I used to feel guilty about watching TV in the holidays. I always felt I should be doing something, like reading or writing. These palpitations of guilt were enough to send me scurrying to my books. Now, however, things are slightly different.

For one, I’m writing more than ever. This s both on my blog and elsewhere. I know my last few entries haven’t been too long, but its hard to find stuff to write about. This is especially applicable when I’m stuck at home, with only grandma for company. My grandma’s ok, but she isn’t the sort of person one can have an in-depth debate with, let’s say.

Also, I have a legitimate excuse to watch TV. I study it! Mind you, I do not watch trash television – daytime TV really is dire, as I have said before. I mean, ‘Trisha’ for godsakes! Who watches that? However, today, I was in luck. BBC2 showed ‘The Big Sky’ this morning. This is a 1953 classic western by Howard Hawkes.

Monochrome, of course. This puts it right at the end of the golden age of Hollywood, and right from the beginning, I knew I was in for a treat. There are some incredible vistas of the lands on and around the Missouri in the film, and hawkes employs some interesting camera techniques. At one point, he plays with the audience’s expectations – I was expecting a simple shot / reverse shot movement, but instead hawkes chooses to film from a completely new angle. This threw me slightly, and at first I found it confusing, as if it broke the 180 degree rule, but it is clear that Hawkes was experimenting with film grammar. Very few auters show such panache with the camera, perhaps preferring simply to ‘wow’ audiences with special effects. it should be noted, however, that the film was rather derogatory towards native Americans. While this was less so than films before it, it showed how far we still had to go in the fifties.

Thus, my free time at home hasn’t been totally wasted. I wonder if there’s anything on this afternoon.

In eighteen months I hope to watch sunrise over Ularu. I just watched England reclaim the ashes after 18 years. I was glued to the box all day, and there were moments when I thought this blog entry would be full of bile towards the aussies. They were going to win, and I hated them for it. Yet this would have been totally unwarranted. Win or loose, Australia remain one of the finest cricket sides ever. Moreover, by all accounts, this series has been played to the highest standards of conduct. It seems ‘beasting’ was a myth – the games seemed like it was played between good friends. shayne warne, I should add, is a demon!

I thus offer the deepest commiserations to my Australian friends. See you for the next Ashes series.

this is good news from the icb,, but the fact remains sky has rights to cover the ashes for the next four years. this makes me so angry. murdoch is a greedy git with no love of cricket. he is going to make us pay to watch the game I love, ruining cricket for the masses. this makes me soooo angry!

It’s been a tough few days. I only got back to blighty on Thursday, and I spent the last two days in London with family. I’m not sure why I’m so tired, as all I did was sit in the car. Perhaps it was the tension of the cricket.

Has anyone else been watching it? It’s like a five day penalty shoot-out. I cant watch. Fortunately, its raining, and is likely to be until tomorrow. At least we have a reprieve this evening from the tension. However, dad tells me that sky has the rights to thee ashes next year. Lets hope they’re taken from Murdoch’s grubby, stinking hands soon!

We got back to blighty this morning. apart from a fire alarm kerfuffle at manchester, the journey was ok. I hate flying from west to east – I always get terrible jet lag, so this post will be brief.

In a post coming shortly, I intend to deal with access issues in canada: although I found access and disability awareness generally dire, I found some evidence fthat canada was actually quite progressive in such matters, including a tv programme run by and for crips.

thhis will, however, necessitate research. I’m tired, so it’ll hace to wait. unpacking can’t.

Perhaps the best way one can see a city is to walk about it. Well, in my case that means sitting in my chair and rolling about it. But, one hasn’t seen the real city one goes to the residential areas; the back streets. Where the real people live and work. Not where capitalists interested in taking the tourists’ money, but where people buy there groceries or go to talk to friends. This morning, my brother and I took a walk into the backstreets of Montreal. It was quite a long walk – a good 8 kilometres I suppose (more like 15. Sitting in his chair, I don’t think Matt gets a proper idea of how far he travels – Ed). We wove our way down through the old town and out into the suburbs. It reminded me of Paris. It was rather quiet and there were very few people about, which isn’t disappointing – most people would have been at work. However, it’s worth mentioning that I saw a few more cripples this morning – not that I was on some kind of cripple hunt. We headed into the Latin Quarter how come every city has a Latin Quarter; the Romans got everywhere. Romano eunt domus, eh? We also stopped to watch a bit of filming on a what appears to be a film about photo booths. We watched the crew play about with a camera boom, rising up from a photo booth – which appeared to have been placed randomly in the middle of a square – to a shot of an old building for about 10 minutes, then gave up. We have no idea what was going on. We then headed for a large park in the middle of the “real” city, looking at sunbathers. From there we headed towards the river, past the Molson brewery. Perhaps brewery should be in inverted commas there because I haven’t been able to find a proper beer anywhere, that is to say, a beer with actual taste. Give me an Old Speckled Hen over a Budweiser any day! We then met up with the parents to eat lunch at a deli. It is worth noting that I wasn’t offered a menu – I hate it when people assume I’m illiterate. Anyway, at time of writing, the family is waiting to go out for tea – I better not keep them. I’m really looking forward to this final night in Canada. Oh yeah! Please forgive my editor he’s rather hairy and stupid looking (you’re fired, Matt! – Ed).

