With  the question of Scottish independence once again topping the lunchtime news, I have to say I really do not know what to think about that.  To be fed up with UK  politics is quite understandable at the moment: anyone even vaguely aware of the political situation can see what  a catastrophic mess the country is now in. But the Scottish nationalists think that Scotland’s route out of that mess  would be to break it away from the rest of the UK. It could then rejoin the  EU on it’s own.

I’m sorry, but I have to say that really strikes me as hypocritical, if not downright selfish. First, the SNP  are obviously using Brexit as an excuse to further their own long-term goals; they can see how dire Brexit will be for the UK, but rather than assisting the campaign to  get the whole country back into the EU, they just think in terms of their own plot of land. Membership of the European Union is founded upon the philosophy that everyone ought to work together, across national borders; so isn’t splitting from one union to join another hypocritical?

Second, if Scotland did become independent, Labour would lose all it’s voters north of the  border, and the UK would probably  be  stuck with perpetual tory rule. The SNP know this, yet despite claiming to be left wing are willing to abandon anyone not in Scotland to suffering under the tories in order to achieve their own aims. True left wing politics is surely about seeing yourself as part of a society and caring about other people, not abandoning others to achieve your own personal goals.  After all, Marx famously wrote about the workers of the world uniting. How can we unite  with ever more borders being erected? The working class in Scotland might be ok, but they would  have abandoned their counterparts in the rest of the UK, who have exactly the same grievances with the Tories as they do, to get there.

That’s why I still have a problem with the cause of Scottish  nationalism. Obviously the whole country is up shit creek right now, but you don’t solve  it’s problems by splitting one’s own small area off  from the whole: that’s  precisely the ‘logic’ (and I use that term loosely) which underpinned Brexit. Both are manifestations of nationalism, leading to humanity dividing itself into ever smaller, ever more adversarial  blocks; and both are as bad as the other.

Dom sent this video to me earlier. I was a bit bemused at first. Why would he send me a video of a rap song about brushing one’s teeth? But then I noticed something interesting. The scenery in the background looked familiar, and I realised the video was filmed up at North Greenwich, just south of the O2.

This evening basically finds us in the same position we were in this morning: there may well  have been  Russian  interference in the 2016 Referendum, only we can’t say definitively that there was because nobody bothered to find out. So despite compelling evidence that Brexit is a Putin-backed scam, we still can’t ask for it to be annulled. After all, that would make the tories look ridiculous: they announced the referendum in the first place, and they were the ones then forced to implement it’s moronic results when it backfired in their over-privileged faces. If  russia was found to have interfered in  the referendum, it would have made them look even worse. So what do they do  when confronted with the distinct possibility that they allowed Russia to meddle in uk internal affairs, leading to the biggest constitutional upheaval in decades? Just don’t ask whether Russia interfered.

This seems appropriate to post  this morning

It seems Google has had a good idea. According  to this technology blog, their map app will soon have a function which will show Wheelchair accessibility. If you activate it, it will highlight things like accessible loos, wheelchair entrances, lifts etc. Bloody good idea if you ask me – at  least it shows that some of the big companies still have us cripples in mind, and that we haven’t been totally forgotten about in these days of crisis.

I just came across this article in The Independent, remarking upon how drastically things have changed in the UK since 2012. ”The 2012 Olympics brought Britain together in pride and unity – look at us now.” I know what they mean – eight years might as well be another lifetime.  So much has changed since then, not just nationally but also for me personally, that it feels rather uncanny. I’ll always feel inordinately proud that Lyn was involved in that spectacular summer; a summer which the  entire country, it seems, will be looking back upon with fondness for years. ”Of course, it’s easy to look back through rose-tinted spectacles at what was really a brief moment in time, a glorious few weeks of sunshine and sporting prowess. From our current vantage point, the 2012 Olympics seems the antithesis of Brexit Britain, representing a period in which we were united, not divided, and when the phrase “national pride” didn’t conjure images of blinkered, hard-right jingoism.”

That I was not only here in London for that event, but my then-partner actually performed in it’s closing ceremony, fills me with  pride beyond words, and probably always will.  Lyn took it in her stride, yet to me it is astonishing. It was an event which brought us all together, and thanks to Lyn I was there. The 2012 Paralympics allowed the UK disability community to shine as it had never done before. The fact that Lyn passed away this April really drives  home the difference between then and now, for me at least: with my move to Eltham, it feels like I’m living another life. Things seem darker, both for me personally and for the country generally.

