I’m not sure what I would do with it, nor in fact how much it costs, where to get it or whether any are still available, but I would love to have the bond prop mentioned in this review. Setting aside the fact that other pieces of Bond memorabilia – an aston martin car, for instance – might be more practical, this replica of the famous ‘golden gun’ appears so well made and so authentic that I simply and absolutely desire it. It would look so good on my book shelf.

I suppose the line between a good idea and a total waste of time can sometimes be quite fine. My grandmother lives in north London and, knowing that my uncle and aunt are currently staying with her, and seeing that it was quite a bright day, this morning I decided to pay them a surprise visit. They are planning to visit us at the weekend, so I thought it would be a good opportunity to make sure all the arrangements are in place.

Perhaps it is testimony to London’s sheer vastness that I rarely go up there. Despite a near enough direct tube line there, it takes over an hour to get to my grandmother’s. But it is christmas, and she keeps asking ŵhen I will visit her. Looking back I should have emailed my uncle first to make sure they were in, but I am me, and I like being spontaneous and quirky.

Of course, the predictable thing happened: they weren’t in. I got to that old front door I know so well, rang the bell, and waited, and waited, but nobody appeared. The cries of surprise and joy I was looking forward to hearing from my grandmother never sounded, and there was little I could do but start the long trip home.

Only, getting back proved far more difficult than getting there. Somehow I lost the way back to the station, kilburn having two or three such places. I became lost, and cursed myself for ever having the idea. Eventually, though, I found my way, but not before getting caught by a couple of vicious showers. Oh well, another misadventure to chalk up to experience, but at least I have seen a little more of this vast, sprawling maelstrom I call home.

The entire country seems to be getting into a tizzy over the wave of Bulgarian and romanan immigrants we can expect in the coming months. Farage et al are, of course, whipping up xenophobic fears, forgetting the fact that much of our economy is based on so-called foreigners coming here,, working hard and building up businesses. Farage claims that immigration puts some kind of pressure upon society, causing tension. Putting aside his other dubious claims, I find this claim the most objectionable. He is effectively claiming that migrants themselves cause xenophobia, that xenophobes themselves aren’t to blame for their hatred, and that people have a right to resent migrants. I might not have explained that very well, but the social tensions ffarage alludes to is surely the animosity some people feel towards migrants, for which farage blames the migrants themselves. In effect he is dressing xenophobia up as something legitimate; I find that disgusting and hope others see it. I hope too that others are as proud to live in such a vibrant, diverse society as I am.

Anyway, happy new year!

We can all appreciate how wonderful the internet is for keeping in touch. Every morning the first thing I do is check my email, then Facebook. I love how easily I can keep track of old school and university friends. Yesterday afternoon, for example, I was exchanging messages with lee donnelly, a good friend whom I have known since we were both ten. Doing so is important to me, given that the number of my classmates is now fast dwindling.

I was messaging lee, though, from my iPad as I was going about my business in lower Charlton. I popped in to say hi to a guard I know at a factory down there. It transpired during the conversation that he has a son with a severe disability – a kind of severe PMLD. On my way home, I suddenly thought about Kirsty again. I have mentioned her on here before, a long time ago. I wonder how she is, and what became of her. I can’t think of a way of finding out as she probably can’t access the internet. It occurred to me that she, too, may have passed on. A gloomy thought, especially in the festive season; yet I tend to wonder. These days we are used to being able to google a name and find someone, but what about people to leave no trace, shut away in special schools, and now probably in an institution.

Coming back up the hill yesterday evening, returning to the home and woman I love, I thought about a girl I knew once, hoping she could communicate and was thriving. For all I know, she might even be reading this blog. If she is, I wish her my best, and ask her to email me.

