I just got in from my first exploratory trip to Eltham. Although I’ve now lived in London for nine years, I’ve never really rolled that way. Now I’ll be moving there, I thought I had better go explore. Eltham isn’t that far from Charlton – I can get there  quite comfortably in my powerchair. Truth be told I didn’t know what to expect, but what John and I found  this afternoon was a lovely little corner of the capital: it’s very quiet, low-rise and suburban, but with a well stocked high street. There’s a branch of Nationwide  there, so I won’t have to go far when I need cash. There’s also a wonderful, huge park there, so quiet and peaceful that it’s easy to forget you’re anywhere near a sprawling metropolis. I  found myself taken with the area instantly, and am now quite looking forward to getting to know it.

I was just on YouTube, browsing videos leisurely. One of the videos which popped up randomly on my homepage was about Lord’s cricket ground. It must have been because I did a search for it a few days ago. I clicked on the video, but what I saw appalled me. They’re currently redeveloping the ground there, so the vid, from 2017, related to that redevelopment. Apparently part of the plan is to build a block of flats just outside the ground, obviously to help it’s financial situation, but on the film all these twits in blazers were saying how bad it would be. They made a couple of vague references to terrorism, but it was blatantly obvious this was a class issue: these arrogant fuckers didn’t want people whom they think they somehow socially outrank in the area. It was a sickening spectacle.

What gave these men the right to make such aspersions or be so arrogant? They seem to think wearing a blazer and talking with a posh accent meant they were better than the kind of people who live in flats, and that flats were somehow linked to terrorism. This, after a couple of days ago a picture was taken at that very ground of Farage and Rees-Mogg quaffing wine in the executive box! It’s obviously fine to have two embarrassments to humanity, who do nothing but stir up hatred, tarnishing the ground, but not ok to have ordinary, working class people live near the ground. If you ask me, Farage and Rees-Moog had no business being there, befouling the ground, smiling for pictures as if they were somehow connected with England’s incredible world cup win. These men add nothing to better humanity; they have deliberately mislead the British people and would impose an ultra-capitalist, class-divided hell on the country. They should be rotting in jail, not enjoying cricket matches.

Yet because they wore the same pretentious blazers as the toffee-nosed p’tahks in the video, they were quite welcome. Such hypocrisy, such class-based arrogance, is what really pisses me off. What did these men do to earn their wealth? What gave them the right to don those blazers and look so arrogantly down on others? Surely such views, such arrogance to judge who lives where based on class, has no place in modern society. I love the sport of cricket, but there is a corner of it’s fandom where such prejudice is rife; men who think sitting in a certain stand, wearing a tie and a blazer, gives them a right to look down on the rest of us. (they don’t even join in mexican waves!). No doubt in such places, Farage and Rees-Mogg were honoured guests, VIPs whose acrid views are agreed with. It’s the last vestige of a victorian class culture which should have died out long ago, and I find it sickening.

This evening finds me in a very good mood. This morning I went  to view a house in Eltham. It was a wonderfully spacious, newly-built flat. It’s so new, in fact, it doesn’t appear on Google streetview  – all you see is a building site. It looked a bit small from the outside, but when we went in we found it had lots of room. I was instantly taken by it. There was even a specially built-in place where powerchairs can be stored and charged. I was even more enthusiastic when I heard Wifi was already set up. I now can’t wait to move in.

Of course I still feel a bitter  tang of regret when I think about leaving Lyn’s house here in Charlton: I have so many cool memories associated with this little bungalow. Yet that, I suppose, is merely the nature of time – things always change. And those memories simply remind me how incredible life can get. There will always be something to look forward to, new experiences to have and memories to create. I  have a  feeling I’ll create some truly spectacular ones in my new home. Besides, Eltham isn’t far from here, so I can always pop back for a cup of coffee.

Is it time to start worrying about just how absurd things are getting with regard to religion in America? After watching Louis Theroux last night, I can’t help being prompted to say something on here. The way in which christianity is being taken to such absurd extremes is quite frightening, and it genuinely baffles me how intelligent people can be so deluded.

