Here’s a prime example of “Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus” offered by an English professor from the University of Phoenix:

The professor told his class one day: “Today we will xperiment with a new form called the tandem story. The process is simple. Each person will pair off with the person sitting to his or her immediate right. As homework tonight, one of you will write the first paragraph of a short story. You will e-mail your partner that paragraph and send another copy to me. The partner will read the first paragraph and then add another paragraph to the story and send it back, also sending another copy to

me. The first person will then add a third paragraph, and so on back-and-forth. Remember to re-read what has been written each time in order to keep the story coherent. there is to be absolutely NO talking outside of the e-mails and anything you wish to say must be written in the e-mail. The story is over when both agree a onclusion has been reached.”

The following was actually turned in by two of his English students:

Rebecca and Gary.

THE STORY:

(first paragraph by Rebecca)

At first, Laurie couldn’t decide which kind of tea she wanted. The chamomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he liked chamomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought about him too much her asthma started acting up again. So chamomile was out of the question.

(second paragraph by Gary)

Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack squadron now in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about than the neuroses of an air-headed asthmatic bimbo named Laurie with whom he had spent one sweaty night over a year ago. “A.S. Harris to

Geostation 17,” he said into his transgalactic ommunicator. “Polar orbit established. No sign of resistance so far…” But before he could sign off a bluish particle beam flashed out of nowhere and blasted a hole through his ship’s cargo bay. The jolt from the direct hit sent him flying out of his seat and across the cockpit.

(Rebecca)

He bumped his head and died almost immediately, but not before he felt one last pang of regret for psychically brutalizing the one woman who had ever had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its pointless hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Skylon 4.

“Congress Passes Law Permanently Abolishing War and Space Travel,” Laurie read in her newspaper one morning. The news simultaneously excited her and bored her. She stared out the window, dreaming of her youth, when the days had passed unhurriedly and carefree, with no newspaper to read, no television to distract her from her sense of innocent wonder at all the beautiful things around her. “Why must one lose one’s innocence to become a woman?” she pondered wistfully.

(Gary)

Little did Laurie know, but she had less than 10 seconds to live. Thousands of miles above the city, the Anu’udrian mothership launched the first of its lithium fusion missiles. The dim-witted wimpy peaceniks who pushed the Unilateral Aerospace disarmament Treaty through the congress had left Earth a defenseless target for the hostile alien empires who were determined to destroy the human race. Within two hours after the passage of the treaty the Anu’udrian ships were on course for Earth, carrying enough firepower to pulverize the entire planet. With no one to stop them, they swiftly initiated their diabolical plan. The lithium fusion missile entered the atmosphere unimpeded. The President,

in his top-secret mobile submarine headquarters on the ocean floor off the coast of Guam, felt the inconceivably massive explosion, which vaporized poor, stupid Laurie.

(Rebecca)

This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature. My writing partner is a violent, chauvinistic semi-literate adolescent.

(Gary)

Oh, yeah? Well, my writing partner is a self-centered tedious neurotic whose attempts at writing are the literary equivalent of Valium. “Oh, shall I have chamomile tea? Or shall I have some other sort of F-ING

TEA??? Oh no, what am I to do? I’m such an air headed bimbo who reads too many Danielle Steele novels!” (Rebecca) A-hole.

(Gary)

B-tch

(Rebecca)

F-YOU – YOU NEANDERTHAL!

(Gary)

Go drink some tea – whore.

(TEACHER)

A+ – I really liked this one.

further to my little rant about the end of the cap, please please can you all go to the following adress ad write to your member of paliament. It is very important PLEASE go here

“Even more important than the freedom of speech, is the freedom to speak”. Professor Stephen Hawking, ACE Centre Patron .

A blonde calls her boyfriend and says, ”Please come over here and help me. I have a killer jigsaw puzzle, and I can’t figure out how to get it started ”

Her boyfriend asks, ”What is it supposed to be when it’s finished?”

The blonde says, ”According to the picture on the box, it’s a tiger.”

Her boyfriend decides to go over and help with the puzzle.

She lets him in and shows him where she has the puzzle spread all over the table.

