I was in the pub last night and I managed to catch the ITV news after the Germany/Poland game. They were coveting the paedophile story. I know it really is quite scandalous, no doubt about that, but I hate the way David Cameron looks so smug. It’s as if he knows he’s scoring points.

Well, this problem would have been even worse under the Tories. It is only now labour put the appropriate checks in place that we can grasp the extent of the problem; same goes for immigration, although that isn’t a ‘problem’. Thus I wish mr Cameron would wipe that stupid grin off his stupid mouth.

The Tories haven’t changed; they can’t without distancing themselves from their core voters, so Cameron’s show of compassionate conservatism is just that – a show! Beneath it, they’re the same old party which brought so much strife to this country before Labour sorted everything out. I just hope other people see that.

the problem to which I referred earrlier seems to have righted itself.

odd

Something is up with my rollerball. it is misbehaving. luckily, I think its tempory, but it really has pissed me off – I’m using keyboard commands.

what really does irritate me is when myy neighbour starts playinbg music – chav music. the type everyoe is listening to, thinkig theyre original when theyre just being sheep: part of the crowed. kieser chiefs are so uncool.

to remidy my pevedness, I just put hendrix on full volume, now jupiter’s playing. hopefully the zarking mouse will right itself soon. loud music cures all ills at least tonigt is pub night!

Last night I finished reading Moby-dick, and I doubt if I will ever read a finer book. i suppose the character I feel the most for is poor Starbuck, the first mate: he warned Ahab that what he was doing was insane, and I actually think there was a glimmer of hope when they both looked into each others eyes over the side, but Ahab was Ahab, and Ahab must have his whale! He knew that what he was doing as insane, but he was too wrapped up in the idea of revenging himself to stop. The first mate, Starbuck, should have killed him – he had a chance – but he was too much of a man of honour. As much as he wanted to see his wife ad son again, his sense of duty was too strong. I really feel for him, and, in a way, admire him.

Not for nought is Moby-Dick called one of the greatest books ever written. It is so layered, ranging from episode to episode, symbol to symbol, myth to myth that it begs to be re-read, and I plan to in a while. It is just so packed with thought-provoking metaphors, allusions to classical literature, and the most magnificent use of language that I was barely qualified to read it. Nevertheless, next time I’m asked what my favourite novel is, I’ll say Moby-dick.

I cannot give it a proper review after just one reading. I will, however, say this: Herman Melville, although at one stage poignantly predicting that the sperm whale would never become extinct, in a passage which jars against the conscious, was ahead of his time. In his book, we see the Piquod, under the megalomaniac Ahab, but today we also might see America itself on it’s own quest for revenge. The question is, is there a Starbuck who will stand up and stop the old man before it is too late?

[quote=”BBC news”url:http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/americas/5068606.stm”%5DThe suicides of three detainees at the US base at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, amount to acts of war, the US military says.[/quote]

I’m sorry, but I don’t see how suicide can be an act of war unless you are so desperate to stir up patriotic support for your poxy damn fool war that you’ll say anything!

What…

Just what?

It is, most definitely, too hot. It’s a peculiar thing about the English that we crave the heat all year, and when high summer finally comes, we flake out and start complaining about the heat. I must admit, I’m the worlds worst for this – I keep thinking ‘when will summer come?’ then, when it comes, long for cool rain.

Possibly the best thing about summer is cricket. Long, lazy afternoons, watching a game slowly unfold, beer I hand. There is nothing better: watching the tactical battle between bowler and batsman, as the…

Hold up. Apparently, if memory serves, a few men are playing football in Germany. This will mean the capital sport that is cricket will be ignored. Humbug! Thou ball-kickers, I gesticulate noisily at you!

Seriously though, I think I speak for us all when I say COME ON ENGLAND!

Woohoo; today my blog exceeded 100,000 hits! thatd definitely a milestone, but uite why all you lot want to read the garbage I post here is beyond me!

seriously, though, thanks for reading; lots more ramblings to come.

