Tony Blair can never be forgiven for dragging the UK into an illegal war in Iraq, and I’m sure I’m not alone in thinking that, but his recent comments on Europe are spot on. Brexit must be fought. We are told we must ”respect the result”, but that result was achieved by the narrowest of margins and based on a series of lies. We were conned, and our human rights and liberal values are at risk because of it. Of course brexit must be fought; it must be fought at all costs, tooth and nail. I don’t want to see British society transformed into a capitalist hell, where the rich walk all over the poor and the strong are free to dominate the weak. So I’m with Blair on this one; he has my full backing. At least someone is standing up against the coming tide of bigotry and persecution.

My mum and dad gave me a lot of Marvel films for christmas, in response to me saying that I wanted to find something new to get into. I keep intending to bung them in my dvd drive and start watching. I was about to do so a few days ago, but I thought I’d do some Googling first. What I found was intriguing: a plethora of new characters and narratives, captured not in good old prose or film, but in a visual language I’d never considered before. Like most people, I suppose, I’d always dismissed comics/graphic novels as being for children; but if you think about it, it’s an artform unto itself – a completely unique way of telling stories. The images are static, yet combine to form a narrative. The images incorporate text, but text is only one component of the form. Thus comic strip exist somewhere between prose and film. My initial searches were only cursory, but what I wonder now is, is there any kind of theory or analysis associated with this artform, as there is with literature and film? Just how seriously can one take it?

Although it’s conclusions might be a bit too pessimistic, even for me, I think this brexit related New York Times article is worth flagging up. It points out quite correctly that the Brexiteer’s plans for post-eu britain are based entirely on fantasy; a nostalgia for a global, imperial britain which is long dead. The outists keep telling us how we’ll trade with the world, asif we were still somehow a superpower. The reality, of course, is far far different; the true prognosis far bleaker. The article forecasts we’ll turn in on ourselves, cut off from the world, and become some sort of authoritarian state with an economy based on exporting jam, biscuits and cheese: ”Britain, it seems, is in danger of becoming the world’s largest church fete.” That might be pushing it a bit far, but it’s certainly true that we’ll soon be ruing the day when we chose to believe the outists’ lies. Things might be okay for now, but that won’t last. I only hope we see sense and turn back before it’s too late.

I can be a cheeky sod sometimes. Yesterday we were down in Woolwich, filming. I’m very pleased to report that the short we’re making for lifeline is going really well. Shooting started yesterday, and it was my first time working with a proper, professional actor. It felt so cool to hear him speak lines I had written.

One of the locations we wanted to use was General Gordon Square – a large public square near the famous market. We were just setting up to shoot, deciding on the specifics etc, when one of the community wardens came over. She asked us what we were doing, so we told her. She then asked whether we had permission to film. We didn’t, so everyone then began to pack up and start looking for somewhere else.

I, however, had an idea: I decided to try to play the cripple card. I wheeled up to the warden and typed into my Ipad how I wanted to make a film for my mum, and about how it was important we did it there. The warden was, however, having none of it; she gave me one of those Saccharin, patronising smiles I usually loathe, and totally ignored me.

I suppose you could say it was highly hypocritical for me to do that. After all, I often rail against being infantilised, so perhaps for me to invite it in such a way was a bit rich. It seemed worth a try, though – one must surely use all the weapons available to you. If she had bought it and let us stay and film, it would have got us out of a bind. By that point, though, the guys were already packing up ready to move on, so I leet it drop. As I see it, though, there must be some advantages of looking like me.

How do you solve a problem like 2024? How can the IOC choose between Paris and Los Angeles when it has to decide who gets to host the 2024 olympics this September? The question still intrigues me, as it seems to me there is a hell of a lot of national pride riding on this decision. Both cities have lost out numerous times; but they are both places their respective countries are extremely proud of. I think Paris is still bitter after losing out to London in 2005, and LA equally thinks it’s their turn to host. Whoever the committee go with, then, the other city and their respective country will feel slighted. The problem is, the IOC cannot afford to create such losers; they don’t want to piss either the USA or france off, as there is a good chance they would give up and stop bidding altogether. After all, even bidding isn’t cheap. So what do they do?

Easy: award them both games: one city can have the ’24 games, and the other ’28. According to this, that’s exactly what they’re planning to do. I must admit, I’m a little disappointed, as I was quite looking forward to one of those tense, highly emotional moments when one of the world’s greatest cities is chosen over another. Were they to go with Paris and one gets to behold the americans in a strop. Go with LA and it would be 2005 all over again. And we Londoners would just get to sit here and watch the fireworks, knowing that we beat them both, our olympics already being done and dusted.

