Yesterday was quite a sad day: it would have been Lyn’s sixtieth birthday. I didn’t post an entry because I didn’t know how to mark it, or indeed whether I should. Her passing still feels very raw, and I kept thinking about Lyn all day. Of course, she would not have wanted me to get down and gloomy about it, and would probably have preferred us to celebrate by playing lots of music; yet the truth is yesterday didn’t feel like a day for a party. Lyn’s passing feels like it has left a gaping void, not just in my life but in many others’; this wonderful, fascinating, creative personality is suddenly no longer there. It is an absence which I suspect I’ll feel for a long, long time.

Today I’d like to wish my dad a very happy birthday. Complete nonse that I am, though, I totally forgot about  it, and it took me a few moments to twig why dad was listing so many things he   had received from my brothers in our (currently) daily  webcam chat. I hope he has an excellent  day all the same. Recent events have made it clear how dear him (and mum) are to me.

That means, though, that tomorrow would have been Lyn’s sixtieth. To be honest I feel rather down about it: These days, I try to keep my  spirits up, but thinking about all the excellent Twenty-Firsts of May we had over the last twelve  years won’t make that easy. Either  way I’ll probably raise a glass to both dad and Lyn this evening.

Happy birthday Dad.

It might be slightly long (45 mins), but if you want a treat, especially if you’re a Tolkien fan,  go here. Andy Serkis recently recorded a  reading of The Hobbit from end to end for charity. To listen to him reading the pivotal chapter, Riddles In  The Dark, complete with his Gollum voice, is an absolute pleasure. For a moment I felt like I was nine again, tucked under a warm duvet, listening to my dad read the same chapter.

”What has it got in it’s pocketses?”

I have probably just watched one of the worst, most nauseating, most infuriating films I have ever seen. Mucking around on Facebook as usual earlier, I came across a poster for a film called I Am Potential, flagged up by Can-Do Musos. They’re an organisation for musicians with disabilities, which L had links to. Curious, I thought I’d check it out, and  found it  on Amazon Prime.

What I found myself watching, however, was staggeringly crap. It’s  about a disabled young man in the deep south; blind and a wheelchair user, he finds he has a talent for music, teaching himself to play the piano and then the trumpet. What follows is a nauseatingly saccharine  American family drama: we see him  growing up and  the pervails his  family goes through. His dad works in an office, which is drawn straight from a cartoon,  complete with a big bad one-dimensional boss. We see all the sacrifices they go  through as he grows up, nurturing his talent. We get virtually every cliche and  stereotype hurled at us – I swear I can pull better writing out of my arse.

Then, to cap it off, the guy decides he wants to be in  his school marching band, or rather, he is told he can’t be in the ordinary school band if he hasn’t been in  the marching band first, or some meaningless reason. The problem is, he can’t wheel his chair and play his trumpet at the same time. This causes the main moment of tension in the film, before, at the last moment, his dad quits his job, steps in, and pushes his son in the formation. We then  see them both practicing and performing as  part of the marching band, as though it  was some great boundary-breaking achievement, when in reality any real disabled musician would probably be inconsolably  embarrassed  at having to be pushed around a field by their dad like that.

I know  I probably shouldn’t be so critical about what is probably a children’s film, but as a piece of disability  representation, surely we can do better than this cheesy, cliche-strewn shyte.

This afternoon I became  aware of a phenomenon which I’m not sure I like at all. I suppose  I’d known about it vaguely for a while, but had not focussed any attention onto it enough to get angry about it. Parents with children  who have cerebral palsy seem to have started to use their kids to gain social  media  cache, branding theirselves ‘parents with cerebral palsy’ as a sort of marketing ploy. Ted Shires explains it fairly eloquently here.  As he puts it, he is hacked off at Twitter users describing theirselves as ‘cerebral palsy parents’, as if that was the most important detail about their child, and as if they were the ones bearing the burden of cp. They seem to be using the fact their child is disabled to  stand out in social media, which, like Ted, I find pretty galling. As he puts it, ”Cerebral Palsy is our burden, not yours!”

Shortly after watching Ted’s vlog, I stumbled upon the Youtube channel of a lady in the States which seemed to confirm everything he was talking about. Tamara Weeks makes videos depicting the daily life of her teenage daughter, who seems to have fairly severe cp and profound learning difficulties. After watching a few of her videos, I must say I was appalled: the young woman was being treated almost like a pet, or exhibit  in a zoo. They went into quite some  detail about her daily routine, showing her  being dressed, washed, having her teeth brushed etc, as if this person was something  to be marvelled over. I was horrified.