I’ve been mulling this over a bit recently: at the end of the day, all religion is, is a text which people use to award themselves a kind of social authority. In the case of christianity, the text is a series of stories about the creation of the world and a social leader living in the middle east around two thousand years ago. Because these myths give people hope and a sense of certainty, people – usually men – use them as a means to gain a type of authority. Preachers use the authority they borrow from the bible to tell their listeners whatever they like. Because the bible gives people a hope in a pleasant existence after they die, people listen; yet preachers use the bible to tell people whatever they like because it is so open to interpretation. These days such messages seem to be becoming more and more extreme and right wing, but people still listen because it purports to be substantiated by bible verse, which people have been brought up to believe is infallible.

Does that not strike anyone else as highly problematic? People, from doctors to teachers to politicians, usually attain positions of social authority after several years of study; they are also under constant scrutiny. In America especially, it seems any nutcase can call himself a preacher, and because they claim to be deriving their message from the bible and underpinning what they say with a few ambiguous biblical references, people listen to them as though they were a fully qualified authority figure.

That to me seems absurd. There is also an increasing darkness to it, especially given how intolerant and reactionary their messages seem to be getting. Here we have a group of people claiming to speak on behalf of a magical omnipresent deity, insisting they are listened to and given high social status even though they have done nothing to earn such authority. If they were to use any other set of myths or legends to underpin the type of intolerance they spew, such people would be ignored, or perhaps even sectioned; but because their spewings reference the bible, they are listened to. People attend their sermons every sunday, even though they might be spewing the most absurd, intolerant bullshit imaginable.

Of course, I know one has to respect other peoples’ faiths, but given the bible is looking increasingly outdated in a number of ways, isn’t it time this culture was put under the scrutiny it deserves. Absolute, unquestioning faith can be subverted too easily, used to indoctrinate listeners with any type of abominable bullshit people want. The Louis Theroux program last night was about one famous example, the Westboro’ Baptist Church, but I’m sure there will be many, many more, all spouting their own type of hatred, according to the particular biases of the person delivering the sermon. Were it under any other guise, I’m sure such preaching would be subjected to far more regulation and scrutiny. After all, these preachers are talking to some very vulnerable, often highly naïve people; feeding them, in many cases, very dark, reactionary messages. Yet because they claim to speak under the auspices of religion, they are allowed to spout whatever crap they like and awarded the authority of, say, a teacher for it. Does that not strike anyone else as highly problematic?

If what is reported here is true, and the utter ignoramus currently  claiming to be president of america scrapped an important international deal simply to spoil his predecessor’s legacy, then all other countries should be putting pressure on the USA to grow up and get a  proper  head of state. In an act being called ‘diplomatic vandalism’, ”Donald Trump abandoned the Iran nuclear deal to spite Barack Obama, according to a leaked memo written by the UK’s former ambassador in the US.” I know it’s not much of a blog entry, but bow could any true  statesman be so infantile? The situation, on both sides of the atlantic, really  is becoming embarrassing.

I know I should be writing things like this rather than just linking to them on here, but such excellent pieces of analysis go to the nub of the matter. We have, it seems, a problem with alpha males;  or rather beta males who think they’re alphas. ‘“There are two kinds of women,” Harry explains at one point in When Harry Met Sally. “High maintenance and low maintenance.” “Which one am I?” Sally asks. “You’re the worst kind,” he says. “You’re high maintenance, but you think you’re low maintenance.”’ Both the UK and America are currently being run by people (ok, by men) who think they know what they are doing but emphatically, obviously do not. As the article explains, buffoons like Johnson, Farage and Trump constantly go on about their achievements and prowess, but when you actually look at what these smeg-heads have done, they are strikingly unqualified. In fact,  when you consider that BoJo only got a second class degree, Farage  didn’t go to university  and Trump’s academic record is ambiguous at best, my first class  degree and master’s mean that, academically at least, I top all three (not that such things should be seen as the be all and end all of personal achievement). Ask any of them for any kind of theory or historic underpinning behind their spoutings, and they suddenly become extremely defensive; a prime example being Johnson’s recent carcrash interview with Andrew Niel here. Scratch the surface to any degree, and it soon becomes obvious that none of them have any real idea what they are talking about or the consequences of what they are saying – it’s all bluster and bravado intended to appeal to a limited audience but easily seen through by anyone capable of independent thought. If  these men are going to go around waving  their dicks in the air, they should at least have something worth waving, rather than claiming to  have a six footer, but actually hiding a feeble little pin in their pants.