This solution, however, means we miss out on that moment of schadenfreude, but I must admit it is sensible. The IOC seriously does not want to piss either country off. The question remains, though: who goes first? Who gets 2024 and who gets 2028? Well, that’s easy. The same way you decide who bats first in cricket, and who gets to kick off in football: toss a coin!

Mind you, you have to feel sorry for the third city bidding: poor old Budapest!

Not that I’ve been into a pub for a beer in over six months, a fact of which I’m rather proud, but I can’t help feeling rather sad. I just came across the following image, posted by one of my friends on facebook. The alsager arms was a pub where me and my friends once won the weekly pub quiz two weeks in a row. It was a great place. To see it now so dilapidated is very sad indeed. This image simply does not square with the merry little place I remember, yet I know they are one and the same.

This is probably due to MMU closing alsager campus; they would have lost all the revenue from the students. On top of that, I learned the other day that they have now decided to pull the plug on the Cheshire campus completely: both crewe and alsager are going. The place I owe so much to, the place I made so many friends and happy memories, the place where I became who I am today, is a thing of history. That makes me very sad indeed.

I have just come across this, Ted Shires’ rather astute reaction to some tory p’tahk accusing leftists of having no sense of humour. It arose out of the criticism piled upon some tory boy after he burned a twenty quid note in front of a homeless guy to taunt him. Apparently we were supposed to laugh at that, and the fact we didn’t shows the left have no sense of humour, and that irony and satire are now the preserve of the right. I find that staggering: how can anyone be so crass, so arrogant, so ignorant? Taunting the destitute is funny, is it? This came from a tory mp, someone supposedly running the country. Well, I have news for this scumbag: the reason comedy has always had a leftist slant is because it requires pathos, sympathy and empathy, attributes those on the right seem to totally lack. The left can laugh at the right because they know what they are talking about. When those on the right try to make fun of the left, it quickly descends into childish mockery and name calling, as perfectly demonstrated by the burning of the twenty pound note. That which conservatives call humour is actually vindictiveness; there is no wit to it, only the arrogant parading of their perceived superiority. I must say, I find it truly, truly sickening – who in their right mind could laugh at that.

It’s good to see people still have their senses of humour these days. I think this is worth linking to today, if just for the reason that I think the Trump-as-Mister-Man metaphor really hits the spot. He is an ultimately two dimensional figure: unsophisticated, predictable; he would be comic if he wasn’t so dangerous. He’s also a childish caricature – a grotesque with something cartoonish about him, his villainy and inane arrogance blown out of all sensible proportion. Thus this bit of satire puts him where he belongs – in an infant’s book.

I suppose I have a bit of a problem in that I work myself into such a state that things seem either totally good or totally bad, with nothing in between. I’ve heard this from a couple of people recently: I seem to see the world as black and right, rather than as many shades of grey. Thus, to me, the EU is a truly noble establishment which can do no wrong, and Trump and Farage are embarrassments to humanity with absolutely no redeeming features. Of course, deep down I know this isn’t the case, and that I shouldn’t be so one sided. Things are far less absolute. The EU had many faults, and – who knows? – leaving it could even be a boon. As for Farage and Trump, for the record I do not want them, or anyone else, dead. I’m sure deep down they have some redeeming qualities – maybe Farage likes cricket or something. They just wind me up, and come across as very, very arrogant. Yet I know I should not get so angry with them, and I shouldn’t be so one sided. After all, such absolutism is one of the very reasons I oppose such people in the first place.

It occurs to me that the way we communicate these days may be effecting the way we think. Complex, elaborate ideas often need large chunks of text to explain them, but these days we often try to get ideas across in 140 characters or less. Might this be having an effect on the way we understand the world? Are abstracted, simplified ideas giving rise to the current surge in reactionary politics? It’s perhaps telling that Trump communicates to us most via twitter; his micro-rants are almost designed to provoke maximum controversy. When Marx explained his thinking on capitalism, he did it over several long volumes: it takes time to explain why one reaches the conclusions one does. Today, however, we are just given ‘the bottom line” as it were – no explanation, no reasoning; just a sentence or headline.

The result is a lot of misunderstanding, a lot of anger. People don’t understand the complexities of the world; they don’t even bother to try to understand it. They just get fleeting summaries, and are asked to form opinions on precious little background. Is it any wonder that we understand the world so poorly, and are getting so angry? My theory is – based only on a few observations, mind you – is that Twitter etc is actually affecting the way we think. We know that the form of a message effects how one perceives it’s content, so this might explain quite a bit. Twitter maximises impact while minimising understanding, bringing about a state of affairs where we all react through our guts. It effects the way we think: thought becomes a matter of quickly-made gut reactions rather than reasoned responses come upon through thorough reflection, so we now jump to conclusions, deciding on a position without considering the alternatives.