I’ll always cherish my memories of my life with Lyn with intense fondness; not just those of 2012 but so many others. She always told me not to look back but forward, that there is always the potential for even better things to happen. Yet now,  with  the country and the world as it is and the most amazing person I’ll ever meet no longer here, it’s hard to maintain that optimism. Having such a personal link with London 2012, losing the friend I associate most with that amazing event, really drives the distinction between then and now which  others are also noting, home

I need to report the most amusing thing I’ve seen in days. I was just up at my local mobility shop, asking about my next powerchair service (note to parents: they’ll email me). Rather sillily for such a shop, there’s quite a big step to get in, so I had to wait outside and beckon the lady through the window to come out and help me. (Should I be concerned that, when she did, she greeted me with the words ”hello trouble”?) Waiting for her, I looked at the big powered scooters they sell, mostly to old people (real cripples drive powerchairs –  they’re far  more versatile  and practical). Through the shop window, I spotted the name of one of the big ones, and instantly  started laughing my head  off: it  was called The  Clarkson.  LMAO.. I wonder whether that petrol-headed nonce knows he’s now a granny-mobile! What a great,  great name for something that thinks it’s fast, but is actually quite  slow and annoying.

We live in strange, strange times. I  just got back  from Charlton, having been invited  there to give a speech at an end of term awards ceremony at school. That went really well, and after it I decided to pop in on Paulo, still living temporarily at Lyn’s bungalow. He’s sorting her things  our ready to hand it back to the council.

That place holds so many memories. This  time last year, of course, I was still living  there, waiting to get my own place. Lyn and I had split up  the year before, and she was waiting patiently for my to get my own place. I was just in the very living room where I remember eating countless meals with Lyn, or lying on the sofa on countless evenings watching tv while Lyn composed in her studio. This  time last year, things were almost as they had  been for the last nine. Lyn had a nasty cough, but I expected she would be fine and that I would be visiting her there for years to come after I moved out.

Yet now that studio is quiet, there is  no tv, no more meals at the table. Things seem to have   changed in the blink of an eye. most heartbreaking of all, Lyn is gone. As I was discussing with Paulo, it’s uncanny how the vibrant, wonderful person we remember  has suddenly become just a memory in so little time.

It’s not just happening with us too. Everything seems to be changing this year, so  that old certainties seem to just be evaporating. There is so much grief, so much worry, so much loss:  Paulo has lost his aunt too, just as I lost Yaiya. In less than a year, that bungalow in Charlton has gone from being the long term home of my ex partner,  where she established herself and built her life as a musician, and the place I spent nine warm, loving, wonderful years with the most incredible person I’ll ever meet, to a dusty shell ready to be handed over to  it’s next tenant. In a way all my memories and associations of that place will  get wiped and it will become somewhere else; somewhere I can’t visit. I find that very sad indeed, yet also disturbing how swiftly the change came.

I defy anyone to read this and not conclude that Donald Trump is nothing but a deranged idiot who doesn’t know what he’s talking about. In a speech yesterday,  Trump said the European Union was ‘formed in order to take advantage of the United States’

“The European Union was formed in order to take advantage of the United States,” he said. “Formed to take advantage of the United States. I know that. They know I know that, but other presidents had no idea.”

I think there are two quite obvious conclusions to be drawn from this:  first, trump is trying to present himself as some kind of wartime president, valiantly defending America  from numerous enemies.  Hence trading partners aren’t just seen as competitors but overt foes. It’s absolutely crazy, and sends international discourse in a very dangerous direction.

Second, it’s clear farage has trump’s ear and has been plying him with bullshit. Why  else would he think that he  knows things which previous presidents did not, when in fact Trump is probably the most stupid moron ever to enter Washington. How can America put up with such embarrassment?

I know I’ve said this here before but I think it’s worth repeating: I have nothing against wearing face masks. Like any intelligent person these days, I realise that they are the only way of getting humanity through the pandemic. The problem is, that puts me in a bit of a predicament. As I wrote here, they’re  not the easiest of garments for me to put on or take off, and as they cover my face they’re likely to get soaked with dribble. That, in itself, may defeat the point of  putting one on in the first place. Nonetheless that  doesn’t make me any  less responsible than anyone else, and I have friends with CP in a similar quandary. I’m  therefore currently trying to think of solutions. I need to find something which will cover my lower face but which I can put on or take off easily. Some sort of mask or balaclava, perhaps? I’m open to suggestions.