Not that I want to flag bbc stuff up too regularly, but I definitely think this is worth taking a look at. Fifty years on from Armstrong and co., the Americans are planning  to return to the moon in the next decade. I’m of  course all for that: space exploration is Humankind’s first, best destiny. It’s a fascinating article rich in detail, although you do have to grimace at  the fact that Trump’s trying to politicise things by bringing missions forward to 2024, so they coincide with his hypothetical second term. What sort of wanker would try to steal the credit or glory for such a project?

Over the past couple of nights bbc four has been screening a fascinating series of programs about the english civil war, and I can’t resist raising an eyebrow over what it’s trying to say through them. Now as then, the  country is divided as it seldom has been. The programs look at how communities and even families were split in two. Hmm… I wonder what point its trying to make there. The programs highlight the folly and futility of the episode, which I think is a valuable lesson for our contemporary time. In airing these programmes, you could say that the beeb is commenting on current affairs without overtly admitting it; there’s a subtlety and wit to that I like. There are a lot of parallels between now and then which are certainly worth drawing our attention to,  but also some major differences. Once again the country finds itself at  a frightening crossroads, but as long as we don’t start beheading people, I think we’ll be okay.

Part of me thinks that, as a writer, I should get something longer going again. Popping a blog entry on here almost every day is all very well and good, but its about time I got a longer piece of prose going too. Perhaps you agree, in which case I better explain: I write here every day, posting about whatever comes to mind, in order that eventually I can make something longer from several individual entries. Of course I write each entry in order to make it readable in itself, but I also hope that, eventually, I’ll be able to mould together longer pieces from several entries on the same subject. I’ve already done this a couple of times now, such as for my university story, and I’m pretty pleased with the results. Of course I wouldn’t be able to reuse all my entries like this by a long chalk, and I have to edit entries to make sure they fit together, but I thought you might be interested in reading a bit about my writing strategy. I find it’s often quite a good way of getting longer, more substantial pieces of writing going.

John just being here is enough to cheer me right up. He’s personally assisting Lyn today, covering for Dominik, and as soon as he got here earlier we began to make plans. Rather like Charlotte, John has an energy about him: a passion for travel and life  which I find instantly uplifting. The lengths he went to on our trip to India two months  ago were phenomenal, but we’re already discussing where else we can go, probably next  year (think large islands to the south of florida, associated with cigars, communism and Earnest Hemingway). Friends like John, Lyn and charlie remind me how much potential there is in life; with mates like them I know, no matter how grim things may sometimes seem, that there will always be plans to make and fun to be had.

If a single image could be used to sum up the stupidity of Brexit, I think this could be it:

I write this in all seriousness and earnestness: when you have a situation where you have people who do not understand the issues at steak (and I mean genuinely don’t, such as the people discussed in this Independent article) shouldn’t something be done to intervene? I realise how problematic that notion might be, especially when it comes to people with learning difficulties and so on. But the old coots written about here clearly don’t have a clue what is at stake or what is going on, yet as members of the Tory  party, get a say in  all  our futures. For starters, they praise Boris as some kind of great Churchillian figure, completely oblivious  to the fact that  he’s nothing but an egotistical little p’tahk who would sell the country down the  river for his own benefit.

Brexit is an extremely  complex issue, but they see  it in very  simplistic, nationalistic terms. I can’t help thinking that someone should take these old dears to one side, sit them down and, in the nicest possible way, ask them to keep out of things. I don’t want to sound nasty or fascistic here, but the country is in a position where a limited number of mostly older people with obviously  quite limited understanding and world views, get to decide the country’s future, at a time when more is at stake than  has been for generations. Surely that cannot be sensible.

One of the places I could potentially now be moving to, albeit temporarily, is Thamesmead. It was mentioned yesterday in a meeting, so this  morning I thought I would go and have an explore.  I had never needed to go that way before, but getting there was easy  enough:  a single, twenty minute bus ride  from Woolwich. Now I’m back in Charlton, though, I’m not sure what to make of it. Thamesmead is an odd little place. One of the coolest things about London is how each of it’s many suburbs has it’s own distinct character, so Thamesmead felt totally different  to Charlton, Woolwich or Greenwich. It felt smaller, quieter  and greener; it’s town centre had clearly been modernised, and there were plenty of people there, but still felt somehow slightly abandoned. There were some very pleasant canals and paths which I can see myself exploring more thoroughly one day, but it  felt a little out of the way. For one, I saw no sign of a railway station, and it’s not on the DLR. On the other hand, when Crossrail eventually opens, it’s new station in Woolwich will only be a short bus ride away so getting up into London won’t be that hard. Admittedly, a two hour trip is barely enough time to get to know a place  properly, and I think it certainly has potential, but whether I could live  there remains to be seen.  I  suppose I have a lot  to  think about.