If more time was taken to read around a subject, I doubt we would be in the mess we currently find ourselves in. Take the referendum, for instance: if we had all taken the time to learn about the EU, the benefits it gave us, the rights it ensured, I have no doubt we would have voted Remain by a landslide. Instead, the decision was made based on reactionary tabloid headlines, tweets, and a bullshit slogan on the side of a bus. The result is the outists won. If people had been given more information, they would no doubt have seen through the lies. But they didn’t: they just went by the short, staccato sentences one finds in the Sun or Daily Mail, and now we’re all screwed.

I might not be right. This is, after all, only a fleeting observation. Yet it seems to me that there could be a lot of truth to it. In these rushed days, it seems like nobody has any time to understand anything, so we just go by punchlines and short sentences. Unfortunately, this makes us all the more easy to manipulate.

You may have noticed me using phrases like ”insults to humanity” and ”embarrassments to human civilisation” when referring to people like Farage or Trump, and I just want to elaborate a bit on what I mean by that. I honestly believe those men embarrass and insult human civilisation. They seem to me to run counter to everything I value in humanity: things like kindness, tolerance and selflessness, which make the world worth living on. These men intend to reverse the progress humanity has made over the last seventy years: they would turn us all into greedy nationalists; blind, unthinking patriots who place our own wants and needs over those of others; and who unthinkingly accept the dogma that one’s own country is somehow innately superior to another. They would have us all thinking  that ”foreigners” are to be viewed as competitors or not trusted altogether, when the only way we can solve the problems of the world is if we work together, putting individual and national differences aside – albeit still valuing that which makes us unique – and work together in equality. To advocate the opposite, to ferment division and contempt between peoples as Trump and Farage do, to value competition and hierarchy over collaboration and equality, is an insult to civilisation itself.

I firmly believe these two men embarrass us all, and bring us all down. They blight us. Just think of what we are capable of: spaceflight; the world wide web. But such awesomeness only comes about when humanity puts our petty differences aside and work as one. Yet Trump and farage would have us all thinking in terms of ”me! Me! Me!” They don’t want humanity to work together; they don’t want us to care about anyone but ourselves. They want greed alone to drive us, and seek to achieve their goals through the most cynical, disgusting forms of lying and manipulation.

We should all be embarrassed that such vile, shortsighted men have risen to such prominence. We’re better than that – better than the hatred they spew or the greed and intolerance they stand for. Human civilisation is something noble, but Trump and Farage would drag it back into the gutter. That’s what I mean when I call such men ”embarrassments” or ”insults to human civilisation”, for, as loathe as I am to presume to speak for all humanity, they stand for things we, as a species, should all be ashamed of.

Today marks ten years since the events I record here happened. I still remember it so vividly: the spur of the moment decision; catching the bus to Crewe; the roll down the lane to Weston; and then those men telling me one of my best friends had gone. It cut me up quite a bit. It just seemed so unfair that Rich would not enjoy the long, full life he deserved. For days after, I didn’t know what to do or think. It still feels wrong, it still upsets me, ten years on. I think this is, in part, what occasioned my reflections a couple of days ago. But what can you do? Life goes on. I think it’s important to mark the occasion, but I better not get too down about it Simmo wouldn’t have wanted that. I’ll be thinking of him today though, and wondering what he’d make of my life here in London.

I decided to stay up slightly later last night to watch a bit of the super bowl; I wanted to get another taste of American football. Needless to say, though, it wasn’t long before I turned the tv off and headed to bed. That sport is so stop-start it quickly gets very irritating.

One thing occurred to me, though. When they started to sing the American national anthem, I inwardly sneered. I usually feel at least some respect, but last night, when the words ”Oh say can you see…” hit my ears, I felt nothing but ridicule. They sang it with such solemnity and seriousness, but to me they seemed like children blurting a particularly cheesy pop song out, to the irritation of the adults around them. How can I respect that country now? How can anyone? It has elected a jackass as a leader; a total joke from reality tv who issues decrees on twitter. The situation is a total farce, and the only thing one can do until the United States sorts itself out is laugh at it. That song now represents a joke; an absurd bunch of morons who have let a reality tv star become their leader. Trump is a man with no idea how the world works or the problems his moronic views will cause; someone so self-important that, when the judiciary try to stop him imposing a clearly illegal and foolish ban on muslims entering the country, he launches into a tirade of abuse. Sorry, America, I no longer respect you, and your anthem and flag are now objects of ridicule for me.

