this article came to my attention from my social worker, julie this morning. It’s so upsetting. I wanna help this girl. with the right help, I think jemma is heading for truly great things.

Thanks, julie.

was just watching this film with est. I have never, ever seen a less funny comedy. why jack nicolson made it i dont know.

last night my parents came round to interview a prospective personal assistant. Things are already pretty cool here, bbut it’ll be nice to replace social services home help with my own helper. This wway I can get out more, say to the arthouse cinema iin stoke. Anyway, the interview went very well, and the vacancy was filled. Nice enough bloke, and I look forward to dealing with him.

It struck me tho, that when the time came to say goodbye to my parents, I didn’t start blubbing like I used to. Perhaps I’m getting more mature? err…perhaps not.

My email system at uni is still dodgy, so I’m writing this here because its the best way of getting infomation to the right people. I keep this blog for a laugh: to let family and friends know howI’m getting along, and what I think of stuff. I did not intend to hurt anyone through it, but I have. I grossly misrepresented the views of my father and older brother, who mean no harm to anyone, least of all Charlotte wyatt.I’m sorry for any offense my rediculous site has caused. ok the fight ends here. I need an’ug.

Last night college had organised a poetry recital at a local pub, near uni. Robert, my teacher had had a word with me about it, and we agreed to meet at 7pm for him to drive me to the pub. Given that social services come to help me eat at 6.45, I decided to buy a sandwich at lunch for my tea. I can scoff sandwiches quite quickly.

6.45 came, and went. No helper.

50.nope

6.55. Uh oh. I decided to go out myself and try to eat on my own. I left a message about where I had gone with my flatmates, and headed, sandwich in hand, for the canteen.

Robert was already there, waiting. “I was getting worried” he said. I explained my predicament, and he very kindly offered to help me eat. Imagine it: one’s writing lecturer feeding you a ham and tomato buttie! It was almost surreal. I felt rather strange, and guilty.

The rest of the evening didn’t go too badly. The stairs in the pub which everyone except myself was worried about weren’t a problem. The poetry itself was first rate, and the student they had asked to introduce the thing did a fine job. There were many quite serious, deep poems – I felt like crying at one stage – but these were well balanced by comic poems. My own attempts were read by a mature student called John, and I think they were well received.

So, apart from the disaster at the beginning, and scaring tutors by going down the stairs on my arse, the evening went well. And, given my experience with something called a Diesel on Wednesday, I kept to the coke!

I just found the following on an american site;

[quote]Mom and Claire’s brother watched the September 11th videos showing on tv. It is amazing how it affects you all over again, like maybe they just forgot how really bad it was… mom teared up and could hardly talk… it was just horrible for everyone. Prayers go out for those people… the victims and the survivors of this awful tragedy.[/quote] they show repeats of 9/11 on tv in the us. why? to stir up feelings? supprt for bush’s war. is this the state of american democracy? how very, very underhand.

This morning, before esther arrived, I was hanging around th net and I came across this short film. It’s a parody of michael moore’s work, and draws a parelell between 9/11 and…wait for t…the battle of helm’s deep. even though it’s clearly pro-war and probably pro-bush, I cant help but love this film. I was amused to see their version of moore claiming that there was no link between sauron and saruman, and that Mordor was, in fact, a peace-loving nation.

I just read this article about inside i’m dancing. I mustn’t comment till i’ve seen the film, but I’m irked that they haven’t used disabled actors.

Me and my parents were talking last night about what it is to be human. Two factors had sparked this debate: the murder of ken biggley and the decision of the charlotte wyatt case. Firstly, we were debating over whether charlotte was human – I think she most certainly is, reguardless of what she can and cannot do. from a very reductionist standpoint, she cannot do what most other humans do: talk, think, love. This was the crux of my dads argument last night, and I think its bollox. She is loved by her parents, she loooks like a human. she should be valued as any other human being and given the chance to live. After all, doctors once said similr things of me.

Later in the evening, we got to talking about the bigley murder. This discusts me, as it will most people, but at one stage I forgot myself and dscribed his captors s not human. dad pulled me over, saying “as soon as we define such people as not human, we forget that they have motives; as soon as we define them as animals, they become easier to kill, and we become as bad as them.” dad wad, of course, right, but it struck me as odd that he could define a disabled baby as not being fully human, and then defend the main tennet of libealism so eloquenttly. Not sure I understand.

I just wanna note that my newest garment fits. Feel slightly wary of saying this, but its my blog and I’ll say what I wish. my new leotard fits perfectly,and I especially like its short sleeves. why I like dressing so much I don’t know, I just do. thinking of wearing something feminine on halowe’en.

On Wednesday s, as it stands right now I don’t have any lessons – I have no lessons in the morning, and all universities and colleges leave Wednesday afternoons free. Because it’s the beginning of term, I don’t have much work, and Esther proposed it might be nice to use the time to go explore Alsager. Very kindly, she and her mother came to help me explore the city. Mrs. Everett wanted to visit the bake house in the village, and I wanted to see if there are any decent book stores there.

Perhaps surprisingly for a university town, we found only one book store, but this was well stocked. Having got my parents to order the books I need for uni, I went in to investigate the price of Michael Palin’s Himalaya book. This was £20, and given that I have limited money, and that my parents will hopefully be getting it for me for Christmas, I thought it best not to buy it.