(Editor – Matt’s bro Luke, taking dictation)

Over the last few days I’ve been struck by a curiosity: there are no crips in Montréal. Well, very few anyway. During the course of a UK day, I usually see four or five fellow disabled people; but everyday here I am lucky to see one. At first, I thought this was a coincidence, but now I am becoming convinced there’s a good reason for it. In short, this city is a bugger to get out into if you’re disabled. It is absolutely abysmal. The pavements are split and cracked, making for a rough ride in the chair. There are steps [b]everywhere[/b] – up to most restaurants, shops, public conveniences, to the elevators into the underground city (of which there are exceedingly few) and so on. This is not to say everywhere is inaccessible – places like the Biodome and the Botanical Gardens are well adapted for wheelchair users, but the city [i]propre[/i] is dire. Moreover, upon arrival, I thought I saw more staring kids than in most other places; I put this down to pure paranoia initially but am now sure of it. It’s not just kids, too. It’s adults. Staring enough to make me want to poke their eyes out. They really should know better. Thus, I should warn my fellow cripples not to come here without two fairly fit (and strong) P.A.s – they will be needed if you want to go anywhere. I needed assistance to cope with the many flights of stairs and escalators: one person carrying me, one my wheelchair (plus a third to carry Matt’s bags – Ed). If one is entirely non-ambulant, it would simply be impossible. The city is rather stressful from that perspective. People walk straight in front of you as you roll along the pavement (though this is true of almost any major city – Ed). They do the pedestrian equivalent of cutting you up. I regret to say, this is one city I won’t soon come back to.

Nevertheless, it must be said the city is beautiful. We took a boat ride on the St Lawrence this morning. It was fascinating to discover a bit of the river’s history as it is a main artery into the Americas along with the Mississippi and the Amazon. It was a main supply route into Canada and the US. I would like to discover more of it, but this will have to wait: I have more of this region explore. I only hope the remainder is more accessible.

I really like the Biodome and the Botanical Gardens. It is often remarked that we British are a nation of gardeners and garden lovers. In this respect, I am very British as I find gardens peaceful. It probably wasn’t as big or as grand as Kew, but it was a very pleasant place to spend a few hours away from the hustle and bustle of the city. The cabby who took us there was a pretty cool guy, too. However, so far my favourite place has been the Olympic Tower (la Tour Montréal – the tallest leaning tower in the world – Ed). It has a very impressive view of the city and beyond (both from the top and in the funicular on the way up – Ed). It looks very futuristic, as if it was part of a star ship – even about thirty years after it was built. There are great places (and people – Ed) in any city – that is why I like to travel. But the fact remains that this place isn’t up to standard for disabled people and that is a great shame.

(Editors – Matt’s bro (taking dicatation) and mum (correcting grammar))

So… here we are in Canada. We left Grandma at home again and flew in yesterday. It’s strange how air travel can confuse the senses – one morning one can get up in England and the same day go to bed in Canada a quarter of the way around the Earth. It really is quite cool. There is something about travel that feeds me, even things like exploring hotel rooms and becoming acquainted with the TV remote I find exciting – not because I can watch TV but because of what they represent: a new place. A new perspective.

We spent today walking around the city – it’s quite picturesque but I found it derivative of any other city in North America, if a city can be derivative (when questioned about this, Matthew says it’s because it has tall buildings. I certainly don’t agree – Ed). However, there are also things that make it unique – there’s a vast underground city, which is like a subterranean shopping mall. This has access points all over the city centre giving the city a thoroughly three-dimensional feel (I can’t believe he just said this – Ed). It must be said that there are, however, very few lifts. And what lifts there are a usually full of ambulant Americans too lazy to use the escalators. I found myself getting rather shirty and un-British at one point. One of the good things about having a speech impediment is that no-one can understand when I curse at them. Of course this isn’t applicable when I use the lightwriter. I know I shouldn’t do this – it probably sets back the cause for disabled rights – but it’s hard to resist. Anyway, overall I’m having a great time and looking forward to the days ahead.

I should also mention my brother Mark, who is only just starting to realise that others are just as aware of his intelligence as we are thanks to an email he received. Good one, bro!

I would also like to point out a correction to the last post – naked women do not appear on ceilings. Although I sometimes wish they did – that would be fun! (Editor: Matt’s bro Luke, taking dictation)

I thought you guys might like to see a picture taken at lilleshall, as an example of what we got up to

[img description=”undefined image” align=”centre”]/images/2005 07 bar1.JPG[/img]

I must have spotted a naked girl on the cieling…maybe

Yesterday, I went to see my mates Rich and Michelle from hebden. It was great to see them again,, although I must have surprised them greatly, appearing, as it were, from out of the blue.

Anyway, while surfing the net, I stumbled across this article about Saturn’s moon Enceladus this morning. Apparently, its polar regions appear hotter than it’s equator. How odd.

” High-resolution imagery shows the southern polar region to be relatively smooth – usually a good indicator of recent activity – but cut by a number of long, dominant cracks.”

‘ere, does this mean it has a hot arse?

Once more unto the breach dear friends, once more, or seal up the wall with English dead.

If we lose the next test match, I’m officially beginning the campaign to bring Australia back under rule from London, just as we did with the United states.

who’s with me?

Quite what the waiters in portofino made of me, I don’t know, but they acquitted themselves magnificently.

I better explain. In alsager, there’s a place called papa’s, which does really good take away pizza. At university, I often get bill to order me a pizza, and I’ve developed a taste for pizza from proper pizzerias. Believe me, the frozen variety from Tesco simply doesn’t compare. Well, today, I had a hankering for a pizza, so I trundled down into town in my wheelchair, in search of junk food.

But I couldn’t find any. The only pizza outlets weren’t open, or looked rather sleazy. I took a look at the caf in the open-air market, and thought ‘better not’. On the way down, I asked the Italian gentleman in Portofino – the town’s one good Italian restaurant – whether he knew of any good Italian places.

‘Well, we open at 12, and we do pizza’. He said. Twelve noon was in forty minutes, and I thought portofino was too nice for me to eat alone in. I make a mess, so I continued my pizza hunt elsewhere. In the market, I met up with grandma, who combed my hair, but I thought better of eating there. The other pizzerias in town did not open ’till five, so at twelve, I rolled back to portofino, expecting to get a pizza to eat out – perhaps at a picnic table in the park.