Watching Catch 22 just now, I had quite a random thought: what would happen if Yossarian met Hawkeye Pierce from MASH? They  are fairly similar characters in similar predicaments – I wonder whether they would get on. I’d even go so  far as to speculate that one  could have inspired the other. Could they, in this postmodern age,  meet? And if they did, what could they say to each other? One’s a pilot and ones an emergency surgeon in two completely different wars, but they both react to the futility of conflict in the  same darkly cynical way.

All  day I’ve been thinking about saying something on here about what happened yesterday in the European Parliament, but how much can one say about a bunch of  pitiful little scumbags turning their backs on civilisation itself? Any kind of attention or analysis awards that little stunt too much dignity. It was just pitiful, and we should all be deeply embarrassed that people from this country could be so infantile.

The problem with bringing back Blackadder (as I’m sure many others will have noted by now) is  that the fourth series was  rounded off  with such a beautiful  finality that a fifth series would  just  feel surplus. It would just be a continuation of a story we all thought had ended ages ago, with all the characters being blown to pieces on the battlefields of the first world war. I remember my GCSE English teacher, Mr. Dale, talking about that final scene twenty years ago: it’s as if, in that last moment when Blackadder, Baldrick and co. leave the trench, the program  switches from comedy to tragedy. The music slowed, the shot faded to a field of poppies, and  it became a homage to so many dead young men.  To go back and  continue that story, especially after over thirty-five years, would probably feel rather misplaced.

If an author wrote a sequel to a bestselling novel after so long, you would probably accuse them of just wanting to make an easy few quid without going to the effort of creating anything original, and to be honest this kind  of smacks of the same thing. The entertainment world seems saturated with long running franchises at the moment; why not create new stuff rather than reviving characters  we all thought had had their time? Of course, there’s every chance another Blackadder series could rule (I’ve  been wrong about things like this before). Yet this feels like going over old ground which would perhaps be best left to history, especially given the finality, beauty and  seriousness of it’s last shot.

It’s fair to say I’m pretty low at the moment in my personal life, but all the same I’ve noticed one or two cooler things going on in the arts and entertainment world. For one, I took myself to see  Toy Story 4 yesterday afternoon. It struck me as fairly good, as far as fourth sequels go: the plot was a little contrived, the new characters felt slightly tagged on, but there were some fairly good jokes. What struck me most, though, was how much this film was about the passage of  time, and how much Woody struggles with the fact that the people he loves – the children who play with him – all eventually grow older and reject him. Frankly, that had a lot of personal resonance. At the same time, I liked the idea of the toy’s automatic  pull-chord voices acting as a sort of conscious – they pulled their string whenever they didn’t know what to do, so it functioned a bit like their id or superego, but let’s not get too  Freudian this early on a Monday morning.

Also, if you can, check out David Brent, Life on the Road. This 2016 filmic revival of The Office was on TV on Saturday night, and should still be on the Iplayer. As you might expect, it is gloriously cringeworthy. Ricky Gervais’ creation has lost none of that strange mix of arrogance, naivete and pathos which made him such a hit in the nineties. At the same time, I found myself hating this big-head, and feeling sorry for him in a very strange way. It is  very wittily written, and the soundtrack is superb.

In other news, I’ve heard a rumour that Blackadder might be making a return.  Atkinson, Robinson and  crew have all apparently met up to  discuss a fifth series. As I wrote here a few days ago, it might be the come back we all need at the moment, although part of me sort of feels that perhaps classics should be left to remain classics. Either way, let’s wait to see what, if anything, comes of this rumour.

Thirdly, I’ve also heard  that  Robocop is getting a reboot. Mind you, what Hollywood franchise isn’t these days. From what I heard, they’ll be using the original suit. At least that’s yet another bit of eighties nostalgia to look forward to.