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Hamburg, 1936; during the celebration for the launch of a ship. In the crowd, one person refused to raise his arm to give the Nazi salute. The man was August Landmesser. He had already been in trouble with the authorities, sentenced to two years hard labor for marrying a Jewish woman. (text and image from facebook)

Feeling like a fun afternoon packed pub and crowded street

Football match around the corner

Who knows who I’ll meet

***

Cold, but sunny and dry building up a thirst for a beer a sense of excitement in the air building with every cheer

***

A roll around south london Through streets I now know well past every bar and every pub and every old man with a tale to tell

***

So here’s to life in charlton the chaos and the strife full of madness it might be

But also full of life.

As I was with my review of the first instalment, there is not much I can say about the second part of The Hobbit. I just got home from seeing it at Bexleyheath, and all I can really say is found it stretched out and altogether quite unnecessary. It has no beginning, and absolutely no end; there is quite a lot of backstory, and quite a lot of fighting, but on the whole did not move the overall plot on much. I got the impression that Jackson could easily have stuck to his original pan of just making two films,, but stretched it into three to make more money. Thus I must say I was disappointed, but nevertheless I am now really looking forward to chapter three

I rewatched Midnight In Paris last night, and must say I was much more taken with it this time. A film all about nostalgia, in a way it could be seen as Woody Allen’s love letter to paris, or a romanticised vision of the past which he admits to romanticising. I found it fascinating as well as beautiful: ever since I heard about Hemingway – or, rater, the myth of Hemingway – I too have yearned to go back to that period, to see those guys for myself. I loved how they were depicted in the film: the level-headedness of Gertrude Stien, the lunacy of zelda fitzgerald, the directness of Hemingway. I found myself falling in love with that myth all over again.

As soon as it was over I ran into the living room and asked Lyn if we could move to Paris. Needless to say, she did not seem impressed with the idea. I was of course enacting the very thing the film shows to be folly – there is little point to nostalgia, for there were no golden ages. The more I think about that film, the more taken I am by it. I think I’ll definitely have to watch it again soon; it makes some fairly subtle points about art, history, and even film. I think I also need to engage with Hemingway again, as the film showed me things about the old bastard I’d missed. I’m now pretty sure he would loathe the waffling, verbose prose I churn out, Yet I’m fascinated by his attempt to cut writing down to the essential, the very essence of what you are trying to express. Everything else, I’m sure he would say, is bullshit.

This film made me think about such things again, and I can’t now get it out of my head. That, of course, is the mark of a good film – I loved it.

More on this soon, I’m sure.

It is quite a cold day here, but I thought I would take advantage of the dry weather and go for a stroll. The roads are chaos out there – there has been some kind of accident up by the river, so everything is snarled up. Sometimes there are advantages to using pavements. Anyway, somewhere around woolwich I had yet another of my random ideas: would it be possible to set up a real disability-themed night-club?* Could such a place actually work? And could I myself do it, perhaps with Lyn’s help. Certainly there are plenty of disused buildings here in south London we could make use of; and certainly it would help raise the profile of people with disabilities.

I suppose the first question you have to ask is whether such a place is necessary. There are plenty of night clubs around, although not all of them are accessible; why shouldn’t we just party alongside everyone else rather than building or own establishment? On the other hand, it could be useful to have a permanent space in which to show off crip culture, where disabled people can meet and socialize. The paralympics last year began the work of showing the world what a great, vibrant culture disabled people have – could that now be translated into bricks and mortar. I know that other sites are springing up in which all kinds of artists with disabilities show off their work, but none of them has the unique vibrancy of a night-club, so such a place would be unique. It would be a place where disabled and non-disabled people could meet, drink, talk and party; there would be disabled musicians, DJs, comedians and performers; the decor would be disability themed. The ultimate aim would be to have disability fade into the background, so it becomes normal.

Of course, I know nothing about running a night-club, let alone setting one up, so this is probably just a fanciful daydream. I don’t have the capital anyway. Nevertheless I do think this is a good idea, and that there is a need for such a place; this could be worth exploring.

*I know something similar apparently ‘exists’ in online game Secondlife, but given that nobody takes such online phenomena seriously, what I have in mind is far more concrete an would have a much more profound message.