Let me put it this way: over the years I have written quite a lot on my blog about what I get up to. I think it is important that I tell people what life is like for a guy with cp, exhibitionist that I am. But what if it wasn’t  me writing my blog, but my Mum or Dad? What if they described everything I had been up  to and how I was feeling? The dominant voice would be theirs, and I would effectively become no more than a  character in someone else’s drama. People with disabilities  need to tell their own stories, however they can, not have stories  told about them. Otherwise we become puppets, pushed and  pulled about like that poor young lady in America.

I know I shouldn’t just flag up random Youtube videos, but there is a moment in this at just after the 4:15  mark  which is simply  awesome. Zark knows how he managed it, but somme random American guy got the cast of Back To The Future together for a Zoom meeting,  and the  result is frankly incredible. They clearly get along,  exchanging banter and stories. They even re-perform some of the script at  one point. The result is nostalgic and funny, and frankly has made  my day.

The speech app I use on my Ipad is Proloquo2go, a very kind gift from the guys I work with at school.  It’s quite an advanced app, as far as such  things go: it is a Minspeak-based system, but also has an ordinary qwerty keyboard mode which I use. For those who don’t know, Minspeak is a symbol-based system where you select combinations  of symbols to get  the device to say words or sentences. I’ve never got into it, but I’ve had friends/acquaintances who swear by it, and say it’s a far quicker form of AAC.

A few days ago, then, I began wondering  whether it was worth giving it a go. After all, Proloquo2go  always boots up with the symbol screen,  and I have to deliberately switch to qwerty. Having always typed ‘normally’, can I now learn a new system?  How hard can it be? Might I indeed begin to ‘talk’ more quickly? Having watched a  couple of Youtube videos about it, I must admit I’m curious. I’ll now sit down and fiddle with my Ipad, and see if I can get it to say anything. After all, in  the current lock-down circumstances, teaching myself a new skill seems  like a good idea.

I stopped watching PMQs a while ago, but if the reports of Kier Starmer’s performance yesterday are true, I may start watching it again.

I binge watched Unorthodox on Netflix yesterday, and found it really, really fascinating. I heard about it a  few days ago, and thought I’d give it a go. Without wanting to spoil anything for others, it’s a series of about six episodes about a community of ultra-orthodox Jews from New York. One girl, Esther, breaks from them and goes to find a new life in Berlin. What fascinates me is how it gives viewers an insight into a minority otherwise totally ignored by mainstream  media: to many people including myself, this type of orthodox Judaism can seem mysterious, reclusive and even a  tad scary; this program helps to part the curtain somewhat. By using as it’s central protagonist a young woman trying to find a balance between her community and that of the modern, twenty-first century, we glimpse a community whose rituals and beliefs seem extremely foreign to us, but which occupies the same cities we do. They even speak their own language, Yiddish. At the same time, the show goes to some length to explain how this community came about and why it behaves as it does. At one point, for example, an elderly rabbi at a dinner party explains the theology behind why the community is  so separate and why it sees itself as different from others. As a member of a ‘community’ (albeit a fare looser one)  which is  similarly marginalised, I must say that struck me as food for thought – why would any community want such outsidership, to the extent that it is a core aspect of it’s identity? Either way, such  questions certainly make Unorthodox worth checking out.

In case anyone else is interested, I read earlier that Star Trek: Picard has officially been renewed for a second season set to air in early 2021. Having spent the day indoors due to the sudden cold snap, I can’t wait. The first season set up the programme really well, and it was so great to see a few of my all-time favourite fictional characters back in action, I’m really looking forward to seeing where they take it – there are even rumours of the  return of Worf.

I have always had a link to London. My mum’s parents lived here, so growing up my family used to visit them every few months. Then, ten years ago, I moved to Charlton to live with Lyn, and through her I got to know south London. Over the last ten years I have got to explore the metropolis for myself, sampling it’s wonders enough to fall in love with it. Yet suddenly those links are both gone: Lyn’s house in Charlton lies empty, as does Yaiya’s in Harlesden, and I cannot escape the feeling I am suddenly alone.