However, before I could say anything, I was invited up the step and to a table. I had already selected the pizza I wanted from the menu in the window, so I asked for it, and a drink. The people there know me and my family, as we sometimes eat there, so it was not as if I was a random cripple off the street. I was treated to the respect anyone would expect, the waiters holding my cup for me as I drank. The pizza came, and I ate it with my hands as respectably as possible, and having got the waiter’s permission to do so.

When I had eaten, I asked for the bill. It came, and I told the waiter where to get my money, insisting he take a tip. It occurs to me that I would not have had the gall to do such a thing just a short wile ago, but I feel I can do anything now, even eat at posh, if quiet, restaurants. I feel that this past year has given me the confidence to do such things.

I probably won’t eat pizza there every week, but I enjoyed myself. I sometimes have romantic visions of writers as romantic beings sipping Chianti or absinth in caf corners. Well, I may not have been sipping Chianti – it would have gone to my head – but I now see that vision can pertain to me too. I am not on the periphery of society, but wholly within it.

If it lets me make such steps, perhaps I should get hungry for pizza more often.

I’ve always had a problem with manual dexterity, so, as a child, certain games were ruled out. No doubt we have all played rock paper scissors: as a kid, my scissors were always pretty indistinguishable from paper, and I found playing the game hard. However, now the internet has the solution. Its pretty cool, but it could get annoying.

After about 5 seconds!

My little brother Luke studies Bioinformatics at UMIST. This is a little heard of scientific field which aims to model living organisms using computers, so in part it aims to replace or supplement drugs testing on animals. I think this is a good area to study: theoretically, you should be able to get better results from computers.

However, there will always need to be testing on living non-human animals. Computers are open to human error because they are programmed by humans. Animal testing ha been, and remains, the best way to test drugs, especially in the latter stages of testing. Thus, this type of experimenting needs to continue if we are to be sure that the drugs of the future are perfectly safe.

This is not to say I do not have sympathy for the animals involved. Here we enter an ethical and philosophical minefield: first, do these beasts feel pain, or object to what is being done to them? They can’t communicate with us, so how do we know? We could try to handle this in terms of brain size and functionality,, but then we would need to set a cut-off point between feeling and unfeeling, which would essentially be arbitrary. Humans, the varied lot we are, have a range of cognitive capacities: those described as having PMLD are no less human than I am, and I would hope we would all puke if anyone suggested using such people in experiments. The case has been made elsewhere that animals have the abilities of human babies, and thus should be awarded the rights of such.

We have no way of knowing the capacities of animals for certain, and given that the safety of our medicines is at stake, I think such tests should continue. We have no choice but to lay aside our ethical concerns for the time being. I am certainly against the campaigners currently terrorising laboratories which use non-human animals: they are hugely misguided, and let emotion stand in the way of logic. Scientists today issued a declaration that they would use alternative means where possible, but the protestors, it seems, still aren’t happy. Do they want all of medical science to halt? If they had their way, I’d have died at or shortly after childbirth, for I needed drugs once tested on animals.

Moreover, their means are deplorable. They behave like terrorists. They stole the body of a dead woman, just because of her connection to a farm which bred guinea pigs for laboratories. What is silly here is the guinea pig would not exist in it’s modern form were it not for this purpose? Where, perchance, is their natural habitat?

These people are ruled by misguided sentimentality rather than logic, and frankly I doubt most of them understand the science involved.

How totally stupid.

Do you know, this holiday is going rather well so far. I’m watching many films, although not as much as I should ideally; I’m working through my collection of michael palin videos and dvd’s again; I’ve been going out rather a lot in mmy wheelchair, and have descovered the sunday car boot sale is good for indulging my dubious hobbies; I’ve had time to read; I’ve been able to go to alton towers and lilleshall sans parents, so hurrah for independence. Oh, dublin ruled too, and so will montreall and now dad has a new toy, the exact nature of which is probably classified, but I’m gonna have fun with it. I think it came from Q branch!

I know there has been much publicity on it recently, but I thought I’d try out google maps this morning… its just so cool! There isn’t much detail – you can’t use it to perve at nekkid sunbathers in their back garden – but I found my house. Go look if you haven’t already done so.

There is nothing like travelling. To experience new lands, new cultures. Brave new worlds. Like so many people before me, I have been bitten with the travel bug, and hope to remain happily infected for the rest of my days. This virus is a pandemic, and it is also ancient. It draws us to water, which once forced us into an upright position, and made us loose our body hair. In other words, I reckon there is an evolutionary advantage to itchy feet.

Perhaps I drank too much Guinness. It is so much better when drunk in it’s home town though. Especially in a pub, smoke free and full off life. When sucked through a straw, it hits the top of the mouth, and registers as bitter, but the texture is creamy and it slides down the throat as smoothly as silk. Thus it seemed to disappear far too fast.

There is far too much to tell you, were I to do it justice, my arm would ache for all the typing. As you walk through the streets of the city, ones ears are filled with music: drummers from brazil playing rhythms so complex and layered one stands and watches in awe; saxophonists playing the purest, coolest jazz; violinists playing Bach and Mozart. Music echoes off the walls of this ancient, proud city. It issues from pub doors and windows, drawing you in to join the fun. This is probably what Irish people term ‘crack’, and I love it.

Outside the city, there is a land so beautiful that I wish I had time to explore it. We visited a national park which was amazingly adapted for wheelchair users. All the paths were tarmaced, but it had not changed the sheer beauty of the area. I could not help thinking how good it would be to take my electric wheelchair – The Defiant – a long those paths. My parents disagreed. I think they had visions of me ending up in the lake. Anyway, passing through that area, I was struck by how evocative of Tolkien everything was. Since his created languages were based partly on Gaelic, the place names reminded me of Elvish. This, of course, reminded us all of dad’s bicardi-enduced claim, many years ago, that the Irish were all elves. If this is so, then Ireland is indeed a worthy valinor. Moreover, I couldn’t help thinking how cool it would be to make fantasy films in that area.