There is nothing I loathe more than bigotry. Today, I read on grouchy old cripple that islam could be considered a cancer. I am, I should point out, an atheist, and view all religions with concern, but the fact that this fool-of-a-blogger singles out Islam enrages me. It’s like me calling all Americans warmongers, just because bush is. There are fools in every tribe of man, but we shouldn’t hate all because the actions of the few. I like Americans; I have a few American friends. I have a Muslim mate, a nicer chap you will never meet. I’m quite sure that we all know people of different faiths, and we all get on peaceably. Why, look at Ishmael and Queequeg, from Moby dick (incidentally written by an American).

I do not hate anyone as a people; I just hate bigots.

Given the date, I thought I might link to this. it’s a bbc article about the day tv was switched back on. I love the popular folklore about the mickey mouse cartoon how like auntie, symbol of the stiff upper lip, to equate the second world war to a ‘rude interruption’?

I was rather confused when I saw Christmas decorations up in the canteen this morning. It struck me as odd, but then it left my mind – I had bigger things to ponder, like breakfast. The matter was not resolved until it thickened even further, when I entered the canteen to see the staff decked out in festive garb serving turkey for tea. Had I overslept by 6 months? No: it was the hottest day of the year.

This almost pythonesque scene was explained when one of the kitchen staff explained that the had surplus figgy pudding which needed eating. I collapsed into giggles, and asked for the stuffing.

Perhaps I sometimes forget my parent’s perspective. this is the extremely well written blog of an American with a young VOCA-using child; some entries illustrate how very concerned he is for his daughter, and how worried he is for her future. While I have no doubt that the child in question will succeed in whatever she may care to attempt, to a dad this may not be clear. The result is a poignant, beautiful blog. a great read

I suppose I better say something about ‘Pete’ from big brother, as apparently he has tourettes. I am, of course, all for increased portrayal of disabled folks in any media, as, by and large, I believe increasing the profiles of us cripples will lead to less prejudice towards us. This much is fairly obvious. However, I believe big brother is being very cynical in including a person with tourettes in their circus, as I have no doubt that they intend this ‘Pete’ fellow to exhibit the behaviour commonly associated with tourettes – the verbal twitch – for their own gratification. ‘Oh look, this chap cant stop swearing; isn’t it funny?’

In short, they’re taking the piss. Admittedly, the guy volunteered to go into the house, but no doubt he was chosen for his ‘comic’ value. It is as if we have not progressed from the days of the elephant man. Thus, this kind of representation will stifle rather than enhance understanding of disability.

Needless to say, I have nothing but contempt for the makers of this programme, those fools who seek fame my going on it, and the countless thousands who watch it. Why do we need this mindless drivel on our televisions? It teaches us nothing, it says nothing. It’s just cheap and pathetic: we could be watching a great drama which exposes a truth about being human, as all great dramas do; we could be watching a documentary showing us the wonders of our planet. Fiction or not, television can teach us things, but instead we are supposed to watch a few ninnies in a house. Its absolutely stupid.

Perhaps me and Esther should both get pigtails and pinafore dresses, for we were both jumping about like schoolgirls. A big wasp entered my room this morning and it might as well have been the Devil itself. We were both petrified, especially when it landed on my jumper. Esther ran out of the room, for a second I wondered what to do as I watched it crawling over me, then I decided to run out of the bungalow. Then I thought that it had disappeared, so I decided to go back in, but Esther said it was on my collar. At that moment I was almost I was almost wetting myself, I took my shirt and top off and threw it into the spare room. Both the wasp and my jumper are still in there, as we are both too scared to go and retrieve it.

I think pigtails would suit me.

Look What I’ve found: the new bond movie trailer, a film for which I cant wait. several questions arise though – the original was set during the cold war, shortly after ww2; how can they have a newly-promoted bond, but retain judi dench as M?

Rather ccooly, michael palin is off once more on another trip. this time he’s off to eastern europe. Something in me – the same part that makes my feet itch – loves his programmes; I can’t wait.

go look

What is the circumference of a moose?

Michael Palin with his face in a pie times Douglass Adams squared. lmao. had to be posted. link

My brother luke just made me aware of this site. It contains videos of an odd gentleman claiming to be a ninja. I think he is lying, but am too scared to tell him. Anyway, go watch.

