The Tories, especially London Tories, really are desperate to return to the halcyon days of 2012, aren’t they? You know, when the country wasn’t tearing itself apart and the tories weren’t seen as the bunch of lying scumbags they are. I was just on Google looking for something totally unrelated when I came across this two day old Reuters story. Shaun Bailey, the Tory candidate for mayor of London, has suggested that London could host the 2020 Olympics if Tokyo can’t because of coronavirus. He pointed out that all the infrastructure from 2012 still exists; it would just need a bit of work and we would be ready to go again.

I just find that hilariously pathetic. It’s obvious that he’s desperate to take the country back to a time when it was united, happy and glorious, rather than the disunited laughing stock his party turned it into four years later. We all remember that epic summer; Bailey is so urgent to get that time back that he’ll go as far as to make a suggestion as absurd as this. In this insane proposal we can read a party desperate to return to a time when it was respected by a city which now despises it.

The Japanese are, of course, furious at the idea. Tokyo is more than capable of hosting the Olympic Games, having spent seven years preparing for them. If I was from Tokyo, I would be seething at the proposal that London would try to use the current medical emergency as an excuse to steal the games, simply in an attempt to take the edge off their own current political catastrophe. It just goes to show how utterly pathetic the tories are.

After a week without my extended keyboard, it’s now back from being repaired. It feels so good to be able to type properly again. I was having to make do typing via my ipad or the on-screen keyboard using my rollerball, both of which were slow and rather difficult. I suppose one of the hazards of being a disabled guy who relies so heavily on technology is that it tends to go wrong, and when it does, you’re screwed. Yet the key is patience: one has to remember that other people have it far  worse than I do, but still have the fortitude to keep going. If they can do it, so can I. After all, what’s a week of having to type via my Ipad in the grand scheme of things? Mind you, that is unless the zarking Ipad starts playing up too…

I wasn’t sure I liked it at first, but after seeing this performance of Billie Eilish’s theme for No Time To Die, I now think it’s surely up there with the great Bond Themes. It is replete with the atmosphere, that sense of brooding power, that has come to define the themes for Bond films. And in the background we hear that four note pattern as synonymous with 007 as his vodka martinis. I love it.

Say that you’re a member of a minority. You’ve been part of that minority all your life, or at least since childhood. It’s one of the most marginalised groups in society, frequently oppressed by the mainstream. You’ve had to fight for your rights all your life, and even to be included in mainstream society.

Then, gradually over time, you find that more and more people are saying they are members of your group: how do you feel? It isn’t altogether clear whether they do or don’t, but they have never done so in the past. They call themselves activists and become the most vociferous members of the community, despite seeming to only have fairly tenuous links to it. What has always been an innate part of you, to them has been a choice; that is, they seem to choose to call theirselves members of your minority for political reasons, for instance by suddenly emphasising aspects of their personas previously left ignored. They belong to some of the most privileged groups in society but like the politics of fighting oppression without ever really having experienced it. Ashamed, perhaps, of their status as white, straight and able bodied, and attracted by the glamour of being a persecuted rebel fighting for social justice, they adopt the pretence of being a member of a minority, often going so far as to apparently fool even theirselves.

So what do you do? Do you just accept them, giving them the benefit of the doubt? Or do you see it as a form of cultural usurpation or intrusion? While you have, for the most part, escaped the worst of the persecution, there are people you know in your minority who have suffered horrifically. These newcomers know nothing of such experiences, yet still seemingly presume to speak as if they had, adopting the language of activism as though they pioneered it. Would you not feel indignant at this usurping of your life experience? And to add insult to injury, when you try to question them, they dismiss you as a bigot, as though you were one of those people you have resisted all your life. Would you not feel frustrated and angry at such apparent audacity? Or do you just accept it as an aspect of the very principle of inclusion for which you and others have struggled all your life?

If you didn’t see it last night, might I just suggest you check out David Attenborough’s program. It has a shot which made my jaw drop in awe: the great Sir David narrating from a boat, keeping up with a flock of birds as it flies low across a lake. It was a truly magnificent bit of photography. You could even see the glint in the eyes of the birds as the boat kept pace with them perfectly. It was a shot worthy of any Oscar winning director. Once again my hat goes off to David Attenborough and the BBC NHU.