Truth be told I’m going through a rough patch in my life. I’ve avoided writing about it on here, but Lyn and I stopped being a couple about a year ago. I’m still living with her,  but six months ago she asked me to move out, giving me time to get my own place here in  South London. We agreed that it was a change we both needed: I had become too dependent on her, and it was time for me to go it  alone. I think that L wanted a bit  of the space she used to have back as well as to encourage my independence.

Getting my own place has, however, proven easier said than done, and so far nothing has come up. I’m sure something eventually will, but with time growing so short I’m getting very, very worried. Being placed in sheltered accommodation, albeit temporarily,  is now a definite possibility. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t very upset about the issue; I know I’ll never meet anyone  as incredible as Lyn again. Nonetheless, as I said, this was a natural next step both Lyn and I definitely needed to take, and she remains one of my best friends. All I can do is thank her for a great decade together. But if anyone knows anything about housing or can help me out in any way,  please contact me.

I’d rather not go into detail about why, but I now need to find a new place to live. If anyone reading this has any information or knows anywhere I could stay, perhaps until I get my own permanent place, could you please contact me. I’d prefer to stay in London, but as long as it’s accessible I’m open to all options.

It looks like we have a heatwave coming this weekend, only…

Enjoy whatever comes our way, I say.

All I want to do today on here is express my profound gratitude to my PA and friend Dominik. For the last few hours, he has sat laboriously cleaning out my trackerball. It stopped working yesterday morning: the ball would just stop rolling so I couldn’t use my mouse. We guessed that it had clogged up inside – quite a reasonable assumption given I’m still using the same trackerball I used through uni, fifteen years ago – so dom opened it up and gave it a thorough clean. I’m so grateful to him as, in the interim, I was forced to use my Ipad as a bluetooth trackpad, which, although usable, wasn’t easy. After the effort he made today, I owe Dominik bigtime! It’s working again now, but what concerns me is the company which made it doesn’t appear  to be online, so ordering a replacement might not be straightforward.

I have just come  across something which cheered me right up. The beeb is celebrating Monty Python’s fiftieth birthday in october with a series of programs and events. According to the  report, the celebrations will include an attempt to break the record for the biggest gathering of gumbies. I have one more thing to look forward to, it would seem. While there is no mention of the chaps performing together again, I still hold  out hope. 2014  may have been the last big show they do all together, but the golden jubilee in  October could entice the guys to perform a few of their biggest hits again. What’s the harm in hoping for one last Parrot Sketch or rendition of the Lumberjack Song?

[This is the first bit of something I started today, just for fun. I want to  add to it as  and when, perhaps turning it into some kind of artwork, but I thought I’d  pop the first bit on here, as a cheerful little entry.]

Rudi and Mimi were rather perplexed to see three customers enter their sociable little cafe in Charlton Park one morning. The first they recognised easily enough. Matt was one of their regular customers: due to his Cerebral Palsy, he used a powerchair and communicated using an Ipad. The second two gentlemen were completely new to the cafe owners: the first was totally bald and wore a strange red and black top with little silver pips on the collar. The second man wore an expensive-looking suit of the kind only available from tailors up in London.

The three walked in and seated their selves at a table. Mimi went to take their order. “The usual, Matt?” She asked. Over the years it had become easier just to assume the disabled man would have the same combination of a double espresso and cappuccino, rather than wait for him to type out a new order every day. Matt nodded his consent.

“And for you two gentlemen?” The Japanese cafe owner asked, turning to the two new men. Their answers took her aback. The bald, older man spoke first:

“Tea, Earl Grey, hot.” he said, rather sharply as though he had said the same phrase many times before. Mimi hesitated slightly, but turned her head to the other man anyway.

“And for you, sir?” She asked. The reply was, however, even stranger, especially given the cafe was not licensed to sell alcohol.

“The same please.” He said, but then added, “No, wait. One medium dry vodka Martini. Shaken, not stirred.”

Things are becoming very charged indeed at the moment with respect to politics; it is becoming really frightening. People seem to have lost their minds, on both sides of  the Atlantic. In America, people have started to talk of immigrants being put into concentration camps.  When I first heard that, I thought it was just silly talk: the death camps of nazi germany were horrendous, terrifying places – no matter how bad these camps in the States are, to compare the two must surely be going too far. If people use such language too much, they lose credibility.