I had a dream about dressing up last night. The truth is, I stopped cross-dressing regularly a few years ago; I think I just got bored with it. It was probably one of the  reasons why mine and Lyn’s relationship lost it’s spark, but the thought of pulling on tights, skirts and leotards just seemed to  loose it’s thrill. Recently though, I have started to dream about it again: vivid, pleasant dreams which I was disappointed to wake from.

I’m not sure why. I’m now sure that I’m quite content with life as a  guy. Long ago, I toyed with the idea of fully transitioning into womanhood: what would life be like? Would it be possible for me to live, permanently, as a woman? As I see it, Lyn explored that path for me, showing me what was possible. Perhaps she had a bravery I  don’t, perhaps Lyn’s feelings were different to mine, but I think things would  be  simpler to remain as I am. Lyn had gender dysphoria  of course, whereas I’m probably just a  bit kinky. Either way, where  Lyn acted upon her curiosity, I think I’m happy to stay put, thanks to Lyn having shown me what could be. That is  one of the reasons why she was the most remarkable person I’ll ever meet.

Yet for some reason that urge to dress up is starting to return. I still have a load of girl’s clothes which it is becoming increasingly tempting to dig out. Perhaps it’s time to do so, and let that part of me loose again. The  thrill I first felt as a teenager, of dressing up and becoming someone completely different,  seems  to be returning. Now Lyn is gone though, part of me feels it would be wrong to suddenly start dressing up again, but on the other  hand what better way to honour her memory? She broke down so many barriers, so I must do the same.

A couple of days ago I came across the idea that, instead of greeting people by shaking  hands, these days we should bump fists. That struck me as a cool idea, especially if Coronavirus is spread through touch, but how about going a step further and just doing a Vulcan salute to one another? Leaving  aside the fact that I personally struggle to get my fingers into that position, it seems to me that that  would be a very civilised way to greet each other, especially since it is synonymous with wishing one another ”Live Long and Prosper..” There is no touching involved at all. Mind you, Leonard Nimoy apparently borrowed the gesture from an orthodox jewish ceremony, so it  might have hidden religious connotations.

Either way, the least we can do  to protect one another is sung about here (nsfw)

I know I probably ought to note what I got up to yesterday on here, mostly as a warning to myself not to let it happen again.  Truth be told, I got carried away: after sorting an upcoming event out at school, I decided to take myself to a pub in Woolwich. After having a couple of beers there, I caught the bus home. I was fine at that point, if a bit hungry. Stupidly though, a couple of hours later I decided to take myself up into Eltham for a couple more, and I guess I overdid it: I remember leaving the pub, but I must have come out of my chair on the way back because the next thing I know I was lying in a hospital bed.

Utterly stupid I know. I spent the evening in hospital, before being taken home. I was bloody  lucky nothing was stolen or damaged. More to the point, I shouldn’t have wasted much needed NHS  resources like that. I suppose I just wanted to let off a little  steam after the  last few months, but I really, really shouldn’t be so stupid.

Like many people, I now find myself in a bit of a quandry when it comes to pubs:  there are quite a few in my local area, but the one I preferred to go to, probably due to it’s friendly barman and cheaper pints, is a Whetherspoons. I’d currently prefer not to go to Whetherspoons due to the chain being owned by  a total Outist scumbag, putting me in a bit of a position. I don’t drink that often these days, but mostly go for the social aspect; there’s nothing like an authentic South London pub. I suppose the question boils down to which is more important to me: politics or beer.

Earlier I read an  article about Mary Trump’s new book about her uncle Donald, and I am beside myself with fury. I haven’t read it yet, but the book apparently alleges that Donald  Trump cut off medical  support for his nephew William, who has Cerebral Palsy, in  retribution for losing a family dispute over inheritance. If that is true, then I no  longer see how the thing currently calling  itself president of America can claim to be human, for how could any human being do such a horrible, vindictive thing? People with CP need a lot of support, often round  the clock care: to deny anyone, especially a relative, such care simply  because you did not get what you want is beyond abominable. From his pictures, William Trump reminds me of a   few of my friends with CP – not to mention Lyn – who, despite the  severity of there condition, had as much to contribute to society as anyone. The thought that they would be denied their potential by someone acting so selfishly and childishly fills  my heart  with rage.