After watching the fantastic Lee Ridley on tv last night, I decided I want one of these t-shirts

As I wrote here, I think it’s right that I get priority with regard to the bus wheelchair space. But what do you do when, getting on to a bus after a long, greying day, you force two mums with prams off the bus to wait for the next one? Should I have stuck to the rules and got on, or got back off? While the former might have been the legally correct thing to do, the latter feels far kinder and more noble. I may have had a right to get on the bus, but I felt like a total bastard all the way home.

Yesterday was quite a long day, but a productive, rewarding one. I was up at 7.30 (early for me) to go to help at a communication class at Charlton. They asked me to help in a 9.30 session. I was there to encourage the kids, who had very low ability, use their communication aids, so I thought it was worth the early start. Then, in the evening, we had the first film festival organisation meeting of the year. It was again in charlton, but fortunately Serkan gave me a lift to and from Charlton House. It was a great meeting with lots of good ideas about which films we could show this year. I chipped in a few suggestions too. In all, then, a great day; one upon which I really felt I was participating in the community.

I just came across this story on the bbc news website. An eight-year-old girl in Wales has had to be home schooled for twenty months because of a lack of accessible toilet facilities. ”Imogen Ashwell-Lewis has cerebral palsy and has not been able to find a school with suitable facilities since leaving Rogiet Primary in June 2018. Monmouthshire council said it was following Welsh Government guidance.” Now, while a lack of government funding is obviously a big part of the issue, it occurs to me that this might also be a side  affect  of the inclusion debate. Inclusive education is a great idea, but it should only be implemented  if schools are ready to   support all kids, whatever their needs. I fear certain people have been too eager to push the inclusion agenda, putting politics before practicality, resulting in cases like this. After all, not all children will be able to cope in a comp.  In the hurry to close down special schools, we risk leaving certain children with nowhere to go. That aside, I hope Imogen finds a place; I’m not saying that I think she ought to go to a special school by any  means, as long  as she finds a school which meets her needs and where  she can flourish.

If the Queen can meet James Bond, wouldn’t it be cool if Sir David Attenborough met Jean-Luc Picard. Watching Sir David’s programme on the history of natural history broadcasting last night, it occurred to me that he ought to get his own colossal national tribute. For most people in the uk, he has been part of our media landscape for most of our lives, informing and inspiring us. The 007 franchise got a massive tribute in 2012 when James Bond was shown to escort the queen to the olympics; I now think Sir David Attenborough deserves his own equally awesome tribute, and what better way than to be taken into space and shown the earth from orbit by the captain of the enterprise himself?

Think how phenomenal that would be, and how excited I would get over it. The question is, what form could it take and what could they do together? Could Picard take Attenborough on a tour of the solar system, the great Sir David narrating as they fly past Mars and Venus? More to the point though, how on earth can I make this happen?

I’m not going anywhere today for obvious reasons, so it’s probably just as well that I went out last night. Late yesterday afternoon  J suggested we meet in Peckham to eat dinner and watch The Lighthouse. I’d never heard of it, to be honest, but I thought I’d give it a try. After all, a saturday night out is a Saturday Night out..

After a hearty meal (Weatherspoons might be owned by an Outist p’tahk, but they do a damn good chilli), we went into the cinema to  watch what must be the weirdest, most disturbing film I’ve seen since Requiem For A Dream. It’s about two men slowly going mad manning a lighthouse on a desolate island. Shot in monochrome with an unusual aspect ratio, some  of the imagery is  chilling. There was very little plot, and it struck  me as so random and uncanny (in the Freudian sense) that my first reaction when the credits rolled was ”What the hell was that?”