He studies the pieces for a moment, then looks at the box, then turns to her and says: –

”First of all, no matter what we do, we’re not going to be able to assemble

these pieces into anything resembling a tiger.” He takes her hand and says ”Second, I want you to relax. Let’s have a nice cup of tea, and then…..”he sighed, ”let’s put all these Frosties back in the box”

NB – I do not discriminate by hair colour, but it’s just funny!

at last, here’s proof that sleeping helps you make decisions. I’ve been saying for a long time that sleeping is good for you; it’ll also explain my urge to do more of it, although that could be just down to how much i drank last night. i’m off to bed.

The problem with credit cards, I have decided, is tax. The item I ordered from the internet on Monday came today with a massive ten pounds added for tax. Mind you, some of that’s probably postage charge too. Thus £17.45 became £28.45. that’s the last time I’m making that mistake! If it’s going to cost extra they should say so, preferably in big letters. It’s not as if I’m against tax – I am, after all, a nominal leftie – but it just gets you down when you realise how much the things you want really cost.

I need a job. no two ways about it

Westminster has tonight voted to ban smoking in pubs in England. As a non-smoker, I greet this news with open arms. While I love pubs, many times has my meal been ruined by the acrid smell of cigarette smoke. Now we can all eat and drink in clean air. Yay!

This news is dire. It concerns the ending of the communication aids project, which ensures children get the devices they need to communicate with the outside world. If this funding stops, these kids might not get the equipment they need. I am simply appalled, and speechless: I’m not sure what to do, or how I can help, or whether a new scheme will be put into place. But this funding simply must not stop, or do these kids mean nothing to the beurocrats in Westminster, who talk all day without realising how precious the ability to do so is? It’s sickening that anyone would put money before something like this -how can they even sleep?

What can w do to stop CAP ending?

Incidentally, Adam and his mum, Jenny are mentioned here.

I’ve made another foray into independence, or bankruptcy, although some say one will always lead to the other. Today I worked out how to use my credit card, on-line at least. It was the first time I have ever done so, but, while I cannot guarantee it won’t be my last, I won’t do it too often. I kind of find it scary: what if I find I can’t pay, and end up in debt? Are there still such things as debtors jails?

To be fair, it wasn’t a large purchase – less than twenty quid – but I thought it a decent skill to master. It’s silly: I can outline the base and superstructure of Marxism, differentiate between the szyuzhet and fibula in a film of the classical western paradigm, but I had never used a credit card. Well, today, that changed – I figured out how, all by my little athetoid self. It will certainly make buying birthday presents easier, for now I will not have to traipse to the shops. Mind you, shops are cheaper, and the gratification more immediate, and probably safer, but I was desperate to try it for myself. Huzzah!

However, I noted in the news today that ‘[a]fter 14 February some retailers may refuse to accept payment from people using chip and pin cards if they do not know their pin number.’ This may appear to be a good thing, but how are the likes of yours truly going to cope with punching numbers into those tiny key-pads? They do not appear to have key guards. Assuming that we get the shopkeeper to understand that we are intelligent, do we then relay our pin numbers through our communication aids, thereby broadcasting it for the entire shop to hear? Or do we have to try to punch it manually into the small grey box, which will mean endless tries, lasting about ten minutes each as you concentrate with all your might to hit the right button. I just hope there’s a backspace. I’m beginning to think this is a conspiracy, or at least discrimination through negligence, but at least I can now get stuff off the net.

link

Why do the yanks think they own the internet? I’ve just read this article, about how they are effectively intending to privatise the internet. The u.s ‘government’ barely more than a hoard of rednecks with the average iq of a rabid baboon – seems to want to put the net into the hands of private companies who milk it for profit. This would effectively mean censorship, where only those who pay can access certain sites.

The internet is, as we all know, the most powerful resource ever created. Through it, I have access to more information than I can possibly ever control. Now the yanks want to limit my access to it, so that they can make more money. It’s about time someone told these neocon idiots that they do not own the internet, they do not own it, and barely have the intelligence to understand it.

