew to like her. I do feel that she became almost more than a friend; it’s fair to say we became very close. Thus, I think we became closer this way. In a way, I’m glad she’ no longer officially my employee, as now we can just enjoy each others company whenever we meet. (mind you, I think it is in charlotte’s nature to care for people, so odds on she’ll still help me out however she can)

As I say, you must be careful. Charlotte is an exceptional person; I think this can only work with people like her, who are open, honest, and trusting. It would not work in places other than a campus, which fosters such openness, friendship and trust: we students have a strong sense of comradeship. This is why I need an ordinary PA over summer, but next year I intend to ask Jen, a 2nd year friend, to PA for me. Unorthodox, maybe, but I found it works very well indeed.

The contrast in my mood from 24 hours ago is amazing. I’m still rather miffed I missed that party, but yesterday afternoon I bumped into fran, who went. She explained what happened, and about how they tried to get into contact with me. In fact she seemed as upset as I was. In the end, she got her mobile, and called c. putting it on loudspeaker so I could talk to her. In that moment, I realised I have the best group of friends ever! C understood everything, and said she missed me. I instantly felt much, much better. I miss her to – quite accutely – but, with phones and the internet and everything, no friend is ever really that far away.

Well, today we’re going to put up the exhibition in Crewe. More ego-trips for me. I have a feeling it’s gonna be a great day!

I just found out something both interesting and crap. According to facebook, my school doesn’t exist. If you use their school finder thing, and select winsford, you find Verdin and Woodford Lodge, but no Hebden green. Of course, this is probably because it’s a special school, and, after all, why would we cripples be using computers? Alternatively, it may have blown up, but I rather suspect it means that people aren’t supposed to know it’s there. Interesting, don’t you think?

I’m still rather perturbed about what happened yesterday. In fact, it frustrated me enough to disturb my sleep. It made me very angry – as I wrote last night, I’d have loved to see c and all my friends – but I guess it’s sods law, and there was nothing more I could do. I’d have got a taxi, but didn’t have the cash. Either way, I got my friend john to phone Charlie to explain, and I’m sure she understands. Its just frustrating.

In fact, I was a bit naughty last night. I got home on Friday to a most magnificent sight (for a bibliophile). A hard-bound, gold-edged illustrated copy of the complete works of Shakespeare lay on the table. I have never seen a more beautiful book. at first, ii thought it was a gift for someone, but I was wrong: it was ours. Dad had got it because it had been reduced from £150 to just £8. It struck me as a blasphemy! However, I offered it to Ollie, or any of my friends, if they could take me to Chester last night. I was being quite serious: I’d have given anything for a car. Mind you, I didn’t tell anyone how little dad paid for it.

Oh well; its not the end of the world. Frustrated, if not downright sad as I feel, life goes on. Now all I have to do is organise getting my arse out to Ibiza. I wonder if I could pay for that in books.

I do not recall ever feeling this upsets. I can not access the email from my website at home, only hotmail; when I checked outlook, at about 5 this evening, I found an email from my friend Jodie: party at charlotte’s, see me soon for a lift. It was sent Friday, so I rushed but to find my friends. I was too late.. the space they had in the car filled. I rushed about frantically trying to get to Chester, but to no avail. While I know I’ll see her soon enough, I’d have given anything to get to that party – tot be with my friends, surprising Charlie. She’s the type of person I’d walk to the ends of the earth for, as I’d suspect she’d do no less for me. Not being able to get there, to be in her company, feels like I’ve betrayed her almost. If course, we’ll see each other at graduation, and I suspect we’ll be seeing a lot of each other in the future, but my inability to get to this party – the farewell do of my best friend – saddens me very deeply indeed.

How come everything these days involves cats? Its odd, but suddenly cat references seem all around me. For example:

1.I recently ordered a cat empire cd from Amazon. Cat empire are an Australian band who play very eclectic, upbeat music. Charlie introduced me to them – she often put their album on when I went to visit her on Wednesday before brandies disco. Its good music, and I associate it with great times. Go listen.

2.I have been buying zentai again. This time I ordered one with a cat’s ears and tail. I know its silly, but there is something about the feline aesthetic I find compelling.

3.on campus we have a one-eyed cat called Brandy, after which the bar is named. I have recently taken amusement in chasing it, especially when bored, shouting things like ‘dinner!’ of course, I do not mean to harm the thing – in fact, I’ve grown quite attached to the animal. It is fun though.