This morning, however, I began to look a bit deeper, first watching this review by Mark Kermode.  It suddenly started to become far more interesting: the film is partially based on a poem by Edgar Allen Poe; I also think there were one or two references to Herman Melville. I think it is the type of film where context is a great help: once I understood a bit about where the director was coming from, things began  to make more sense. As with 1917, it is less a piece of entertainment than a work of art – a cinematic poem about isolation and loneliness. And as with 1917, I certainly think a second viewing is in order. A text which at  first seems quite jarring may, upon reflection, turn into something quite eloquent.

I really am starting to like this pleasant little corner of the capital I now call home. I just got in from my usual wander. This  afternoon I decided take a look  at Well Hall Pleasaunce. It’s a small park not far from my place; I came across it when I moved but hadn’t been in for a couple of months, despite going past it almost every day on my way up to the Town Centre. Today, though, the weather clear and the flowers just starting to bud, I decided to give it another look, going further  into the park; and what I found really was quite special: a well laid out formal garden with a large  ancient moat in the centre, with several pretty little streams running  through it. Well-maintained paths lead you around, practically demanding you follow them as they weave in and out of the flower beds and across the streams. The flowers aren’t out yet but you can tell that, come the spring, it will be absolutely stunning. And then, when you grow thirsty, the magnificent Tudor Barn pub is there too. It really is a pleasure to walk around, less than two hundred metres from where I am writing this. You can tell that a hell of a lot of work has gone into maintaining that little corner of London. Come the summer, I can see myself going there quite often.

If the Queen can parachute out of a helicopter with James Bond; if Monty Python can  reunite and perform again after thirty years; and if Sir Patrick Stewart can play Picard again after twenty (which I’m enjoying immensely, by the way); then surely nothing is unthinkable. The question is, what next? What could happen now which could come close to all three in terms of awesomeness? What could be our next collective Wow moment? Because, zark knows, we could all do with one soon. Suggestions in comments.

I read earlier that Donald Trump’s son has now written a book called Triggered, apparently about ‘owning the libs’. It was mentioned at the end of a Guardian article about Trump’s state of the Union speech, by all accounts (well, all that count) one of the most aggressive, vitriolic, hate-ridden tracts of absolute bullshit ever spouted. It occurs to me that that just about sums the modern political right – particularly the American Right – up: they seem to want to wind those of us on the left up. They want to wind us up; they want to do and say things which they know will infuriate us. Why?

They seem to think it’s a sign of strength and dominance, but the truth is they do it because they cannot counter our arguments in any other way. Culturally, the liberal left now has the upper hand: we now live, for the most part, in multicultural, inclusive societies; everyone has rights and we are all, theoretically, equals. Any form of discrimination is frowned upon. Those are liberal, left-wing values that the vast majority of people now just accept as the way things should be.

Only, there are those who still don’t: those on the right who refuse to accept they have lost the argument. The problem for them is, they have no counter argument, no way to oppose the logic underpinning tolerance and acceptance. Deep down, they know everyone is equal and discrimination is bad, but they still want to think of theirselves as superior, so like children deliberately misbehaving, they break the rules to cause a reaction. These straight white males resent the diminishing of the social dominance they think should be their birthright, yet lacking the intelligence to understand the logic underpinning modern egalitarianism, they lash out by saying and doing things they deep down know they shouldn’t. They have no other way of countering liberalism other than to wind us up.

Theirs is a simplistic, immature worldview. After all, it takes a certain level of intelligence to see beyond one’s immediate needs to realise that, when we see ourselves as members of a wider society which we can contribute to, everyone benefits. By working together as equals, by contributing to society through taxation or otherwise, we can make the most of everyones abilities, irrespective of class, background, education or whatever. Put this to a conservative, though, and they’ll just accuse you of spouting Marxist propaganda, without being able to give any sort of counter argument. They would rather hoard their wealth, not caring about others, and lacking the intelligence to see the wisdom in working as a community, or indeed to realise they are only in the positions they are in through blind luck and selfishness. Thus when their social positions are threatened, their only recourse is to lash out with jibes and insults, baiting and enraging us rather than trying to engage with our arguments.