Alsager struck me as a well-to-do, middle-class area, full of rather large houses. It is the epitomie of affluential suburbia, and the shops which line it’s high street reflect this: mostly estate agents, coffee shops and high quality clothes stores. Mrs Everett bought two dozen or so sausage rolls for her sons from chatwins, but mostly we just did some window shopping.

I must say that both mrs Everett and Esther are very kind indeed. It must not have been easy to come all the way from Crewe just to take me shopping, and although I offered to pay for the coffee, they refused point blank to accept my money. Mrs Everett offered to pay for Himalaya, which was naturally out of the question – I’d have felt so guilty. She’s too kind.

However – and my parents won’t like this – on our way home we passed a dance store, synonymous with middle-class areas. Let me explain that, as a replacement for intimacy with ‘the fairer sex’ I have taken to cross dressing, and one of my favourite garments of lust are leotards. like it or not – and part of me agrees with my parents and brothers that this is a disgusting pastime – my dressing is a part of my persona. It brings me much joy, and I couldn’t resist the opportunity to order a beautiful black leotard. It will cost 11 quid, and yes, Dad, I feel guilty, but I really need this part of my life. Please don’t be too angry.

After that, we strolled home, where Esther helped me get lunch, and we all ate together. As I said, I’m very grateful to Esther and mrs Everett. They were very helpful, and I need a way to repay them. Any suggestions?

I was up in Durham yesterday, visiting mark, my brother. He lives there with Kat, and I always like going up: I love travelling, and crossing the Pennines into the north-east is always beautiful. There is always something about car journeys which allows one to think.

We got there early, because dad was driving, and we took the Octavia. Mark lives in Ushaw Moor, a village just outside the city. It’s a pretty, quiet little place, but mot of all I love visiting Mark because I’m in awe of his brain: he’s doing a PHD in physics!

Massive brain or no, sometimes he gets stuff wrong. Over lunch, we began to discuss the case of Charlotte Wyatt, whom the NHS want to let die despite her parents wishes. Mark – and everyone else in the room – said that she should be allowed to die, but in my opinion this is murder. Life, I believe, should always be preserved, no matter what. My brother presented the ‘suffering’ argument, but given that A) suffering is relative and B) charlotte cannot give her opinion on the subject, this argument doesn’t wash. As I said, relatively speaking, I suffer, should I die? I also made the points that I was against abortion of disabled babies – which, effectively, this is an extension of – and that I too was resuscitated at birth. Should dr. Kay have given me mouth to mouth? I think so, and the same concept applies to charlotte.

Now mark thinks I’m fascist. I think mark should stick to physics.

http://www.ottobock.com/en/superfour christmas is coming. I so want one of these!

I went out to the union bar again last night. Brandies is it’s name, and I must admit it’s not at all like how I had always imagined bars. I thought they were small, crowded places, carpeted in red with mahogany furnishings. To be sure, a small part of brandies is like this: the bar itself is indeed mahogany and equipped with the quintessential pull-taps, but away from the bar, the room opens up into a huge hall, suitable for dancing. There is a stage, and two pool tables in one corner.

As a person who, back home, spends evenings in his room on a p.c, I have decided that its high time I experience what I call ‘bar culture’. Brandies is just round the corner from where I now live and, as I don’t fancy the prospect of sitting alone in my room of an evening, it seems I can just walk to brandies for an evenings entertainment. It isn’t so much the alcohol – for I never drink more than 2 pints – as the people whom I meet there. It seems a good place to make friends. Why then do I feel so guilty about it? Why is my brain getting so puritanical on me. Argh. I sound like my mum.

Anyway, last night I met this bloke. I had got there early, after tea, and the place was nearly empty. About eightish I got chatting to a mature student – a family man waiting for his rugby-playing wife. We chatted about all sorts of things: he was a decent, helpful guy, unafraid to call me names. I decided to tell him about my current PA problem, and he said he might be a possible candidate. He sounded well-suitable, but I thought it prudent to proceed through official lines, so I asked him to look for the add in the local press. It will probably come to nothing, but at least I have yet another cool new friend.

I was curious. I just found a link to the video of the beheading of Armstrong. As a student of history, I’m familiar with state beheadings. They’re usually swift affairs with a well-swung axe or guillotine, but this was beyond words. Whatever respect anyone had for these insurgents – these cowards who can no longer be called human – is gone. If I didn’t know it would jeopardise the life of Kenneth bigley, and probably the lives of innocent Iraqis, I would urge the total annihilation of these scum. I’m usually anti-capital punishment, but I want these people dead.

well, this is it. Today’s the day I head for uni. we’re heading for alsager in just under an hour in order to set my room up etc. I’ll be sleeping at home tonight, but today’s the day we set everything up. Don’t know when I’lll be able to blog again, but I intend to blog from uni.

It feels as if this is the beginning of a great adventure: a ship finally about to leave its moorings for the high seas. the bags have been packed. the decks are clearr. all hands prepare to weigh anchor. take us out!

I just watched the film Ghandi with dad. It’s a truly excellent film. I just want to say how much I’m in awe of this softly-spoken man, and how much I admire his methods of non-violent protest. I wanted to see it partly because I like Richard Attenborough’s work, and partly because I wanted to try to use the British Raj as a frame of comparison for what the Americans are doing in Iraq. In this era of the war on terror, where I feel neither the terrorists nor the Americans are in the right, we could do with a “great soul” like his around.

