I can’t help watching the news and thinking how glad my formal education is now over, and that I’m not going through what so many students are right  now. Going to university when I did was probably the optimum time for me. Chatting to my parents earlier, they pointed out due to Brexit, the pandemic and  the gigantic  recession, schools colleges and universities have far fewer resources than they did fifteen years ago, so students with disabilities are going to find it far harder to get the support they need. I was astoundingly lucky: I found a nice, small university campus not too far from home where  I could flourish; in Esther I had a damn good Learning Support assistant, and MMU had my ideal course combination. Due to  this combination of factors I was able to flourish, both academically and socially; and university gave me the confidence to eventually  move to London to  live with Lyn.

I’m now very concerned that students like the one I was are going to have to struggle much, much harder to get the support they need. The Tory cuts to Disabled Students’ Allowance hit those who need the most support hardest. Had I had to struggle so hard,  I  daresay I may well have given up and stayed at home with mum and dad. Had I been an A-Level student this year,  zark knows what I’d  have done. For starters, I would have been much too worried about the pandemic to leave home, assuming the universities are even going to reopen at all this year. The whole course of my life for the past sixteen years would probably not have happened, and I’d still be living up north with mum and dad. I now fear that, somewhere out there, there are young eighteen year olds with cerebral palsy opening their calculated A  level results today and deciding to end their educations  there, put off going further by the horrific combination of factors this year.

It’s  far, far too hot to write much on here today, so I’ll just  wish my brother Mark a very happy  birthday. He, Kat and the kids are doing well. We talk quite frequently over the web, and I can see from these updates that the children are  growing up alarmingly quickly. Yet webchats can only go  so far: it has been way too long since I last saw my older brother and his family in person. I really hope it isn’t too long until we can be all together again, talking, laughing, and eating mum’s food.

Happy birthday bro – I miss you.

I have something of a thorny issue on my mind this morning. As you’ll read here, ”A Labour MP has accused police of racially profiling her after she was stopped while travelling in a car in east London.” Dawn Butler says the MET stopped her car because she and the man driving it were black. They incorrectly inputted the car’s numberplate into their database and thought it came from Yorkshire.

Now, of course I don’t know all the ins and outs of the case, but you have to raise an eyebrow at the way Butler seems to automatically assume this issue was a racial one. There are many reasons why the police might stop a car, but for butler to make such an accusation seems a bit like she is politicising the incident; tapping into a current issue and reducing it down to a case of straightforward racial persecution, when things might not be that simple. I daresay doing so also gets her a bit of media attention, potentially helping to get her out of trouble.

On the other hand, that is exactly what Tory London Mayor candidate Shaun Bailey accused her of. Now, here’s where things get a bit thorny: on Twitter, Bailey – himself a black man – said the police were not racist, and that they should be given the resources to carry out their duties effectively. ”Instead of political attacks, let’s improve relations between police and the communities they serve.” In essence, he was telling Butler to just pipe down, at the same time insinuating that this was all Labour’s fault for underfunding the MET. Had such a comment come from the usual straight, white male Tory Candidate, of course it would have been sickeningly patronising; but because Bailey is black he can get away with it.

That’s obviously why the Tories selected him as their candidate for Mayor: they know London is too cosmopolitain and tolerant – too much of a World City – to fall for their right-wing, short sighted bullshit. So in an effort to seem open and inclusive, they offer us a black guy as a prospective leader. Bailey doesn’t even seem to realise he is being used: as soon as he’s elected, the Tories would insist he implements their usual draconian, repressive policies. According to him, everyone should just accept what the cops say, even though they might be being racist.

This Tweet shows just that. Hell, it could even have been ghost written by someone like Gove or Rees-Mogg. It is dripping with the same patronising authoritarianism we get from the tories. Thus while Butler may have been too quick to assume she was stopped due to the colour of her skin, Bailey was too quick to assume she wasn’t. After all, there is no denying that racial profiling is indeed a problem: determining whether it happened in this case, whether Dawn Butler tried to capitalise upon it as a current topic for her own political gain, or whether Shaun Bailey had a right to accuse her of doing so, is where the issue gets thorny.