Stupid right-wing morons!

today I found one of the most outragous misquotes ever from a creationis. this is not a creation/evoluton blog, but the subject is a hobby of mine. anyway, if anyone ever wanted to see proof of creationists having no academic scruples, go here. Mayer blatantly misquots dawkins:

[quote=”Stephen C Meyerurl:http://www.telegraph.co.uk/opinion/main.jhtml?xml=/opinion/2006/01/28/do2803.xml”%5DInsert Contrary to media reports, ID is not a religious-based idea, but an evidence-based scientific theory about life’s origins. According to Darwinian biologists such as Oxford University’s Richard Dawkins, living systems “give the appearance of having been designed for a purpose”.[/quote]

whats so amusing and pathetic is that anyone who knows aything about the subject will know that dawkins openly and veehemently speaks against religgion and creationism, and the full text of th quote is ”Biology is the study of complicated things that give the appearance of having been designed for a purpose but are indeed, not.” how can anyone get away with such misrepresentation, especially in a national newspaper? moreover, the misquote appears in creationist sites all over the place. how irronic, how absurd, and how deceitful?

It’s probably just me, but I just find this article so cool! its about an expedition in indonesia which recently found a great many new species in new guinea. what I find incredible is, that in the age of satellites, there are still unexplored areas of the world. there are still blanks on the map, which means there are still adventures to be had!

and guess who intends to have them.

I have decided that the hardest part of writing is starting. Sitting down and actually coming up with the initial idea. What happens after that is simple – usually, after 2 or three hours you have one to two thousand words of story, and after a few edits it’s done. It’s getting that first idea that is hard.

Today, the ideas just weren’t flowing, as they hadn’t all weekend. I don’t know why: I was happy comfortable. Usually I get ideas just like that, but today the well was dry. I was beginning t wonder whether this was the dreaded writers block I had heard of. We were sitting in the library, between lessons: libraries usually inspire me, but not today.

Esther could see I was getting worried, so she sat me down, and began a mindmap. I usually think those are new age hippy bunkum, and didn’t bother when dad suggested I did one yesterday, but then, like a candle suddenly igniting in the dark, an idea hit me. Then another, embellishing on the first. And another. I began to write the story that I plan to finish tonight. The hippy mindmap had worked. Sorry dad

Let me start this entry with two positions: 1.. I am an atheist – I see no evidence if a creator being or god. I see only evidence for scientific reductivism. From this it follows that religion is a creation of man, and in it’s current state it is a political tool – it can be and is used for political tool. Marx called it the opium of the masses – a tool for mind control.

2. I am a liberal – thus I believe people can say whatever they want. When people are prevented from doing this, tyranny follows. What if Mandela was prevented from speaking out? Or martin luther King? People have a right to say whatever they want. My brother Luke once told me of an adage: I may not agree with what you say, but I will defend your right to say it to my death.

I hold the above positions firmly, and so I cannot condemn the publication of cartoons depicting the prophet Mohamed as a terrorist in a Dutch newspaper, even if they were probably penned by a bigot. I see clearly why there is so much furore, and I also see why they are deeply offensive to Muslims. Yet we have no right to censor such pictures. Part of the problem with religion is that it cannot be criticised, so it continues o be a political tool. It should be as open to satire as anything else, as it is the belief that religion should not be criticised that keeps the priests and mullahs in their pulpits. It’s time we lifted the curtain.

This aside, I can see great trouble following. Are wee seeing the beginnings of some kind of religious war?

I’m quite pleased with myself. I’ve done a lot of work – well, an 1200 wrd plot summerry to which I also began the script. yay! although its for uni, it doesn’t really feel lie work: its tooo much fun. today I got the president to almost eclare war on france, only to be saved by the u.k. nevertheless, its time to reward myself with some attenborough.

I just got in from my regular Tuesday night at the cinema. I had intended to see Brokeback mountain, but that would mean waiting around for two hours for the next showing, and getting home late, which I didn’t really fancy. The film nearest our arrival at the cinema was bee season – I hadn’t heard of this film, and thought it might be worth a try.