Me, mum and dad just get in from the theatre in stoke, where we saw The new Statesman. It had been so long since I saw a play I had forgotten their unique joys. Granted, I have seen operas at the RNCM,, but they are entirely different; I have seen extracts at college performed by my friends, which, although entertaining, are unsubstantial; I have seen plenty of films, which are my first love but do not offer the ambiance one gets in the theatre. No, plays are things unto themselves, and I want to see more.

The new statesman starred Rik Mayall and is a very bawdy political satire: it is extremely up-to-date, including references to David Cameron, new labour, the war and terrorism. I would be willing to bet that the script is updated every morning after the director reads the daily papers. Much of it is spot on, but I felt, however, that parts were rather conservative, which got my goat. Mind you, politics in general gets my goat with more and more people being hoodwinked by Cameron and his acct. what is this crap about ‘happiness’ anyway? It’s a nonsense, but people are buying it. Stupid segregationist!

See? Every time politics comes up I end up getting angry. Pfft. It is, however,, a good thing that we have some media which can raise my heckles. The play had valid statements to make of politics. What statements does reality television make? None? I’m going to the theatre more often.

As a person who always opposed the Iraq war, I find this admission of errors from blair and bush very amusing. Mind you, I’d prefer them to admin they are both numpties, but it’s a start.

This is my first night home in two weeks, and between my trip to paris and to the Jones’ house, I have fallen out of touch with the news. Only this evening could I catch up, and I’m already sick of it. David Cameron’s call for ‘happiness’ seems a cheap ploy; Galloway is still a tosser; and the press seems obsessed with either big brother or Wayne Rooney. It’s all very silly: I could, and may well, blog on each item soon.

in the meantime, i’m off to bed – I need sleep.

When writing about Mrs Weasley, JK Rowling could have drawn inspiration from Mrs Jones, mother of my good friend Charlotte. Me and a couple of friends of mine were staying at their house in Chester last night, as we went to a gig there. It was kind of a techno/rock gig, which is not usually my cup of tea, but I must admit I did enjoy myself! It was a great atmosphere in general, and we had spent the afternoon walking around Chester talking shopping and drinking, so I was rather happy.

However, I must say I love the Jones’s house. First off, there is a trampoline in the front garden, which was lots of fun! Secondly, the place is chock full of books! They’re everywhere! I loved it for just that. Even in the bathroom. There’s also a wonderful music room, complete with baby grand piano. I fell in love with the house as soon as I stepped over the threshold. It felt like home.

Mrs Jones herself is an extremely homely woman whom it seems impossible to phase. By most accounts she is an excellent cook, and made some excellent baked spuds last night. I will almost certainly try to get myself invited to their place again! (that is, if they’ll have me)

I’m enjoying life more and more these days; even cool seems an inadequate adjective. My friends are so cool, I’m doing stuff I once doubted I ever could – like sleeping at a friends after an awesome gig. ‘Cripple’ my arse! I can do anything anyone else can…even trampolining!

Wanderlust is a strange thing indeed, for the more you try to quench it the stronger it gets. Now, having returned from Paris last night, it’s stronger than ever. In short, my trip to Paris ruled; it was the trip to end all trips. The six of us who went got on rather well, everyone chipping in with my care, even my lecturer Alan. Must admit, given the hassle we had getting me through the Paris metro I couldn’t help but keep apologising, as I felt guilty. Alan and the guys told me t stop apologising, but I couldn’t help it. I stopped when Alan threatened to give me a third.

Where can I begin to sum up the greatest weekend in the greatest city? It’s impossible! The weather was awful at times, but that did not stop us; the food was brilliant. Goddard is a genius, and the festival was amazing, although the Pompidou centre managed to totally balls up the screening of Weekend. Mind you, it was Goddard, so only we could tell the difference. Heretics!

It was all simply amazing. I loved every minute. Just…WOW! I love Paris, I love my life, I’m just happy!

To Steve, Darren, Jenny, Nat and Alan, thankyou; I love you all.

Today is a good day – a very good day. I have finally finished my film essay and will hand it in at eleven at Crewe. Hurrah. Not sure about it’s content though: Alan Fair will either think it a work of genius or bin it, decrying my predilection to go off on tangents. I’m just happy its finished, but at the same time I’m rather proud of it. It’s on the extent to which film can be seen as a language; given the chance, I’d like to continue the subject at MA or PhD level, for it is quite fascinating, especially trying to work out the role synesthesia plays in it. I may be wrong, but I think synesthesia may underlie all film form.