Often, I refer to the current state of affairs as a war of vengeance for 9/11, and I am reminded of Ghandi’s words: “an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind”

Let me start this entry with a confession: I don’t like staying away from home. I’m a complete wimp about it. I like being with my parents and my brothers, safe at home, with my room, and my bed. It is for this reason that when my parents wanted me to try staying a night or two a week at school, age 14, I cried my eyes out.

Never mind that there were kids half my age who stayed all week, something about Resi made me want my mummy.

See! I’m a complete wuss!

Why oh why am I now, age 21, starting t feel the same feelings of apprehension about university? I’ve been through this with myself again and again: if I don’t leave home now, when will I do it? Do I want to be the only 50 year old still living with his parents? No. therefore this is something I must do, for both mine and my parent’s sanity. To be sure, part of me is looking forward to it: more freedom than ever before, cool people to talk to, bars etc.

And yet there’s that old familiar tingle in my stomach which tells me to stay in bed and hope the problem will go away. What if I don’t find out where lectures are? What if I forget something? What if I’ve missed something I’m supposed to know? All these things are now going through my head, and I’m not sure what to do. Frankly, I’m scared.

I’m also scared that I’ll bottle it, and ask to be taken home. That must not happen – leaving home starts now, or it never will. As much as I worry about the big, wide world, I really do not want to say home all my life, never to see thhings like the amason or the great barrier reef. I cannot – I must not – be a wuss all my life.

“He who joyfully marches to music rank and file, has already earned my contempt. He has been given a large brain by mistake, since for him the spinal cord would surely suffice. This disgrace to civilization should be done away with at once. Heroism at command, how violently I hate all this, how despicable and ignoble war is;

I would rather be torn to shreds than be a part of so base an action. It is my conviction that killing under the cloak of war is nothing but an act of murder.” – albert einshien

I hate when people pat me on the head. It’s silly! Folks think I’m aged five, rruffle my hair, and talk down to me. I hate it, and it makes me want to kick their condescending little asses. But there are times when such behaviour is useful, and even endearing. I’ll explain:

I know this fine old English pub, called The Swettenham Arms. It’s way out in the countryside, down quaint little lanes; Dad says he found the place in the old CAMRA guide, and we sometimes went there when we were little. Last summer, I discovered the place, although well outside walking distance, was well within reach of my wheelchair, so I decided to mount an expedition to have a drink or two there. The thing was, although I offered many times, the owners – kind, elderly people – wouldn’t let me pay for drinks. They refuse o take my money, but they talk to me, hold my cup steady etc. and even though they sometimes talk down to me, they’re so nice that I don’t mind.

I was over there this afternoon: the bar keeper helped me with my Pepsi (free) and, as we chatted, stuffed two mint chocolates in my mouth. I think they were a bit surprised to find that I am going to university, and was able to enquire about the pub’s history (it’s 16th century), but, although their voices became less patronising, the chocolate still kept coming.

It’s such a nice place too. Just past the pub, the road gives way to bridal path, which leads one through some very picturesque scenery for five or six KM, but brings one out on the main Congleton-Homes Chapel road, which is too dangerous for me to go along. Also, directly behind the pub is a gate to a nature reserve, which I’m yet to explore.

As these people were so kind to me, I think it necessary to convince dad to go their more often, as I feel these kind people need to be paid somehow. If we buy a meal or two there, my conscience would be clear. I’m sure many of my friends would say that these folks were being highly patronising, but I just cant resent them if they are so kind.

No doubt you will have gathered, from my lack of entries, that I’ve been away since Wednesday. Mind you, I’m not the most frequent of bloggers, so you may just have thought that I was just being my usual lazy self, but let me assure you the former was the case. I had an excellent time down south, and we did more than usual this time.

When we go to visit my Yaiya, its usually just for two or three days, and we nearly always simply hang around her house (either that or I get left behind while my parents go shopping). Tres dull. This time, however, was different – we actually went places!

The first day – Wednesday – we went to the famous science museum. Mum had to work, so myself, Luke, my cousin Cyril and Dad took a bus into the city centre, which is a rare event in itself. At that time, we did not know that most new London busses are adapted to accommodate wheelchairs, so I thought I had to get out of the chair to get onto the bus. This was ok, as I needed the exercise. The museum itself was fine, and not too crowded, although I did get rather peeved when a woman pushed in front of me to use a computer that I was just rolling up to. I think she heard when I shouted the word “bitch” at her fat arse. It was strange, though, how much that little incident irritated me: I was fuming all afternoon.

The next day, however, was the coolest from my perspective. I had arranged – that is, cajoled dad and Luke into arranging – to go see Becca for an hour or so. Why she agreed to let us all into her house I do not know, but it was very cool to chat with them for an hour or two. Not for the last time I wished I had brought my Lightwriter, but we managed. My parents seemed very impressed with both Becca and Katy, and they were quite taken when she told them she had chosen not to be ambulant. It was Kate’s decision to, use a chair more than walk, which would surprise many able-bodied people, especially if they cling to the medical model. All in all, it was a very enjoyable couple of hours – far better than those spent watching the chronicles of Riddick.

If Thursday was the coolest day from my perspective, then Friday was the coolest from Dad’s, for he got to walk around a farm chomping apples. We had all driven – yaiya included – into deepest, darkest Kent, to a fruit farm. I couldn’t resist, upon arrival, asking for a scone with cream and jam, for I had gone all nostalgic for all things British: the sun was shining, cricket was on the radio. We toured the farm, with a very learned guide, who let us taste all the different types of fruit grown there for research purposes. However, not satisfied with the small chunks the guide gave us, dad took to picking his own from the tree. As for myself, given half a chance I could have made one hell of a mess of the plumb trees.