They may think they’re being big or brave or clever by spouting all this bilious bigotry, but like trolls on the internet, it betrays a deeply insecure person at odds with – and resenting – modern society. What they say may enrage us with it’s arrogance and bluster, but we must remember that they say it, not because they think they actually have a chance of resetting social values, but to lash out at a world they do not understand and feel disenfranchised by. Their bluster and arrogance are displays of power these men think they should have, but are in fact signs of deep insecurity, inadequacy, and an inability to accept, or comprehend, modern, liberal society.

Just as a follow up to this entry  a couple of weeks ago, the co-creator of Mash, Gene Reynolds, has sadly died today, aged 96.

I just read that the Irish are now petitioning the EU to have Irish English replace British English as it’s primary working language. Of course, a lot of jokes abound about having to begin sessions with the phrase ”Top of the mornin’ to ya”, but the  gist of the argument is that, now the uk has left, switching to Irish English would be the most convenient because it will mean the least change. All the documents etc can stay in the same language. But I must admit my initial reaction was, wouldn’t the French be dying to convert the EU to french? We all know how proud the french are of their language*. But then you have to ask, why not German, Dutch, Finnish or Spanish? It would mean the European Comission having  to make an essentially arbitrary choice, so I suspect they’ll continue to use English. Plus, that will make things nice and easy for when we re-enter.

*French is already one of the EU’s official languages anyway.

I went to the Peckhamplex cinema in Peckham on saturday. I’ve been  going there quite a lot recently: It’s one of London’s leading independent cinemas, in the heart of one of it’s most  vibrant, fascinating suburbs. I really like Peckham, with it’s intoxicating mixture of cultures, high street thriving with colour and music and chatter from across the globe. You could ask why I go all that  way (two quite long bus rides) just to go to the cinema, especially when there are at least three cinemas much closer. There is something about this small cinema, screening films which mainstream cinema chains like Odeon don’t, which sets it apart: something about it’s small screening-rooms of less than a hundred seats, full of people  there out of a genuine interest in film, which makes the longer journey worth it.

Given that I watched The Irishman on Saturday, you could also ask – and I can already hear my parents doing so – why I would go all that way to watch a film I can watch at home on Netflix. But the experience is simply not the same: watching a film at the cinema makes it an event – something  you go specifically  to do. Watching a film on your computer, at the same desk where you  work, check the news  and browse Facebook, turns it into something different. Watching a film  becomes something less special and more throw-away: something to be done five or ten minutes at a time, before pausing it and doing other things. It strips film of it’s aura and turns it into  something you just watch to pass the time, like watching sort clips on Youtube. I’d  rather still award film the dignity it deserves.

This new mode of viewing interests me, though, especially in the way it contrasts with the type of cinephilia writers like Bazin and  Keathley describe. It’s completely new, brought about by new technology, so I don’t think much has been written  about it yet; but  I think it’s worth going far deeper. I’ve started to make a few notes on the subject, but   I can see this project potentially becoming something thesis length.

I’ve decided to stay home tonight. Part of me really wants to go up to Westminster and take my frustrations out on the p’tahks celebrating there, but what good would that achieve? I’d probably get abused, even more angry, and/or arrested. Better just stay home, chill out, and crack open a few beers.

I truly doubt that I have ever felt  as angry as I currently do – it’s even effecting my sleep. After watching Laura Kuenssberg’s recap on the beeb last night of how we reached this point, it is clear to me Brexit is  a crime. I am incandescent with rage. Because of lies and deceit, we are now about to be dragged out of the greatest, most noble union of nations. Whenever I think about it, my body becomes hard to control and my limbs shake in fury; for a few moments my rage becomes white hot and I want to seek out and destroy the bastards behind this calamity, even though I know that would ultimately achieve nothing.. To think that so many utter, utter morons still support this abomination makes it even worse. I’m so furious it scares me, and I  don’t know what to do about it.

After yesterday’s heaviness, something lighter is probably in order. If you ever get chance to walk through Eltham Park North, do so. I was just there, and the view was incredible. You can see right across London, even up to Wembley. I now can’t wait for summer when the view will probably be even better. I now really want to take Mum, Dad and perhaps Lyn up there too. I think  they would be amazed at the prettiness of the park and how far you can see from it.