Anyway, we also once again won the pub quiz yesterday. Huzzah! Mind you, there were ten of us, so the odds were stacked. In the end, it was won on a tie break, and who else did we get to pick the key but good old switch. I’m a tenner better off this morning, which more than covered the cost of my beers.

University is probably the best thing I ever did – looking back at the shy little individual I once was, I am amazed. Once I was afraid to leave home, but while my parent’s house has it’s creature comforts, I find it too restrictive. I feel more independent than ever before.

Tomorrow I’m off to Paris with some of my film class. While I’m apprehensive, I’m really looking forward to it. Whereas I used to fear going anywhere without mum and dad, non of that fear resides. The demarcation point, I believe, was the berlin trip, for it was then I realised that, given the proper support, I could do anything I wanted. Moreover, it was during my trip to Berlin, that Becca and Kate first came into contact with me.

Those two women changed my life; they convinced me that I was fundamentally no different than everyone else; Becca – I hope she won’t mind me saying – taught me I too could be loved for who I am. It was Kate who introduced me to Onevoice, an organisation with which I’m proud to be involved; in fact it is this aspect of my life which I’m most proud of. I’m happy these two people came into my life.

Anyway, I better get to Crewe to hand that essay in. have a good day everyone.

I have been thinking about the words I used a couple of days ago which some readers objected to. At first, I was looking for ways to justify my use of the word c**t as I feel that any word is a tool to be used; but then I did a bit of analysis. I realised that this word is a metonym – that is, part of something used to stand for the whole of something. Hence the word keel is used as a metonym for a ship. This made me realise how foolish my use of that word was: in effect, it reduced all women to a small part of their anatomy, which is quite abhorrently sexist, and also meant that I was calling mr Cameron a woman, which is very juvenile and foolish, especially since I like womens so much! Indeed, I dress as one sometimes!

Seriously though, I am sorry I used that word; it is a silly word to use, especially given the plethora of other words I could use. I apologise for any offence.

For ten years I have hunted something: ever since I saw first contact, I have sought the quote from Moby dick cited by Picard. I tried reading the book online a couple of times, but always got distracted somehow. So, two weeks ago I bought a copy, at last, and today I found what I was after on page 185/6 of the Penguin classics edition, also to be found here.

[quote=”Moby dick”]He piled upon the whale’s white hump the sum of all the general rage and hate felt by his whole race from Adam down; and then, as if his chest had been a mortar, he burst his hot heart’s shell upon it.[/quote] the captain’s memory must have been fading

this is more proof that the torygraph is written by halfwits up their own arses. It’s an art review by a supposed critic decrying the fact that the art of mentally ill people have been placed alongside the works of the likes of bacon. Now, as a man currently going through the ‘great’ that is Moby-dick, I cannot deride classicism; I just think that all art is worth something, be in by Mellevile or myself. Just because its by someone outside the range of what is considered normal does not mean it is worthless.

The writer of this report should get off his high horse: everyone can contribute to the human experience, not just those considered to be great. I mean, is myy writing worthless because I have CP? No.

I am, I must admit, exhausted today. Yesterday was the night of the summer ball at university, and it was, as last year , spectacular. As promised, my friends switch,

Vikki and charlotte did a fire-poi display (I especially like Switch’s impression of the bunny of doom); there was a waltzer, which I rode with charlotte and Emma (yay!) and, in general, we had lots of fun.

The one down side was the footballers – they were particularly crass and stupid last night; some were dressed as Hitler, giving the Nazi salute and grinning as though they were being clever; some were picking on my friend Emma, of whom I have become particularly fond recently (well…I am fond of most of my friends: they are all dear to me). I was, in short, disgusted by the footballer’s behaviour.

I had intended to stay up, but somehow, in brandies, I was oozing off by the end. It was also quite cold in my costume. My friends kept wanting me to dance, but I was falling asleep on my feet. Where they get their energy I’ll never k0now.

Nevertheless, it was a great night, and I think we all had fun, especially Spiderman, aka Steve, who was happy as a schoolboy in his costume.

On another, more serious note, I apologise for my language in yesterday’s entry.