Yet I  just came across this New York Times article, and it chilled me to the core. They might not  actively be murdering people there, but what is happening in such places must surely be  stopped immediately: kids are left to sleep on floors, infants are dying. People have objected to these places being called concentration camps, citing Godwin’s famous law, but Mike Godwin himself responded: “Chris, I think they’re concentration camps. Keep in mind that one of their functions by design is to punish those individuals and families who are detained. So even the “charged” term is appropriate.”

What goes on in these places sound utterly sickening. People are being treated totally inhumanely, just for trying to enter  America. All because the embarrassment to humanity currently  in the White House wants to look like a strong man. How the fuck can this be allowed to continue?

Yesterday while I was in the shower, I had another of my silly, random ideas I sometimes get. I was thinking about how both my friends Lyn and Charlie are into music, and how L creates music on her computer and Ipad while C conducts choirs. Then it struck me, what if we combine the two? I have seen communication aids being programmed to sing two or three times now, notably by the american Sarah Pyszka. I don’t know that much about how it’s done: I know she uses a Dynovox to create her music, but that’s about it. Yet of it is possible to get one communication aid to sound like  it’s singing, what would a choir  of them sound like. Granted, it might just produce a cacophonous mess, but I think there is a chance you could get something beautiful out of it. The harmonies between all the different synthesised voices could be incredible. Who knows, you could get something awesome going – a group touring the country, using their  communication aids to sing to people. Of course, I have no idea how you would start such a choir up, but I thought the idea was worth noting,

I just finished reading I’m Only In It For The Parking by Lee Ridley. I admit it has taken me far longer to get through than it should have, but I’ve fallen out of the habit of sitting down and reading properly. I didn’t give it the attention it quite deserved. Now that I have read it, though, I can see how stupid it was to instantly shun it when I first heard Ridley had published a book. While it isn’t perfect, I’m Only In It For The Parking supplies the general reader with a rare insight into the world of disabled people, and communication aid users in particular.

There is a lot I could say about Ridley’s book. The stage name he has given himself now strikes me as rather ironic: Ridley’s voice is far from ‘lost’. In this book it comes through quite clearly: he uses a simple, approachable tone to explain what life is like for him as a man with cerebral palsy. The experiences he details apply specifically to him, of course, so some of the things he talk about, like having a job or using pens, wouldn’t apply to all of us spastics. I also think his tone can be a bit too lighthearted and jocular at times: Ridley writes as if he is talking to people or doing a comedy gig, which I felt does not really suit the quite weighty subjects he tries to deal with at times. On the other hand, Ridley could just be employing this tone to make issues which might be very foreign to some readers seem more understandable.

Nonetheless, I would go as far as calling Ridley’s book quite a seminal piece of writing on the subject of disability: here we have a first hand account of what life is like for a communication aid user with cerebral palsy, detailing experiences ranging from dating to having epileptic seizures in a way nobody else could. He may have been given an opportunity to write and publish this book on the back of winning an itv talent show, but Ridley has used it to give readers a rare, valuable insight into a subject they may have been totally oblivious to. Far from being lost, Ridley knows precisely where his voice is and uses it to great effect. More power to him, I say.

I just stumbled across an old clip of the Monty Python guys on the Graham Norton show. It was obviously from their 2014 reunion. It had been posted on a Facebook page, so I put a question asking whether they could ever do another reunion show like that. Moments later, someone posted the obvious reply that they couldn’t do such a show without Terry Jones. Of course I had to agree: as cool as I think it would be to see the guys perform the classic sketches once more, they couldn’t do it without Terry J.

That got me thinking, though: If the Pythons can’t perform, who could? Their 2014 Reunion was enormous news, all over the media.  It was five years ago, though. Who else could make such a come back? Are there any other comedy groups or bands whose reappearance would make such a splash? Status Quo? The guys from Blackadder? To be honest I can’t think of any, but we all know we could do with a bit of a comedic distraction right now.

A second tv debate is airing as I type: a second debate for an election very few of us will get a vote in. Should I watch it? What would be the point? I would rather sit here and write blog entries about how pointless such debates are. It’s a complete waste of airtime if you ask me, only a fraction less farcical than the soap opera it replaced.