I watched the holocaust memorial ceremony on BBC2 last night. I felt it my duty, if just to mark the seventy-fifth anniversary of the end of the most abominable crime ever committed. The industrialised murder of six million people should surely never be forgotten: that’s the only way to prevent it from ever happening again. Yet, as I watched boris Johnson give his speech, I could not banish our current situation from my mind: how could this man have the audacity to feign disgust at what the Nazis did when on Friday he will drag this country out of one of the very organisations set up in part to ensure such catastrophes never happen again?

Of course, most people will recoil that likening Brexit to the holocaust is utterly wrong. What the nazis did is indeed far worse. Yet both have the same simplistic worldview at their core: a type of arrogant nationalism which declares one country or people superior to all others. The European Union was set up to facilitate cooperation between countries; to help governments and people work together as equals. That is the only way to grow beyond the petty national rivalries of the past. By leaving the EU, the UK reverts to that nationalism: by suddenly declaring that it doesn’t need to cooperate with our European friends, it becomes no better than the Nazis declaring theirselves superior to everyone else.

I am not saying that I think everyone fooled into voting Leave is a fascist, or that we will soon see concentration camps being built. I fear, however, that the type of deregulated, ultra-capitalist society Brexit will bring will see the strong freed to dominate the weak, rich freed to persecute the poor. Human and consumer rights will start to be worn away so that soon any notion of social equality will be a hazy, far off dream. The Outists say they want freedom, but they want it only for theirselves: freedom to persecute and manipulate; freedom to lord it over everyone not born into a wealthy, white family. Outside the ECHR, protection of minority rights will be thrown to the wind; I doubt people like me will soon have the privileges we now enjoy as the taxes which fund the social services we need to live independently are reduced. Not an overt form of persecution perhaps, but persecution nonetheless.

Culturally, the 2016 referendum has already opened the door to rising levels of intolerance, xenophobia and hate crime. It has reinforced feelings of separateness from and superiority to our neighbours, allowing some people to air their bigotry and prejudices more freely. We might not see brownshirts on the streets, but the Outist ‘victory’ has meant the return of types of behaviours and attitudes we should have outgrown long ago. They may not call Brexit fascism, they might deny they want to persecute anyone, yet at the core both are born of the same abhorrent isolationism and arrogance. It is only through international cooperation that we can avoid repeating the mistakes of the past, which is why Johnson’s words last night were so sickeningly hollow.

Although I have only just heard about it, and of course have yet to see it, I really think I’ll try to get S.A.M screened at this years Charlton and Woolwich Free Film Festival. From what I’ve read, it’s a short, independent film about a loving relationship between two young people with learning difficulties. It was filmed in leeds and the  actors cast have LDs, so it sounds quite cutting edge in  terms of both social and disability representation. All too often, such relationships are hidden  away, but it really looks like the guys whho made this  film set out to tell often overlooked truths. What I want to do now is find a way to watch it,  before hopefully proposing it for this years film festival.

I just got back from the cinema again, where John and I saw Marriage Story. I don’t have much to say about it, apart from that I would be surprised if I have ever seen a duller, more boring film. Over three hours of protracted, increasingly bitter fretting over whether a couple will get divorced, the status of their young son and whether they live in New York or LA. Very little in terms of plot development or resolution. And then Kianu Reeves breaks into a song, completely at random, as if the film suddenly became a musical. It was  about an hour too long and so laboured and dull that I left the cinema wondering why  it had ever been made; I honestly think I could pull a better film out of my arse.

Just to stick with the Star Trek theme, judging by this, Trump is obviously a fan too. He has been accused of nicking the Starfleet emblem for his new Space Force. While people like George Takei have accused him of breaching copyright, I think this could tell us one of two things: either Trump is a huge Star Trek fan and intends this as a tribute  to the series, or, more likely, he’s even more deluded than we  thought and sees himself as head of a huge galactic Federation.