I’m going off politics, I think. It gets me way too angry. The Tories are now ahead in the polls as more and more people are being fooled by Cameron. Do they not realise that his ‘nice guy’ image is just a show and deep down he’s a loathsome little cunt? This makes me so angry; as soon as his ‘party’ gets in we’re back to the bad old days of the eighties and early nineties, with big business allowed to pollute the environment and trample over people. Despite pretending to care about the environment, Cameron does not give a shit.

Every time I read of the Tories, my blood rises. They have vowed to return to segregated education, and therefore must be stopped. It is this one policy which allows me to forgive labour their many errors. I have seen what special schools are, and will not allow them to continue. the arguments posed by those who want to keep them do not wash: sure they offer a nice safe environment for kids to grow up in – where blind and deaf culture, for instance, can floorers – but what about the long term? Come age nineteen, the lethargy persists and hence the kid is screwed. Moreover, the ore disabled kids are segregated, the less we can integrate into society.

Hence Cameron must be fought. I will deride him at every turn. As for the Tory bent towards capitalism, it is free-market capitalism which is polluting the environment; in the long term, it is disastrous! Why can’t others see this?

I get so angry when it comes to politics. Labour is destroying itself, and the people who are calling for Blair to leave sooner rather than later seem suicidal. The best way to win the next election is for brown to take over just before it, coasting to victory before he has time to screw up. If he takes over too soon, this will not happen, Cameron will be elected, and I will not be happy.

Anyway, no more politics. Tonight is the summer ball. I think it’ll be a night to remember!

I’m not sure where they got it from, but recently my friends have become hooked on something called poi. Poi, you may or may not know, is a Maori pastime which involves spinning balls about your head on string. This may sound stupid at first, but it looks brilliant. My friends are quite proficient at it, and can now do several tricks. They even let me try sometimes – I twirl the ball around, then tie myself up accidentally.

What is even cooler is when they set them alight! Switch and Vikki are going to do this at the summer ball on Friday. I first saw this the night of Steve’s party, and I loved it. I mean…fire! Balls of fire twilling around! How cool is that?

Talking of Vikki, we totally aced our presentation yesterday. Awesome.

As you can probably guess, I’m very happy this morning. My time at university has been the happiest in my life. Some days, just about everything seems cool.

Today should be fun. We get to show the video me and vikki have been working on for the last few weeks – my first proper short. It’s about crossing gender boundaries, and making it was a lot of fun. Indeed, I got to dress up!

What’s more, we got to work in the editing suite. The computers in there rule: they have not one but three screens – two pc monitors side by side and a tv screen for the video output. On this you can edit videos (not sure what the software is called, but it’s by adobe). Switch, who kindly helped me and Vikki, made it look very easy, so much so that I want a go. That reminds me – I owe switch a beer!

Suddenly, my one monitor looks very inadequate. Anyway, fingers crossed for a good reception later.

Although I do not condone the use of the H-word, this short film is so cool. Its about a psychopath in a wheelchair with a knife. He chases this girl around school. Hehehe. Gives me an idea about a certain one eyed cat. One day, Brandy. One day!

I feel I should say something about the use of monochrome heightening the tension, or the juxtaposition of the music being ironic, saying something of the position of disabled people in society, but bugger that. It’s just cool.

Sometime in the early eighties, before I was born, my parents were driving home from a day trip one weekend. Apparently, they passed a place on the way which sold cream teas, and they decided to stop. They must have been quite taken with the place, for they later took me and my brothers to Amerton farm.

It became a favourite venue for my family. I loved the place: it had a tractor! I loved being sat upon the seat of an old rusty broken-down tractor which sat in the field, dad holding me upright. I could have spent hours pretending to drive it. We went there around the time of my birthday during my formative years, stopping when I was about eight. The place also had a giant in the back of the restaurant which dad and I used to search for after we had eaten. We never found it, but it was definitely there.

In the en, we grew out of it. The tractor was taken away – it became too old and dangerous, and I guess the giant moved on. The place was becoming too commercial, too big, too popular. It was not the same place my parents found that afternoon, nor was it the place I once loved. We stopped going, and I forgot about it.