A few weeks ago, when I saw the picture  of Trump posing at Mount  Rushmore, I assumed it was just a trick of the camera – not even he, I reasoned, could be so pompous. But no. According to this Yahoo story, last year Trump actually asked the South Dakota governor’s office whether it was possible to have his head added to the famous monument. I find that staggering: how can anyone be so arrogant, so self-important, to make such a  request? When you think about it, it’s quite stomach-churning that anyone could be so spoiled, over-privileged and immodest to think that they automatically rank alongside a nation’s greatest leaders.

It was great to see my friend  James/Tesco and his fellow mighty Eights playing cricket once again this afternoon. I checked a couple of days ago, and  he told my that they would be playing today at the historic Woolwich Academy. That isn’t far away, and as I rolled up to the pavilion there earlier this afternoon, being recognised and greeted by the guys I first  saw play many summers ago in Charlton Park, it felt like a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders.  At once I felt at peace, and spent the rest of the afternoon sipping beers in the shade watching a  cricket match unfold. And so, although my friends lost by quite a considerable margin, I think this might be an appropriate song to direct everyone to.

How do you write about someone without actually naming them? There is someone in the public sphere who thinks they’re a politician, although they were never elected to  the UK parliament. Most think they are a right wing nut-job; I personally think they should be in jail. They were the primary driving  force behind the  2016  referendum. The thing is, since then, this person’s popularity has waned and they aren’t getting as much media  attention as they once did, so they have taken to spewing outrageous, unfounded nonsense about immigrants on Twitter in the hope of regaining the public eye. They seem desperate to get into the papers and on TV again.

The problem is, how do people like me comment on this without actually naming this scumbag? If we use their name, we are just playing their game and giving them the attention they crave: by writing about them, they automatically become more than the complete nothings  they deserve to be seen as. Yet it is impossible to note that fact without writing  about them using their name. So  we’re kind of trapped in a weird, R.  D. Laing-esque situation, trying to write about something we don’t want to write   about.

As I’ve said on here before, I like to go out for a stroll in my powerchair at least once a day. I love to explore the city, and recently my walks have been growing longer and longer. The other day I made it all the way to Lewisham before getting the bus home.  What I’ve been noticing while out on my strolls is the amount of building work  currently going on in London: there are cranes and scaffolding everywhere. Plush new buildings  are being constructed in areas like Woolwich, which not long  ago was pretty run-down and neglected, so  this part of South London has started to feel  decidedly  more  cosmopolitan and plush. I wonder,  though, what’s the situation like outside the metropolis?  So much money is obviously going into London, but are other parts of the uk being similarly regenerated, or are they being left behind?

It seems to me  that having an obvious physical disability is a bit of a weird cultural position to occupied: you’re simultaneously pitied and revered, coddled and shunned. You’re part of society, but separated from it; you’re the same as everyone else but different. People think you’re brave for just being who you are and trying to live your life like everyone  else.

What I’ve been puzzling over for a while is whether others have started to become  jealous of that cultural position. Motivated, perhaps, by a type of liberal guilt at being straight, white and able-bodied, as well as attracted by the romance of being a member of an oppressed minority  fighting for one’s rights, I get the sense that the disability community is now filling up with people who never used to  see theirselves  as disabled. They probably  don’t even realise it and would react badly when questioned, but they seem  to want to see theirselves as oppressed outsiders, even though they have only been through a fraction of what guys like me put up with.

This, however, is only a hunch; something I’ve been mulling over for a while. The problem is, I have no way of testing whether it’s true or  not: I don’t want to accuse anyone of lying or exaggerating their disability. Yet from what I see, online and off, people now seem increasingly eager to be seen as abnormal and different: look,  for instance,  at the plethora  of vlogs on youtube about people who have diagnosed theirselves with autism. It’s as if social outsidership is in fashion, so people are clamouring to be seen as a member of a minority, not just in terms of disability but other minorities too. I don’t know why this might be happening, but perhaps being seen as straight, white  and able-bodied is perceived as being too privileged these days, so people have started to foreground aspects of their personalities they previously left hidden.

I’m not sure I like scooters at all. I’m not talking about the increasingly popular three or four wheeled alternative to powerchairs, mostly used by old people (although they are certainly annoying); or the chavvy, underpowered, alternatives to motorbikes. I mean the skateboards with handlebars which children used to play with, but have now had electric motors put in them and are being used by adults to  fly along pavements. They are zarking dangerous – have you  seen how fast they go? When I’m out in my chair, I constantly have to be on the look out for them: they often  fly past me at at least two or three times my speed. The guys driving them usually have no idea what they are doing or  where they are going. Whereas cyclists usually have at least a rough idea of the highway code and stick to cycle lanes, these new powered scooter users need no training and just go where they want at breakneck speed. If my chair could go as fast as they do (and I must admit, part of me wishes it could) it would be lethal. If you ask me, people should at least need to do a test before they can use a scooter.