How the hell can such a disgrace to humanity currently occupy one of it’s most prestigious political positions, rather than  grovelling around in a gutter begging for scraps dodging streams of piss where it belongs?

I know one shouldn’t laugh at anyone else’s misfortune, but there’s something hilariously ironic about this news that Jair Bolsonaro has now tested positive for coronovirus. If anyone could be said to be more arrogant or brazen than Trump, it’s Bolsonaro. The guy who repeatedly wafted away the virus as though it was nothing, leading to millions of deaths in his country; surely anyone would agree that this serves the twat right.

I vaguely remember, back in 1997 or so, when it was first announced that The Lord of the Rings was going to have a screen adaptation, I saw an article about Tolkien getting ‘the Star Wars treatment’. What that obviously meant at the time was that there were plans to adapt LOTR into three films rather than one, echoing the Star Wars trilogy (leaving aside the fact that the Star wars franchise started life as one film). At the time that struck most pundits as an incredibly bold move: if the first film flopped, a hell of a lot of money was going to be lost.

As it turned out that gamble paid off and the trilogy turned out to be an astonishing success. The Return of the King earned eleven oscars and Peter Jackson a knighthood. It was obviously so successful that it left New Line baying for more, which eventually lead to The Hobbit trilogy. That, for my money, wasn’t such a great move: it’s only one volume, and trying to stretch it’s contents over three films always meant liberties would need to be taken. New Line was obviously eager to repeat the success of Lord of the Rings though, and three films would make them more money than just one. Having said that, the people who made The Hobbit obviously had a deep respect for the source material, and as a work of filmic art it could have turned out much, much worse.

Yet I am now worried how prophetic that twenty-three year old headline may turn out to be. Star Wars, if you ask me, is a mess: since they started adding to the original trilogy, and especially since Disney took it over, it has collapsed into garbled nonsense which no longer has my attention or respect. The guys who make it – Lucas, Abrams or whoever – just seem interested in churning out film after film to make money. They use characters we know from the originals, but use them in stories which become so stretched and convoluted that the franchise has lost all narrative and artistic integrity. The audience has cliché after cliché hurled at them; each new film is a string of saccharine, nauseating moments designed to evoke nostalgia for the originals. It’s mass market, big budget film making of the worst kind.

What worries me is that something similar will happen to Tolkien’s work. I recently got wind that Amazon have a series in production, based on his less well known works in The Silmarillian, Unfinished Tales and The Book of Lost Tales. It’s obvious that Amazon want to use Tolkien as the basis for their own Game of Thrones, but what concerns me is how convoluted it risks becoming. While Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit are fairly coherent narratives, much of the rest of Tolkien’s work is composed of shorter pieces which, taken together, form a very rich, detailed history of his created world. I fear these will be much more difficult to translate to the screen, small or big, meaning any director or producer will inevitably need to take liberties with the source material. The danger is too many liberties will be taken: Amazon will be dying to capitalize on and emulate the success of the New Line films, so they will stretch Tolkien’s work as far as possible, and possibly too far. I worry that it will eventually reach the point Star Wars now has, with films being produced using characters and settings we all know, but losing any artistic coherence or relationship with any of Tolkien’s work.

Of course I hope I’m wrong. I hope whoever is making Amazon’s new series has enough reverence for Tolkien’s writing to stop before they reach that stage. Yet I also know enough about the entertainment industry to know that they will want to bleed every last penny out of this set of stories. Once they know they have a formula which works, with characters the audience likes in a setting they are used to, a studio will want to return to it again and again. That’s the only reason why Lucasfilm made those appalling prequels. Now Hollywood has it’s greedy hands on Tolkien, the franchisation (if I can call it that) of his life’s work is inevitable: I just hope it stops before it goes too far and we see Hobbits racing on Oliphaunts.

As someone who values knowing that, should they or any of his friends or family fall ill or need medical help, and as someone aware of how damaging and draconian a private, American-style healthcare system can be, I would like to wholeheartedly wish the NHS a happy seventy-second birthday. Surely now more than ever, we can all agree how precious the National Health Service is.