I read this morning that rock legends Black Sabbath played their last ever gig in Birmingham last night. While I won’t pretend to be a Sabbath fan, surely this must be regarded as the end of an era…or is it? So many groups have these final shows these days, only to announce a year or two later, often to great fanfare, that they’re having a reunion or comeback tour, that I can’t help wondering whether they mean it. Does gone really mean gone these days? Have we really seen Ozzy Osbourne sing his last song?

Of course, that does not just apply to Black Sabbath but any group which has been around awhile. Nostalgia, it seems, is good for business. The Comeback tour is now a phenomenon. It revolves around an affinity for the past, and the desire to relive what was thought to have gone. That’s why tickets for the Monty Python reunion sold out so quickly in 2013: people ceased the opportunity to see this legendary comedy group which we all thought was long, long gone.

The question I’m mulling over now is, who’s next? Black Sabbath will probably take it’s time, but they’ll be back – mark my words. In the meantime, which band or group will be next to reunite? Genesis announced their reunion yesterday. The second Python reunion I speculated about a couple of years ago never came about, sadly: cool though it might well have been, I daresay Terry Jones’ dementia puts a final end to any prospect of that happening. Yet their 2014 reunion is proof that any such band or group can get back together – there just has to be an appetite for it. My question now is, which band, comedy group or whatever, would you next like to see reunite? Answers in comments please.

The passage of time has been on my mind quite a bit of late. I find myself reflecting internally on the never-ceasing drum-beat of hours, minutes, days and weeks. I think it began the other day when, to my utter surprise, it turned out that the Daniel I mentioned on here a couple of days ago had in fact been to my school. He was a few years below me, but he knew many of the teachers I did. I thought his name rang a bell. All of a sudden, it felt like my old life had caught up with my new one: places and names I had left up in cheshire sixteen years ago were once again relevant, here in the metropolis. Dan knew the people and seen the sights I had seen; what once seemed distant was suddenly close again.

All this went through my mind this afternoon at powerchair football practice. I’m happy to report I seem to be slowly getting better at it. The chairs they use, specially adapted for ramming big balls around a sports hall, are as powerful as anything. Part of me wants to get one, although I daresay they would be ill suited for the long walks around the concrete suburbs I like to take. Whizzing around that sports hall, though, I felt enormous power at my fingertips, and for a couple of hours I was engrossed. My mind wandered back to school, and then university – after all, some of the drills we did were based on drills I remember watching the first team practice back in my second year.

And then it was time for home. I got back just as Lyn was heading out for a walk, so together we set off for a slow ride to Greenwich. Following my fiancee as we made our way through the darkening streets, I thought about my day, about school, about the life I had left there. About how it had seemed so distant, but had on a happenchance had become relevant again. After all, what are the chances of me meeting a fellow hebden green student down here?

Lyn lead on, up into Greenwich park. Dusk had turned to night, and there, on the very hill where time starts and ends, we beheld one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen. The city lights spread out below us, stretching to the horizon; the river seemed dark and brooding, like a black ribbon snaking through the lights. Time seemed in that moment to stop. The day had been about the past, but here and now was the present. The woman I love, as beautiful as the sight before me, sat beside me. It was she who drew me out of my old world up north and into this brave new one; to this wondrous place where so many incredible things have happened these last seven years. I felt so lucky to be there next to her, looking out over our home as sun set upon the greatest city on earth.

For I am lucky. Dan and I are among the lucky few who get through a special school unscathed. We both left many more behind who were taught not to push theirselves, who were taught to just accept their supposed limitations; or who, dammit, just never lived to see adulthood. That is who I was thinking of this afternoon.

Meeting Daniel had reminded me of them – the guys who never got beyond the school gate, who would never see such beautiful sights or experience the love of a beautiful woman.

I have stopped watching question time on Thursdays – it was just making me too angry. Earlier, though, I got wind of something too nauseatingly ridiculous to ignore. Last night, a woman in the QT audience told the country how, on referendum day last year, she was all set to vote Remain, but changed her mind at the last moment because she decided she objected to EU rules governing the shape of bananas. When I heard that, I threw my arms into the air in disbelief: due to such foolishness, my rights are now under threat; due to such foolishness, this country now stands to become a hell of unregulated capitalist greed, where the privileged few are free to walk all over people like me. So what if our bananas had to be straight? Such standardisation was necessary to ensure fairness and equality. Those who complained about such rules exaggerated the problem, and did so to mislead people. They wanted to cast the EU as an overbearing bogeyman with all it’s silly rules, the better to manipulate people into voting to leave. Fewer rules means fewer consumer rights. It obviously worked. People fell for such crap, and we’ll all soon be suffering because of it.