I was wrong. The film is a weird mix of spelling and theology: somehow, ancient religious scripture guides the daughter of this professor of religion to spell better. Somehow there’s a link between religion, power and spelling. It’s all done in this mystical way, where the girl can see imaginary birds spelling letters.

Its just a garbled mess – pointless melodrama mixed with religious undertones. It was made by fox, and I could see their grubby right-wing fingers all over it. Even the fine acting ability of Richard gere couldn’t save this film. No wonder I hadn’t heard of it.

Tonight I thouught I might post a link to the blog / online diary of my mate chris. He’s a great poet, musician, annd all round good egg. however, he has the poor sense to let me into his house every week.

link.

Perhaps this article from the bbc represents final proof that the united states government is a hoard of nutters. They seem uneasy with the ‘net being so open to different points of view – so much for valuing freedom of speech.

As for taking control of the entire electromagnetic spectrum, could they be planning to block out the sun, a la mr burns?

today is mozart’s 250th birthday. It’s probably fair to say my taste in music is rather eclectic: I like everything from holst to hendrix, although I can’t stand helter skelter or house. I just put on some Woolfgang Amadeus, and it is simply breathtaking. sooo beautiful. how many contemporary musicians will be remembered 200odd years from now?

Anyway, go listen here

It looks like I should stop lambasting the americans for breeding creationists; it looks like about half of us brits remain unconvinced of evolution too. mind you, most of us watch big brother. I despair sometimes, I really do.

link

click here for a disability-oriented perspective on celebrity big brother, an article with which I could not agree more.

I don’t usually post jokes, but this links to the best blond joke ever link

I am currently of the opinion that eighty to ninety per cent of TV is crap. Well, most of it is. It was probably always crap, and we only remember it as being good in the past because the good stuff is more memorable: we remember Jacob Brovlovsky’s Ascent of Man, David Attenborough’s Life on Earth / Blue Planet / etc, and we remember Schalma’s History of Britain, but we forget all the shyte that was on before and after it. So TV was probably always crap.

But it seems to be getting crappier. No, scratch that, the crap is getting crappier, but the good stuff is getting better. How, for example, can one condemn channel four for showing big brother – a programme, the very mention of which had my film lecturer in spasms of rage and bile – when it has the sheer cajones to show Dawkin’s Root of all Evil?

This programme was an open, unmasked attack on religion. While I agree with Dawkins’ sentiments – wholeheartedly so – I think the way he expresses those sentiments is open to criticism. For example, ” Religion isn’t ‘the root of all evil’ as such, but a primitive attempt to understand what it is to be human and thus provide meaning and purpose to our action. Ironically, Dawkins fails to appreciate how religion has contributed to the humanism he is seeking to defend.”source

In other words, a more balanced approach would be to explain how religion came about, and how it was once needed. At times it seemed like he was preaching rather than teaching, and he did so with the attitude of Kent hovind. What he did note but fail to stress is that science should never be taken at face value, for it is always being refined. It can never offer us absolute answers, saying with 100 per cent authority that something is true. Thus it is open to refinement, change, which is what makes it glorious.

At least dawkins’ programme contributes to the public knowledge. To me, worthy TV should fall into one of three categories: it should be art, science or sport. All three of these can be studied and analysed. For example, Dawkins’ programme can cause debate; it is open to analysis and criticism; thus it makes an intellectual contribution. Just as one can analyse film, you can analyse TV drama or soap opera. Believe it or not, even soaps have a lot to say about culture – the way the dramatis personae interact is a reflection of our society, so for analysis of culture soaps are an excellent tool. The characters remain relatively constant over long periods, so one can look at thee situations these people are placed into to see how society changes. One can look at the shooting styles and mise-en-scene employed and ask why the director made such choices, just as one can ask why a painter chose to paint something in a specific way.

This can equally be said of documentaries: although they are non-fiction, they are still produced – there are reasons why they are shot in specific ways. Although they are mostly scientific, there is some degree of art involved – go look at ‘<arch of the Penguins’ and tell me it isn’t beautiful.