I must admit I did not watch last night’s debate so I can’t really comment on it. I have no interest in watching five self-righteous, spoiled men talk between themselves, congratulating themselves while being utterly oblivious to the suffering they and their party have caused. I  loathe every one of those men, and the p’tahk who thought himself too  important to be there. They think their class endows them with a right to run the country, yet none of them have any idea how the world really works. What’s the point of watching something when you know it would just make you furious? Why watch a  debate between a  group of highly privileged straight white men making bids for an election most of us can’t vote in? More to the point, how the hell can the uk still call itself a democracy?

Paper drinking straws might be nice and recyclable, but try drinking hot cappuccino through them, particularly if you have a tendency to bite down. Soggy paper straws really are unpleasant to drink through. Unfortunately more and more cafes and restaurants are stocking them rather than old fashioned plastic bendy straws, which are far nicer to use. These days I usually carry one or two reusable thick plastic straws around with me, a habit  I picked up from Lyn, but today I was caught short. I went up to the South Bank just for a walk, and decided to get the Thames Clipper back. On the boat I fancied a coffee.  The coffee was a good one, but, trust me, that’s the last time I leave home without a straw in my bumbag.

Over the last two or three days, I have kept coming across an odd notion which is so utterly implausible it just might be true. Two or three times the idea has cropped up that the Tories could elect Boris simply in order that he can run Brexit into the ground,  and when he does they’ll just  blame the ensuing disaster on him, cancel the whole farce and things can return to normal. Could that be true? I think it just might be: the tories surely  know as well as anyone that Brexit is an utterly stupid idea and always was; if it goes ahead, they and the country will be fucked. They can’t just stop it without looking completely ridiculous, so they  need some kind of scapegoat to blame the whole farce on. Could Boris be that scapegoat? this bumbling, bungling fool, already a laughing stock in the public eye? It’s quite a ridiculous notion, but at the same time, it’s intriguing.

I was watching Mock The Week last night when I was struck by a thought. I’ve almost finished Lee Ridley’s book (I know it has taken me a while). On the whole I think it’s a very good piece of text with lots of valuable insights into the world of people with cerebral palsy who use communication aids. In fact I’d go as far as calling it quite seminal, given how  Ridley uses gentle humour to introduce people into what you might call ‘our world’. (Of course, it’s not without it’s faults, and I could say a lot more about it, but perhaps I’ll leave that for another entry).. Last night, though, a thought came to me: could it now be possible to see a communication aid user like Ridley on a topical news show like Mock The Week? How cool would that be? After all, ‘we’ have as much to say about the issues of the day as anyone else. Thanks in large part to people like Ridley, communication aid users are gaining a bigger and bigger foothold in the mainstream media. I didn’t watch it, but Francesca Martinez also apparently made an outstanding appearance on Question Time last   night too. With guys like Lee Ridley and  Ted Shires on the assurgent, surely it’s only a matter of time before we see them going toe to toe with the likes of Ian Hislop and Paul Merton.

If you ever wondered who invented smoking weed, according to this, it was the Chinese about 2500 years ago. I suppose it had to originate somewhere, but that doesn’t mean the Tories can blame them for their failings.

If you’re as worried as  I am about the erosion of minority rights in the current political climate, I recommend checking this Owen Jones article out. Truth be told it’s a tough read, but jones outlines how the human rights of LGBTQ people are gradually being worn away and how homophobic and transphobic attacks are becoming more and more common. What vestiges of equality that had been achieved was hard fought for, but due to the resurgence of populism, the clock  is being pushed back.

As Jones puts it:  “Join the dots, look at the direction of travel: progress in LGBTQ rights has not simply ground to a halt, it is screeching into reverse. This is Pride month, but let us not have commercialised parades, pinkwashing dubious corporations, celebrating “progress”. Let’s have rage, courage and determination – because LGBTQ rights are under threat, and history shows that the only remedy is to fight back.”

Whether you’re LGBTQ or not, whether you’re a member of a minority or not, I think we should all be worried about the direction western culture is currently heading in.

Something tells me this will be well worth checking out when it airs on Channel 4 next week. A new adaptation of Catch 22, staring George Clooney, is on it’s way, and I must say it feels very timely indeed. What more fitting reaction could there be to an utterly absurd era than a story about the most absurd era of them all. In a way we are all currently in Yossarian’s predicament, trapped in an insane situation, unable to escape. Claim to be mad, and you must be sane. That’s certainly true: then as now, how  could any sane  person not recognise real madness when they see it?