Four days was too little time, yet I have so many cool memories of Ireland. On Wednesday night we had a fish supper that ranked among the best meals of our lives. It was my first taste of shark, and the steak I had was phenomenal. The wine dad chose, I might add, was excellent.

Thus we all had an excellent time. It passed too quickly, and home life seems mundane. Yet it reminded me that there is a world waiting for me to explore.

And I intend to.

the problem with holidays is returning. i usually get home tired, achy and feeling decidedly odd. its always hot for some reason. you find your room inthe mess you left it in. oh well, at least one has the memories.

I’ll tell you all about dublin tomorrow.

While Grandma is holding down the fort at home, my parents, Luke and I are in Dublin. It’s a fantastic city. I love its vibrancy, although mum and dad always want to be in bed by 10:30. Anyway, I have had chance to sample some of the city’s thousands of pubs and it wasn’t until the second or third when I noticed something: nobody was smoking. Absolutely nobody. It’s not until you visit a smoke-free pub that you notice the difference; the air is so clear and you can actually taste the beer properly. At college, Brandys is always full of smokers and I had kind of come to expect it. After all, both my tutors smoke and I regularly have coffee with them while they puff away. I don’t want to become a so-called “health facist” but it’s so much better without smoke, I do hope Britain institutes similar laws soon.

Two odd things struck me yesterday: why is cricket, a game dependant on good weather, one of the national sports of England,, upon which the heavens are prone to open; moreover, why do they open with such vengeance on the day we go up to watch the match?

I love cricket. All my family does. It is a game which requires patience; a game which one can see mature over the course of four or five days, while bowlers do battle with batsmen. Granted, it may take some time between wickets, but if one observes carefully, a lot is happening during that time. It is a game of tactics, of intellect. Chess with bats.

So my family were greatly disappointed. Mark, Luke and Kat had come down, and we had all gone up to watch the cricket. But it raned. and it rained, and it rained. At about half two we gave up, and drove home, wet and more than a little disappointed. Nobody more so than dad, who got us all into the sport by playing it in the park with us since I was in a double buggy with Luke.

Thus we came home, and the sun came out. After two seconds of deliberation, me, my brothers and Kat bundled into the car and headed for Manchester, our tickets still valid. We were all feeling decidedly guilty that, by that time, dad was feeling too unwell to join us.

We all came to the conclusion that we were jinxed, because as we were approaching the ground, it started to rain. Most people started to leave, so we had to fight our way through the crowds – me in my manual chair – to get to our seats. When we did, I hunkered down under a huge am-ex brolly, pondering the stupidity of playing a game so dependent on good whether in England. However, patience pays off eventually, and the skies cleared, there was a pitch inspection, and half an hour later , the players came out….

Only to play six overs. Sis poultry overs. We didn’t even get a wicket! The sky was still blue, yet they retreated to the pavilion. The only reason for this that I can think of is channel 4’s intention not to disrupt its Saturday evening schedule. The television stations which cover such events are becoming increasingly powerful. After all, there would be no play without TV revenues these days. It still, however, sucks, when you have waited all day to watch it live.

6 overs is better than none. It is still great to be among the crowd, watching their beer-fuelled antics. Thus, despite the rain, yesterday was a good day, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

readthis from john cleese, forward to be by mum. too funny not to post! To the citizens of the United States of America, In the light of your failure to elect a competent President of the USA and thus to govern yourselves, we hereby give notice of the revocation of your independence, effective today. Her Sovereign Majesty Queen Elizabeth II will resume monarchical duties over all states, commonwealths and other territories.

Except Utah, which she does not fancy.

Your new prime minister (The Right Honourable Tony Blair, MP for the 97.85% of you who have until now been unaware that there is a world outside your borders) will appoint a minister for America without the need for further elections.

Congress and the Senate will be disbanded. A questionnaire will be circulated next year to determine whether any of you noticed. To aid in the transition to a British Crown Dependency, the following rules are introduced with immediate effect:

1. You should look up “revocation” in the Oxford English Dictionary.

Then look up “aluminium”. Check the pronunciation guide.> You will be amazed at just how wrongly you have been pronouncing it. The letter ‘U’ will be reinstated in words such as ‘favour’and ‘neighbour’, skipping the letter ‘U’ is nothing more than laziness on your part. Likewise, you will learn to spell ‘doughnut’ without skipping half the letters.

You will end your love affair with the letter ‘Z’ (pronounced ‘zed’ not ‘zee’) and the suffix “ize” will be replaced by the suffix “ise”. You will learn that the suffix ‘burgh is pronounced ‘burra’ e.g. Edinburgh.

You are welcome to respell Pittsburgh as ‘Pittsberg’ if you can’t cope with

correct pronunciation. Generally, you should raise your vocabulary to acceptable levels. Look up “vocabulary”. Using the same twenty seven words interspersed with filler noises such as “like” and “you know” is an unacceptable and inefficient form of communication. Look up “interspersed”. There will be no more ‘bleeps’ in the Jerry Springer show. If you’re not old enough to cope with bad language then you shouldn’t have chat shows. When you learn to develop your vocabulary then you won’t have to use bad language as often.

There is no such thing as “US English”. We will let Microsoft know on your behalf. The Microsoft spell-checker will be adjusted to take account of the reinstated letter ‘u’ and the elimination of “-ize”.