I know it’s a bit corny, and probably American, but this struck a chord. After all, it’s not every day you find out you’re radical.

It might only be a slightly random Youtube vlog, but I think this piece on Brexit is worth listening to. It suggests that, as the reality of Brexit becomes clearer and clearer, and the possibility of the UK crashing out without a deal becomes more and more likely, Johnson will do what he always does and throw Brexit under a bus to save his own skin. While it might be wishful thinking, I have to agree: given a choice between a no-deal Brexit and remaining as  Prime Minister, Johnson will always put his own self interest first. With no trade deals signed with anyone, it’s  now blatantly obvious how catastrophic Brexit will be: the Tories have gone along with the  wretched farce as far as they could, but we’re now reaching the point where they have to do the sensible thing and put a stop to it.

Since he won a Bafta last night, now might be a good time to note how strange I find Romesh Ranganathan’s programs. I’m quite a fan of travelogues, and I’ve been thinking about writing something about Ranganathan for a while. I find his style very puzzling indeed. Ordinarily, presenters of such television shows are framed as if they are part of the film   crew: they talk directly into the  camera, telling the viewer what is going on, where they are etc, which is then complemented by their off camera narration.

Ranganathan, by contrast, talks to the supposed crew  rather than the camera, asking questions etc. It’s as if he wants to give the impression of a kind of naiveté, like he’s just  some ordinary guy who just happens  to have a film crew following him around. He positions himself as separate from the guys making the film, as if he  doesn’t want to be seen as part of them. He seems to want to set himself apart from the presenters of other such shows, perhaps in order to give himself the appearance of a regular, naive bloke in contrast to the more conventional,  authoritative tone of presenters like Michael Palin. This strikes me as very disingenuous, especially given we hear Ranganathan’s voice on the voiceover, breaking the illusion. I don’t know why, but  this kind of trickery irritates me, as it feels like Ranganathan is trying to manipulate the audience by trying to appear more naive than he is. The way in which he tries to portray himself as a sort of wisecracking everyman distanced from the media apparatus yet still obviously being part of it, feels too insincere to me, and frankly I find it irritating. I  wonder whether anyone else has noted this strange contradictory relationship to the camera Ranganathan has.

I came across something yesterday which I think could well be worth looking into. I hope he doesn’t mind me  mentioning it here, but on my friend Matt/Switch’s Facebook page, he had written a type of blog/diary entry about what he and his young family had been up to recently. What interested me was that it was written in the style of a Star Trek captain’s  log, so his wife Nicky was referred to as Commander Best-wife, and their young children became ensigns. What struck me  was how well done the writing was: trips were away  missions and  places became planets, so that at  the same time,  it felt like you were reading a piece of science fiction  while still being able to detect the  underlying reality behind it. Not only did this help ensure the necessary animosity Switch, as a young dad, would want, but it also reflected the surreal quality of the times we are going through. Thus as a piece of prose I found it stylistically very interesting indeed. Reality  was written about as fiction to produce something both playful and quite powerful.

I don’t know much  about Hong Kong. I know it’s a former British colony, of course, handed back to China in an international agreement in 1997, but apart from that I’m not familiar with the politics of the city. In writing what I’m about to, I am afraid I’ll sound like a  British imperialist, desperate for the revival of a long dead empire. Yet  I  must say how disturbing I’m finding China’s attitude towards the city; they seem to be acting with a type of  arrogance I find infuriating.

As I understand it, after ’97, the UK signed a treaty with china which guaranteed Hong Kong a certain degree of independence and it’s citizens certain democratic rights. Yet  now, according to the UK news at least, China has ripped up that treaty and seems to be acting as if it can do what it likes  with Hong Kong, overtly trying to interfere with it’s elections in order that it can make it’s government entirely pro-Beijing. China obviously wants to take Hong Kong for it’s own, probably because it knows what an international economic powerhouse it is. And when the UK tries to object to what China is trying to do, China tells us to butt out of it’s internal affairs and accuses us of imperialism.