Yet, no memory ever truly disappears from the brain. This morning, I was coming back from breakfast, and I heard a radio playing a local commercial station. I caught a part of an advert for Amerton Family park. It was in roughly the same place as my childhood haunt. Memories came flooding back. It’s funny how, here and now at uni, the past can suddenly jump at you, and you remember your old self. I remembered, in that moment, the lace of my childhood fantasies.

Only time and tide await no man. That place is gone, and what remains is an enterprise large enough to advertise on local radio. It will be just another tourist attraction now; no wonder the giant drove off on the tractor.

Last night there was a small concert in the dance studio. A couple of my friends were in it, and I thought I’d go along. To be honest, I expected something similar to last time, full of odd experimental music, but I was pleasantly surprised. There was an excellent gospel choir which, among other things, sang ‘come down to the river’, from oh brother where art thou; they played a piece of Mozart; there were a few quite excellent electric guitar pieces; and I especially liked the medley of songs from musicals they did at the end. In all, quite a good evening.

My friend charlotte was the main organiser of last night. She did a very good job of it. Her family came ad I seem to have impressed her younger sister and brother apparently I was the main event for them, as in, on the phone to their father, ‘hi dad, we met this cool guy called mat who had a cool wheelchair and uses a computer to speak’. Charlotte told me this in the pub afterwards, and can’t help but smile; I’m glad I can make such a good impression. We discussed my going to their place for a weekend in summer; this would be very cool indeed, although I wouldn’t want to put charlotte or her family to too much hassle.

All in all, last night was very cool indeed. I was quite wrong in my review of the previous event; I must have been in a bad mood.

To a large extent academia is a very sheltered environment. It is, to be sure, ozone that values intelligence and mental normality, but for people with a physical disability, it is very welcoming;. At college,, my group of friends accept me for who I am; they help me whenever it’s needed, from helping me make tea to walking me home at night. The slight patronising tones of the kitchen staff aside, I do not feel I am discriminated against in any way at college.

But, as I say, academia is very sheltered. It is a bubble of usually intelligent people, where often my biggest concern ibis whether I’ll get an assignment done on time, or whether I’ve included too little theoretical stuff in my essay. Yet, outside of the bubble, away from the parties and the intellectual freedom, is a world of discrimination against disable people.

As far as I can make out, there are four people with physical disabilities on campus. That’s far too few, on my opinion. Four out of 5000 is a disproportionately small number. I do not think that the problem lies with selection – my lecturers seemed all too keen to take me in, but I think I impressed them when I mentioned two film theorists in the interview. Rather, discrimination against the disabled happens before that.

I think there is an expectation at school level that the disabled are unable to cope with higher education, or much education at all for that matter. This leads to many disabled kids going to second rate schools, and this will have a major effect. For this stifling will mean problems getting jobs etc, as well as problems fighting for our rights. How can we effectively fight for social justice when we are denied the foundation of democracy – education? For example, say someone asks for a ramp to be put in place on a public building, and the MP he’s negotiating with starts citing old writs which the disabled person cannot access due to his illiteracy? The disabled person has essentially been repressed because the playing field is not level.

Thus I will argue that segregated education is the root of all evil, at least when it comes to discrimination against disabled people. Whenever two sets of people are educated separately, moreover, they learn to fear each other. This applies to gender, religion or ability. Kids who go to catholic schools learn to fear protestants; girls who go to girls-only schools often fear boys, and so on. Comprehensive education came about for this reason, to prevent the class divide, the gender gap and the religious gap. Why does it still apply to disability?

Until education is fully inclusive, and all special schools abolished, disabledism will continue to exist. Why, today, should one group be segregated from the rest? I see no difference between this and apartheid, for all the barriers to inclusion can be easily overcome. It would just take some imagination, and the opening of minds.

see the diary of a goldfish

It’s probably a safe bet that Charles Clarke is going to go. There’s no denying that the current situation with regard to released prisoners is a fiasco, but do you really think it would not have happened under the Tories? Indeed, the only reason this problem emerged is because of a tracking system labour initiated. Before that we had no idea what the fuck was going on! Now a new tracking system is implemented, ensuring a little more accountability, and what happens? It shows up a problem which probably happened under Howard when he was home sectary. Goddamn hypocrites.

