Today I think I’ll simply direct you here, to a review of ‘Together 2012’, the event I went to on tuesday evening. As I said, it was a great night, and we definitely need more such events. They are an outlet for crip pride and solidarity at a time when pride and solidarity are needed the most. As Richard Downes, writer of the piece and the event organizer put it, ”Penny [Pepper] is here to celebrate but she is also calling for defiance after all, only today the closure of the Independent Living Fund was confirmed. With ‘Fraud’ she swings right back at the oppressor redefining the actions of millionaire ministers.” Just what the doctor ordered!

I suppose ‘Someone Else’ is quite right in their comment in yesterday’s entry. They point out that disability art has been on the rise for years and it is just my personal awareness of it that has recently grown. To be honest that is a perfectly valid point: until now I have been largely ignorant of the disability arts scene. However, I still feel that at the moment the need for disabled people to express themselves is greater than ever, given that we as a community are probably going to become more ostracised than we have been for a long time. We need to (forgive the phrase) stand up, show people we are here, we are human, and we are suffering because of the cuts.

Disability arts has to become an artistic movement of protest. It has, of course, always been such a movement from it’s genesis in the seventies; yet I think it is now time for it to reclaim it’s anarchic, in-your-face roots. That is not to say some people are not already stepping up a gear: from what I saw on Tuesday night, poets like Penny Pepper really are out there, proud, angry and strong. I am also proud to send you here, to Lyn’s new video for her ‘Love Me’ track. What we show to the world does not necessarily have to be overtly political, as long as it is seen.

What do I mean, then, when I write about wanting disability arts to step up a gear as an artistic movement of protest? Truth be told, I have yet to work that one out fully. With 19,000 disabled people facing imprisonment in ‘care homes’ and/or neglect when ILF funds go in 2015, it is clear something must be done, but what? We need to let as many people know what is happening to us as possible. Of course, organisations like disability arts online are leading the way in this, and I forgot to mention on Wednesday that Tuesday night’s event marked the end of Disability History Month, which had seen many such events. I suppose it is a sign of my ignorance that I am writing about this as if it were news, and I am rather ashamed that I am so clearly out of touch. Perhaps it is just me who needs to get more involved in the existing arts movement, rather than sitting here in my ivory tower arguing for the reinvention of the wheel. Nevertheless I do feel we need more poets like Pepper, more singers like Alan Holdsworth (surely the crip answer to Bob Dylan). The time has come to get pushy and forceful, to make it apparent in the most direct, immediate way possible what nineteen thousand of us will soon have to suffer.

Yesterday I wrote that we shouldn’t become too abrasive, but on second thoughts perhaps a little confrontation is in order. We need to be banksy rather than Monet; radiohead rather than rachmaninov; Godard rather than Spielberg. It is time to get vulgar, time to hit people harder than ever before. To be fair, I feel television programmes like ‘I’m Spasticus’ are a step down this path, but it could have gone much further: what we really need now is ‘I’m Spastcus’ squared.

I thought last night went very well indeed. Lyn was on the One Show with her fellow members of the british Paraorchestra and the Kaos Choir performing their new christmas song. it was her second time on the show, but the first time I had been to the bbc. I must say it was a brilliant experience: I got to go to the bbc tv centre, and, while I didn’t get to see much, I felt inspired by the place. The programme, which Lyn and the guys book-end as it were, can be seen here. I was so proud of them all.

As I said yesterday, disability arts seem to be on the ascent. No doubt this is due in large part to the Paralympics, and I’m very proud that Lyn had a role in that. But now I think we need to keep it up. People with disabilities are suffering disproportionately due to the cuts: the time has come to show the world what the government is doing to us. While the cuts wren’t mentioned last night, such things at least help to heighten our profile as a community. I feel we need to use such things to reveal our plight to the world. The question is, how to do this without being abrasive. I thought briefly about standing behind the choir holding up a sign saying something like ‘cuts kill crips’, but decided I better not. The fact is, though, the time has come for disability arts to step up a gear as an artistic movement of protest.

I am definitely getting used to London public transport: I’m getting increasingly confident using it anyway. Last night, after Lyn and I had returned from our weekly food shop, and after a quick (and largely tasteless) dinner, headed out again alone. I had seen online that there was some kind of disability arts event in Newham, and, checking the map, thought it close enough for look. There was a DLR station not too far away, and, once I had never ridden the docklands light railway alone before, thought it high tim I broke that duck.

So I went, and found the place without a problem. I must admit, when I looked into the place through the window, that my first thought was ”Oh fuck, it’s a spazzfest! Let’s go home.” I was worried that it was one of those condescending, sing-for-the-cripples pieces of shit we all had to endure. Yet I have an orchestra too plug, so I went in anyway.

I soon realised how mistaken I was. It was indeed a spazzfest, but of the best sort: these crips were angry and political, and were venting their anger at the government through poetry and song. I met Penny Pepper, a first class performance poet who I now would seriously like to collaborate, and who kindly gave me a free copy of her book. I also met Mik Scarlett, who was comparing the gig, and who kindly mentioned the fact that the Paraorchestra will be on the One Show tonight (bbc1, 7pm). It was a great gig, and made me realise how much I need to get into the disability arts scene (apart from just writing and blogging, I mean). Now more than ever, disability art must be an art form of protest.

That’s why we need more events like last night: disabled people must show the world what is happening to us. We are going out shortly, so I’ll discuss this in greater depth in tomorrow’s entry, but disability art, including things like the Paraorchestra, is more important today than ever. How else can we tell the world we are suffering?