While both rely on some degree of Scoppophilia and voyeurism, this, I think, is the fundamental difference between documentary and reality TV. My preferring one over the other is intellectually problematic because they are both are about watching things: we watch the moppets in the big brother house, but we also watch the animals in the jungle. What’s the difference? Why is one reprehensible and the other beautiful?

I see no art in big brother, as I do in documentaries. Admittedly, big brother has a director who chooses which camera to feed to air, while documentaries have directors who chose how to shoot things. However, their palette is limited in that the cameras are fixed throughout the house and they have no control over the subject matter. Thus, Big Brother is not art, but is it science? No, because there are differences between Reality TV and documentary. The real difference is the difference between voyeurism and Scoppophilia – one has overtones of perversion, the other is simply the joy of seeing. In other words, one is manipulative while the other is not; one is unnatural while the other is not. We look at documentaries because they show us nature, albeit artistically chosen shots of nature – they quench our thirst to find out about the world, which is the urge that underpins most of science. Reality TV shows like big brother are fundamentally different – they do not focus on natural phenomenon because the programme makers themselves manipulate the subject matter. Hence they fit neither category.

What, then, is the point of reality TV? they are neither art nor science, but are simply voyeurism. They defy any intellectual analysis because they make no comment – they say nothing of culture or nature, they do not contribute to the human condition: these programmes are simply unthinking voyeurism, a complete waste of time, made only because they are cheap and people are foolish enough to watch it.

It’s been a good day. Thursdays always seem to be good. I was just talking to my mate Steve, and we stumbled upon an idea for a film. I was telling him about the types of film ii want to make, about my desire to make realistic portrayals of disability, and we decided on a rough idea. I showed him my old essay Disability musings, and part of summon the lambs (explaining, of course, that Stanhope’s point of view is particularly bleak and cynical, and I do not share it, but it was one way of looking at things which is sometimes handy). He was impressed, and we set a date for next Thursday to get to work on it. Excellent!

If ever one doubted that there is beauty in cinema today, I would strongly advise them to go and see March of the Penguins. I just returned from my local Odeon, and I’m full of excitement, for I have just been reminded what cinema is capable of.

There is something in natural-history films that really capture my attention. They offer us the most enthralling images, I think. They are scopophalic orgies. There are shots in march which are simply breathtaking, such as those of the southern aurora, or of melting icicles, or the endless ice flows, extending into the distance, with the penguins marching endlessly on. You know these shots cost billions to set up, and they are framed with the eye of a master painter. Each shot is worthy of a photography exhibition.

Morgan Freeman is an excellent choice of narrator. His deep voice adds gravitas and a sense of profundity. His rich, smooth voice helps lull you into a mystified stupor, as you wonder at the sheer beauty of it all. Thus, although there is very little plot in this film – it is, after all, a documentary – it s a pleasure to watch. My parents were talking about going to see it, but I could not wait. Yet if and when they do go, I would like to go with them, for this is a film I want to watch again, and again, and again. Its quite simply the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in ages (life in the undergrowth aside).

One last note: in the states, the Christian fundies have adopted this film because they say penguins exhibit family values. As noted elsewhere, this is simply not the case, as the penguins frequently have affairs, fight, and kidnap children. Moreover, the film refers to a time when Antarctica was forested, which clearly shows it is in accord with modern science, not biblical claptrap.

Anyway, this is a great film. I really suggest you go to see it in the cinema: it’s amazing on the big screen (mind you, the Odeon were sonly showing it in a small auditorium, which s a heresy. How they can profess to be fanatical about film I do not know) Even if you don’t usually watch documentaries like this, I suggest you go. If you feel any wonder and excitement about the world at all, you will not be disappointed.

Interestingly, blogs can be in languages other than english, which may very well surprise some americans (that is, if they’re not too busy itching for war in iran!) anyway, I just received a link to my aunt Dinah’s blog, which has the pictures of what we got up to over christmas. I think the most amusing is the picture of luke’s hair; theres also one of grandma looking miffed, and one of me in a bra! thanks uncle and aunt. tres bien!