I went to the pub this afternoon, for the first time in about six months. I was in two minds about it, not wanting to tempt fate; but having waited so long, and being rather curious, I popped a fresh straw in my bumbag (not having needed one for so long) and set off to The Tudor Barn.

When I got there it was already quite busy, with everyone outside, sat at tables on the grass. There was quite a jolly atmosphere despite the overcast skies, with staff bringing  drinks and  food out to everyone. I was given a table quite quickly. Of course the staff remembered me, and  that I liked to drink real ale. Not wanting to go overboard, I just had one, but it was  good to be back there: it has been a long few months for everyone, and  it was good to  see a  glimpse of normality.

I just got wind that the new Bond film, No Time To Die, isn’t going to be released until November, obviously in order that it can get it’s usual, full cinematic release. As disappointed in the delay as I am, I think it raises one or two interesting questions: the guys at EON productions clearly think their new film should be primarily viewed in the cinema, so how integral is a cinematic viewing to the consumption of film (if I can put it like that) these days? We can now watch films almost wherever we want, streamed on computers, tablets and mobile phones; but that isn’t the same experience as watching a film in a cinema, with it’s large screen, darkened room and powerful sound system. In my Master’s, I describe how writers like Andre Bazin wrote about the cinematic aura – an experience specific to the cinema, brought about by the darkened lights and silence of the audience. It is a very immersive experience, where all our attention is focussed on the film. Outside the cinema there is no aura, which is why cinematic screenings are an integral part of cinephilia.

Watching a film at home, we might dim the lights and close the curtains, but the experience is never quite the same. And as for watching a film on a tablet or mobile phone, say, when you’re commuting to work on the bus or tube, you might as well compare eating the most succulent steak to the cheapest, shittiest McDonald’s burger: same beef, very different taste.

I think it was this quite specific, almost sacred experience that the producers of Bond are trying to preserve. Yet they have to weigh that against the thirst many people will have to see this already much delayed film: those who see film simply as a story rather than as an experience or art form presumably won’t care how or where they see it. EON risks loosing people’s interest – and therefore money – if it delays too long, so it will be under considerable pressure to cut it’s losses and release No Time To Die online. In doing so, though, it will lose something which has always been synonymous with film, and especially the 007 franchise: the glamour and prestige of premiers in central London; the excitement and anticipation of travelling to see the latest instalment of a franchise which has been a staple of popular culture for almost sixty years. Released online, 007 would become something far more casual and throw-away; just another distraction among many, watched on a mobile phone sat in McDonald’s, in between mouthfuls of burger.

Rather than see it become that, I would far rather wait. One day, perhaps in a few months, this damn virus will be gone and cinemas will be open. Perhaps charlotte will visit, and we will go, at last, to see this film together, in the cinema. There, every detail and nuance will consume our vision, rather than being lost on far smaller screens, amid a hundred other day-to-day distractions. We can allow ourselves to be absorbed into the cinematic experience, appreciating every detail and reference, like meeting an old friend again after a long separation. That surely is how films should be enjoyed, but now, with everything moving online, I fear for it’s future.

I think this is a glimmer of the news we all need right now: Beavis and Butt-Head is to get a reboot. I remember laughing my head off when I first saw it, aged ten or so. I probably barely understood it, but it was the  first cartoon I had ever seen in which the characters swore. And when Cornholio was introduced, I was in stitches.  Mike Judge, the show’s creator, says it will be updated to reflect the contemporary world but retain the elements of  the original we loved. If you ask me, his timing couldn’t be  better: with so much misery and anger in the world, a bit of inane  stupidity is just what we need.

Something a bit odd happened when I was out on my usual daily stroll. Just coming  out of a park the other side of Eltham High Street, three young lads were slightly in my way. I often have trouble with boys their age, but this time one quite politely told his friends to get out of my way. I felt grateful, so I said ”Thank you” with my natural voice. I thought I spoke clearly enough, but one boy then said to the others ”He just told us to fuck off” and they began walking away. Of course, I then began typing what I had intended to say into my Ipad, but it was too late – they wouldn’t listen.