Today we mark the coming of the Green Man, an ancient deity connected with fertility and/or death. The figure, usually that of a man with a large beard, was adopted into judeo-christian mythology: the midwinter festival most of us are celebrating today has very little to do with jesus of Nazareth. Indeed, as far as I can make out, most contemporary accounts place his birth sometime in spring. Thus this festival is all about the green man, whose green suit was turned red by a certain soft drinks company and who now gives out gifts. Just some random information really, but it strikes me as funny, as we tick into our turkey and guzzle down port, how such things come about. We aren’t celebrating the festival we think.

I still haven’t finished my book. I probably should have read it by now, given I got it last week. But it is theory, and I would prefer to give it my undivided attention for long periods, and I haven’t had chance recently. However, today I would like to make a note of a strange coincidence which occurred to me recently at school. I noticed how children with quite severe autism tended to like short clips of film: they seemed to prefer moments of action rather than extended sequences. We were in class, just going through a few YouTube clips, so I might have just imagined this liking given such clips are usually short. Yet it raised a question in my head. Could it be that people with autism are drawn towards cinephiliac moments by default, albeit via some other mechanism? Of course, the two phenomena are worlds apart: the cinephiliac moment is a moment in film upon which a viewer fixates, often writing about it, describing it. Much has been written about it, and the reasons behind such fixations are incredibly complex. Yet cinephiles describe how they are drawn to moments in film, replaying them over and over again; to see these kids at school echoing the activity of cinephiles struck me as odd.

At first I just dismissed it as coincidence. Film theory and autism are worlds apart, and I was linking two unrelated things similar only on the most superficial level. But am I grasping at straws, or is there something to this? After all, these moments are often based upon contingent or peripheral detail, and we know that people with autism fixate on small minutiae others often dismiss. I know next to nothing about autism, so this might be just another of my wild, baseless ideas, but I think it could be worth looking into, if just to rule it out.

I stumbled over Wholock a couple of weeks ago, and automatically assumed it was the beeb playing around with two of it’s major series in aid of children in need or something. But according to this Metro piece, it was made by a fan. My initial reaction was: ‘that’s not possible’. Watch the film – surely the beeb jus got benedict cumberbatch and matt smith together for a couple of days and filmed it; I was totally convinced. Yet apparently not: it was a fan-made, sewn together mash up. If that is so — and part of me still refuses to believe it – it is the greatest bit of fan-editing ever, and a jaw-dropping example of just how advanced the skills of fan-artists have become.

Today I just want to congratulate my friends Matt (aka Switch) and Nicky on getting married today. I know them from university, where they met and formed a relationship. I daresay they make a great couple – both are highly intelligent, creative, and just a tad geeky. Here’s hoping that they have a great day, followed by many great years together. I really must hook up with them soon.

Cold concrete, warm within.

My wheels whir as I ‘walk’ Through the streets, crowded, yet also desolate, as only the streets of a metropolis

Can be.

For where but in a city can you pass the cite of such a murder and see people drive by as they always had?

***

It’s bitter out there;

But in here, dry and warm.

My love as I left her

She shelters me from the contradictions of the city: Her affection a fire – a glowing blaze banishing the dark, the solitude, the endemic mistrust of the metropolis.

***

The cold rain falls

blurring the street lights. They are oddly pretty just as the city has it’s odd beauty:

vibrant and warm but an illusion in the cold rain

Their light barely hides the dark of the city.

Further to my entry about her work as a channel four introducer last week, this evening I’d just like to direct you here, to Kate’s own account of her experiences. I don’t want to say much about it – Kate is perfectly able to speak for herself – but I think it is well worth a read, and raises some very good points about the issues we communication aid users face.

Call me a sore looser if you wish, but I am seriously considering lodging an official protest concerning the Australian cricket team and the outcome of the ashes this season. Given the appalling behaviour of the Australians, both on and off the field of play, I believe the season should be rendered void and the urn kept by England. Outclassed and outplayed though they may have been, the English conducted themselves with far more respect and dignity; in contrast, the australians were hostile and aggressive, conducting themselves in the lowest manner. In short, Australia did not deserve to win. Therefore I demand the outcome of this ashes series should be rendered void and the urn retained by England.