What gets my goat even more is the opposition and the right-leaning tabloids making this a big issue: it’s the governments fault, they cry, relating the issue to immigration. They seem to want to tie this issue to the rightist’s straw man in an obvious effort to incense the public. Oh please! I’m sorry, but no matter what David Cameron says, and no matter what the rag known as the Express may want you to believe, to speak of imposing limits on immigration is racist, at least as things stand. Britain is a prosperous nation, and we can afford, easily, to house these people. The only reason to impose limitations on the number of people coming into this country is if it would cause privations to the existing residents, and this is absolutely not the case. Thus the people who speak of these things are naught but xenophobes. Ok, perhaps these prisoners should have been deported, but that is an unrelated issue the mindless hacks at the express and the mail want to tie together.

There will be a reason why they weren’t: I daresay deporting them would have put them in danger. After all, they were at the end of their sentences. They had served their time: Clarke had no idea that they were going to re-offend.

I just wish the Tories would not criticise the government for not being as racist as they are. Fucking hypocrites.

worryingly, soon after I made the entry before this, a friend askedd me to take this test. I got 18%

For the last few days I have been mulling over a rather strange idea. Recently, for some reason, I’ve been into star trek again, and two days ago I was struck by a thought: in star trek, Klingons are famed for their operas, but given that so much has been created about the Klingons – Hamlet has been translated into Klingon, for god’s sake – why has nobody made an opera in Klingon? I have decided to try to rectify this.

I like opera. I have been to two at the RNCM (as good as any opera company) and, although I couldn’t relax on the night I went to Puccini’s La Rondine, enjoyed them both immensely. I find the art form powerful, as music can often express what prose cannot. Mind you, having seen two hardly qualifies me as an expert, but this can be rectified.

Mind you, I suspect Klingon opera will be very different from that which I heard magnificently performed up in Manchester. That was subtle, whereas Klingon opera will have to be harsh – indeed, it will have to sound completely alien (forgive the pun) to conventional music. In which case, my almost total lack of musical knowledge may be an advantage.

However, first I need to learn Klingon, which is a big problem. Then I need to set it to music. I’ll probably need to find a story, or create one in the Klingon bat’leth wielding style. This will be quite a challenge, but maybe I can get my drama student friends to perform it. That is a cool thought. It’d certainly make a cool film.

Hmm.

Although it is a clunky word, I feel that disabledism – prejudice against disabled people – is clearly present in today’s society. Many people still hold antiquated views about us crips; in many small ways, we are discriminated against daily. This is why, on may 1st, I’ll be blogging against disabledism. Details can be found here.

it might not be a whheelchair, and I’d have nowhere to put it, but I want one of these. the three-wheeled chasis just looks so cool, kind of like a fighter jet wthout the wings. It’s ozone friendly too, which is always good. plus, 60mph may not sound fast, but it’s faster than my chair’s 8.

My neighbour mark very kindly let me watch the concluding part of Sharpe on his TV this evening. There are very few things on television worth watching these days, which is part of the reason I do not have a telly at uni, but I’m a fan of sharpe. He is a man who rose from the ranks, one of us normal people who made it. I loved the original, butI was very surprised when they chose to resurrect the series given its age. Perhaps Boromir’s line in FOTR that the shards of narsil were ”still shaarp” was a hint, although given that film was made 6 years ago, I doubt it. Still, it makes you wonder.

We just got in from visiting Yaiya in London. It’s Greek Easter so we went down for the church service. We usually go early to get a good seat, which means we have time to kill, and since religion is not my favourite thing, I thought I’d select a book. My grandmother has a modest collection, mostly of mums, uncle Aki’s and aunt Toullas old books. Aki read philosophy at uni, so the book which caught my eye – due to it’s psuediness – was called The Dialogues of Plato.

We got to the church and dad started reading to me. I love it when he does this: I value my literacy greatly, and love reading to myself, but my father has the voice of an orator, and I find it very pleasant indeed. I think it reminds me of nights long since past when he read to us before bed. Thus, Dad read, and time passed. Then, dad pointed out something unusual, and to me of great interest. The date of printing for this book was 1893: it was 115 years old. It was new in the days of queen Victoria, when the troubled times of the last century were in the future. My uncle must have bought it second hand, or even 3rd. quite incredible to think of what that book must have seen.