You should learn to distinguish the English and Australian accents. It really isn’t that hard. English accents are not limited to cockney, upper-class twit or Mancunian (Daphne in Frasier). You will also have to learn how to understand regional accents – Scottish dramas such as “Taggart” will no longer be broadcast with subtitles. While we’re talking about regions, you must learn that there is no such place as Devonshire in

England. The name of the county is “Devon”. If you persist in calling it

Devonshire, all American States will become “shires” e.g.Texasshire, Floridashire, Louisianashire.

Hollywood will be required occasionally to cast English actors as thegood guys. Hollywood will be required to cast English actors to play English characters. British sit-coms such as “Men Behaving Badly” or “Red Dwarf” will not be re-cast and watered down for a wishy-washy American audience who can’t cope with the humour of occasional political incorrectness.

You should relearn your original national anthem, “God Save The Queen”, but only after fully carrying out task 1. We would not want you to get confused and give up half way through.

You should stop playing American “football”. There is only one kind of football. What you refer to as American “football” is not a very good game. The 2.15% of you who are aware that there is a world outside your bordersmay have noticed that no one else plays “American” football. You will no longer be allowed to play it, and should instead play proper football. Initially, it would be best if you played with the girls. It is a difficult game. Those of you brave enough will, in time, be allowed to play rugby (which is similar to American “football”, but does not involve stopping for a rest every twenty seconds or wearing full kevlar body armour like nancies). We are hoping to get together at least a US Rugby sevens side by 2005. You should stop playing baseball. It is not reasonable to host an event called the ‘World Series’ for a game which is not played outside of America. Since only 2.15% of you are aware that there is a world beyond your borders, your error is understandable. Instead of baseball, you will be allowed to play a girls’ game called “rounders” which is baseball without fancy team strip, oversized gloves, collector cards or hotdogs.

You will no longer be allowed to own or carry guns. You will no longer be allowed to own or carry anything more dangerous in public than a vegetable peeler. Because we don’t believe you are sensible enough to handle potentially dangerous items, you will require a permit if you wish to carry a vegetable peeler in public.

July 4th is no longer a public holiday. November 2nd will be a new national holiday, but only in England. It will be called “Indecisive Day”.

All American cars are hereby banned. They are crap and it is for your owngood. When we show you German cars, you will understand what we mean. All road intersections will be replaced with roundabouts. You will start driving on the left with immediate effect. At the same time, you will go metric with immediate effect and without the benefit of conversion tables. Roundabouts and metrication will help you understand the British sense of humour.

You will learn to make real chips. Those things you call French fries are not real chips. Fries aren’t even French, they are Belgian though 97.85% of you (including the guy who discovered fries while in

Europe) are not aware of a country called Belgium. Those things you insist on calling potato chips are properly called “crisps”. Real chips are thick cut and fried in animal fat. The traditional accompaniment to chips is beer which should be served warm and flat.

Waitresses will be trained to be more aggressive with customers.

As a sign of penance 5 grams of sea salt per cup will be added to alltea made within the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, this quantity to be doubled for tea made within the city of Boston itself.

The cold tasteless stuff you insist on calling beer is not actually beer at all, it is lager. From November 1st only proper British Bitter will be referred to as “beer”, and European brews of known and accepted provenance will be referred to as “Lager”. The substances formerly known as “American Beer” will henceforth be referred to as “Near-Frozen Knat’s Urine”, with the exception of the product of the American Budweiser company whose product will be referred to as “Weak Near-Frozen Knat’s Urine”. This will allow true

Budweiser (as manufactured for the last 1000 years in Pilsen, Czech

Republic) to be sold without risk of confusion.

From November 10th the UK will harmonise petrol (or “Gasoline” as youwill be permitted to keep calling it until April 1st 2005) prices with the former USA. The UK will harmonise its prices to those of the former USA and the Former USA will, in return, adopt UK petrol prices(roughly $6/US gallon – get used to it).

You will learn to resolve personal issues without using guns,lawyers or therapists. The fact that you need so many lawyers and therapists shows that you’re not adult enough to be independent. Guns should only be handled by adults. If you’re not adult enough to sort things out without suing someone or speaking to a therapist then you’re not grown up enough to handle a gun. 15. Please tell us who killed JFK. It’s been driving us crazy. Tax collectors from Her Majesty’s Government will be with you shortly to ensure the acquisition of all revenues due (backdated to 1776).

16. Last but not the least, and for heaven’s sake…..it’s Nuclear as in

“clear” NOT Nucular.

Thank you for your co-operation and have a great day John Cleese

Not Much to report tonight. I spent most of today out and about in my wheelchair. I must admit, I’ve never seen Congleton park so beautiful. Anyway, knowing my concern with the evolution/creation debate (I use the term loosely – its pretty one-sided) my brother Luke sent me this quite brilliant article found in the National Geographic. It contains just enough sarcasm to keep it entertaining. Cheers bro.

And,, before I forget, happy birthday Mark!

ooh, I’m happy. I’m listening to frank zappa being played on 6music. My lsa at macc college, Will, introduced me to frank zappa; It’s some of the weirdest, funkiest music ever, with some really cool instrumentals. I’d recommend ‘Catholic girls’, ‘crew slut’ and ‘don’t eat the yellow snow’.

today I would like to address the comments Mark made on my blog about my use of the ”us and ‘them” mindset. I must admit I find this subject incredibly difficult: is there a disability subculture, set apart from the dominant, able-bodied culture, or is there one homogenous mass described as ‘human’? this question is hard for me to answer, because, as usual, I see both sides of the argument.

The disabled are an odd group of people. Disabled people can belong to any religion, any ethnic group. They may have grossly divergent political views. Indeed, they may have nothing in common with each other, save that they are disabled. With ethnicity (I do not use the term race) one’s direct family belongs to the same group, and one may select friends from that group, so the case for a subculture is clearer. Yet, with the disabled, it is not so clear-cut. I have many nondisabled friends, and a nondisabled family. Indeed, even the term disabled is contentious: just because dad can’t run as fast as the spandex-clad athletes on T.V, he pointed out last night, does that make him disabled?