I love books, or rather I claim I do. I have plenty, yet I must confess I rarely sit down to read them – I always seem to get distracted. However, the last two days have been different, for yesterday I bought my first ebook, and was instantly converted. No more struggling to turn pages, no more worrying about dribbling; I can just read and read and read. Moreover, it is a book highly relevant to my studies.

In his appraisal of my thesis, one of my examiners noted the lack of a named film theory-based model of identification. This was not a major problem, but struck him as a slightly strange omission given the focus of my work. The truth is I’m slightly rusty on that side of things, so I thought I better brush up. I did some googling, and yesterday found an ebook which fitted the bill exactly. It is An Introduction to film theory through the senses, and as such for me constitutes partly revision,but also offers me a bridge between the theory we covered in my last year as an undergrad and my own work on cinephilia. Crucially, though, it covers concepts such as spectators physically entering into texts, as well as kicking myself for not reading it four years ago, but deals from them at a different angle then my work. Two chapters in, I’m finding it fascinating, but I’m also wondering how to incorporate this theory with it’s rich history with my own work. I think I should at least reference it, but the question is how and to what extent. Mind you, I suppose I better finish the book first.

Tonight, just let me get one thing of my chest which has been bugging me for months: The dragon’s name is pronounced ‘Smorg’ not ‘Smawg’. My dad was right, peter jackson is wrong.

That is all.

It has been a long day: a couple of hours’ work at school, then bexleyheath for money and groceries. Yet it seems I missed a bit of action up at westminster. I just came across this report of something of a victory for the alliance for inclusive education (ALLFIE). By effectively occupying the offices, Campaigners have finally secured a meeting with an education minister, after occupying Department for Education (DfE) offices in protest at the government’s attack on inclusive education.

The tories are turning back the clock on inclusive education, in effect reverting to the segregation of disabled and able bodied students. Now, we all know this is a very complex issue: there are kids with some very complex and profound needs out there. One of the reasons I volunteer at Charlton park is to get a better handle on the issue, and my experience taught me that there is no room for dogma. Nobody would disagree that kids must be included in mainstream schools where at all possible, but the problem is some cases is finding ways to make that possible. Inclusion is a fine principal, but until a way is found to include all kids, until a way is found to adapt mainstream schools so they are accessible to all, some kids must remain separate.

We were progressing, albeit slowly, towards that goal. In the last twenty years, more children than ever were included. To let the tories turn the clock back is utter folly. Growing up, I saw the worst of it:we were effectively taught not to try; perfectly able kids left to waste. We were not pushed. And every now and then, you got into class of a morning to be told that yet another of your mates had snuffed it. We cannot let that return, and that’s why the alliance is so angry: the tories want to reverse the trend towards inclusion; the legislation they are passing will weaken the SEN framework that has traditionally supported disabled children and young people in mainstream education. For the sake of all children, disabled or not, they must be stopped.

Good luck ALLFIE!

The episode of Simpsons on channel four was good tonight. I had fallen out of the habit of watching it, preferring to catch up with the news, but tonight I made an exception. I found the person announcing the episode especially interesting, as it was none other than the Pink lady herself, my friend Katie! Channel four have began a season where people who use different types of communication, and whose voices are not often heard, announce their programs. If you ask me it’s absolutely brilliant; after it hosted the Paralympic games last year, c4 seems to have become a champion of crip culture. I sincerely hope it keeps it up: we need more voices like Kate’s on the tv.

Yesterday was quite an awesome day. Knowing I had an interest-cum-obsession with last year’s olympics and paralympics, and especially with their associated ceremonies, my friend James offered to take me to a talk by the director of the paralympic opening ceremony. Jenny Seeley, it turned out, would be giving a talk at his work up in London.

