I know I probably have a bad habit of stating the obvious on here, but, going back to world politics for a moment, it aught to be patently clear to everyone that Donald Trump just wants Ukraine to capitulate to Russia just so he can then brag about having made peace. The peace ‘plan‘ he has proposed and is now demanding Ukraine signs is essentially their capitulation: it lets Russia keep vast swathes of territory they now illegally occupy, rewarding the criminal for his crimes. It is sickening, but Trump is demanding it is signed because he is an egotistical disgrace to human civilisation, and we all know Putin got him elected in the first place.

The world cannot go on like this. As a global community, surely we cannot continue to allow our biggest, most powerful country to be ruled over by a vainglorious wannabe dictator under the thumb of Russia’s autocrat. Under Trump, America has gone from benign, respected superpower to a crumbing, malodorous bully; one thinks it has a right to impose it’s will wherever it wants. Frankly, it’s time the rest of the world stood up to this bully and put America back in it’s place. If we don’t, all dreams of global harmony will be swept away and we’ll be nothing but a bunch of greedy, squabbling schoolchildren intimidated by an arrogant moronic oaf.

f all that happens when I go somewhere to physically register a formal complaint is that I just get fobbed off with a website to go to, I suppose I might as well just write about it here. That, however, is exactly what happened today. Waiting for a bus up in Eltham earlier today, something which I found truly appalling happened. I’d already been unable to get on the first bus which had come because there was an old guy in a powerchair in the wheelchair space. But then, twenty minutes or so later, when another bus came, there was a mum with a pram in the space.

Most of the time this isn’t a problem: the majority of the time mums are happy to move their buggies a bit so I can get on. However, more and more they have recently been absolutely refusing to move. In fact they have actually been quite aggressive, as if I was trying to deny them their rights simply for wanting to get on the bus.

That is exactly what happened earlier, only today the driver sided with the mum, refusing to let me on. The rules are, of course, that wheelchair users have priority over prams; but the driver still refused to let me board, telling the other passengers that he somehow knew me and that I always became aggressive.

Upon hearing that I naturally became furious. Of course I always try to stick up for my rights, but to hear that called aggression and to be dismissed so sickeningly was more than I could take. I put my legs out through the open doorway and tried to ask for the driver’s name and employment information, intending to complain to TFL.

To cut a long, furious story short, the whole altercation lasted about twenty minutes. The driver was highly abusive and patronising: I knew I had a right to board the bus, but he kept dismissing me and talking over me. Once it was over, the first thing I did was head to the TfL office in Stratford: I thought that going there and actually telling someone what had happened, rather then coming home and making a complaint over the internet, would have a better chance of getting something done about it. It seems, however, that I was wrong, and I was just told to go and register a complaint online. Of course I have every intention of doing so, but I can’t help doubting anything will actually happen about this sickeningly discriminatory driver.

The only sensible place I can direct everyone to today is here, to the BBC’s access All podcast. Presumably a descendent of their disability-themed Ouch page, in this podcast they discuss the alarming rise in rage-baiting, where people attempt to provoke people with disabilities by sticking their tongues out or shouting outright abuse. They often then film the reaction on their phones. As I have written here many times, it is happening to me more and more frequently. A few days ago, dad directed me to an article about it: the article asked people to write in with their personal experiences of the issue, so naturally I did so. I’m pleased to say you can listen to my response on the podcast.

When I saw this story at the end of the news bulletins last night, that a statue of Bridget Jones was going to be unveiled in Leicester Square, to be honest I flew into a momentary huff. Why a statue of Bridget Jones but not James Bond? Surely Bond is a much bigger film star? But then my brain got into gear: Firstly, how do I know there isn’t one of Bond already there? I haven’t really explored that area. More importantly though, the fact is that Jones is a quintessentially London-based character but Bond isn’t. 007 may have his base here, but he flies to all kinds of exotic places all over the world – that’s part of his appeal. If you were selecting film characters which celebrate London, you probably wouldn’t choose 007. Then there’s the obvious question of which bond would it be a statue of? If you were going to make a statue depicting Bond, which actor would you choose? Connery? Brosnan? Six actors have portrayed cinema’s greatest spy, so whoever they opt for it’s bound to get caught up in debates over favouritism. On the other hand, the Bridget Jones films are set in and are about life in London; and a statue celebrating them would only need to look like Rene Zellweger.

Thus, on reflection, it isn’t a simple question. While I think it would be cool to have some kind of monument celebrating the Bond films here in London, it’s such a well known, popular series, whatever they do would be controversial and debated endlessly.