Of course, I still have many friends here, built up over the past decade of adventure. But the two people I most associate with this city and who tied me to it are all of a sudden absent, and I have started to feel that uncanny sense of urban isolation Walter Benjamin wrote of. London will always be a booming, thriving place, even during lockdown, and sooner or later I know the fun I now associate with this city will return. It won’t be the same, though, as that link will not be there. I doubt things will ever be the same, as London, for me, will have changed.

Looking out over the city from Greenwich Park earlier, as I have many times before, I saw a view I now know well: greenwich Palace, the Thames, The Dome, the growing forrest of skyscrapers at Canary Wharf. Perhaps it was the changing air pressure or grey skies, but things seemed different. Now I have this house and I am settling in to my new life here in Eltham, the idea of moving again any time soon is of course ridiculous. But with any link I had to this city now gone, things feel more lonely, and I must admit the thought of moving on to discover new adventures elsewhere has occurred to me more than once of late. The city has brought me so much fun, joy and happiness over my time here, and indeed may bring yet more; but with the person I most associate with those times no longer here, perhaps by the end of this decade my life in the metropolis will have run it’s course.

There isn’t much I feel I can say about yesterday’s socially distanced VE Day street party.  That is not to say it wasn’t great fun – I have a fabulous set of neighbours, and we have a wonderful little community developing – but, the problem is, I don’t actually remember much about it. People kept giving me beer after beer, then I think shots got involved. I haven’t got that drunk (or been that stupid) in years. Zark knows how I got to bed.

I’m actually quite angry with myself. Old habits, it seems, really do die hard. Then again, I probably needed to let off a bit of steam after a very tough few weeks, like everyone else I suppose. Either way, I have promised myself I’m not going to drink again for the rest of the month.

I’ll surely not be the only person to note the staggering contradiction in having a day  of commemorations, marking the end of  the bloodiest war ever, while simultaneously leaving the very institution founded to ensure such a conflict never happens again. Of course, I’ll probably join in what local celebrations there are later, as well as doing a bit  of sucking (as if I needed an excuse), but you cannot escape the fact that our leaving the EU pretty much undoes all the  progress made towards a peaceful Europe over the past 75 years. Indeed, one of the heroes of the moment, Churchill, promoted the foundation of a European Common Market to ensure cooperation across the continent. The Tories seem to want to use this day to ‘bring the nation together’, and  arouse some patriotic spirit by drawing parallels between the uk during the blitz and the current pandemic crisis; but, when you think about it, that is merely distorting  history to suit their own ends, which I find quite perverse.

Something about this reminds me of The Simpsons. NASA has announced that it plans  to launch Tom Cruise into space in order to make a film up there. While they emphasise it won’t be a Mission: Impossible sequel, they hope it will boost interest in space exploration.  Jim Bridenstine of NASA tweeted  ”NASA is excited to work with @TomCruise on a film aboard the @Space_Station! We need popular media to inspire a new generation of engineers and scientists to make @NASA’s ambitious plans a reality.” Of course I’m all for the human exploration of space – boldly going where no man has gone before, and all that – but  why am I suddenly put in mind of the Simpsons episode where Homer gets sent into space just because NASA wants to boost its TV ratings?

A couple of days ago, in the late afternoon or early evening, sitting home alone I suddenly heard my doorbell ring. I pressed the switch and opened my door: one of my neighbours, who I hadn’t met before, had brought round a tub of fried rice. I hadn’t asked for it, but they were offering it in case I  wanted it. I thanked the elderly gentleman, and of course accepted it.

It was a  very kind gesture, totally out of the blue. The problem was, I wasn’t sure where they lived. Fortunately, my local community has a Facebook group I’m on, so I popped a question on there to find out where they were. I  duly got my answer, so this morning I went and introduced myself, their tub now cleaned and filled with Quality Street. It was the least I could do in return for an act  of such kindness. It really is great to know that I have found myself in a community of such  warm, caring neighbours.

Late last night, just before going to bed, I came across something on Charlotte’s facebook page which I found utterly remarkable. It was a short video of a group of people singing a medley of 1940s songs, probably to commemorate VE day this week. What made my jaw drop, though, wasn’t the quality of the singing – though it was high – but where it was filmed and who performed in it. It  seems that a community of people living on the same street up in Chester had all got together and decided to dress up and perform, using the street as the set. I find that incredible, as it obviously implies a  level of community cooperation which is  unheard of these days. While I know a few of my neighbours and am on the local community Facebook group, the idea  of approaching any of them and suggesting we  do such a project frankly seems absurd. It’s good to see such community spirit still exists somewhere, though, and I now can’t wait to see what they do next.