It was a fascinating presentation: Seeley spoke about her background as a Deaf performer and director, as well a going into detail about h the ceremony had come to be. As James had requested,, I was on my best behaviour but I had to raise a grateful fist when she mentioned the inclusion of I’m Spasticus by Ian Dury. That moment in the ceremony was very special for me: the moment wen I realised it was the disability community talking rather than being talked about. Thus, I realised last night, I was listening to one of my heroes.

It was a great evening. Basically the company james works for(a big firm in central london) is exploring how more people with disabilities can be employed. That is a good thing, of course, although I didn’t really want to go into the ins and outs of it last night. After the presentations, we talked abit over canapes and drinks. At one point, I asked one guy how such a company could employ someone like myself, not realising I had just inadvertently asked quite a senior exec for a job. However, I would now like to help more: while I still see the tory-led destruction of the welfare state as pure evil, surely efforts by big companies to employ more disabled people must be welcomed.

Inept fool that I am, I completely forgot to flag up the Paraorchestra’s new website. It looks wonderful, and can be found here. On it, you can find profiles of all the paraorchestra musicians, including one about Lyn, as well as links to last years documentary and videos of the performances. Great stuff indeed.

I took a roll up to London yesterday, to Trafalgar square. Lyn was having a bath, and on such occasions I often go out. I felt I needed to go, to see the crowds which had apparently gathered outside South Africa house. What I found up there, in central London on a cold but bright december afternoon, both humbled and amazed me: A group of South African women, chanting and dancing in a circle, a small group gathered around them. It felt kid of eerie, sort of magical and mesmerising, yet happy. I do not quite know how to describe it: it was as if a piece of some lush land far to the south had been transported into the sprawling concrete metropolis in order to honour a great man. I found it incredible.

I sat there a while listening to the rhythmic words I did not know the meaning of, and then, after popping in to Waterstone’s, headed back along whitehall. Passing the entrance to Downing Street, I gave my usual two-fingered-salute to the current occupant. I put even more venom into it than usual yesterday, furious at the hypocrisy of a Prime Minister now lamenting the death of a ‘great man’ who he had once advocated executing. The sheer gall of the right, now hailing Mandela as a secular saint when when they had once vilified him as a terrorist is sickening, but I digress.

I then headed to the statue of Mandela in Parliament Square, wryly noting to myself how his statue and Churchill’s had been placed at opposite corners as if to keep the two from arguing – somehow I don’t think those two would have got on. There, too, a crowd had gathered, and again I sat a while to listen to the singing. But it was getting dark, and before long I decided it was time to head home. On my way back to the tube station, however, I decided on such a night going back by boat might be more fun.

At that I caught the clipper. Getting aboard wasn’t that hard, but I did not think it would take so long to get to north Greenwich. I got home at least an hour later than I would have done, tired, hungry, and fancying a beer. Yet it had been another cool day, one upon which I had seen the magical sight of a par of Africa being brought to London in order to honour one of that continent’s, and the world’s, greatest heroes.

I should, perhaps, have written this yesterday, but what can you say when such a great man leaves us? As he did with many of us, Nelson Mandella inspired me: I took strength from his story. If disabled people are oppressed – and I believe they are, although not as overtly and to the same degree as black people were in south africa – then mandella shows us the way forward. I may rant on my blog sometimes, writing bileful poems, but I know that ultimately hatred leads only to more hatred; forgiveness and peace are the only solution. We have people like Nelson Mandella to thank for such lessons, which is why he will be so greatly missed by the world. Rest in peace, Mr. Mandella.

Events this evening make my previous blog entry utterly misplaced. Of course, I do not believe that anyone should die because of their political beliefs; my intention was to give vent to my anger at the tories. Through such art we can make people think. Although I may write about it, violence never solved anything. The greatest lesson people like nelson mandella teach us is forgiveness, after all.

May the whore that spawned you burn

May the people upon you turn

Osborne grinning with glee, CaMoron sat beside

Showing a sheer arrogance I can no longer abide

May you feel the hate

Of all those you bait.

You deserve to feel the pain

Of the benefit claimants you try to blame

Grinning from those green benches

Your worthless bodies will be flung into trenches

You arrogant shits deserve to die

For all those you murder from on high

Lying you are helping others

You help yourselves. Single mothers The poor, the disabled, are left to die.