The biggest question on my mind today, after having been anticipating it for so long, is how am I going to watch Star Trek Picard? After having bought a Netflix subscription specifically to watch Discovery, only to find it was utter drivel, I’m reluctant to do the  same for Amazon Prime. The thing is, that is the very reason Amazon commissioned the Picard series in the first place: to get people hooked to their streaming service. As  passionate as I am to see Jean-Luc Picard captaining  a  starship again, I’m loathe to fall for such a trick, especially if it turns out to be as disappointing as Discovery was. (And from what I’ve been heaaring on the web, there’s a  good chance that could be the case). My dilemma thus remains, how am I going to watch  Picard?

The sad news today is that Terry Jones has died, age 77. As a Monty Python fan, I am saddened by this news,  but at least he had a good innings. Seeing Python perform live in 2014 will  always be one of the highlights of my life; at least those guys got to perform together one last time before they began to fade away. Go here for the details.

If ever there was any doubt over whether the people campaigning for brexit are mind-numbingly, staggeringly stupid, what you’ll read here will put an end to it. ”A Brexit Party MEP has raised concerns that the UK will no longer have a voice in Europe on her last day sitting in the EU parliament.” June Mummery MEP tweeted  “The big question now is, who will be here to hold these people to account while they still control Britain’s waters, but the UK has no representation?”  Err, that was the whole point of  what you campaigned for, you moronic cow! The only reason we are losing representation in the European parliament is because idiots like you campaigned for it.

Tweets like this really make you wonder how such obviously moronic people ever got into a position where they could represent the UK on any level. Once you stop laughing, it’s actually quite worrying.

I think I’ve  described here before how,  after over nine years of going to the Coop in Charlton, I had become quite well known there: every time I went in, a member of staff would come up to me, greet me by name, and  help me get my shopping. Well, I was just in my local Tesco here in Eltham picking up a few pieces, and after only two or three months living here, I’m amused to note that the same thing has started to happen: while they don’t know my name yet, staff there now recognise me, come up to me and help me shop. It’s enough to make me feel rather special.

This is just a quick entry to say that today marks pretty much exactly ten years since I moved to London; ten years, to the day, since I moved in with Lyn. Of course it has been quite a decade, and although  I no longer live with Lyn, I still love  being a Londoner. I still remember writing a  blog entry to say I had moved: at the same time, so much has happened since I wrote that entry, yet   it also seems to have flown. It rather makes me wonder  where I’ll be in ten year’s time,  whether I’ll  still be blogging (probably) and whether I’ll still be an urbanite.

Today I just want to mark the sad death of Christopher Tolkien. His father’s works have always been among my favourites, and I have fond memories of getting Dad to read parts off The History of Middle-Earth to me in my teens. It was always interesting to see how his father’s writing evolved and developed over time. The news was confirmed on Thursday by the Tolkien Society, which described him as “Middle-earth’s first scholar”. He was 95.

This is slightly lazy blogging perhaps, but if you want to watch quite a thorough, interesting video essay on MASH, as well as to see just how detailed and articulate media criticism on Youtube is becoming, I think this is worth checking out. In it, Ladynightthebrave takes a very detailed look at the classic American TV show, examining the cultural impact it had, it’s famed balance of comedy and tragedy, as well as a few of it’s flaws. As she says, MASH remains a classic of american comedy which still resonates powerfully. It had a lot to  say, speaking out on subjects in ways that modern shows seem to avoid. With characters like Hawkeye, Klinger and Radar, MASH had a power and  cultural weight which would be difficult to find in any comedy program today; it made comments which are still highly resonant. Perhaps that’s why people are still talking about it.

I just got back after a bit of a busy morning: I  had a  couple of things to do in Woolwich, where I also bumped into Matt B.  I hadn’t  seen him in a couple of months, so it was great  to reestablish contact and set a few plans  in motion. However, going along Woolwich high street, I saw something which puzzled me,  and is playing on my mind. There are usually a few beggars and buskers along there, but  today I saw a guy who obviously had  CP.  He used a crutch, and held a  cap in his hand for people to put change into. I guess he was in his thirties, an immigrant, and wore a pained, helpless expression on his face.