The question is, are we a subculture, a group of people who are somehow linked? If so, what links us? The answer, I think, is necessity. Disabled people, for the most part, have certain experiences in common, ranging from being unable to enter public places to being pushed into special schools. It is shared experiences that bring us together – common struggles. We all have similar problems, and I think many people find the knowledge that we are not alone in those problems comforting. Moreover, it is only by coming together and combining wills that these problems may be solved.

Now, this may seem to imply that, as a single group of people, we face an equally united enemy. Not so. I do not think we are being systematically repressed by an opposing culture, just as black people were once repressed by the white people. While I maintain that there are parallels between segregated education and aphartied, the reasons behind the former are not the same as the reasons behind the latter. Segregated education arose out of a grossly misguided concern for the wealth fare of disabled children, rather than a hatred of them, or a will to keep them out of the way. Granted, I suspect that some may harbour the unconscious urge to repress disabled people, butt I am sure these people are in a tiny minority. There is no overt group of people campaigning to relieve us of our rights, but rather an inherited status quo which was not geared towards the needs of the disabled.

By and large however, society is slowly gearing itself towards the inclusion of disabled people. Almost everyone agrees upon the necessity of this inclusion. Thus, there is an ‘us’, but paradoxically not a ‘them’, as there is no overt, opposing force. We have already seen that the disabled are a group o9nly because they face the same struggles, but once they work together to remove these problems, they will have as much in common as any other two people.

Thus we are a subculture through necessity. At the same time, I have many good friends who are disabled, but they would be my friends regardless, and the same applies to my nondisabled friends. I am, I must admit, proud to belong to this subculture, which has so many great people in it, but I am equally proud to belong to humankind. You see now why I find this subject so complex. It is full of paradoxes: we are all the same, yet we are all different; the disabled are a group, yet we are innately no different to anyone else.

Regardless, I will continue to campaign for the rights of disabled people. I got a sense of belonging at the Onevoice weekend which I have not felt before – the sense of security one gets when one is around people you have a great deal in common with. This is a group of people to witch I belong and can contribute. There is no ‘them’ to oppose disabled people, but there certainly is an ‘us’.

a few minutes ago, I saw my father jump around the front room in a manner that would have seen my brothers and I severely told off by mum. The reason for this show of boyish euphoria was England’s magnificent victory in the cricket. Well, it was magnificently narrow – perhaps it was so sweet because the margin of victory was so tight. Two runs! It could hardly have been closer. We go into the third test all square. I can hardly wait!

Although I have never seen her stand up show, I’m quite a fan of Francesca Martinez, who appeared on last night’s episode of Extras. It seems logical to me that the more disabled people appear on t.v, the better, provided it is done in an unpatronising manner. To present us crips as the ‘typical’, fallible humans we are can only be a good thing. This is why I was pleased to see Martinez appearing on Extras last night. Gervais’ humour is, by and large, founded on the principle that the more the audience cringes, the better, so the inclusion of disability humour was an excellent choice. Most of the comedy came from the way that Martinez’s character always showed the bias in Gervais’, thwarting her chances of going out with her sister. He highlighted some of the prejudices in able-bodied society. Thus, mr Gervais is to be applauded.

However, one thing sits uneasily – why was she made into a religious person who hoped to be cured in heaven? This, however, was the only blemish on a commendable episode.

I’m currently reading ‘there and back again’ by Sean astin. It’s allegedly a behind the scenes look at how The Lord of the Rings was made. It allows me a lot of insight into Peter Jackson’s working style, so despite its frankly dire prose (it’s written like a blog entry of a paranoid actor) it is worth a read. Jackson is one of my cinematic heroes, and he appears to be one of astin’s too.

However, this morning, I found a gem of a piece of trivia which appeals to my perverse sense of humour:

‘What I had seen, in fact, was a clip from Forgotten Silver; ostensibly a short-film documentary made for New Zealand public television, the film’s subject was a man named Colin McKenzie, a Kiwi filmmaker who…supposedly pioneered synchronised sound in 1908 and colour film in 1911. according to the documentary, McKenzie was denied fame on any grand scale not only because he was working in new Zealand, an artistic outpost, but also because he committed a few, shall we say, tactical errors: his sound film featured Chinese dialogue (understood by no one who saw it); the groundbreaking colour film included scenes of topless natives on the island of Tahiti, and thus was deemed ‘obscene’ and quickly pulled from circulation.’

(there and back again, Astin, 2004)

I love it! Man discovers colour film. Man makes porn! How typical. …if only it were true. This hoax was so believable that, when he was found out, jackson had to apologise, publicly, even to the prime minister.

Hardly blogworthy, but funny as!

Yesterday, I went to Alton towers, which was very cool. We had a great day, but I couldn’t help feeling guilty: we went on about twelve rides, including Rita (acceleration on this must be experienced to be believed) Air (I’m sure I drenched someone) and Oblivion (wheeee), whereas apparently your lucky to get on four or five if you have to queue. I had a brief guilt complex – you normally have to pay extra to get fast-tracked, but we didn’t. it was simply because I was disabled.

I found myself asking: is this morally justified? I think it was: firstly, its probably physically easier if I just skip the queue, and secondly, well…there have to be some advantages to being a crip!

could this be symptomatic of a growing racial tension in this country. I suspect it might be. there are a few thuggish elements here who could be using the london attacks as an excuse to further their own racist aims. any thoughts?