You don’t give a fuck if they cry.

You only care about those rich pals of yours

Every one of them, crooks, thieves and whores.

So, Tory scum, I curse you all

You will pay for the pain YOU caused us all

Yesterday I noticed how the alleged killed of Lee Rigby was heard to say ”an eye for an eye” after he had committed the awful deed. When I saw the footage, I had an idea: I thought it would be nice to respond by making sign quoting the words of Gandhi: ”An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind” and placing it at the scene. It took a while to make; I was lucky Dominik found spare wood and paint in the shed, and he went to quite a lot of effort with it. Getting it to Woolwich was not an easy task either, but I felt I just had to respond to this abominable act with words of wisdom. I don’t know if it’s still there – I might check later. Part of me is simply interested to see what happens to it, and whether anyone notice it at all.

Tom Dailey apparently came out today. Frankly I don’t care an nor should anyone else. Why is it in the news? What concern of ours is it whether Dailey is gay, straight, bi or whatever as long as he is happy and can still swim fast. If you ask me, we need to escape these labels altogether; we need to go beyond categorising people. We need to forget about words like ‘gay’ ‘straight’ ‘black’ and ‘white’ and even to an extent ‘man’ and ‘woman’. These words do not signify categories but create semiotic devisions, and devisions create prejudices and equalities. Remember your Lacan: it is language that structures thought rather than the other way around. Above all we are all human and the rest is language. In short we need to get beyond categorisation and just let people be themselves.

In my own case, I love lyn, a pre-op transwoman. Does hat make me gay, straight or bi? Legally Lyn is a woman, so ours is a straight relationship, but others might see it differently. At the end of the day, however, does it matter? How does what you call it in any way effect our love? I have a Lyn, and she has a Matt, and we love each other. End of debate. In the same way, Tom Dailey is still Tom Dailey, and all other concerns are just a matter of labelling.

Although when monty python’s on-stage revival was first announced I felt a hint of caution was necessary, the time has come to lose myself in unmitigated glee. Despite the fact that tickets were apparently selling like spam sandwiches, today I thought I might as well go see if there were any left. There probably weren’t, but the walk up to the dome is a pleasant one.

I was, however, wrong, and I’m sitting here with a receipt for four tickets to see Monty Python Live (mostly) on the 20th of july 2014. Rarely have I felt this ecstatic, so giddy with glee, so pleased. The fact that the pythons are reuniting is remarkable in itself,, but the fact that I am going to see these men who made me laugh so uncontrollably as a child in the flesh is beyond incredible.

Words escape me – I don’t think it has even sunk in yet.

A good day indeed: productive, instructive, yet reassuring A parent visit day: a ring of the bell, a hug, and a long chat.

About family, about holidays, and then down to work.

They’re helping me with my thesis: I have quite a bit of tidying up to do.

Yet I felt proud, sat there on the sofa,

Talking about my work as if it was serious and important.

For it is. I have, at last, written something of substance and value.

Something to be proud of.

Sat there, Lyn nearby, I realised that I had reached somewhere good

And I held my head high.

Last night was fairly good too. While out on one of my rolls earlier this year, I noticed that the Steriophonics were going to play at the o2 arena this Autumn. Now, truth be told I have never really been into the stereophonics; I just knew they were a fairly big band with one or two cool hits. As I was there, I asked if there were tickets left, and there were. With that I texted Lyn to see if she was interested in seeing them, and she was, so I bought us tickets. After all, a night out is a night out wether we knew the band well or not.

That was so long ago I almost forgot about it; at one point I worried that I had misplaced the tickets somewhere, but they just hadn’t arrived here yet. However, last night came at last, and my fears of losing the tickets or forgetting to go didn’t materialise. I always get a thrill when I go up to the dome, it’s such an awesome place, although when I mentioned that to Lyn as we waited for the gig to start last night, she cooly replied that it was tiny compared to some of the places she has played.