Something about this man got to me. If he was disabled like me, then  why wasn’t he getting all the support I get? Why was social services not helping him as much as they help me? What brought this man to the point where he has to beg on Woolwich high Street? I thought briefly about  trying to help, but how? What could I have done, apart from going back to social services to tell them about it?

Yet I suppose there is another possibility. It looked like the guy had cerebral  palsy, but if he did it was mild.  Despite the cane he seemed stable on his feet, had enough balance to hold his  cap steady, and his speech seemed clear. Part of me has to wonder whether he was  really disabled, or whether he was imitating having cerebral Palsy for people to pity him. If he did have cp, why would  social services not step in and support him? I certainly hope the uk isn’t a country which would allow people with disabilities to beg in the streets. Yet if he was faking it, that raises the question of whether people think having a disability is so pitiful that it can be used to trick passers by into giving you money. I must say I find that thought even more repugnant.

I don’t know what to think. Should I, being a disabled man myself, have tried  to give him help or guidance? Perhaps he didn’t know about the support structures in this  country. And what if he was just   trying to look disabled for pity? Should I have felt insulted? In the end I did nothing, left him be, and went on my way; yet something about this fleeting incident bugs me.

Not that I have ever heard of her  before, but American pop star Billie Eilish has apparently been selected to compose and sing the theme for No Time To Die. I’m still quite a fan of Bond Themes: alongside the gunbarrel and the pre-credit sequence, the  theme is one of the defining features of the franchise.There have been some great themes for the recent films, particularly Adele’s Skyfall theme, which surely must be up there with Shirley Bassey’s and Carly Simon’s contributions. I’m thus fairly optimistic,  although, of course, we’ll have to wait for the film to see if it’s  any good.

It is difficult to say whether Jojo Rabbit is hilarious or utterly horrifying. I went to see it yesterday, and from the very beginning it was clear that I was watching a very unique, interesting film. It is very funny, but the events it depicts are among the most serious and disturbing. Set in Germany in about 1945, it’s about a boy whose mother shelters a jewish girl from the Nazi thugs all around. In his innocence, the boy has made Hitler into an imaginary friend. He believes what he has been told about Hitler being a nice, kind, fatherly figure. The audience can see this imaginary friend, and it is quite a comic, jolly figure, getting into all kinds of scrapes with the boy. When the boy meets the jewish girl, they develop a friendship: he finds her friendly and kind, obviously contradicting everything he’s been told by the Nazis.

To be honest, something about this film doesn’t feel right to me. It is cheerful and funny, yet the events it depicts, often going on in the background or implied, are truly horrifying. We see people murdered, beaten and executed. On one level this is not a subject to laugh about; yet because we witness events from a young child’s perspective, everything seems jolly and fun, with most of the characters and action being almost pythonesque. It’s as if the film has two distinct, separate layers: on the surface it is a children’s film, a comedy about a little boy growing up, surrounded by very stupid people who allow him to do all kinds of silly things. Just below that surface layer, though, is a horror film, clearly depicting some of the most appalling acts ever committed.

The problem is, which is the correct layer? What is Jojo Rabbit trying to be, comedy or horror? Does this juxtaposition of layers add to or subtract from the overall effect of the film? Does the comedy complement the horror, or make light of things innately unfunny? Should the film be criticised for this contradiction, or was it deliberately employed by the directorTaika Waititi? Should this film be praised for it’s boldness and bravery, or be appalled? What was Waititi trying to tell us?? Such questions are at the heart of this film, and to be honest I don’t know what to think. From the look of it, many other critics are divided about this film too; but perhaps that was the whole point. At the same time I am intrigued and disquieted by it.

It’s fast turning into a very cool weekend. John is with me, and yesterday we went up to the BFI Imax to see  1917. I wasn’t expecting anything particularly special, but it completely blew me away. More of an artwork than a standard piece of post-classical cinema, what Sam Mendes has done is completely reinvent the language of film. There are no discernible cuts throughout the film, so the narrative appears to  unfold in one long take. The effect was spellbinding, and I certainly need to now read and write a lot more about it: this is a film which deserves much more serious attention than a Sunday morning blog entry.