I just have a couple of pieces of crip-related linkage today. First this by Chris. It’s a nice, short piece reflecting on the process of being stared at. I’ve written about it before, although not for some time: as disabled people, we seem to attract long, curious stares from others, usually people who aren’t used to being around guys like me. As Chris says, it’s an odd, slightly disquieting feeling. You feel insulted and indignant, yet you also know people are just curious. He raises one or two points on the subject I hadn’t considered, such as a parallel with rubbernecking, so it’s worth a read.

Second, on saturday at the powerchair football, I met Daniel. A great fellow, he’s training for the bar. I received an email from him this morning, and he directed me to his website. I thought it, too, was well worth directing your attention to, especially his piece on Magna Carta and legal aid. I may only have met him saturday, but I really look forward to getting to know dan and picking his brains on all kinds of legal matters.

We just got in from one of those lovely little afternoons of coffee and chat. On saturday, Sharon asked me at the wheelchair football if I wanted to meet today in the park. Naturally I accepted her invitation. That place has now very much become my first port of call for my social life: If I want to meet my friends somewhere, the cafe in the park is the first place I suggest. Today I spent a veery pleasant couple of hours there, alone at first, but then joined by Sharon, and then Lyn.

It was good to see her, and I think she was as appreciative of the brew as I was. We seem to share political views, so it was good to get her perspective on this and that. She seems to be as pessimistic (read: objective) as most reasonably well-informed people these days. We agreed that the outlook for the world right now seems rather bleak. Nevertheless, it was quite a cheerful chat, full of laughter and friendship.

When it was over, Lyn and I, both in our powerchairs, went to do a bit of shopping and then rolled back through the park. The city seemed at peace. I am so lucky to live the life I do, full of so many good friends and wonderful people. Afternoons like this make me feel warm and secure. Politics might be screwy right now, but it’s nothing that a good chat over a cup of coffee can’t put right.

It would seem that her majesty is already making plans for trump’s visit.

Believe it or not, even after all this time I still keep an eye on olympic matters. I’m interested in cities as places and destinations, and it seems to me that awarding a city an Olympic games means it becomes the focus of the world’s attention. Thus I’m interested in the bidding process; the competition between cities for the status of being the temporary focal point of human activity.

I just came across this USA Today article. The Americans are very worried that Trump will damage the chances of Los Angeles being awarded the 2024 olympics in September. As the article itself points out, in the grand scheme of things, this is a minor point – there is a lot more serious stuff to worry about these days. Yet, on another level, I get the impression that to the americans, this matters. By 2024 it will be almost thirty years since an American city hosted the olympics. For a people who seem to think they are the most important nation in the world, best at everything, knowing that hurts. They think it’s their turn to put on a show. The problem is, Trump. There is no way the IOC could opt for an American city with Donald’s immigration policies as they are. Even without that, the man’s an object of widespread ridicule and scorn. Awarding America an Olympics would mean the IOC giving trump a dignity and authority which I think they would be reluctant to award him. On the other hand, similar things could be said of La Pen in france: the rise of the front national could seriously effect Paris’s bid too, otherwise I’d be saying the french capital would be a shoe in.

You see now why I’m interested in this process. Of course, it was born of my participation in London 2012, but I have come to believe that olympic bids can be used as a barometer for global opinion and world affairs.

I’m currently in the cafe again, looking out at the rain. Well, what else can one do as the world descends ever towards madness? Things, I fear, are becoming genuinely frightening. We may try to play it down or make light of it, but the president of America is looking more and more like a fascist throwback to the thirties. I may be feeling a bit more cheerful these days, but how could anyone ignore something so alarming, so serious? Making light of trump only goes so far: his stance on immigration is overtly xenophobic and a matter of genuine concern. A lot is now at stake. The problem is, as worried as we all are, there is not much one can do other than to order another coffee and hope for the best.

I think this is worth flagging up today. In it, my friend Chris tries to articulate something I’ve touched upon once or twice on here over the years: the paradox of being called inspirational. Guys like me get it all the time – people come up to us and say we’re oh so great or brave, or whatever other nauseating adjective they want to use, just because we try to get on with life. Lyn and I are essentially just two londoners living in the maelstrom, the same as anyone else; the fact that we both have cerebral palsy does nothing to effect that. We may face our problems and barriers, but what life doesn’t have problems or or barriers? We do not want to inspire people, merely to live as happily and as well as we can.

A great point raised there by chris; and to be thinking about such matters while on holiday in Cuba is impressive.