Nevertheless, it was an awesome night. I seem to be developing a taste for live music: I’m now thirsty to see more bands, go to more gigs, especially with Lyn. However, as epic as places like the o2, brixton academy and indeed the olympic stadium are, I think we both prefer smaller, more intimate venues, so that is the type of gig I’ll be keeping an eye out for now.

If I may make a bit of a generalisation, one could say my trip to the football last night was rather a masculine affair. Being part of a crowd hurling obscenities at twenty-two sweaty men running about a pitch isn’t exactly a delicate, feminine tea-party. Yet why should that be so? I just came across this interesting little article in the Guardian (where else?) outlining the case for gender being cultural rather than innate. As it says, why should boys wear blue and gils pink? Why do fathers take sons to football and mothers take daughters to ballet class? Gender roles are learned. I have been saying that for over a decade: the way I look at it, if we are ever to achieve gender equality, we must deliberately reread and subvert such rules. Thats why Lyn is one of my heroes. Thus, while last night I was shouting from the terraces in my new Charlton shirt (albeit with red tights under my trousers to keep warm) tonight I might be dancing around the house in my leotard. The point is we should all be free to do both, and express ourselves however we wish irrespective of oppressive social norms.

While cricket is still my main sporting interest, by no means am I immune to the allure of football. Last night, I went to the local match – Charlton at home to Doncaster. It was my aussie friend James’ idea: on our way back from seeing the cat empire, we agreed in might be awesome to go to a game. The ground is just down the hill, and could not be much easier for either of us to get to.

Apart from the fact that J was a tad late because of trouble with the trains, there isn’t much to report. After all, what can be more normal than two mates meeting after work to go see a football match? It was a great game: Charlton won two-nill with two beautiful goals. After, we just came back here and had a beer each (me trying to avoid mentioning the Ashes all the while). I was in bed by eleven, tired but happy. I wouldn’t be surprised, now we both have Charlton shirts, if going to the football With James becomes a regular event – I hope it does.

Another day, and another report of yet another ATOS related death. When you subscribe to things like the DPAC Facebook group, you get used to seeing them regularly. But that does not make them any easier to take. This company has been charged with finding as many people fit for work as possible; the governments targets demand they push people as much as they can get away with. Thus, from what I hear, even the government and the daily mail are starting to question them and the number of people they are driving to despair.

Something must be done to stop this horror. DAN and DPAC, of course, are doing their part, but petitioning and demonstrating can only go so far. But what else could we do? Back in August I came across an article written by a man with cp justifying his decision to work with ATOS, his logic being that he could help from the inside. He also concluded his rancid little article by saying he would work with anyone, if the price was right. In other words he was justifying selling out to ATOS. It was like hearing a Jewish person justify working with the concentration camp guards. Thus with every report I see, I loathe such traitors more deeply. To follow his logic through, Even if he was trying to help by working with ATOS in an effort to control them from the inside, given that they were working to targets set by the government it’s hard to see what he could achieve. In other words, this was not an effort to protect his fellow cripple but a self-serving act of betrayal of the worst kind. Those few who say we must work with ATOS are either naive or selfish: we must demonstrate; we must show the world the horror they are causing. And I’m sorry, but I can never forgive any disabled person who sides with them – my sense of betrayal grows with every suicide.

Last night’s Doctor Who episode was indeed cool, although I must say it didn’t get me as enthused as it might have. Of course, there were one or two brilliant touches, such as the cameo by tom baker, but I can’t say it got me that excited. I might feel differently after a second or third viewing, so I’ll hold back from writing much about it today.

Instead I would rather direct you to this open letter by Sue Marsh to Andrew Marr. Marr apparently recently said that, since his stroke, he feels he has a greater understanding of disability, yet fails to press IDS on the Tory persecution of people with disabilities. In her letter, marsh points out that had marr not been in quite a privileged position he may have felt differently. It is a quite humbling, haunting yet beautiful piece of writing, asking the bbc political editor to but himself in the position of a less famous person in a similar position. You get the sense that Marsh is speaking from experience – she knows how tough thing are, and what the tories are doing through their bastard minions at atos. Above all, it is an excellent commentary I think all should read.