The next day, I woke late, but still in time for breakfast and a walk into Harlesden for the regular surplices we get while in London. It is, by the way, the only place we have found which sells straws by the hundred. That afternoon, myself, Luke and Cyril went into the city centre for the Liberty Festival in Trafalgar square. This was a large disability festival, full of disability culture. While the disabled have a few things to be angry about, the festival was peaceful, filled with music, comedy and dance. Katy was there, and introduced us to her friends. I got to see Francesca Martinez perform, which I had wanted to see for some time, although from what I could tell she had not adapted her act for the occasion. I missed my Lightwriter, as it was noisy and communication with Katy et al was difficult. It was also very hot, so after about an hour I decided to be merciful to Luke and Cyril and go home. Nevertheless, it renewed my pride in who I am, and reminded me that I belong to a huge, great community of disabled people, who face just the same problems I do.

You lot know my attitude to religion by now, but Sunday was the anniversary of my Bappou’s death, so we went to church. It was the typical Sunday sermon, after which we took communion, and went to eat in a nearby ‘Armenian’ restraint. I certainly cannot complain about not eating well this week, as we ate at a Mexican resteraunt on the way back from Kent, giving my Yaiya her first taste of Mexican food. I think she liked it.

Well, that’s about it: we had a slow, relaxing, Sunday afternoon, and got home just after 10pm. I still miss Bappou each time we go down there, but this time I had a lot of fun. I also have a new mobile phone, which I am still learning how to use, and trying to resist the urge to throw it across the room in frustration.

Some time ago I made you (all?) aware of a Harry Potter-based Fanfic called Summon the Lambs to Slaughter. This novel is of great interest to me in that it explores the very nature of good and evil, by portraying a character conventionally thought of as evil as actually working for good. The main protagonist has cerebral palsy (CP), but Snape’s bitterness and hostility towards her actually benefit her by forcing her not to rely on the gadgets and gizmos she is usually afforded.

In the story, what is thought of as evil (and, frankly, inhumane) is actually seen by the protagonist as good. Thus the story vividly explains why ‘good’ and ‘evil’ are blurred. Thus I find it absurd for the republicans to be talking in such terms. To portray oneself as ‘fighting evil’ is as juvenile as it is arrogant, and no doubt bin laden sees himself as doing the same. The war on terror is not Tolkien’s War of the Ring, nor is it the fourth world war. Bush is neither Frodo nor Churchill, and to view terrorists as another Hitler is a gross oversimplification. They know no borders, and I fear that they will multiply as America romps so eagerly throughout the world in it’s current crusade.

For, like it or not, religion is a major part of this war. I am an atheist: I see no evidence of a god, save for his venom. At school, I saw kids suffer and struggle for life while the teachers fed us platitudes and kept us away from the public. And I ask myself: “what God would allow this?” God is not there, and for the republicans to prey to him as they fight this war against Evil is merely a sign of their stupidity. Religion is for the weak. Republicans use it as an excuse for their tunnel-vision –their belief in a free-market economy, which breeds only greed and corruption at the expense of the majority. Socialism may not work, but one of it’s downfalls was the greed an selfishness of humanity.

Another example of the sheer childishness of the people attending this convention was the way Moore was booed, like kids booing the villain at a pantomime. He dares to question your views, tries to make you look outside the tunnel: maybe America isn’t the great land your fathers said it was. Maybe it is corrupt and flawed, like any other country on earth. Admittedly, it no longer has the highest crime rate (I just looked it up.) Yet you condemn Moore as a traitor for speaking his mind and questioning dogma.

You criticise Kerry while supporting a man who has seen no battle. You were so eager for vengeance for 9/11 that you believed the claptrap about the links between al qa’ida and Iraq: links which amount to a few money transactions and a hospital stay. It is almost as if you want to prove to the world how big and macho you really are, after someone kicked you in the nuts. Have you ever wondered why you got that kick, other than the typical “they hate our freedom”. Well, maybe they do, but if so they are fools and deserve only to be ignored.

I have written enough. Let the fools play soldiers.

just so u lot know, i’m in london ’till sunday, so I’ll not be able to blog much ths week. sorry dude(s).

Just a little thought: no doubt you’va all seen the film ‘unbreakable’ (rather crappy, innit?) which proposes that, if superheroes exist, so do their antithisis. I’ve been recently wondering about something similar with reference to the olympics. The gymnastics got me thinking – there are these athletes who can perform these superhuman feats, jumping and spinning through the air in unfathomable ways, and on the other hand, there’s me who tripped over his own feet, and chaps like my mates at school, who can barely control their bodies. I’m not aying that I necesarily envy the gymnast, But I just think it srange that they seem so opposite to people like me.

I can think of very little to write about, today. Tomorrow I should be going to another meeting about inclusive schooling, so that should give me something to rant about, but today is grey and overcast. It’s the type of day you just want to put Michael Palin videos on, and forget about the weather, but then I’d feel guilty about not writing anything. I’ve just been to La Guerra’s blog, where tethers a long essay about Metalica, which made me feel guilty even more.