If that wasn’t enough, yesterday had another surprise in store. John took me to a place called The Place,  a contemporary  dance academy.  There, dancers put on a show of  three pieces of  quite wonderful creative movement, each very different to the other.  In one, a woman moved pre-prepared objects in  front of a camera to create a  type of live film, which  was then projected onto the back of the stage. The second was a duet where two people interwove their bodies in  a quite spellbinding way. The third was the most powerful and hard-hitting, exploring life for gay men. They each lasted about half  an hour. It rather reminded me of the stuff  I used to see back at university – very contemporary and avant guard.

I came home feeling that it had been a fascinating, enjoyable day;  but the weekend isn’t over yet. Today we’re off to watch Jojo Rabbit in Peckham. I’m really looking forward to it: expect an entry on it tomorrow. I really like rich, art-filled weekends like these.

I know I shouldn’t just post rants about Donald Trump, but how far up his  own arse  does he have to be to think he was cheated out  of a Nobel Peace  Prize? He apparently complained on Twitter and in a speech that he had been unjustly denied the prize for brokering peace in Ethiopia. This is another instance of Trump thinking he’s a far greater statesman than he actually is, as if he deserved the prize just for being himself. The guy clearly has a  very poor understanding of how the world really  works or how he’s actually perceived; and you can almost smell his jealousy of Obama in the air.

I might have once written on here that I was a bit of  a royalist after seeing the Queen meet 007, but I just have to say I don’t give two hoots what a beardy ginger guy does with his wife (not that  one, anyway). Besides, there are far more worrying things going on, such a potentially cataclysmic war  brewing  in the Middle East, and the  coming gutting of our human and consumer rights due to Brexit. Unless – now here’s a thought – someone wants our attention diverted away from those two stupidities: ”Hey look everyone, see what  the royal family is up to! Never mind that you’re about to lose  your human rights, or that the deranged idiot America currently calls it’s president is about to start World War Three. Look what Harry and Meghan are up  to…”

I just watched the orange idiot America is  still laughably calling it’s president make a statement on Iran. To be honest I was slightly surprised: when I turned my computer on to read that Iran had fired missiles at American bases in  Iraq this morning, my gut reaction was that the States would have declared war  by this evening. I’m sure Trump would have wanted to, but was probably held back by congress. It’s fortunate nobody was hurt or killed, or things may have  been different. Either way, in his statement it  was obvious he was just reading words he barely understood off an autocue; trying to appear the tough guy while not giving a shit whose life he jeopardises. The nuclear deal made progress in relations between Iran and the rest of the world; but because it was Obama  who got  the credit for it, trump tossed it away. He tries to sound knowledgable by calling the treaty flawed, but I doubt Trump understood a word of it. All he cared about was  depriving his predecessor of his legacy,  shallow  child that he is. And so here we are: this autocue-reading numpty steering the world towards it’s most dangerous crisis in years, barely understanding what he’s doing and only caring about whether he looks good. Why  oh why can’t the rest of the world do anything to stop this stupidity?

It may be from November, but I just came across this Guardian article flagged up on Facebook. The tories want to revive their  Festival Of Brexit idea,  and having won the election, no doubt they’ll definitely go ahead with it. They  want it to be in 2022, to coincide with the queen’s platinum jubilee (assuming she’s still around) and a few other anniversaries; and to echo the great  Exhibition of 1851.

I think this is a story I’ll be keeping an eye on. Of course, it’s utterly, utterly stupid: as the article points out, what’s the point of a festival to celebrate something which half the electorate are completely opposed to? It will alienate half the community. As many comments pointed out on facebook, for us Remainers it presents a focus for our protest and something we should try to stop. The same goes for the party Farage is apparently planning in parliament square.

Of course, such large public events interest me – remember how excited  I got about the 2012 Olympics? I must admit part of me is curious to see what they do. Nonetheless, given this festival will cost hundreds of millions of pounds to celebrate something I’m vehemently opposed to, I think we should work  hard to make sure this festival of stupidity never happens; or if it does, that it goes as catastrophically as possible.