As depressing and bleak as it is, I’d be a negligent blogger if I didn’t flag this Guardian article up. In it, Francis Ryan argues  that  the rights disabled people fought so hard to gain, from accessible public transport to independent living, are now being  eroded under the guise of austerity and  helped by the distraction of Brexit. ” Longstanding cultural prejudice around disability, combined with the demonising rhetoric of austerity, has exacerbated a sense of difference in society; an othering that perpetuates the idea that disabled people aren’t quite normal, or don’t want a life, a family, a home or an education like everyone else.” Sadly, I fear she is right

What is a city? What differentiates a city from a town, or a town from a village? I used to think London was enormous until I visited Delhi; and I used to think Manchester was huge before I moved to London. What, then, defines a city? And what makes a city great? Could it be it’s population? It’s architecture? It’s culture? To be honest I find such questions fascinating; it’s part of the reason I love to travel. Every city across the world is unique; each has it’s own character. I daresay this may have been what the great Walter Benjamin was getting at, at least in part.

What, then, defines a city, and what makes a city great? What makes a city stand out to the world? Think Paris, London, New York. Everyone knows about such cities, even if they have never visited them. What is it about these places which makes them such world cultural centres? I have been thinking about this quite a lot recently, and I think we need to celebrate such things more. Every city is unique and astonishing; we need as a community to celebrate that. The olympics pull the world’s focus onto one specific city through sport every four years; perhaps something similar can be done through culture. Of course, a city can be great without ever hosting the Olympic games – New York being an obvious example – but why can’t we let the world explore itself, one city at a time? Each metropolis could show itself off to the world through an artistic and cultural festival, televised across the planet. Perhaps then we would all see how similar we are, as well as how wonderfully diverse.

Every city could put on shows and events; there could be opening and closing ceremonies. Such events could function as a type of joint world exploration, with audiences brought into each city and shown what it contributes to the world culturally. They could happen every four years or so (probably not the same year as the olympics, though). The olympics is fine, but whereas it focusses on running and jumping and stuff, I reckon we need to establish an artistic equivalent alongside it, just as big, but dedicated to a city’s creative side. After all, art holds just as much cultural value as sport, if not even more. Such an event would also have the advantage of requiring less custom-built infrastructure, as most cities, especially larger ones, will already have theatres and cinemas in place.

Yet such events shouldn’t be just confined to the big metropolises. Cities like London and Tokyo get to host the olympics because they’re rich. This cultural olympiad, or whatever it will be called, will probably be much cheaper to put on, meaning places which might not be quite as wealthy could participate. Imagine how fascinating it would be to celebrate the culture of a city like Delhi or Cairo or Havana.

Of course, this is just another of my crazy ideas: how such an event would work practically would be anyone’s guess. Would people watch it without the thrill of competition? Would cities want to participate?  If other countries are to send delegations, as they do in the Olympic games, what would they contribute? Yet surely the idea of bringing everyone together and drawing the world’s focus onto a city in order to explore and celebrate it’s culture is a cool one.

I don’t give a rat’s ass what drugs Gove or Johnson claim to have taken in their effort to look cool,  more human or whatever stunt they’re trying to pull.  The fact is they’re still trying to force the far more  serious crime of Brexit upon us; trying to strip us off our consumer rights and turn the uk into a neoliberal hell. No  matter how much they try to distract us, no matter how much they attempt to appear personable, approachable, ‘down with the kids’ or whatever, we must not forget what these arseholes are trying to force upon us.

East London is beginning to feel more and more like Manhattan. I took myself up to the Olympic park today, just for my usual Saturday afternoon walk. I still like going up there, but what used to be a relatively green, open space is now a building sight. The plan is apparently to establish a new community there, complete with schools and shops, but I can’t help thinking that would make it just like any other part of London. The Olympic park should have remained a park; the area is now completely different to how it was  in 2012. The same goes for the area around North Greenwich. Of course a city is a city, and I must remember that such perpetual redevelopment is part of it’s nature. Yet it still seems a shame that an area which felt like a nice open park not long ago now feels like just another high-rise housing estate.