So, I could launch into a diatribe about politics, but my dealings with certain yank conservatives have made me question my political stance. Now I’m not sure that my usual stance of All Tories Are Eejuts is true, because they say I need evidence for it. I know they’re wrong, but cant explain why, which kind of makes me uneasy.

When I was little and felt like I do at present, I’d simply go ask mum and dad for a cuddle. I kind of feel insecure, but I’m unsure why. I could just be bored. I’m a bit worried about university, too, but shouldn’t be because I should be looking forward to it. Its just a step into the unknown, away from home, etc.

Anyway, I feel a bit better now I’ve written this. It has, for one thing, shut that little part of me that accuses me of being lazy up. For some reason, it always sounds like my mum!

I got my results today. I was quietly confident, but apprehensive at the same time, if thats not a paradox. anyway, I wasn’t prepared to hear that the four d’s I needed were, in fact, 1c, 2 b’s and an a. yes, you read right: the cripple, ill-informed by about 12 years at a dumping-ground speciial school, is off to university. Mind you, I need to work on my planning skills: South cheshire college don’t give results out over the phone – I’d banked on them doing so, either that or Luke being availlable to take me 7 miles to crewe. Niether did they give results over the phone, nor was my brother so disposed. fortunately, dad went in to pick them up, and so he phoned home to tell me the best results I ever had.

cripples going to university? my, these exams are getting easy!

I watched Baz lurman’s Romeo and Juliet last night. My cousin’s over, and he and Luke were watching tripple X downstairs. I have no interest in the latter film, as I see it as an attempt to basicaly turn bond into an american. besides, it had been ages since I’d seen any shakespeare.

I must say, mrr lurrpack did a fine job. he stuck splendidly to the script, and although he had mercutio in drag as he spoke his most exquisite soliiiloquy, it was the joy to watcch. He did the seemingly impossible in merging shakespeare’s language with the modern world, but I think this was partly doone through a very rich, ornate mise-en-scene. in other words,the lavish sets and rather novel camera work bridged the gap between the elizebethen language and modernity. Thus, although it no oubt baffled many people, I think the directors choice to use the original script was a good one, but only because the cinimatography was eqully exotic.

however, there was one drawback to this film, and that was the casting of leonado de crapio. the man’s a wuss! Ok, he didn’t fluff his lines, but he just seemed too girly for the part – too weak. Mind you, casting a stonger male lead would have been a bigger mistake: imagine arnie saying “what light through yonder window breaks? Hasta la vista, julie”. No.

all in all, though, ts a damn good movie, and lurman is to be commended simply for opting to sticck to the origional text. more of the same would be nice.

Luke bought doom 3 today, and I’ve just been watching him play. I always watch my brothers play, since I find such games too fiddly to play myself, requiring the co-ordination of both hands. Its not that I’m particularly jealous of their ability to play: in fact, I probably get as excited as they do, just from watching.

Anyway, this game is sooooo cool! The graphics are like nothing I’ve seen in a game before, and are comparable to those found in a film. I mean, the monsters have shadows! One thing’s for certain: it’d scare mum to death!

If anyone wants me, I’ll be in Luke’s room watching him play!

I wrote the following to denny wilson, explaining my opinion of the war on terror.

Of September the eleventh, 2001

I remember it quite clearly. I had just turned 19 – the age of your nephew – and had began college that week. Because of the abysmal quality of British special schools, I lacked the qualifications to go to university, so September 2001 saw me starting two courses at Macclesfield college, about six miles from my house. The first two days were half days, filled with activities for students to get acquainted with the new surroundings. It was very different from the rather mothering environment of school, which had been more like day-care than education.

The 11th, you will recall, was a Tuesday. I had been brought home in time for lunch. Unusually, both my parents were home from work, perhaps keen to see how I had got on, and after lunch Dad began flipping through satellite television channels. I was slouched in an armchair, not very interested in the television, when dad switched to CNN, and I saw the first tower smoking in the autumn sun.

“A Cessna” I thought, “some idiot in a Cessna had crashed his plane into the tower!” We watched the smoke rise and cover New York, and then a second plane hit. This was no accident; the world had changed.

At that moment I felt personally grieved. I had been up those towers. I had also seen the beauty of the American country; smelt the sequoias up in the Rockies; I had been to a baseball match and had loved every moment; I had read the novels of Hemingway and Twain; in short, I loved America and its people. How could anyone do such a thing? How could anyone hijack a plane and murder so many people in cold blood?

For, regardless of America’s actions abroad, it was in cold blood that those attacks were carried out. At school, I had been around people who had fought so hard for life, many of whom would not reach their twenties. How could these terrorists just throw their life away – not only theirs but those of hundreds more, and for a faith for which they have no proof? I resolved that these people are the antithesis of my friends, whom I regard so highly: these people are scum.

I maintain – and this I swear – that I still love the United states. I love to travel, and would go to your country tomorrow, if I had the chance, although this applies to just about anywhere. I mean no harm to her people: yourself, your sister, and especially not your nephew. However, I would argue that criticising American foreign policy and criticising it’s armed forces are not the same thing, and I know that the latter is doing a fine job.

Yet how can I feel so aggrieved at the atrocities of September the eleventh and not support the war on terror? This, I admit, is a bit of a paradox. There is no doubt that we must prevent another such atrocity. But if we go out and actively seek to kill terrorists, I fear that the fundamentalists will be angered so much that their numbers will swell, rather than deplete. Over the last few days we have seen militancy growing in Iraq, with some reports claiming a death toll of 300. both the CIA and MI5 have, apparently seen evidence of more terrorist preparations, which must be stopped.