I seem to be gradually recovering my cheeriness. While the world at large still seems to be contentedly driving itself over the edge of a cliff, the last few days has seen me feeling rather upbeat and light. I have found myself remembering all the great things I’ve done in the past, and wondering what awesome things might happen in the future. I’ve been thinking about inconsequential, trivial things again, such as stuff to do with Star Trek and James bond, just as I always used to. The last few days have seen the return of my merry, contented little squeaks and squeals, as I think about things which make me happy. I don’t know why this happened: perhaps it is a coping strategy in response to how depressing everything is getting; perhaps it was just time. But I’m glad it did, as it means I can get back to thinking about all the great things there are to think about, such as the projects I mentioned yesterday, rather than getting angrier and angrier at how screwed up everything is becoming.

I suddenly find myself with quite a bit to do. Last night saw the initial planning meeting of this year’s Charlton and Woolwich Free Film Festival, and I’ve already started to prepare my contribution for that. On top of that, I’m writing the scripts for a project with Chocolate Films as well as helping to edit a Londoners film. It really is ”Go! Go! Go!” for me these days, and frankly I’m thrilled. I’m working on film, which is what I always wanted to do. While part of me is worried about how I’ll be able to keep track of it all, I know as long as I stay focused and keep my wits about me, it shouldn’t be that bad. I trotted out a script this morning, then this afternoon did a bit of planning. Now it’s off to asda to get stuff for dinner. I’m busy, but I feel I’m being useful and productive. I love it!

I think I need to flag this up today. Fascinating news on the communication aid front: researchers in america are developing VOCAs with regional accents. They have developed a database of voices, taking samples from as many people from different areas and of as many ages as possible, so that people like myself can have the accent associated with the area they come from. I say it’s about time! Back at uni, it was a long-running joke to ask why I had an American accent. At least with this new tech I would be able to sound like the Cheshire lad I am, or perhaps adopt a south-east London twang when I need to blend in down here.

As you can probably guess, I’m pretty glad that the government lost it’s appeal today: they shouldn’t have been trying to push through brexit without consulting parliament in the first place. Yet, to a certain extent, it was also pointless: the referendum is over and the people have made their decision, however misguided or illinformed I or those like me may think that decision is. Parliament will now have to scrutinise brexit: it must now go through all the legislation we got from the Eu, now so interwoven into our own, in a process that will take years. Yet the eventual outcome remains inevitable: the outists will get their way, and out we must come.

There is one ray of light I got from watching the tv coverage of this earlier, though. My biggest concern about leaving was we would abandon human rights legislation. Minorities and women get so much protection under EU law, which I feared would be in jeopardy once we leave. I thought the outists were seeking to create a capitalist utopia where the rich were free to walk all over the poor, and human rights were something only wealthy, able-bodied white men enjoyed. However, earlier I heard Ken clarke say that much of that human rights legislation will now be incorporated into our own law, and that is what will take so much time. That reassured me. I believe him: after all, most of those rules came from the uk anyway, and the vast majority of MPs are reasonable people who know the value of such rights. If we can keep the protections of our human rights we currently enjoy under the EU, then maybe things won’t be so bad. Mind you, I still suspect that many of the right-wingers who clamoured so hard to leave did so because they thought such rules get in the way of their money-making, and will fight tooth and nail against any attempt to retain it. Brexit may be delayed and it may now be scrutinised, but these bastards are as determined as ever to see their nationalist, ultra capitalist hell realised.

Believe it or not, before last night I had never seen trainspotting. I realise that is an awful confession for a film buff like me to make, but nonetheless it’s true. My parents thought it was too adult for me to watch when it came out, and I never got round to watching it after that: I suppose it just crept under my radar. However, last night I finally managed to see Boyle’s classic, and thought it magnificent. I had prepared myself for a bit of a tough watch, so I was surprised how much humour there was in it. Don’t get me wrong: Trainspotting is a very dark film which certainly pulls no punches; but there are hints of a dark, almost tragic humour in it. It is a gritty, raw expose of how people on the fringes of society live; but it is not done without pathos, and with a kind of knowing irony I found captivating. The central characters might be aimless vagabonds without hope, but they sort of know they are. There is a sort of cynicism in the way the characters know this isn’t the way they should behave, but they behave as they do anyway. They refuse to buy into the sanitised, sugar-coated image we’re all sold of how things are supposed to be. My hat goes off to Danny Boyle for making this film, for being so perceptive and astute. Now all I have to do is give it a second viewing, before watching the sequel as soon as possible.