We all try to make the world a better place. We all have our pet struggles. I try to make the world better for my fellow disabled people, specifically in the areas of inclusive education, access to public places and access to communication aides. I naturally have people who disagree with me. My father points out facts which he thinks I have overlooked. Yet there is absolutely no hostility between us: we both present arguments, debate what we see as the facts, and attempt to come to a solution which we are both happy with. Despite our differences in this area, we still eat together, we still hug etc.

This is as it should be – the paradigm of all argument. I have no doubt that messieurs Blair and Howard have dined together on occasion. They’re possibly good friends. Science too is full of debate – one scientist posits an argument in paper X, which his fellow scientist may disprove in paper Y. The two scientists may be good friends, and go to quasar together.

The only way to solve problems is through rational, logical debate. Through posit and counter-posit. In the inclusion debate, I often cite the CSIE – the centre for Studies into Inclusive education – among other places. This is how problems should be solved.

Yet, today in Britain, there are a few people who do not believe in this. They think their problems can only be solved through violence – through blowing themselves and others up. I find myself asking whether you can have a debate with the terrorists – can you sit down and talk through their grievances? I find the fact that the answer may be no truly scary. We do not know what their aims are. Indeed, some say their aim is to destroy the western world, a fact which I’d like to disbelieve due to its sheer lunacy but sadly cannot.

The problems in Ireland were solved through debate – through discussion. This week, the IRA agreed to decommission, which is truly great, but this happened only through debate, yet al Qa’ida seems to have no political arm – nobody you can debate with. Nobody from that organisation will listen to argument, and, frankly, this fact scares me.

It means this war is endless.

as you may or may not have noted, the hitcounter on my site is dodgy. One second iit says I have over 2000 hits, the next, 49. I have no idea why it does this, but it is irritating.

My stupid computer can’t count!

I think I’ll reserve judgement on this for a bit longer. I am, of course with burke – his wishes should be respected – but I do not yet fully understand the GMC’s position on this.

any thoughts anyone?

One of the earliest known creatures to walk on two legs is called lucy, whose fossil remains were found in east Africa – Ethiopia, I believe. She is ancient, but what is interesting about lucy is the size of her brain. It is comparable to a modern monkeys.

In other words, you don’t have to be very clever to walk upright, what counts is your ability to interact with others, and be happy, regardless of how you get from a to b. Bipedalism is overrated. Ok, I’m happy to trot about the house – the ability to raid the fridge is valuable – and my controlled falls around campus have their uses, but my point is walking is not the be all and end all. Its easier – and probably safer – to go in my chair. The preconception that the disabled must walk at all cost stems from ancient ideas of what it is to be human, which stem from the bible. These ideas mean that disabled kids are subjected to all sorts of often painful physio during time when their non-disabled peers are learning, playing, or just being kids. Thus the benefits of walking must be weighed against the costs: after all, a wheelchair does the job perfectly well. If a child is happy not walking, why should it be subjected to painful therapies against its will. (this, incidentally, is the social model as I understand it)

Of course, I have no intention of abandoning walking, I’m just saying that other ideas should be engaged, ideas which do not demand that ‘thou shalt walk upright with both heels on the floor.’ For reference, see this

I’ve been eating readybreak for years when I’m home. I’m not really a fan of breakfast: it’s something to get out of the way before the day starts. Breakfasts at university re rather cool, but at home, the meal is kind of dull.; so I have readybreak, and have eaten it since the great wheetabix rebellion. Whoever’s about just pours the powder into a bowl, adds milk and some flavouring, and bungs it into the microwave.

However, this morning mum put too much milk into the mix, making it slightly harder for me to eat.

I was thus eating this sloppy stuff, listening to radio four. I rather like radio four – it keeps me up to date with the world, at least until I check the news online. This morning, there was a segment about a chap who wants to bring back grammar schools, and I listened to it intently.

Does he have any idea how damaging the two-tier education system was? It helped maintain the class system in this country, making sure only the privileged got an education. The privileged being children who had parents who could spend time teaching their children enough to pass the eleven plus, that is, those in the middle class. Thus, the system was self for filling, and helped perpetuate the class system. The secondary moderns were dumping grounds.

The parallels with special schools are obvious, and you can see why I was so incensed by this guy on the radio, especially when he pronounced ‘social inclusion was a nice idea, but it does not work’. What? And this guy is supposed to be educated. Where – a midden? The principals of inclusion can and will work. They must work, unless we want a return to the class system. I’m not suggesting that the disabled are a class, per se, just that we have as much right to a good education as anyone else – a right that we are currently being denied by being sent to special schools, and that many will be denied should the grammars be brought back.

‘Idiot’ I said, to my bowl.

Suddenly, mum looked aghast, and dad looked angry. Mum’s face seemed to say ‘I’ve already apologised for making it so sloppy.

I realised what had happened. I waited two, three seconds, then smiled ‘I meant the radio, mum,,’ I said. She smiled.

I bet the guy on the radio couldn’t make readybreak!

I have, of late, come upon the opinion that the siblings of disabled people are, quite often, remarkable people. Take, for example, my brother Luke: mum and dad were both away this weekend, so he was home to ‘look after’ me. Not only did he do this remarkably – even bathing and shaving me last night – but he spent the entire weekend reading Harry Potter and the Half Blood prince to me. All 30-odd chapters, aloud! Incredible. I suspect he wanted to read it too, but that’s besides the point.

My point is that he could have scarppered to his room and ignored me, but he didn’t. last weekend, I was struck y the fact that none of the siblings of disabled young people were staring at me. Upon reflection, this isn’t surprising – presumably, they had been around disabled people all or most of their lives, so they were ‘used to’ us crips. Incidentally, this is yet another argument for inclusive education.

I am, of course, making gross generalisations here, but I have found that the brothers and sisters of disabled people are, by and large, good people. Presumably, they would have seen much of the privations of their disabled siblings, for example, beings told ‘we can’t go here because we can’t get little X’s chair in.