So there we have three examples of why cats are taking over my life, and probably the world too. Maybe if I disguise myself as one while listening to their music they won’t hurt me when they take over. Mind you, if cats did take over the world, brandy would chase me. I’m in trouble!

Today I’d like to draw you’re attention to a problem which I presume is common to all VOCA users. Not sure if I have posted about it before, but it’s worth mentioning it again. The thing is we can’t walk and talk, or, rather, type and control a wheelchair, at the same time. Cp effects dexterity so that you can only use one hand at a time.

Me, Chris, Steve and martin were walking back from the pub last night (which reminds me, I still don’t know what the final score of the England mach was). My friends were walking, I was in defiant. It was about 7.30, so still rather bright. The guys were talking typical lad stuff about which house they claimed to own, sexual behaviour, cars, football, and general obscenity, my chair, when set on mode 3 is slightly faster than they walk, so I kept edging away from them. Although this wasn’t on purpose, I felt I was being rude: I couldn’t really join in the conversation, as that would mean stopping to compose a sentence every two or 3 seconds, in which case we’d just be arriving home now, but at the same time I didn’t want to appear as if I wasn’t enjoying their company.

Well, what can you do. The only solution is to go in my manual chair, meaning I would need to ask my friends to push me. This would free up my right hand to type. While I’m pretty sure they would do this, last night I felt like going in my electric. I like the ability to propel myself. Its thus a case of the ability to speak versus the ability to move. Quite a conundrum, no?

I’m not sure there’s a definitive answer. As it was, I was just happy listening to my friends talk and laugh, on a bright summer evening, on the way back from the pub.

My eagerness to evangelise about university has thrown up something of a paradox in my head, although it is one which is easily solved. To enter higher education, we all must reach certain standards: universities give applicants conditional offers, which means that they are denied entry if they do not reach them. While I agree with this system, where does it leave inclusion? It is elitist. Surely uni cannot be both inclusive and discriminatory.

Yet this is to neglect the fact that there are many different types of intelligence. Just because one cannot pass exams doesn’t mean one is an idiot. Indeed, to a certain extent, I think that academia is too lingo-centric, too focussed on literacy. While I personally believe writing is the best way to get across large bodies of information, it is not the be all and end all of communication. It relies on the ability to access an arbitrary code: why should this ability be the yardstick for intelligence? I see no real reason why assignments cannot be spoken, given in symbols like Bliss, or even danced, provided that they are judged by the same criteria as all other assignments. I believe all students should be expected to reach the same standard, but how they show this should vary according to ability. This is admittedly still discrimatory inasmuch as it still stipulates that there is a standard that must be reached: to remove such standards would be farcical, as it would remove all incentive. People would not push their selves if they knew they would get in anyway. Mind you, I see no reason why criteria cannot vary from person to person: do not judge a man by thee standards of other men, but by how much he improves. After all, school should not be about competition, but self improvement: what is valid for one is not valid for another.

Hmm..interesting. yes, I think that standards are necessary, but they should not be absolute. As long as one does their best, that is what matters. Say one person got 73% without trying, and another got 42% although they had tried their hardest, surely the 42 is better. It may not be a masterpiece, but one should be proud. The main problem with special schools is that kids aren’t taught to push theirselves. It is the people, not the numbers, that count.

Facebook is addictive. I’ve been on it for less than two days and I can’t get off it. There are just so many cool photographs on there, of me and my friends, including one of almost my entire group of friends taken at the last brandies. Although in it I’m wearing my large blue frock, and I look kind of drunk, it truly is beautiful. For it is a symbol of the friendship between a great group of people. surely, this photograph is possessed of what Barthes called ‘The Punctum’ – the ability of the photograph to prick or wound. Wound it does, as, looking at it, and remembering so many great things about the people within it’s frame, one realises with great regret that you may never see some of these people again.

Mind you, with networks like facebook, I rather doubt that!

My friends have got me using both myspace and facebook. It is the best way, apart from MSN massager, to stay in touch, but does it have to be so zarking annoying? Grrr! I prefer my own good old domain to blog: less pop-ups and certainly less emos. Myspace is full of prepubescent teenagers; and when, precisely, did it take over the internet.

Naturally, I intend to continue to use it – best way to keep in touch – but its my prerogative to growl at the screen all the while.

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!