I’m sure i’m not the only one to have noticed how Trump is attempting to vilify the media. This morning the nutcase was trying to make out that thousands more people came to his inauguration than attended the protests against him, and that the press were only trying to tell us otherwise because they have some kind of agenda against him. While this is clearly not the case – the photos of the respective crowds speak for themselves – it occurs to me that this type of allegation may be part of Trump’s overall strategy. He’s trying to turn people against the press. By getting people to think that the press are out to get him, Trump can characterize any and all criticisms of him as ad hominen and part of an agenda. Thus, whatever anyone says, no matter how badly the buffoon fucks up, he’ll just claim that it’s just the press out to get him. In doing so, he makes himself immune from any criticism: whatever happens, trump is always right and those who say otherwise just do so out of spite. He is trying to play us, manipulate us; it’s as if he wants to be America’s only source of information, and for everyone to disregard anything which runs counter to what he says. I only hope others see this too, and refuse to fall for such a cheap, puerile trick.

While some may well find it silly, I think this article is worth flagging up. It argues that the future predicted by Star Trek seems, roughly speaking, to be coming true. Trek canon states that, before the space-faring utopia it depicts comes about, humanity will go through a catastrophic third world war in which six hundred million people die. That is almost exactly what the world seems to be now gearing itself up for; as pessimistic as it sounds, with the inauguration of that deranged idiot yesterday, on top of brexit and the growth of hard-line nationalism, I cannot help thinking that humanity is now heading for a very bad place. At least we trekkies have Roddenberry’s vision of the future to klingon to – the hope that humanity will come out the other end of armageddon united, tolerant and ready to explore the galaxy together.

America is ashamed of itself…

And so it bloody well should be. Electing trump (okay, it didn’t, but you know what I mean) has turned it into a joke, and the only way it’s dignity and standing in the world can be restored is if that halfwitted wretch is booted from office immediately.

If anyone ever doubts that shakespeare is still relevant today, send them to this wondrous little film.

I just watched the inaugural oath and speech of the US presidency being uttered by a man totally unfit and without right to do so. To be fair, I must say that some of what trump just said struck me as okay: after all, isn’t delivering power and accountability back to the working class exactly what we on the left want? But then he strayed into protectionism, delivering cliche after vapid cliche after putting america first, and my fury returned in an instant. The fact is, the most powerful, influential nation on earth is now governed by a man with no idea whatsoever of what he is doing; who thinks he can spout whatever brainless nonsense he wants over twitter and everyone will love him; who wants to slash taxes for his rich friends while ransacking the state, and to turn the states into a protectionist, isolationist monstrosity. Trump intends to reverse the progress Obama made in healthcare and climate change legislation. How can this buffoon be allowed to inflict his backwards, draconian ideas on America. Surely sooner or later, something will need to be done to replace this egotistical reality television show host with someone who knows what they are doing.

We have reached the point where, tomorrow, a complete buffoon will take the famous oath of allegiance and become arguably the most powerful man on earth. I expect the event to be utterly vulgar and self-serving: as big as an olympic opening ceremony, but geared entirely to the promotion of one man. How the hell did we get to this point? It’s a total farce: the guy isn’t even a politician, but an overprivileged egomaniac whose sole intention is self promotion. He has no idea how to run a country, yet there he is posing behind he desk of the Oval Office. We have two options left to us: either we despair, descending into worry at what the future holds; or we can sit back and break into a cheesy grin. All one can do sometimes is laugh at the absurdity of it all; we have no power to change anything. The situation is Pythonesque, and all we need now is for a big giant foot to drop from the sky with a big fart sound. That would certainly make the inauguration tomorrow memorable.

As far as I am concerned, this story represents quite a victory for wheelchair users like myself. ”A disabled man has won a Supreme Court case after a dispute with a woman with a buggy over wheelchair space on a bus.” I just heard it on the radio in the coffee shop, and whizzed back to note it here. It means that buggies will have to give way to wheelchair users on busses. It’s quite an ongoing dispute. I’ve lost count of the times I haven’t been able to get onto a bus because a buggy or two was in the wheelchair space, and the mums refused to move them. While it is technically still a matter of the driver’s judgement, at least now we have a decision from the Supreme Court to cite.

I don’t have much to say tonight. I don’t even want to contemplate how hideous things are getting in the wider world, so to cheer myself up I think I’ll just share this great picture, taken this weekend in crewe. I wrote the other day about how special it was to see my old friend Esther. A visit to her was overdue, and probably made my weekend.

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I’m on my train south, heading home to London. It has been an outstanding weekend, and a long overdue one. Seeing Esther at last was brilliant, and it must be said that my parents have totally spoiled me this weekend. At the same time I am looking forward to getting back to lyn. While I think I needed this weekend, my life as a Londoner awaits me. I’m looking forward to asking her about David Icke, and to cracking on with the films I’m supposed to be helping to make. Lots to look back on, then, but also tons to look forward to. Now that my stomach has been filled to the brim with mums delicious cooking, I feel recharged and ready to go.