Perhaps it was the weather, but I briefly began to feel really, really down earlier: I was cold, one of my powerchairs is still out of action, the news of Liam’s death is still fresh and painful. For a while, the world seemed truly bleak. But then, a simple question occurred to me: at the end of the day, what have I got to feel so miserable about? There was I, sat on a bus heading into one of the greatest cities on earth; it may have felt cold but the sky was blue. I had a day of exploration and culture ahead of me. My chair might be broken, but it will be back running fairly soon, and besides I have a second one to use. The world might be going nuts but feeling so down is utterly pointless. And in that moment the darkness lifted and everything seemed cool again.

I am sure we’re all growing increasingly concerned about the so-called culture wars: society is becoming more and more divided, with those on the political left and right now almost completely at odds. Last night I watched this Channel Four documentary on the rise of the far right from last year. I found it an extremely difficult watch, and it made me very uncomfortable indeed: like it or not, the reactionary right is on the rise in the UK, with many desperate people being charmed – many would say fooled – by it’s simplistic, tribalist, ‘us vs. them’ narrative.

However, watching it I couldn’t help worrying that I could be accused of displaying similar traits. A couple of days ago I wrote that I was worried about increasing numbers of people jumping onto sociopolitical bandwagons, and claiming membership of minorities which they didn’t really belong to for political purposes. I realise that that could be seen as reactionary or intolerant, and not that dissimilar to the guff being spouted on the documentary I was watching. What I wrote might well feed into the culture wars now ripping us apart.

Let me just assure you, that wasn’t my intention at all. Of course, people have every right to be who they feel they are and live as they want; nor do I have a right to make assumptions or judgements about people I don’t know. It’s just that I can’t escape this growing feeling that disability is becoming increasingly politicised, and that ‘being disabled’ has somehow now become politically trendy. While I don’t have any solid, objective data, I get the increasing impression that more and more people are now identifying as disabled when they previously may not have, just as more and more people are now playing around with gender norms. I don’t want to gatekeep, but as someone born with a physical disability and who grew up among severely disabled people, I can’t help finding that extremely galling.

Given the devastating news of yesterday, I thought I better update this:

All my mates deserved lives as long and happy as anyone else’s, but now they are nearly all gone! Can there be anything more fucked up?!

I got to Facebook this morning to read some devastating news. Another of my classmates from school, Liam Hodson, died last night. Truth be told, I had stopped talking to Liam a couple of years ago over some dodgy, misguided comments he had made, but was ready to patch things up. I had known him since infancy: he was kind and gentle, and loved football. My thoughts are with his mum, Lynnie. I’m certain he will be greatly missed.

Not that I don’t think it’s important that everyone reads about what happened to me yesterday, but I also think it is vital that I flag up this Owen Jones video. In it, Jones summarises the current situation with the Beeb, Trump and so on, as well as the underlying far-right powers at play. It is a very interesting analysis, although anyone in their right mind will also find it deeply disturbing.

We must resist this abhorrent trend with all we can muster.

Heading to the shop this afternoon, I was thinking about the LA Olympics once again, and was struck by an idea. Frankly, if it ever came about, it might well be the greatest idea ever. I’m still bothered by the prospect of Trump getting his grubby little hands on the opening ceremony, and turning it into a hideous self-aggrandising wankfest. But then a cool idea hit me: who would be the best person to direct the ceremony? Having just watched a few South Park clips on Youtube, it occurred to me that surely it would be utterly awesome if Matt Stone and Trey Parker were asked to direct it. Just think what they could do: how deliciously irreverent it would be; how epic, how puerile! The guys who gave us this, directing an entire olympic opening ceremony, right in front of the arrogant p’tahk!

Of course, I know it simply isn’t going to happen – they’re Canadian, for one. But at a time when Trump and American politics is becoming more and more frightening, this idea was simply too delicious to keep to myself!

After last night, I am now seriously thinking about getting some kind of body-worn video camera. As I wrote yesterday, it had been a great day: after the filming had stopped, I had decided to trundle around Westminster for a bit, before taking the Jubilee line to Bond street, then the Elisabeth to Woolwich. From there I hopped on a bus, composing my blog entry on the way. I was heading to Kidbrooke, intending to pick up some supplies there before coming home. To be honest I was feeling rather happy: I was proud to have shown such solidarity with my fellow disabled people, and was looking forward to seeing the completed film.