Like Hitler, the terrorists must not be appeased, but unlike Hitler, they cannot be invaded. They have no territory we can invade, no battlements we can storm. Attack, and their numbers may multiply; do nothing and they will attack. Bush chose the former, but I would argue that the latter sends out a stronger message: we will not be cowed and continue with our lives regardless. Try to swat a fly, and one will anger it further till it stings again, but stay still and ignore it, and it will fly off.

Nevertheless, please accept this letter as my apology. I have learned many things from your site, and although I still believe that the government, as an extension of the people, is the best way to achieve some kind of equality, I have learned many things from reading your entries. Yours truly, Matthew Goodsell

I never thought I’d say this, but I feel guilty about doing nothing. I’ve had about three weeks of holiday, during which time I’ve done absolutely zilch…. Well, not exactly nothing: I just feels that way because I haven’t had any college work.

So, what the smeg have I been doing? Well, for one I’ve been looking up about a few of my favourite directors, especially peter Jackson. I’ve a lot of respect for him – although Lord Of the Rings was not an exact copy of the book, it seems to me that every effort was made to stay true to Tolkien’s work. Perhaps the most obvious evidence for this comes from the fact that he decided to keep the narrative divided into three parts. He could very easily have just condensed the film into one, given that it can largely be seen as one large story. This fact alone shows that Jackson was very serious about adapting the book, and also that he was highly confident that it would sell cinema tickets. Obviously, most sequels are made after the initial film has been proven a success, and that initial film is usually a self-contained narrative with beginning, middle and end (think The Matrix or Star Wars) but Lord of the Rings (LOTR) is rare in that it was made as a trilogy, and Fellowship of the ring was only a beginning. I cannot think of any other example of this. Jackson was gambling that fellowship would sell, and hook audiences enough to bring them back the following year. In the fickle world of the film industry, the stakes were very high indeed.

But Jackson’s gamble paid off, and he made it do so. He re-created the rich world of Tolkien for film, staying faithful to Tolkien’s creation. He incorporated his languages, maps, chronologies into the film: he maintained the integrity of the books. On my wall hang posters with the original ring poem in it’s elvish form. I am thus satisfied that Jackson succeeded in transferring the books to screen.

The thing is, it may have been so different. For example, what if Disney had beaten Jackson to it? No doubt, such a company would have just made one film, romanticised and Americanised! Look at what such companies do to stuff like Aladdin and Cinderella. Oh god, it’d have looked like the Wizard of Oz! the hobbits would have been like frikkin munchkins! AAARGH! all I can say is thank Illuvitar for peter Jackson and his beautiful native New Zealand! Surely his trilogy stands alongside stuff like Star Wars in the annals of cinema history.

All this pondering over peter Jackson lead me down some weird channels of thought. If a book like LOTR, can be filmed so well, surely anything can be filmed.

Yesterday, I was reading up on Jackson, and discovered that they’re intending to make a film out off….guess what…..[huge spastic grin]…The magic roundabout! Holy shit! How cool is that? I hope Quentin Tarrintino directs it! That’d rule.

Also, I read on Sunday that Matt Stone And Trey Parker are making another film, this time wwith Puppets. It’s called team America, and they haven’t released too much information on it. As far as I can gather, its another of their obscene political satires about post 9/11 America, and it takes the mick out of characters as diverse as bush and Moore. It should be good.

But I’m yet to see Farrenhiet 9/11, I, Robot and a bunch of other films. Time to go harass my brother into taking me o the cinema.

Let me start this entry by admitting that my parents were right about two things: they were right when they said that I am crap at planning stuff, and they were right when they said that Hebden Green was a waste of time. Both of these things I realised, once and for all, yesterday.

I had been invited to a meeting of a local disability network by Becca – who, I should say, is fast becoming a good friend of mine – part of whose agenda concerned inclusive schooling. I am becoming increasingly aware just how sinister the segregation between mainstream and ‘special’ schools is: report after report shows the gaping divide between these two types of school in terms of quality of education. Socially, the fact that students with special needs are taken to completely separate schools, using completely different school busses, is reminiscent of apartheid. Thus, when Becca invited me to a meeting where this issue would be discussed, I thought it a valuable use of my time to attend.

The problem was getting there. I had to ask Luke to take me, which, noble man that he is, he agreed to do, even though it meant him taking hours out of his time. This was not helped by the fact that the directions and map I got from the internet were as accurate as using a toothpick for a compass needle, and to cut a long story short, we arrived over an hour and a half late at our destination…

…which, thanks to the beurocratic nature of such organisations, meant we arrived during an opening discussion on how minutes were taken. We entered the meeting hall, and instantly were invited to sit next to Becca and Katie, who I had communicated a lot over the net with, but had never actually met. I must admit that I am very much impressed with Becca’s vast knowledge of the issue, her resolve, and her determination: due to Katie’s condition, bringing them both up to Manchester from north London must not have been easy, either. Nevertheless, we had arrived well before the discussion on inclusive schooling was to begin, which meant I had time to get a cup of tea, and assess my surroundings.