Just a  small incident I know, hardly worth noting  on here; but I think it’s the type  of misunderstanding that guys like me encounter  fairly often, and as such I wanted to put it right.  It’s just funny how, even when you try to be nice to people, it doesn’t always go to plan.

Serkan pointed something out to me last night and I certainly agree it is becoming a real problem: PPE  such as  face masks are being dropped everywhere as litter. I’m starting to see them cluttering up the streets,  as if people throw them onto the ground as  soon as they get off the busses.  It’s rather disgusting, really – those masks could well have the virus on them. I certainly think this is an issue which should be raised and dealt with, then. People must be more responsible with their PPE.

A bowler running up towards a wicket.
Oh how I miss watching cricket.
Sat in the park all day long,
the sun on my skin feeling so strong.
Watching batsmen make run after run.
Chasing a total, or setting one.
Yet this year the grass just grows
on fields where there were once such shows.
No bats hitting balls, no cries or cheers.
None of the joys of past years.
Yet next year cricket will be played once more.
Balls being bowled and getting knocked for four.
And I’ll go and sit there all day
Sipping beer in the sun, watching my friends play.

It is hard to decide what to say about Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga. I had never heard of it until my parents recommended it to me yesterday. A netflix film, they said it might amuse me, so I gave it a watch earlier this afternoon. To be honest, what I found myself watching was appalling: it’s basically a Will Farrell vehicle for making fun of Europe and European culture. While some argue that it is a celebration of the camp kitsch synonymous with Eurovision, I detected far more disturbing undertones in the film. For one, nearly all the dialogue is American, by which I mean it sounded as if the screenplay was written by an American (which it was – Farrell himself) who made no attempt to engage with the culture of the people the film is trying to depict. As Will Gompertz says here, ”the depiction of Icelanders and their culture as an unsophisticated bunch of beer-drinking, whale-watching, knitted jumper-wearing innocents is tiresome and ignorant.” All the characters speak using American idioms but using cringeworthy, borderline offensive Icelandic accents.

This is basically an American film trying to mock an aspect of european culture. The campness of eurovision is not celebrated but amplified in order to ridicule it, like an outsider seizing upon and mocking something they do not understand. Any cultural authenticity is thrown out the window in order to give Farrell a chance to mime along to cheesy music while telling an utterly ridiculous, cliche-ridden story. This is Farrell’s attempt to mock europe by dressing up and imitating his perception of it, while acting in the same inherently American way he always does. Thus his character is shown to loathe American tourists; the very tourists who at the end of the film save the day in an utterly ridiculous car chase through Edinburgh.

You can definitely tell this is a Netfix film; it would be hard to see this kind of dross getting any kind of traditional theatrical release. That in itself raises questions about whether online film streaming sites might actually be changing not only how audiences watch films, but also what sort of films get made. Is film as an art changing to become less cinematic and more toned down and suited to smaller screens and more casual types of viewing? If lightweight, derogatory dross like Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga is anything to go by, we cinephiles have a lot to worry about.

Not that I’m becoming a railway geek or anything, but I just got wind of a project so awesome that I just had to note it. Imagine being able to take a train from London all the way to Tokyo. That might be possible sometime soon. Nicknamed the Bridge Across History, it will  make use of the famous Trans-Siberian Express, as well as new infrastructure, such as a twenty-eight mile long bridge from the Russian island of Sikhalin into Japan. It sounds pretty cool to me, although it would take over  a week to do the entire trip, meaning a lot of thumb twiddling.

Something incredible happened this morning which made my heart ache. I needed to trundle over to Charlton to get another pot of the vitamin tablets I prefer from the chemist there. After picking them up, I  thought I’d pop in  on Paulo. He’s still at Lyn’s, working to sort her things  out; I visit him every few days or so.  A week or two ago I mentioned he could try to find Lyn’s drawings: I remembered  that, some time ago, Lyn showed  me drawings she had done before I met her. Absolutely incredible images drawn by hand, presumably with the  paper taped down. They were clearly built up mark by mark, yet were  so vivid it was difficult to believe a person with such limited dexterity could have drawn them.  They must have taken Lyn hours.

Yet for some reason Lyn seldom spoke of them, and hid them away in a cupboard. A few weeks ago, though, I remembered about them, and asked Paulo  to try to find them. He had no luck, until this morning I had a hunch: I suggested looking in the bottom of a cupboard, and there they were. I was so relieved – the thought of such incredible images being lost was heartbreaking. At least now  they can be stored properly and celebrated. What I find painful is, though, knowing that  the person who created such remarkable images is no longer here.