However, my mood was suddenly shattered. I was heading through a nearby park when a group of teenagers started making noises at me, trying to wind me up and annoy me. I don’t know why they do it, and I know I shouldn’t respond, but the way they laugh and jeer and mock me, totally out of the blue, feels utterly insulting. I am a proud, independent man – why should I be the butt of some little shit’s game? Then, when I try to tell them to shut up, they do it even more, making me feel powerless and frustrated.The teenagers I encountered yesterday seemed even more vindictive than usual though, following me, taking more and more pleasure in making insulting, offensive remarks. Things became worse and worse, until in the end I had no choice but to tell myself to swallow my pride and continue on my way to the shop. Yet the deep-seated feeling remained: Any other 42 year old man would tear their proverbial heads off, so why shouldn’t I?

Such incidents have to stop. If I had some kind of body-worn camera, perhaps I could record them and show the footage to someone. Lyn once gave me a Gopro, but sadly it remained unused as I had no kind of mounting for it, or any way to turn it on and off. Yet the issue I’m having with these teens is getting worse and worse: there must be something I can do about it, as I refuse to let these cocky, arrogant little scumbags continue to mock and insult me.

I just got home from a long but nonetheless great day. A couple of days ago I got an email from my comrades at the Greenwich Association of Disabled People, inviting me to go and participate in a film they were making about the Assisted Dying bill in Parliament Square. To be honest I didn’t quite know what they were getting at, but keen filmmaker and activist that I am, I set out this morning sensing the potential for awesomeness.

I don’t think I was wrong. I got to Parliament Square slightly early, and to be honest had a bit of trouble finding the group of people I needed to. When I did filming had already started, but it quickly turned into quite an awesome afternoon. Every day it becomes clearer to me how incredible it is to live independently in this great city; but that can only continue if I continue to get the right support to do so. That can only happen if disabled people put pressure on the government. That is what today’s filming was about, and I was thrilled to be able to contribute.

Expect updates on the finished film before long!

I just want to define a new term today. I’ve used it in my internal monologue for a while, but have never recorded it, although I may now refer to it in the future. Trundle-blogging is where I write blog entries a bit at a time when I’m out and about. I type them into my Ipad, often when I’m sat on a bus, in a shopping mall or a park, then upload the entry when I next find a Wifi connection. Blog entries thus gradually form, a sentence or two at a time, over the course of an afternoon. It’s a nice way of writing which I’ve been using for some time now, although any entries I need to add to the entry do have to wait until I get home.

I have fairly vague memories of visiting Egypt with my family when I was about nine or ten. We saw the Pyramids, of course, and the sphynx, but that’s about all I remember. However, I just came across this tantalising incentive to go back there in the not too distant future. An awesome-looking new museum has now opened in Cairo. “The Grand Egyptian Museum (GEM), described as the world’s largest archaeological museum, is packed with some 100,000 artefacts covering some seven millennia of the country’s history from pre-dynastic times to the Greek and Roman eras.” Visiting the Louvre back in August was cool enough, but history nerd that I am, this new museum sounds too fascinating to miss.

I now think I’m going to make a conscious effort to get out of London a bit more. That probably sounds a bit weird, but for the last fifteen years or so my entire world has sort of been bounded by the capital. Of course, there have certainly been occasions when I have ventured beyond the M25, most notably my trips abroad; yet my day to day life seems to have been very London-centric. I realised recently that I can easily go for weeks and even months without going outside of the encircling motorway. To be honest it seemed like anywhere outside London would be too far away to reach, or that I would be taking a risk heading anywhere not under the jurisdiction of TfL. There was also a small, nagging voice in the back of my mind protesting that wanting to venture outside of London would be a sign that I no longer loved London or thought it the greatest city on earth.

However, as incredible as I still think London is, I’m becoming more and more aware that there is more to life than just one metropolis. I now feel a real urge to go beyond its limits a bit more. My daily trundles for the last fifteen years have broadly been a matter of heading to the same places within the city: as incredible as that once was, it also now has a faint feeling of captivity. It is almost as if they are becoming too familiar, too well known, and as bright and glittering and fabulous as they may be, too dull.

Part of me now feels that there must be places outside of London I can get to, beyond the tarmac circle of the M25. Greener, quieter places; places far from the hubbub of traffic and the chatter of countless people. Quaint little villages and market towns, connected via lanes winding through fields. The problem is as it always has been: London is so huge that actually getting outside of the city just using public transport takes so long that it becomes unpractical for me to try to get anywhere before I have to start heading home. Yesterday, for example, it took me an entire afternoon to get to the Bluewater shopping centre in Kent and back, using two buses. Obviously if public transport was a bit better I would have had less of a problem; but even so I now really want to find more ways of getting outside this vast urban sprawl. As I wrote a couple of days ago, thanks largely to the Elisabeth Line, getting across London and particularly into the city centre is now extremely easy; yet I now feel a growing urge to get out of the metropolis and into landscapes more akin to those I grew up with a bit more.