That leaves commentators like me in a delicate, although rather interesting, position:  it boils down to a question of which type of imperialism you object to more. Do we, as the former colonial ruler, still have the right to interfere in the affairs of a now independent colony? On the other hand, it’s blatantly obvious that China  is acting aggressively and arrogantly, and thinks it has a right to tear up  a treaty and dominate a city and it’s people. Thus we have two manifestations of imperialism vying against  one another.

I’m kind of embarrassed to admit that part of me thinks  that the UK should reclaim Hong Kong: if china refuses to respect the treaty, why shouldn’t we reassert British rule? But then I realise how daft and right wing that sounds, and remember that the UK couldn’t possibly compete militarily with China. Yet letting Beijing just do what it wants seems equally wrong: Hong Kong is not Chinese just as it isn’t  British.

The situation is therefore at a stalemate, but what concerns me is that that stalemate will cause greater and greater tensions between the UK and China, and we’re in enough trouble as it is. A severe  economic recession, Brexit, Trump and the pandemic have converged to the point  where international  tensions are higher than they have been for decades; this dispute over Hong Kong will only add to them. With Trumps reelection and the realities of Brexit coming up, we are fast approaching an impasse. I do not know how it will all resolve itself, but I’m now very worried that it will not end well at all.

I wonder how many other  people, upon reading this news  that the new head of MI6 is a chap called Richard Moore, automatically thought ”I wonder if he’s related to sir Roger?” To be honest I’d be willing to bet that it’s quite a few.

All I can say today is how great it feels that Test Cricket is  once again being played, and not only that, to get home from my daily stroll to the news that England have won their first  test series of the summer, and by a good margin too. Amid all the doom and gloom this year, at least we have these little pleasures to cheer us up. I’ve always loved the long, slow, contemplative sport of Cricket, and news like this brings back happy memories of sitting in the sun on long, hot afternoons.  Hopefully it won’t be too long until such afternoons are back.

You probably saw, a  few days ago, Trump trying to demonstrate how intelligent he is by reciting five words he picked supposedly at random. (Leaving aside the fact that he mistakes memory for intelligence, which in itself demonstrates how little he understands of psychology). He obviously picked five things in front of him, and tried to claim that remembering the same list of words a few minutes later demonstrated how intelligent he was. Well, according to this, he is now being epically trolled  by people on the web getting five year old children to recite the same list of five words. That is an owning if ever there was  one.

Not that I’ve watched it in ages, but according to this, my all   time favourite tv presenter and traveller Sir Michael Palin will be appearing on The Simpsons.  ”The Monty Python star, 77, has already recorded his lines, according to Matt Selman, a writer and producer on the long-running animated show.” According to the article, the Simpsons producers tried to lure another member  of Python to also appear on the show; it doesn’t give much detail about the role Palin will have, so make of that what you will. Nonetheless, I think this is something to keep an eye on. The mind boggles at what they could have Sir Michael doing, and whether it could be related to any of his comedy or travel programmes. Maybe Homer decides to quit his job at the nuclear plant and become a lumberjack.

Serkan cleaned my floor today meaning that it was a good idea for me to  be out of the house for a  bit. I decided to take a good long walk, over to my old stomping  ground in charlton. The sky was grey and I wasn’t that optimistic about anything interesting happening, but as luck would have it I happened upon a sight I had almost given up on seeing this summer. Coming into Charlton park, passing the house, I began to catch glimpses of men in white on the field: there was a cricket match being played! At once, memories came flooding back of all the summers I had sat in that park watching the Blackheath Mighty Eights. It made me feel simultaneously happy  and sad, as if normality had resumed after a long painful break.

I didn’t stay long before resuming my  walk;  I didn’t recognise either team playing. Yet for the two or three overs I sat  at that boundary, it felt like all the darkness of the last few months had been suspended, and I remembered that there was joy and fun to be  had in the world.

Who fancies yet another reboot of a once popular franchise which you assumed was over and done with thirty years ago? I take this trailer to be absolute proof that the American film industry  really is stuck for  new ideas. Why else would they keep going back to franchises most currently middle-aged viewers first encountered as children? And why else would they even attempt to coax Alex Winter and Keanu Reeves back into roles they both outgrew long ago? Post Matrix, to see Reeves even attempting to play Ted again just looks wrong, but I suppose it’s just a symptom of where Hollywood is at the moment.

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.