Most people there had disabilities of various kinds. I think me, Katie, Becca and Luke were the youngest people there. Gemma, an highly articulate woman with CP, was the chief speaker, but Felicity – an AB former teacher – seemed to be chair. However, it soon became apparent how much in fighting and petty beurocratic squabbling there was even within this meting of some ten people. Myself, Becca, Katie and Gemma seemed united over the issue, which, since we had all experienced the special school system to varying degrees, I think is quite natural, yet various other (older) people seemed only to care for their particular social subgroup, and, it must be said, were cantankerous almost to the point of being an obstacle.

Nevertheless, one of the outcomes of this meeting was the idea that we should set up a specialist conference about the issue of inclusive schooling, with workshops about the various aspects of the issue. There are many hurdles to overcome, both physical and social. On the physical side, there is the problem that many existing mainstream schools are not adapted for disabled pupils – there are stairs where lifts are needed, doors are often too arrow for larger wheelchairs, and so on. However, it seems that the social problems involved are far more insidious: although what physical problems there are can be overcome by making adaptations to the school, whether they will be made by a council which does not seem to want to make them is another question entirely. During the meeting, Becca pointed out that only one English borough had signed an international accord on inclusive schooling. Time and time again, such councils find reasons – a more appropriate word would be excuses – not to implement inclusion, a fact which this report clearly shows. When governments choose to send kids to different schools, for whatever reason, there can only be one term for it: apartheid.

Like the struggle in south Africa before 1992, the struggle to make education truly inclusive will be long and hard. But yesterday, I vowed to see it through, helping Becca and Katie however I can.

The other day, I was looking up stuff about brian lara, tthe west inddies cricket captain. Do you know he once scored 500 not out? I mean, that is mucho impressive.

[btw england just got lara out. its 178-4] anyway, I found a site which suggests cricket isactually played in the states! ha. I wouldn’t have thougt they had the ppatience, but this generalisation may be wrong.

yet, on second thoughts, the generalisation may be accurate: test-mach cricket is quite a slow sport, whiich requires patience to play. if american forign policy is anything to go by, the americans seem too eager to have tthingshappen at that moment. they rush all over tthe world, seeking members of a loose organisation, rather than waiting for them to make a mistake. if u set your field too aggressively, u sttand to get struck by ttthee ball on your head.

link

It’s a nice day, and should the cloud cover we’re currently experiencing go, it should be a scorcher. Pretty much the first this year/ on days like this, I like to get out and about, for while I can spend hours behind my computer, surfing the web, I like to get out and about. I woke up this morning and thought it a perfect day to go out on my F55 wheelchair. While I am fine walking about the house, where there are plenty of soft things to land on should I fall, going outside is another question. The answer is the Defiant, named after a ship in star trek; a fairly nippy little chair which allows me to roam independently as far as Swettenham.

So, I got up, dressed, and during breakfast asked Luke if he could get my chair out of the garage. He asked me if I had dad’s permission. This is a problem – I have no doubt dad would say yes, and that it was fine for me to go a-roaming, provided I had made a blog entry. Recently, he’s been reminding me to make more entries for some reason – I think he just wants something interesting to read when he’s at work.

The problem isn’t that writing blog entries is a chore: it can be very interesting, and somewhat relaxing. When I am writing about something which interests or angers me, writing is very easy, and about three hours later, I have a page of fairly eloquent text to add to my blog. For example, a recent entry on inclusive schooling was banged out one afternoon after a conversation on MSN Massager with my friend Becca. I feel very strongly about that subject.

The problem, however, is finding a subject interesting enough to write about. I could go off on one of my political rants, but they might be getting lame; I could launch into a tirade against bush, but I think most people who are reading this know what the W in his name stands for, and anyway I need to read up on the 9/11 report before I can write again on that subject with any authority. I also need to read the Butler report.

Which brings me to a second subject which I could have a good rant about. This week saw Tony Blair talking in the commons with more authority than he has had in quite some time. His party seem to be behind him again, and chances are that he’ll regain some of his popularity. The question is, how did Blair do it? Of course, he is greatly helped by the Tories being in such an amusing shambles: most media commentators say Blair trounced Michael Howard in the commons on Tuesday, and I personally like to think his days are numbered as Tory leader. How, then, after Blair lead the country into a deeply unpopular and barely legal war, can he be allowed to escape? When labour’s popularity should be at an all-time low, the opposition leader insists on making ludicrous comments along the lines of “if I knew then what I know now, then I wouldn’t have supported the war”, and then going on to say that he still supports the war. Eh? How can anyone make such a stupid comment, and expect to win the confidence of voters? Its quite funny, really.

Also, I heard quite an alarming report this morning on the BBC which stated that global warming posed ore of a threat to us than terrorism. This I do not doubt, and, like many people I find it worrying. We need to do something about global climate change. Why, then, do conservatives, and particularly conservative Americans, ridicule those people who care about the environment as hippies? They seem to thing their right to drive hugely polluting vehicles outweighs their duty to the environment. They care ,=more about the war on terror because they get to shoot things.

There are many more things I could rant about here, like affairs in Israel and Africa, and peter mandleson, but as I said, it’s a lovely day, and I’m off to watch the cricket!

mums away on busness, and mme and luke were instructed to finnish off some bacoon and egs in mum’s filthfydirty fridge. ok, so .it eemerges that: a. luke is, gor some odd reason, watching his weight, and only i will be eating the fry up. 2 luke has never made a fry up before

INGREDIENTS

eggs – 2.

bacon – 2 rashers button mushrooms – lots butter – 1 shitload milk

I ate this in about 15 minites, and guess what! I wont get fat! I wobble so much due to my cp that i don’t ever put on weight! hahahaa! jealous yet?