The breakfast news this morning was topped by the story that the chancellor, Rachel Reeves, is being criticised by the Tories and the tabloids for breaking housing rules when renting out her family home. I must admit hearing this wound me up instantly. If anything it is a total non-story – an honest mistake which Reeves has already dealt with. Yet the way in which the Tories and the right wing were pouncing on it, demanding that Reeves resigns and calling her position ‘untenable’, I think tells us everything we need to know about them. How many tories will have made similar mistakes? How many of them will have second homes which, being tories, they’ll have refused to pay tax on? Does the reactionary press make a fuss about them?

Of course not. Thus in reacting like this the tories have made their characters clear: they are immature and ignorant; they cannot accept honest mistakes and think only they have a right to lead. They think that only they should have things like second homes, and if anyone they see as inferior to them dares to transgress their rules, they run to the gutter press as though some unspeakable felony has been committed. They see the world in reductionist, simplistic terms, and are as juvenile as the man-child currently leading America. Reeves has nothing to answer for, but the tories’ grotesque reaction tells us all we need to know about such infantile, hypocritical people.

I know I have rarely if ever referenced it here, and although I wouldn’t describe myself as a Fawlty Towers fan to the extent that I’m a James Bond, Star Trek or Monty Python fan, of course I can’t help but be touched by the sad passing of Prunella Scales yesterday. It was an absolute classic of British comedy, and it seems that we have lost yet another great actor.

I’m not sure how much sympathy or agreement I’ll get with this, but I’m seriously starting to think that no child under the age of sixteen should be allowed onto London public transport without an adult with them. That might sound a bit harsh or mean spirited, but more and more these days I see kids or groups of kids getting onto buses without adults with them, and and quite frankly it makes me feel nervous. I’ve written here before about the trouble I’ve been getting more and more from young people. When I’m on a bus and they are unsupervised, to be honest it feels like their jeers, jibes and comments are inevitable. It’s worst at around three or four PM, when they leave school and get on with their mates, finding it funny that a drooling guy in a powerchair is also travelling home. I would far rather see a grown, responsible adult accompanying them, rather then letting them think they have free rein to mock people like me.

It’s strange to think that London once felt so vast and labyrinthine. Not that long ago, it seemed like an almost endless urban sprawl which I could barely begin to comprehend. I suppose that part of the problem was that actually getting up into the city took so long. Travelling into central London, on either the Jubilee Line or a bus from Charlton, took at least an hour. Now though, thanks to the Elizabeth Line, getting into central London is so much easier. Within twenty minutes from Woolwich I can be somewhere like Tottenham Court Road or Bond Street, ready to explore the metropolis.

It feels like the city is at last within my grasp, so that somewhere which once seemed so incomprehensible and endless now seems far smaller and more homely; places which once seemed so distant and almost foreign now feel as reachable as my local shops. This morning, for instance, I was able to pop into central London on the spur of the moment, curious about the shops on Bond Street. The sky was blue and I felt ready to explore again. I was able to go and take in the beauty of Hyde Park and Regent’s Park in the autumn sunshine. Such places are now feeling more and more familiar to me, as if they have been transported from somewhere extremely remote and unreachable to almost my back garden. It makes me wonder whether this shrinking is going to continue, and what future innovations might make getting around London even easier. More to the point though, London is obviously becoming increasingly accessible to guys like me, so that thanks to incredible advancements like the Elisabeth Line, sooner or later wheelchair users will be able to get around the metropolis as quickly and easily as anyone else.

I really must say that I’m having a far more cheerful, less acrimonious day than yesterday. I just got in from my daily trundle, through the park and down into Greenwich. The thing is, now that the days are shorter, I’m not going to be able to go out on my longer rolls any more. On the other hand, that also means that I’m much more likely to go to the cinema, and I think this will be the film I go to see next. I’m not usually a big horror fan, but from Mark Kermode’s review, Sketch sounds intriguing: given that it apparently involves drawings somehow coming to life, I would say it sounds fairly Lacanian, but the fact that it has been described as “a cross between Jurassic Park and Inside Out” really sold it to me. Expect my review/reaction here soon.

The breakfast news this morning was topped by the story that the so-called king has gone to meet the so-called pope. Surely I can’t be the only person to find that utterly, utterly absurd: the fact that the head of one anachronistic institution has gone to meet the head of another is not news. When all is said and done, both monarchy and religion should have no place in modern society. Both are forms of authority based on a set of antiquated myths; they both demand we believe in an absurd creator-being which can’t possibly exist, in order that a very limited set of privileged people can continue to be revered and treated as special and above the law by the rest of society.