Link

I have some very mixed feelings about Mr. Brown’s ideas about a day to celebrate Britishness. Indeed, the idea on one level may be paradoxical – Britain’s are characterised by the stiff upper ‘lip, and quiet respect for their country, rather than jingoistic flag waving, which I associate with Americans and vulgarity. Thus a public expression of Britishness would we innately unbritish.

Don’t get me wrong, I like being British – I loved beating the Australians last summer; I love old English beer; in the bbc I think we have the finest broadcasting company on earth, but this does not mean I want to put a flag up in the garden, or say ‘woo’ every time I hear the name of my country spoken. Such gestures of crass and puerile.

I know I am British, I do not need to remind myself or anyone else of it. Being British is being tolerant – about being tolerant of everyone upon this island, regardless of belief or skin tone or anyone else. It is this multiculturalism, not some vague idea of some mythic Britain, which should be celebrated. I may love British beer, but there is nothing more British, I’d maintain, than drinking a Belgian larger with a curry.

Yet, if tolerance is British, why can’t our schools be fully inclusive?

link

I was just catching up with the news on the bbc website and wondered onto ‘From our own Correspondent’. I sometimes listen to that programme as it reminds me of far flung places. I was, however, surprised to read that it is fifty years old, having began in 1955. they post some articles from the archive there.

What I found was quite incredible – an article written just after Stalin’s death. It allows us to glimpse the end of the cult of Stalin, when the man was worshipped as a god. we can see how the people of Russia loved him through fear.

I know a little about Russia, but it relates to the beginning of the communist era. During the October 1917 revolution, it was Lenin, not Stalin who lead – Stalin’s nickname among the Bolsheviks was ‘comrade paperclip’, because he just sat behind his desk. Only after he brutally came to the fore after Lenin’s death in ’24 did Stalin alter documents to show he was close to Lenin,

Fascinating, bloody era of history. How could this man, this insanely paranoid man, be worshipped as a god?

look here. My childhood role model, professor Stephen Hawking, is now a doll, and a yellow one at that. Is nothing sacred?

I sometimes think of the oddest things while lying awake in bed. This morning, at about four, I woke up, cold, and couldn’t get back to sleep. I looked at my alarm, and wondered why time wasn’t decimal. Why doesn’t the clock have 100 minutes instead of 60? And why not ten hours rather than twelve?

I started to do the maths. Assume we keep the second the same, a normal half day lasts 60*60*12 seconds instead of 100*100*10. that’s 43200 normally, instead of 100000 seconds with decitime. To fit decitime in with the normal day, we would have to make seconds shorter.

It then occurred to me that this would mean replacing every clock on earth, which would be very hard indeed. Alternatively, we could slow down the earth’s rotation, which may have implications vis–vis gravity. All in all, although it would make time easier to use in maths, decimalising it would cause more trouble than it’s worth.

It just seems quite a random number – 60. the Hittites came up with it. Oh well, perhaps when I become rich I can include decimalising time in my plan for world domination. [insert sinister laugh; enter the guy in a tuxedo]

Quite why I’m obsessed with David Attenborough I’m not sure. I think his programmes are comforting, as well as exceptionally beautiful. The interlocking web of the natural world never ceases to amaze me. I am thus very excited to read of this: although I can only find a few press releases, and details are sketchy, if life in the undergrowth is anything to go by, it will be marvellous.

However, programmes like this are surely TV’s attempts to apologise for big brother. How anyone watches that crap I do not know. For Christ’s sake – there are so many beautiful things on the world upon which one can focus a camera, and all most people want to watch is a few z-list celebrities in a room. Why do we watch this worthless pap – it is not artistic, nor does it contribute to the public knowledge. I mean, the first series was an experiment, so it was OK, but now, after five series, it’s simply trash: an attempt by some ‘celebrities’ to restart their washed-up careers. And this attracts million’s of viewers! This is a sqandering of the potential of television

Sod it. I’m off to read a book.

As a disabled person, I am slightly concerned about all the hubbub over ‘benefit fraud’. Listening to radio five earlier, I got the strong impression that people thought that most of us who claim DLA are slackers. Putting aside my own tendency to slob in front of the television of an afternoon, may I tale this opportunity to refute that allegation. We are, for the most part, very industrious: two CP-ers I know run their own companies, one writes for disability now, and one woman with mobility problems is a professional musician.