🙂

I’ve been looking at the types of film in production recently, and there seems to be a distinct trend towards the fantasy and superhero genres. This interests me, as it may reveal things about the collective western mindset.

The two most obvious examples of recent fantasy films are the Harry Potter (HP) Series and the Lord of the rings (LOTR) trilogy. Both have strong central characters trying to save the world from a force of evil, but in this there is nothing special – the good versus evil theme is centuries old. What is interesting to me, however, is that they reveal a desire to break into a fantasy world where things like good and evil are well defined, and can be fought for or against. The division is Nott so clear cut here, and, as SLS points out, the lines between good and evil are blurred; a man seen as evil can be a force for good.

As the books upon which they are based, and the films themselves, were created and were in creation before 9/11, I doubt that HP and LOTR can be seen as truly reflecting of the current social mood. However, the current wave of ‘superhero’ films can be seen as reflecting of the status quo as they were created after 9/11. they too paint a world where there is a battle between good and evil, but unlike Frodo and Harry, their main protagonists have overt superhuman powers, or at least powers which excel their peers’.

The recent superhero films such as Spiderman are all about people with extra powers coming to vanquish the force of evil. We can read into this a desperate need in popular culture for such people, which reflects a certain nervousness about ourselves. Yet, in post-9/11 culture, if we read the forces of evil to be terrorists, we can see almost the exact opposite: we, or rather America, now sees itself as a force of good, and one with superhuman powers at that. Moreover, it now sees good and evil as two absolute extremes, rather than taking the more liberal stance that they are blurred, and this I find disturbing.

We have already heard bush refer to ‘’Evil’ in his speeches. This is juvenile: while someone may be misguided, he or she will always act for what they see as good. Hence, outside of fiction, the idea of evil is subjective. But bush is fuelling the idea by using such language that America is a force of innate good fighting the evildoers.

We’re living in an action movie! Aaaaaaargh!

It has been quite some time since I had a political rant, and, like the London busses of cliché fame, two subjects arrive for me to discuss. The first is obvious: The Butler Report.

‘Rant’ might be too strong a word for me to use here, as, unlike Hutton, which was so blatantly one-sided that one couldn’t help but cry “whitewash!”, Butler seems more balanced. Granted, it did not openly blame Blair, or any cabinet or intelligence official, as many expected, but nor did it exonerate them. Blair will receive much flack over this, especially from the conservatives (who, as any fool can point out, supported the war in the first place) but he will not loose his premiership over this. At least, not just yet, anyway.

The question, therefore, is “How?” Yesterday in parliament, when I half expected him to announce his resignation, he came out fighting: he eloquently accepted the findings of the report but strongly justified the war. Indeed, his prohibition could now be stronger, as Butler accounted for the lack of WMD in Iraq by citing muddled intelligence, not a lie on the part of the prime minister. Butler also dismissed claims that this war was all about oil. Thus, because this is a document that we all can respect due to it’s balance, Blair can stay to fight on. While he has certainly lost respect in some quarters, he may yesterday have gained some in others.

Nevertheless, I still do not trust him: the fact remains that, as Lord Butler noted yesterday, the September Dossier missed out several qualifying phrases from the intelligence it was based upon, and we would therefore lied to by omission. Blair’s forward was also disproportionately strong. I would feel very uneasy about voting for a man who would go to war on such loose ground, and, what’s more, one that would follow a blatant homophobic bigot so loyally. Butler dismissed the supposed links between Hussein and Al Qa’ida, making bush’s position barely tenable too, especially after Ashcroft.

However, although one can sigh at Blair (to say the least) and scream one’s head off at bush, both have a modicum of respectability. Neither, for example, denounce whole swathes of people. Bush may be a red-neck, but he is not a fascist.

In other words, there a set of people, here in Britain, who worry me more than Bush. People who I have no respect for, yet pretend to be a political party: the BNP. There is a documentary due out tonight about these people. To be fair, one must question, as an impartial viewer, whether the BBC is biased on this front: it has a somewhat leftist-liberal stance, but as all major political parties of both sides of the spectrum dismiss the BNP as little more as a pack of barely potty-trained hooligans, we can accept the BBC’s judgement. Indeed, I might point out, as an aside, that Butler seemed to confirm the BBC’s pre-Hutton claim that the government did indeed ‘sex up’ the dossier, if just by omission.

Thus, if we can take the bbc as not having any innate bias on this – and I believe we can – then, small as they may be, I am very worried about the BNP. They espouse the most abhorrent of views, it’s leader, Nick Griffin, denouncing Islam as a “vicious wicked faith”, while trying – and failing – to project a veneer of respectability.

Thus, just as I hold Butler to be the pinnacle of political refinement – the hefty report presenting both sides of the argument, before coming to a well-rounded conclusion, I hold the BNP to be the antithesis of this: neither balanced or respectable. I find it interesting that we are to see these two faces of politics within 48 hours.

apparrently, my website was down yesterday and today. according to kyle, its now fixed. I simply gad to go grunt at my bro, and wave my arms at my pc. Luke thereafter made a loud, high pitched exclamation which sounded likee YOU MORON, and fixed the problem. so, if your reading this, well done.

also, i’ve began to experiment with a little art. Using my pc to merge 2 pictures together. this was inspired by reading “the art of the fellowship of the ring”, a very interesting book about the design process behind the films. maybe i can put some art up here eventually.