The bottom line is, I don’t tell mark or Luke I appreciate them as much as I should. I love you, bros.

This morning I heard that the man shot dead on Friday in London was innocent. He was an innocent Brazilian, not a terrorist. Now, it seems, the police can shoot dead whoever they suspect off being a suicide bomber, and, frankly, this fact scares me.

I think the government is gittery: two weeks ago, we faced a concerted terrorist attack on a scale and in a style never seen before. This past Thursday, there was an attempt to repeat that. And, early on Saturday, there was a huge attack in Egypt. Little wonder that the government is proposing tougher terrorism laws.

Yet this begs the question: where is this going to end? We are bound to see even tougher laws now, which will probably restrict our individual freedoms further. Will we be prevented from buying certain products which could, potentially, be made into bombs? Will we be prevented from meeting in groups of more than, say, three? This could make Christmas dinner interesting. All joking aside, these are the types of changes, I think, which will logically have to occur if we are truly to defend ourselves. Thus if you look at it like this, if we are to maintain our freedoms, as we know them now, we will have to leave ourselves open to the risk of more terrorist attacks.

Wow. I’m being deep for a Sunday morning. Bombs or not, I better go find breakfast!

how come as soon as either of my brothers get here, things go crazy. luke showed me this earlier prosecution exhibit A. See? absolutely crazy. I rest my case

dispite the if not tragic then worrying events of this afternoon, as outlined here, London tonight seems to be slowly getting back to normal. at the time of writing, details are patchy. why were there no big explosions, and who was the man arrested ten minutes ago in whitehall. reguardless, I just want to say hi to all my friends in the capital – if you could drop me a message, it’dd be cool.

bugger! we just lost a third wicket. 18 for 3. aussies all out 190

I think this is rather good. I’v had friends with DMD, and I really appreciate such progress.

On the other hand, this really does make me angry. It’s about a t-bll coach who gave $25 to a team member to beat up another team member with learning difficulties so he wouldn’t have to let him play. the reason – the coach ‘wanted to win’. GMAFB! what an asshole

I better open this by saying that, this morning, I feel more comfortable with my world than I have done for two or three years. during that time, I lamented my failings as a disabled person, and generally felt sorry for myself, but the last few months made me realise what rubbish that was – I am no more disabled than anyone else. My ramblings may still be ill-informed, but I do not feel quite so crippled.

I haven’t, however, discovered some magical cure for Cerebral palsy, well, not in the medical sense anyway. I have simply realised that I have as much potential as anyone else. With the right accommodation, the sky is the limit, and then only until NASA make a rocket with hand controls. In my chair I can go anywhere. In a sense, I am only disabled by steps, and then a ramp can be put in place. I cant talk clearly, but with my lightwriter I am as eloquent as anyone. I am only disabled by the lack of ramps and lightwriters; by environmental and social factors which can quite easily be resolved.

This brings me nicely on to this weekend. A few months ago, a friend – either Becca or Katie, I cant remember – asked me if I would be interested in volunteering to become a role model for 1Voice. This is an organisation which helps children and teenagers who use voice output communication aids, or VOCAs, by organising for them to interact with older voca users, or ‘role models’. When Katie asked if I wanted to become a role model, outlining what it would be involved, I knew it would be a privilege. I seem to recall mum once saying she wished I had such a role model. At school, there were only four or five voca users, and I was the only non-oral person in my class. Thus, I did not know what could be done – the thought of going to university seemed far fetched – would everybody be patient enough to allow me to speak.

The answer to that is a resounding yes, but I did not know that, aged fifteen or so. This is precisely why the role model project is so great. If we can show these kids what can be done, they can realise their potential is as high as anyone else. There is, arguably, a tendency for young disabled people to think otherwise, but it is total rubbish: they can do GCSEs, A-levels; they can do anything. Yesterday afternoon, I was talking to a mother with a young daughter, and I told her I had no doubt that, eventually, she would go to university. This was not a throw away platitude: the girl was abundantly bright. With the right adaptations, and under the right conditions (this, of course, means a mainstream education) I do not have one iota of a doubt that this girl can forfil any of her dreams.

I sincerely hope that the young people got as much from this weekend as I did. I remember eating dinner on Saturday with a young lady called Beth. I must admit that I was drawn towards Beth because she was a fellow lightwriter user. She had a grin so wide and a face so bright that it would almost dazzle you. We were telling jokes, and we were all falling about with laughter. When Beth told a joke, her face light up with glee as we all fell about laughing. It had taken her some time to tap it in. I hope to remember that image for the rest of my life.

Then there was Adam, a small boy with hair so red he could almost be a Weasley. I watched him, yesterday, walk around, supported by his mum, picking up and throwing a ball, and I thought ‘I remember doing exactly that with my mum.’ I saw a lot of myself in those kids, and many of the problems they came up with during the brainstorming sessions were problems I had faced too. I had never felt less alone.

If I can help these kids by being a role model then it is my duty to do so. One parent told me a story – before coming to 1voice, his son had only used his voca to do school work, but after he used his voca to chat to his friends and siblings, which he had ever done before. Chatting is an extremely important part of one’s development, as is playing, so it was great to hear that 1voice gave this child realise he can do such things.

Thus this weekend made me remember things I had forgotten, and it taught me things I did not know. Katie was worried that I had a negative view of disability – I have waxed lyrical on my blog about how disabled kids were doomed to go into homes et cetera. What bollocks: the day a person like Beth goes Into a home is the day Satan wins gold at women’s Olympic figurescating.

Thus to associate disability with boundaries is to associate the moon with good cream cheese. I can see no boundaries, no limitations to disabled people, provided that the right support structures are in place. 1voice is one such structure, as vital as anything else. And if I can be a part of that, then I am honoured.