Here’s a somewhat random question: did doctor who fans feel snubbed that the doctor didn’t appear at the Olympics, a la 007? I was pondering this question this week, what with the fiftieth anniversary episode airing tonight. Thinking back to last summer, were I a dr who fan, I reckon I would have been miffed at the character’s near complete exclusion from the olympic opening ceremony. The who franchisee, as I touch upon here, is similar in scope to that of bond, so you could argue that he could have played a similar role in the ceremony. from what I have been reading, the were plans to use him, which were abandoned at the last minute. Indeed you could argue that, because it is made by the bbc, doctor who is more of a british icon and was therefore more suited to the role Bond filled. All other concerns aside – franchise rights and so on – why did they choose bond over the doctor? Had they done so, of course, I would now probably be asking why they chose who over Bond. I suppose I’m just curious about how such things function, and whether there was a resentment on the part of who fans over the choice as in a way it said the who franchise was not important. That’s why I’m looking forward to tonight’s fiftieth anniversary dr who episode: might they choose to do a comparable stunt to redress the olympic snub? No doubt if they do, I’ll be blogging about it tomorrow.

Sorry this is such short notice, but can everyone tune into radio caroline now! at 7, something very special will be played please

Now that I know my Master’s thesis is not the complete mess I feared it to be, and that, pending a bit more work, should get the examiner’s approval, I have began to think much more positively about continuing my studies. Only a few days ago the idea of staying in academia, after the trouble I had with my MA, seemed preposterous; yet a week and a few reassuring emails later, my curiosity and fascination for film has returned. Indeed, in his last email, Dave my tutor recommended a book which in a way articulates the very discourse I speculate about. A trundle up into town later, and the book now lies open on our sofa, and my mind is again abuzz.

It seems, then, that there is certainly room for more work, and that my master’s thesis could now function as the groundwork for something much deeper, complex and involved. The question is how to go about it.I would need access to a decent library for a start, so applying to a local university would be the obvious choice although the staff there now me, staying with MMU and continuing to do things via email seems a bit silly. Yet I have no idea whether any of the nearby campuses have suitable departments which would accept me and allow me to continue in my specific area. Time, then, to take my time: tidy up my thesis for it’s final submission; begin to play with ideas about how this hybrid discourse is manifesting itself, and start visiting university open days.

I just turned on my computer and found this report. Of course, news of a Monty Python reunion has me in my usual spastic squeals of glee, but I’m also now old enough to know I shouldn’t get my hopes up too high. That is, many questions remain: how will such a reunion work? will they jus be reperforming old material or writing new stuff? If they stick with the old stuff from the seventies they will be criticised for not trying anything new, but if they write new material for the show people will ask where the classic stuff went. Is it not better to let the glories of the past remain in the past, as memories unpolluted by the smell of a money making scheme? Then again, I felt a similar twinge of caution when they announced that James bond was going to do something with the queen for the Olympics, and look how awesome that turned out to be. This, then, is a story I’ll be keeping a close eye on: I’ll certainly try to watch their press conference Thursday. I really hope I won’t be disappointed. All being well, it won’t be too long before I’ll be pestering Lyn to go see it.

Last night was much better. It wasn’t really a party as such – more just gathering of friends. We talked, listened to music, ate and drank, and generally had a good time. We should have such evenings more often. This morning I got up feeling more positive about things: my problem is that, now my thesis is almost finished, my formal education is more or less over and I need something to fill it’s place. Lack of activity is making me introspective and maudlin: I start to worry again about things like my absences. Thus, while out for my walk this afternoon*, I popped in to the local school again to ask about starting to volunteer again, and they want me to help in a session this thursday and friday. I also have a film to work on, and Lyn’s biography to start. I have some busy days ahead of me, all being well, and with any luck a few more cool evenings too.

*note to parents – glasses now fixed