It turns out that the stories I came across with horror and alarm yesterday about my favourite tv personality  Michael Palin being caught in a house fire were complete baloney. He is perfectly fine, and the whole thing was an exaggeration. In  fact, he was so not dead that he gave quite an interesting  interview on the Andrew Marr show this morning.  Good to see.

I just finished watching Devs. I had heard it mentioned a couple of times, such as on last week’s Click, so yesterday afternoon I thought I would binge-watch it. Having now  watched all eight episodes, I  find myself  rather torn over what I just watched: I can’t decide whether it was the most deeply philosophical program I’ve seen in years, or the  biggest load of pretentious bollocks. I’m afraid to say that the last  episode probably tips it towards the latter.

When I first started watching it yesterday afternoon, it felt  like something I should be able to get a nice lengthy review out of. However, having reached the denouement, I don’t know where to begin: what began by presenting some fairly interesting scientific and  philosophical ideas, by the end had collapsed into gibberish. The idea of a computer so powerful  that it could see the past and predict the  future required some suspension of disbelief, especially  for anyone even remotely familiar with Heisenburg, but I was willing to go with it. After all, my favourite science fiction show involves Warp drives and Transporter Beams, so who am I to complain?

The problem was, as the series went on, it became clearer and clearer that whoever wrote it  was about as scientifically literate as a potato; or rather, they were trying to map poorly understood scientific concepts onto overtly religious ones. I began to get a sense that  something was amiss when the first  thing our protagonists apparently ‘saw’ when they look back in time was Christ on the cross. By the finale, however, the religiosity was  overt: the super-computer turned out to be a stand-in for god, and the guy who created it wanted to somehow resurrect  his dead daughter. What annoys me was the pretence that this was supposedly underpinned by actual science. In the fourth  or fifth episode, there’s a nice little cameo from Liz Carr as a university lecturer giving an interesting summary of the Double Slit Experiment; yet this was used to try to underpin the idea that there are many parallel worlds which the super-computer could apparently discern. Thus real scientific ideas and debates were hijacked and dressed up to reinforce religious dogma, so what begins as a fairly interesting science  fiction series with a promising hint of espionage finishes up as theological mumbo-jumbo with a large helping of gratuitous violence.

I know you can argue that if the NHS was funded properly, such heroic acts of charity wouldn’t be necessary, but in honour of Captain Tom Moore’s hundredth  birthday, playing a bit of this would seem appropriate (Note: it isn’t You’ll Never Walk Alone, but something more cinematic).

For the last few nights now, I’ve been waking up from the most disturbing dreams: Dreams about other people or myself being killed, executed or even crucified. It has never happened before, and while I’m not especially bothered by it, I can’t help wondering why they keep recurring. They’re usually quite horrific. What would old Ziggy Freud have to say?

If there is anything which I agree with the government on, it is that our current restrictions must continue. Lifting lockdown right now would be completely irresponsible, as it would obviously risk  a second wave of infections. To be safe, I daresay this current state of affairs for at least four or five weeks more. We  are all fed up right now,  and  I want things to return to normal as much as anyone, yet I know the importance of being patient.

The problem is, others can’t see that. Online, more and more I come across people demanding lockdown is lifted, spouting stupid things such as calling lockdown a form of house arrest. I mean, how stupid can you get? It frankly frustrates me that some people have seemingly been so privileged and spoiled that they are willing to risk their lives and others just so that they can return to normal. Making such melodramatic, provocative statements just makes them look naive.

Instead I again take inspiration from  people like Anne Macdonald, my school friends, as well as, now, Lyn: They all showed a type of perseverance and stoicism I think we can all learn  from. As I said here, the strongest people I have ever known had most to complain about, yet never pitied theirselves. Just as they put up with whatever came their way, I can manage pottering about the house for a few more weeks.

One of the biggest problems I have with this lockdown lark is finding things to write about on here. Normally of course, I either pick something online or in the news to draw everyone’s attention to, or I describe what I’ve been up to. I think I need to inform people what life is like for me, as a guy with CP living more-or-less independently in South London.  These days, though, that is less of an option: apart from my daily powerchair  roams  – usually short affairs to one of the nearby parks or up to Eltham – I haven’t been anywhere in months. There have been no epic nights out, visits to  pubs or adventures up into London. That just leaves  me to blog about the bits and bobs I come across online, or whatever is  going on in the  news, and we all know how cheerful that is right now.