I think I’ve mentioned on here before that I Skype my parents every Sunday morning: it’s sort of a standing tradition we have. It felt wired to find myself on the other side of the webcam today. I go back to charlton tomorrow, so today I was with my parents when they spoke to my brothers. It was great to see them both, as I don’t really speak to them much. Luke is doing really well, but what was really cool was the game of webcam hide and seek we just played with my nephew Oliver. He is growing up fast, and becoming quite a handful for his mum and dad. Looking at his bright face on the screen, I realised that pretty soon I need to organise getting myself to France. It’s high time uncle Matt, and possibly aunt Lyn, payed them a visit. Webcam chats are awesome, but, as this weekend has shown me, sometimes you just have to go see someone, especially when it comes to family.

We just got back from Crewe. I know they say you should never get too close to your support staff, but to me, Esther is far more than one of my old personal assistants. While you’ll understand when I say that I want to keep the precise details of this afternoon between us, I just want to record that what happened this afternoon was long overdue. Seven years had passed and we had a lot of catching up: Esther still supports students at college; she told me that much has changed since I was there. At the same time, it seemed like only days had passed since we had last seen each other: Esther looked exactly as I remembered her, and she told me that I had barely changed too.

Our two hours flew by, and our long overdue meeting ended all too soon. Esther is one of my best friends, and I realised how much I missed her. We exchanged gifts, and I gave a copy of my thesis. After all, she put so much work into it, so it only seemed right. As I stepped out her front door, I made a promise to myself: before the year is over, Esther will have had a coffee with me in charlton park. That, too, is long overdue.

I’m currently sat in the conservancy of the old family house. I came up by train yesterday: it was time for another visit ‘home’. Apart from a few different nicknacks on the shelves, the place is pretty much as I left it.

Today will probably be a quiet, uneventful day – I don’t want to intrude on my parents too much by insisting they take me here, there and everywhere. But tomorrow…tomorrow will be special. I’ve arranged to go visit Esther in Crewe. I haven’t seen my old learning support assistant in seven years. Of course, we chat quite often over facebook, but since I moved to London I haven’t seen her. The woman who helped me through my degree and set me on my way in my masters; the Esther of a thousand coffees and lunchtime chats; .the only person in the world who I could discuss James Bond with without being frowned at; that’s who I will see tomorrow.

Sat here in the conservatory, so many photos look down on me: graduation photos, wedding photos, photos of my nephew and niece. So much has happened in the last seven years – so many awesome, awesome things- that I can’t wait to tell Esther. Where will I begin? The Olympics? Python? The cafe in the park? Guy, our cat? I can’t wait to chat with her about Happy and Glorious. I want to tell her all about London, all about charlton; all about life in that chaotic, insane maelstrom so different to the quiet world up here. I have so many stories to tell her. She might read my blog, in which case she may know a few of them already. But there is so much more.

I am, I suppose, a different man to who I was seven years ago. Indeed it feels like the entire world has changed since I last saw my old friend. I’m a Londoner now, and London changes people. At the same time, I’m still me, Matt: blogger, filmmaker and bum. The question is, will Esther recognise me? Will I recognise Esther? I suppose we will see tomorrow.

I still say it’s high time I found something else to fixate upon. I recently decided it was high time I stopped feeling so miffed about everything. Sure, a lot of shit is happening in the world right now, but, if you think about it, either bastards will get defeated or they won’t be. If brexit is aq crap as they say it will be, it will be reversed. If not, then it won’t be that crap. Either way, things will turn out for the best. Time, then, for me to calm down and chill out about it.

Time for me to find something cooler to think about. Throughout my life, I’ve had these little obsessions: things I get fixated upon and worked up about. The three big ones, of course, are James Bond, Star Trek and Lord of the Rings. I also now have events I keep thinking about; special things like watching monty python live and meeting Patrick Stewart which show me how awesome life can get.

But now they need to be topped. If things can get that cool, they can surely get even cooler. How such mind bogglingly awesome events could possibly be bettered I’m not yet sure, but it’s time to find out. I’m fed up with getting angry about farage, trump, and all the stupid crap going around. Time for me to remember how wonderful my life is: to feel again the pridle I felt shaking Patrick Stewart’s hand, or the feeling of sheer overwhelming privalege I felt that afternoon backstage at the Paralympic closing ceremony. What could do that I’m not sure, but going by passed experience something awesome is bound to come along soon enough.