This is not to say that we do not need the DLA. It is of great help. However, it is very hard to live off the DLA, and I daresay none of us would choose to live off it. I get agitated when I hear of able-bodied people claiming falsely too – the money that costs is enough to fund something like 9000 nurses – and the people who do so should be brought to justice. In part, such behaviour gives rise to anti-disabled feeling: we are tarred with the same brush as the benefit cheats, and accused of not pulling our weights. In extreme cases, people have suggested we walk funny and drool on purpose. Thus, benefit fraud should be stopped, and a part of me favours jailing the culprits. It hurts all of us, both economically and socially.

further reading

I am alarmed how similar the two main political parties are appearing these days. I was just watching the lunchtime news, which ran a story about how labour plans to reform incapacity benefit. They plan to reduce it drastically, to try to get people into work.

Is my memory failing me, or was labour a left-wing party once? This sounds very conservative to me. Reminiscent, slightly, of Thatcherism, with that make-the-lazybuggers-work mentality. Now, I’m not saying I want to live off the dole – I intend to get a job one day – but what new labour fails to realise is that some of us crips will find this hard, especially given the standard of education we receive in special schools. With labour lurching to the right, the door is open for ccameron, and we all know what that means!

link

Things kind of suck around here. My brothers went back to their respective universities this afternoon, uncle aki et al went home on Wednesday, and we will take Chris to London tomorrow.. thus I have the downtrodden feeling that everything is over – no more parties, no more brothers, no more cards.

Well, at least I have my room to myself again. I love Luke, but I like my privacy. When out Christmas shopping, I instructed bill to get a pear of black tights for my grandmother; these, I later realised, turned out to be fishnets, and so not appropriate as a gift. I had to get my grandmother another gift, leaving me with the fishnets.

Because Luke was here, I haven’t had chance to try them on…until now.

They fit.

Esther, possibly my closest friend, wrote this. It comes, in part, from a mutual love of james bond, and my overriding desire to assassinate the campus pet. That cat is evil, I tell thee! Nice one esther!

I saw with some considerable interest yesterday how the Tories have chosen to consult Geldof on their policies concerning debt relief. While I am totally behind geldof’s campaign, this made me very scared and angry. I should welcome this move, but something tells me not to be so optimistic.

For one thing, what tells us that the conservatives are really behind debt cancellation? They are a party of business, and it is in the capitalist’s best interest not to cancel this debt, but to keep Africa poor. Thus this is, I think a mere ploy by David Cameron: he wants his party to appear nice, friendly and delectable.

What scares me is he’s succeeding. His party is gaining fast in the opinion polls: he is approachable and jovial, and the British public is fed up with Blair. To recruit Geldof will surely make this effect even stronger. And this is dangerous.

I seem to have become politically idiotic these days. I have become focussed on a single issue, and seem to have become blinded to most others. I know this is foolish, but I care very strongly about inclusive education. To focus so strongly on a single issue is naive, and especially one so remote from the mainstream (forgive the pun). Yet the fact remains Cameron is on record saying, if elected, he proposes a moratorium on the closure of special schools, and intends tot build more. Sorry if I seem monochrome here, but this must not happen. Simply must not!

This is why I got so scared. Elect the Tories, and the thing I care most passionately for dies.

My relationship to clothes is rather odd. Usually I hanker after girl’s clothes, but recently I have been hinking about getting a suit. A good suit. Something cool and very male for contrast. Something one can order a martini in.

Well, today me, mum and Chris went shopping, ad that’s exactly what we got. A black suit, white shirt and bow tie. Mum is going to elasticise the trousers so I don’t have to bother with the fly, and the shirt has poppers. I had to try it on. It fits almost perfectly, so next I want a walther PPK.

Well, I’ll settle for a martini.

Possibly the best indicator of the quality of ones Christmas is the state of ones room on boxing day. If one has had a good Christmas, with a large haul of gifts, one’s bedroom should be a mess. This is because one dumps the pile into one’s room after the unwrapping has ceased, then goes back downstairs to rejoin the family. The presents wait till the new year to be allotted places, so for a while one’s route to bed is fraught with pitfalls and booby traps.