From time to time these days, I come across people suggesting that we should stop criticising the government. They insist that, given the pandemic is global, now is not the time to pile the usual scrutiny on the government, or at least we should tone it down. The Tories are doing their best, they say, so the usual political adversarialism ought to be suspended.

Would someone please explain to  me how that is not the very epitome of naiveté. Hell, it could even be  it’s definition. Now more than ever we need  to hold the government to account. Yes, the crisis  is a global one, but different countries’ governments have responded to it in different ways; you only need to look at the vastly differing mortality figures to see  the results of that. Those figures show that, due  to the UK government’s slow reaction and belligerence, we are one of the worst hit  countries in Europe (although  not as bad as the land of Detol-drinking numpties across the Atlantic). Surely someone must be held to account for that, and the buck stops with the Tories.

Now is not the time to be taken in by the cult of personality the Tory p’tahks are trying to create around Bojo – just the opposite. I get very frustrated when I see people trying to defend these idiots from criticism, dotingly likening Johnson to Churchill  or whatever. So many people have now died as a direct result of the decisions that  arsehole and his government have made, they need to be brought to book. Not to do so, to turn a blind eye to their gross failings and sickening incompetence, would mean  giving them free rain to do as they please: pushing forward their right-wing, neoliberal agenda, wearing away at state funded institutions like the  NHS while  some of the most vulnerable people in society are left to die.

I for one refuse to do that: I refuse to stop calling the government  out as the embarrassing deplorable mess it is.

We’ve had 007 escorting  the Queen to the olympics and Stephen Hawking singing  The Galaxy Song, and last night we saw Prince William Skyping Lord Melchett. Mind you, although it’s the sort of fiction-meets-reality stunt which usually gets my juices flowing, there isn’t much to get  my analytical teeth into. After  all, it’s essentially just Prince Will bantering for a few minutes with Stephen Fry over the web with a few contemporary references thrown in. Having  said that, I like the way Fry took the piss out of William, and how Wills rather played the fool. Above all, it was cool to see Melchett brought back  to life after all this time – there’s clearly  life in the old dog yet, and who knows, this could lead to the return of Blackadder himself.

I’m afraid to say I got some more sad news today: my yaiya (mum’s mum) passed away this morning at the age of 95. She was becoming increasingly frail, but it’s still quite a blow for  the family. Yaiya  had such a strong spirit and keen sense of humour,  but most of all I’ll remember the delicious cypriot  food she cooked for the whole family, as we all sat round the kitchen table at the  old family house up in Harlesden.

Goodbye Yaiya – we’ll miss you.

To be honest, when I heard that the government had refused the EU’s offer of more PPE, my gut reaction was that the bastards should be hanged. Refusing vital supplies of medical equipment simply because it would mean participating in an EU scheme, thereby contradicting Brexit making the tories look bad, is utterly beyond the grail. If it is true that they have jeopardised peoples’ lives for the sake of politics, because it would show brexit to be the stupidity thinking people always knew it to be, then as far as I am concerned they can never be forgiven.

Of course, executing anyone is  as grotesque as it is absurd: to pile death upon death is folly. Yet refusing this equipment,  putting party political priorities over the wellbeing  of citizens they’re meant to be representing, is just about the most disgusting thing I have ever heard. Surely it is nothing short of criminal given that it jeopardises people’s lives just  because the tories want to save face. My heart burns with rage at the fucked-up inhumanity of it.

Lyn was a huge fan of Radio Caroline, and I have fond memories of listening to Bob Lawrence’s show on Friday evenings. It makes me very sad, then, to have to report that Radio Caroline’s founder, Ronan  O’Rahilly also died this afternoon. The guy was  a true legend whose impact on both popular music and broadcasting are still felt today.

What dark, dark days we find ourselves  living through.

There isn’t much I want to say on here this evening, beautiful though it is, but I think  there’s a lot to be learned from this blog  entry by Chris Whittaker. I think he comes to many of the same conclusions I did here: ie,  everything is a matter of perspective, and with the right attitude we can get through even the darkest times.