I recently bought a new Ipad. As I said a few  entries ago, my old one was on it’s last legs, and it was time for an upgrade. Having bought it, setting up my new device could barely have been easier: we just had to show my old one to my new one’s camera,  and all my settings and apps were transferred automatically. The problem was, my new  Ipad didn’t fit into my old  Ipad case, so we had to buy a  new one.

The Amazon delivery came the next day, but that’s when the fun started: it consisted of three pieces, a hard plastic case, a clear plastic screen and a  rubbery sock which enclosed both. There was an Amazon video showing you how to put it together, but try as he might, poor Serkan couldn’t get it right. He spent hours  and hours  on it – the video made it look far less fiddly than  it actually was. However we tried, it just didn’t look right. In the end, though, just as both our patiences were beginning to fail, this afternoon everything just seemed to click together, and I suddenly had a brand new Ipad in a pristine-looking, dribble-proof case.

With that, I went  for a walk, while Serkan went for a well deserved nap.

As a Tolkien fan, I’m not at all sure the Professor would approve  of the languages he spent a lifetime creating being used like this, but even so it’s rather fun.

Now that it has been announced that lockdown restrictions have started to be lifted,  and that we’ll be able to go to pubs, cafes and cinemas after the fourth of July, I could do an entry discussing the various implications of the social distancing rules being reduced from two metres to one. About how, one one hand people tend not to come that close to me in places like pubs anyway, possibly for fear of getting slobbered on; but on the other,  I often need people like shop assistants and pub  staff to come within a metre of me to do things like  take my money out of my wallet.

Yet I won’t. I won’t write that entry because it isn’t the biggest question today’s announcement raises. For me, the biggest question I now want the answer to is,  when will we at last be able to watch No Time To Die?

I still try to avoid using busses. Although lockdown is slowly being relaxed, I still think it’s wiser to use a bus only when I have  to. The problem is, wearing a facemask  is now mandatory on a bus, and that’s something I struggle with. A few days ago, I sent a  message to TFL to find out where I stood  on  the issue, and apparently I’m in the exempt group. While  that makes life a bit easier, I still think I should err on the side of caution.  Therefore, whenever I do need to take a bus, I make an effort to control my dribble, swallowing it regularly and wiping my chin. I cover my face whenever I cough, of course. While I am marginally  more likely to take the bus or tube these days, we’re still all in  this mess together after all, so even guys like me have to play our part too.

Has anyone  noticed that photography seems to be in fashion these days? I just got off the weekly family Skype meeting, and my brothers were talking about which (fairly expensive) cameras they were thinking about buying and what they had been taking pictures of. Also, online I  see people posting pictures they have taken of things like plants,  wildlife or clouds, and talking  about them as though they were semi-professional. Everyone seems to think they are a photographer these days.

I suppose that’s fair enough: due to things like cameraphones,  photography is now more accessible than ever. Yet what these guys don’t seem to realise is that there is more to photography as an art form than just snapping pictures. There is an entire body of theory about how the greatest photographs ‘speak’ to the viewer; they can reveal a form of hidden truth through details which leap out of the image. Roland Barthes called this the Punctum. True photographers familiar with this background discourse know how to achieve this profound effect; otherwise you’re just an amateur with a camera. Photography isn’t as simple as just taking photos. Not only does it require extensive knowledge of things like lighting and framing,  but deep, profound knowledge about how a picture can say something about the reality it depicts,  which takes years to acquire.

I got back from stratford about half an hour ago. It was the first time I’ve been outside the borough or used  the tube since February, but my Ipad had become so worse for wear that I really needed to get it sorted. To be honest it was a very weird trip: I think of Westfield Stratford as a bubbling, energetic place – a high temple of consumerism, full of people, music, food and light – but today it felt more like a hospital. It was only  half full, everyone was wearing masks and had to follow  strictly regulated paths. I used to go up there quite often just to feel the buzz of the place.  It was always so new and exciting, built especially to show London off to the world. Twenty  years ago that was just a neglected corner of the east end,  but was turned into a thriving urban pleasure centre next door to a world-class olympic park. Yet today,  with half the shops and all the restaurants closed, not to mention the cinema, bowling and casino, it felt like a shadow of it’s past self. I can’t wait for things to start to feel like normal again.