At the moment, this place looks like a bomb has hit it. Of course, this is not helped by the fact that Luke, my little brother, is staying on my top bunk, so there are clothes and wrapping paper strewn over my floor. I am not complaining, but for a person with mobility and balance problems, it can be a challenge, especially last thing at night with a beer or two in my belly.

In short, however, this Christmas is shaping up to be one of the coolest. Of course, I miss my older brother, but it is only fair that he went to Kat’s parents this year. The place is packed anyway, and one can barely move without bumping into a relative.

As predicted, the conversation has been rather academic at times. This morning, Christina was describing that she might find new species of fish in the Amazon; yesterday, Luke and Cyril were discussing the Turing test. We should probably get out more, but my family still amazes me.

Right now, most of them are out walking. The house is quiet, giving me a chance to write. I haven’t been all that involved really – I just watch and listen. It takes ages for me to say anything, and I hate slowing everything down. I know I shouldn’t. when everyone is waiting for me to say something, I just get tense, making it ten times harder. Oddly, this happens more with the in-laws than with a lecture theatre full of students. Odd, no?

Anyway, everybody will be back soon, and the place will once again be thronging. This afternoon, we have games planned, which, with my uncle Aki being the incessant cheat that he is, despite my cousin Chris’s attempts to keep him in line, will almost certainly be a good laugh. Watching my family is better than any Christmas TV show any day of the year.

Things, I suspect, are going to get interesting around here. In more ways than one too. Come this evening, we’ll have eleven or twelve people around the place – the most people at home I can recall – and mum has already started to cook. In fact poor mum seems already slightly perturbed, and even at this early hour I smell onions frying.

As the crip of the family, and having no household chores, I take the role of flaneur at such times. That is, ii merely observe things as they unfold, then write about them. The forthcoming few days should supply me with enough material for the next three terms of writing class (not that I plan to divulge any family secrets, of course).

I love it when we have family round – there is rarely a dull moment. I come from a family of scientists, so dinner table conversation sometimes gets odd. Already this morning over breakfast Luke and dad were discussing interesting graphs. Being a crip-ranch educated arts-student, most of the time I do not have the foggiest idea what they are talking about, but it astounds me to hear everyone talk. Either it’s about whether zero is a number, or stuff about programming, or stuff about medicine. Of course, they all have their specialisms – Dad, electronics; mum, medicine; Luke biology and computing; uncle aki, philosophy of mathematics, Aunty Dinah, philosophy; my cousin Cyril, biology and computing… and so on. The result is an eclectic mix of technical gibberish and banter.

The above would imply that I am the dunce of the lot, which is not true. There is no dunce. I suspect I will have to explain the concept of flaneurie to them when this is posted. Just as I am proud of them, they are proud of me, and that’s how it should be. Hence there is already a feeling of warmth throughout this old place, and there is nowhere else I would rather be – nowhere else on earth.

Thus, tomorrow, I’ll be looking over a table of twelve, chomping sprouts and turkey, listening to the conversation, and remarking how lucky I am. It’s what Christmas is for.

A merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

The following just begged to be recorded for pposteritty.

1.a carol:

Deck the hall with boughs of holly,

Fa la la la la la, la la la la.

Tis the season to by jolly,

Fa la la la la la, la la la la.

Don we now our gay apparel,

Fa la la, la la la, la la la. Then we get a civil partnership

Fa la la la la la, la la la la.

2. a new word

Sudblx – that which matt speaks when talking of films. Psuedy bollocks without vowels 3.another new word

Smoergleburble – that language luke speaks when telling dad how to do stuff on the computer.

Well, they made me laugh.

in case anyones interested, here’s the outcome of the dover trial. itss a relief that logic and sense won the day. Must admit, I had no faith (forgive the pun) that the judge would rule in favour of science. there were quite a few kooky idea going around that courtroom. something tells me these religious fools won’t shut up though.

thanks for the link luke