I have written about what I think about both the monarchy and religion here before. If we really are as enlightened as we want to be, if we really want everyone to be equal, surely we should have outgrown both anachronisms long ago. Yet here we are, watching the activities of both being reported on the news, as though it was two heads of state meeting, rather than simply the meeting of two men who both hope society doesn’t wise up to their charade.

I was in my building society earlier, where I caught sight of Prime Minister’s Questions on the TV there. I stopped watching PMQs ages ago because I was getting too wound up. Looking at Kemi Badenoch on the screen, it struck me that, for all her insults, taunts and baseless accusations, she doesn’t even realise that she’s nothing but the puppet of a group of rich white men responsible for the mess that the country is now in. I know that holding the government to account is the opposition’s job, but if the Tories had a modicum of humility or integrity, they would be begging for our collective forgiveness, not mouthing their heads off, making out it’s all Labour’s fault. The fact that the Tories refuse to accept their culpability for the country’s diminishment and isolation is bad enough; but the fact that they are currently using a black woman as their figurehead, in some perverse effort to appear open, inclusive and tolerant when they are still the collection of hyper-privileged white bigots who think power is their birthright which they always have been, is what makes it even more sickening.

The Trekkie in me is simply demanding that I direct everybody here today, to quite a fascinating Youtube video discussing thirteen easily missed details about Star Trek The Next Generation. As the video says, TNG belonged to something of a golden age of TV sci fi which we seem to have now sadly grown out of: It held a mirror up to contemporary society, creating a seemingly utopian future which was not quite as wondrous as it first appeared. This video reflects on that, illustrating thirteen fairly dark details we otherwise would probably have ignored. The Ferengi, for example, weren’t just cartoonish villains, but a quite biting commentary on contemporary capitalism. Online analysis like this is increasingly pointing such things out, becoming more and more observant, which is why I definitely think it’s worth watching. Alas, it is only in retrospect that we can realise how incredible such programmes were, as well as what they told us about. ourselves.

I haven’t been very political recently, but this must be the most reassuring graph I’ve come across in a long, long time.

Surely this is a clear indication that the country is waking up to the reality of Brexit. It is becoming clearer and clearer what an epic mistake leaving the European Union was, and the sooner we re-take our position among our neighbours, the better.

I would just like to direct everyone’s attention to this incredible bit of news today. Sir David Attenborough has become the oldest person to ever win a Daytime Emmy for his Netflix film, Secret Life of Orang-utans. “The 99-year-old came out top in the outstanding daytime personality, non-daily category, with the Netflix film – which follows a group of apes living in the jungles of Sumatra, Indonesia – also coming away with two other awards.” Needless to say, I find that draw dropping. I’ve written about my admiration for Sir David on here before, yet the fact that not only is he still making television programmes after seventy years, but those programmes are still coming head and shoulders above anything else being made, is absolutely jaw-dropping. He surely is a national treasure if ever we had one.

I just have one question on my mind today. I think it is fairly pressing:

Have I fallen into the nasty habit of just blogging for the sake of it?

I think I’ve said here before how much I like London public transport: as a wheelchair/powerchair user, I really appreciate the fact that I can easily get on and off busses and increasingly the tube, and pretty much go where I like. In a while I plan to head out into the metropolis and head where I want to go with ease. However, the fact remains I was born and grew up in the North of England. As a wheelchair user up there, I found myself very much restrained. For one, the ramps on busses weren’t even automatic, so bus drivers had to grudgingly get out of their cabs to put their ramps out for me. Getting between towns was a real hassle, so it wasn’t until I moved to London, with it’s world-class metropolitan transport system, that I experienced the type of public transport freedom most other people have.

Interestingly though, I just came across this video from TLDR News about the so-called Northern Powerhouse Rail Project. The plan is to create a world-class rail network, uniting cities like Manchester, Liverpool and Leeds. Not that I’m turning into some kind of railway geek, but I must admit I find that pretty exciting. Presumably, any new infrastructure will be accessible, so guys like me are going to be able to get across the region, between towns and cities far, far easier. The whole area will be opened up for wheelchair users and become far more inviting. As a Cheshire Lad I certainly find that positive: it seems the rest of the country is at last receiving the investment and attention London alone has got for far too long. Surely guys like me have as much right to get where we need to go as anyone else, and I frankly find the fact that there’s still a sizeable imbalance between London and the rest of the country, in terms of public transport, especially accessible public transport, rather perverse.