I have had a random idea which I just want to put out there: is there any reason why  credit cards etc can’t contain a built in microchip with it’s owner’s details and photo on it? That way, when a cashier puts the card into the reader, the owner’s details could automatically pop up on  their screen and they can instantly be verified. It seems to me that this would be a good way of guarding against credit card fraud, particularly  if it’s owner is a ”vulnerable person” who can’t input   a pin number.

It seems that the second attempt to reboot the Ghostbusters franchise might indeed be becoming a reality. I just watched this Reunited Apart episode, where it was mentioned that a new film, Ghostbusters 3: Afterlife is in production. I Googled it, and encouragingly found that most  of the original cast are involved, as well as this decent-looking trailer. Hopefully it will return the franchise to it’s 1980’s form. Something to look forward to next spring anyway.

I just finished watching the third episode of The Salisbury Poisonings, the Beeb’s new miniseries about the Novichoc emergency two years ago. Given the hype, I thought it looked interesting, but a drama which at first glance promises to be about global espionage and post Cold War politics quite quickly turns into a bit of a soap opera, focussing on the emotional effects of the poisonings on characters rather than attempting to explain why these crimes happened. While that may have a good deal of resonance now, with everyone having  to quarantine for fear of a lethal virus, I found the focus of the drama misplaced: there was a lot of emotion, tragedy and death which I felt was just superfluous to the story being told. We learn next to nothing about why the Skripals were assassinated, apart from some vague detail that Sergei Skripal was some kind of double agent who had somehow angered Vladimir Putin.

With that said, there are a few questions to be asked about this drama: the big one must be, why is the BBC broadcasting it at all, and now in particular? It was obviously produced well before lockdown, so why are we being  told this particular story at this particular moment? A lot is being said about the role Russia played in both the EU Referendum and the election of Trump; others have also written about how the social division and  animosity currently tearing the UK and America apart is being deliberately, if covertly, stirred up by Russia. And suddenly we see a drama in which Russia is once again cast as the  secretive, ominous bully it was fifty years ago. Could the two be related? I really don’t know, but for this drama to appear on our screens right now seems to beg such questions.

This is just to wish Mum a very happy birthday. The truth is, it has been a tough few months,  and it feels like such a long time since I saw her in person. While we’ve been talking online every morning, I miss her cuddles and her cooking, and I’m looking  forward to going to visit her and Dad as soon as we get the all clear. As fantastic as independence is, nothing quite beats the unconditional love of a parent – these last few months  have made that staggeringly clear.

This afternoon I had my first coffee of the year at the cafe in Charlton Park. As I said a few days ago, it was reopening, albeit only at weekends and  with properly distanced, outside tables. It was good to see those guys  up and running again: of course, they remember me and what I usually like to drink. I love the sense of community at that little cafe, where  everyone knows everyone else; the only difference now is Lyn won’t be there to enjoy it too.

Public opinion – the ambient values held by any given society – constantly evolves and  changes. While such things are hard to quantify in a multicultural, diverse nation, the attitudes of a given group of people will constantly alter over  time. Thus, what is acceptable in one era might not be acceptable in another. The people revered  in one era might be condemned in another.

There is a current trend in toppling the statues of people associated with  racism and  the slave trade. Of course, I find the notion that someone could be condemned to a life of servitude simply due to the colour of  their skin as abhorrent as anyone  else. Yet the problem with toppling such statues is that it clears the way for other statues to be toppled; statues of people ‘we’  may currently like. If defacing the statue of Churchill can be justified, what is to stop someone with the opposite worldview to ours justify defacing the statues  of Gandhi or Mandela, on the other side of parliament Square? And who’s to say that, sometime in the future, evidence won’t emerge that won’t redeem Churchill or Rhodes or Colston?

The contemporary cultural space is a highly complex one: we live in a society with lots of competing, often contradictory viewpoints. By destroying monuments to people who  were once revered, we promote one set of views  over another, and  assert modern values are more important than those of the past; one viewpoint tries to dominate the entire cultural landscape. Surely the irony of that is, in doing so, we become just as bigoted, authoritarian and intolerant as the people whose statues we topple.