It is true that we had been growing apart for a couple of years and differences in our personalities were becoming increasingly obvious. I was becoming too reliant on Lyn, using her too much as a mother figure; the difference in our ages was also becoming increasingly apparent. She had the wisdom to see that, after nine years of living with her, it was time for me to become independent. I think she realised that we both needed our own space. I’ll forever be grateful for her kindness and patience, helping me get my own home and waiting for me to move out. Truth be told, I didn’t think I could do it, but Lyn encouraged me: she knew it was time for me to take the next step. And now here I am, in my own place, which I would never have got had it not been for Lyn knowing the right strings to pull. Yet I’ll forever regret the fact that I’ll now never have a chance to repay her, or even to invite her here, give her a coffee, and show her what she did for me.

You might have noticed that I like to keep my blog updated, posting at least every couple of days – it’s just good writing practice. Yet now I’m struggling. What is there to blog about? How can I waffle on about random  shit I find on the web when a large part of me thinks that all I ought to be thinking about is Lyn, and that writing about random shit would imply I had  forgotten about her.

And yet I must: Lyn wouldn’t want it otherwise. She would not want me to wallow around, getting melodramatic – she knew what a drama queen  I could be. Of course, the best way to remember her is for me to write about all the  wonderful times we had together, and the journeys we went on; or how I learned so much from her, and how she made me who I am now. I fully intend to  do that, yet as well as that I hope nobody minds if I drop in entries about my usual politics or media or humour – I don’t think Lyn would want it otherwise.

Words  aren’t coming easily at the moment, but I  think I ought to record here that Lyn sadly passed away last night. We may have grown apart somewhat and split up, but Lyn still meant a lot to me: she was so kind, warm and loving. The most incredible person I’ll ever meet. We had around ten truly incredible years together, filled with so many awesome memories. I’ll miss her.

Now here’s an idea which might help to while away a few hours:

All I need to do now is go find a dog….and some helium.

To mark the sad passing of Tim Brooke-Taylor, I think today I’ll just direct everyone here, and then say: North Greenwich.

I have just watched a genuinely remarkable, fascinating and important film. I saw a trailer for Crip  Camp on my friend Darryl’s facebook page  a couple of hours ago. Darryl said he thought it should be  required viewing on any disability studies course, so  I thought I’d check it out. I  now wholeheartedly agree with him: the film charts the history of the Disability Rights movement in America, tracing it back to a small summer camp for disabled people. It tells of the struggles they had to go through as the camp group go on to campaign for  disabled peoples’  rights, at one point  needing to barricade theirselves  in a government office for two weeks. More than that, though, the film is the best, most accurate depiction of life for disabled people I think I’ve ever seen; the people in it remind  me so much of people I know personally. More than disability studies courses, this film should be required viewing for everyone. It can be watched on Netflix here.

It’s hard to read this and not feel very, very concerned. Disability rights activists have had  to campaign to overturn a ruling saying many disabled people should not be resuscitated if they contract Coronavirus. Fortunately, with the help of people like Baroness Grey-Thompson, campaigners managed  to secure a commitment from NHS England that everyone will get the treatment they need, irrespective of disability; but what scares me is the fact that such an assurance would be needed in the first place.  It implies ‘we’ are less of a priority, and that our lives aren’t worth saving as much as able bodied peoples. Surely one of the main principles of the NHS is that it  is there for everyone.

America has been on my mind quite a bit recently: as bad as things are here, I’m now starting to thank fuck I don’t live in the states. For starters I cannot respect it as long as Americans call trump their president.  That utter embarrassment to humanity is beyond a joke. Due to that fuckwit, it looks like the pandemic is going to be far worse than it is here or elsewhere. Culturally America may seem amazing, but when you start to look at it, you find it’s actually fucked up. I don’t just say that because of the sort of stuff I wrote about here, but because their infrastructure is falling apart. They resent paying taxes, apparently not realising that, as a result, things like roads and hospitals can’t get built or repaired. The nation which brags about being the greatest on earth is actually falling apart, with a healthcare system which, as far as I can tell, is little more than draconian.

I came across this earlier. I did some googling and Dave are airing a new Red Dwarf tv film on Friday at 8. It has been ages since I watched Red Dwarf, but it pricked my curiosity enough to create an account on the Dave website and start watching a few episodes. It is interesting to see how it changed as it transferred from the beeb onto Dave, and whether this feature length program on Friday is a return to form or a reboot. At the very least it’s something new to get obsessed about.