I missed it when it first aired last week, so I think I’ll just flag this bbc breakfast interview up. It is with disabled activist and blogger Martyn Sibley. As i noted recently, sibley iss a very eloquent young man who articulate disability issues very well. Definitely one of the rising stars of our movement.

Today I better just mention the sad death of disability activist, dancer and musician Alan Martin. I can’t claim to have known alan very well: we just met a couple of times at Onevoice events, where I remember sharing a dinner table with him. However, he struck me as a truly great person, and an outstanding member of the disability community. As one person on facebook put it, ‘ As a species, humankind is lessened. He was a top fella … Made a difference he did, left the world a better place for having been here.”

Today I think I need to flag this remarkable, heartfelt letter up. Published in the New Statesman, it is from journalist Laurie Penny to a disabled friend of hers who has written in saying she is considering suicide. It is quite horrific, demonstrating the depths to which our government is currently pushing people. Penny writes: ”When society tells you that you are worth less because you are unwell, that’s society’s fault, not yours. They may be pursuing a doctrine of shame, but that doesn’t mean you have to feel ashamed. You have no reason whatsoever to feel ashamed. You are not a burden, and you are not a scrounger… ” Does CaMoron not realize the pain he is putting people through, or does he realize and simply not give a damn?

I did not get a chance to catch up with the news until late last night. After QI, I left it on for newsnight, and what I saw then made me feel suddenly cold. I saw president Obama announcing yet another school shooting, and, looking into his eyes, I thought I knew what he was thinking. He was asking himself ”is this why I came into politics? Is this the reason I went through all that pain? The electoral colleges, the TV debates? So I can stand here in front of millions and describe how some brainless little prick has taken his mother’s gun, gone into a primary school and killed twenty kids?” That is what I would be thinking had I been I standing where Obama was.

On my way back from the cinema last night, I thought about my dad. I remembered a night some twenty years ago, upon which he had began a new bedtime story. It had started ”In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.” I remember in that moment I had imagined the type of small hole dad usually dug in the back garden for planting things, and wondering what a hobbit was and how it would fit. That night saw the birth of my love for Tolkien – a love which continues even now, and has been made even stronger by Peter Jackson’s films. Watching the first part off the Hobbit film adaption last night brought it all back to me – I felt like I had that night long ago with dad, for those very words are used in the film. In a way it had brought that night back to the present. And in that moment on my way home last night I resolved to skype my parents again quite soon.

This morning, however, I find myself thinking of those school children, and their parents who, because of some thug probably seeking some kind of place in history, are never going to get to read to their children again. I had a great childhood: one filled with stories of hobbits and dragons and rings – a world which Peter Jackson has renewed. These kids are now never going to experience such joy, and their parents are never going to have the pleasure my mum and dad had, of getting to see their kids discover such tales. And I, like Obama and everyone else, find that very sad indeed.

I just returned home from watching the first part of the hobbit. As with my review of Skyfall, I better not give too much away, save to say that I thoroughly enjoyed returning to Middle-Earth, and that I’ll probably be humming this for weeks. Besides, I could not review it properly until I’ve seen all three, so my review will have to wait two years.

I don’t have too much to write about today, but I think I’ll flag this up. According to a study by the BBC, Three-quarters of Britons feel more positive about the role of people with disabilities in the UK following the Paralympics. That is good news surely, and I suppose not that surprising given the increased attention we cripples got. It must be time to capitalize on this: we can’t let this good feeling diminish. That is why the new single from the paraorchestra is so timely, and I would urge everyone to buy it. It must be said, though, that this Paralympic positivity is the one ray of light in an otherwise very bleak picture: from what I have been hearing, at GAD and other places, is that people with disabilities are becoming increasingly resented. People are becoming more and more hostile towards us due to the cuts: as money becomes more scarce, anyone on benefits, including us crips, is becoming a target for ostracisation and even, I’ve heard, open aggression. This is very worrying indeed, so I think that anything that can keep that paralympic positivity alive, no matter how small, must be a good thing.

One of the best things about living in London is that there is always something to do; another is that you never know when such things will crop up. Late on Monday evening I noticed on Facebook that my friend Hugh had a gig the next day with his band, Saltwater Samurai. It wasn’t too far away, so I popped in to the studio to ask Lyn about it. She was up for it, so last night, at around six, we headed out into the dark London night, first to Woolwich, and from there taking the DLR to the George Tavern in Stepney.

I suppose it was our first proper night out in ages, save the night out with my family. Apart from that, we have just been too busy. We needed a good old fashioned night out, with good music, good drinks and good company – and that is exactly what we got. There were three bands playing, of which Saltwater Samurai was the second: all three were great, and after his set Hugh popped by to have a chat. I think he was a bit surprised to see us there, but as ever he was in good spirits. He and his family are doing well: busy as ever, charlotte is touring with the Harmonettes. Incidentally, the joneses were at the Paralympic closing ceremony, and had loved seeing Lyn and the Paraorchestra play with Coldplay.

In all, then, a very good night out. I really liked all three bands, to be honest. The cool thing about London is that it is full of little niche nooks and crannies where bands play and people party. What’s more, Hugh told me that more of my old uni friends from Alsager are planning to move to the capital, which sounds like a potential source of fun. For now, though, Lyn and I are chilling out today, recovering – nights out seem to take a lot more out of me than they used to.

‘Vengeance on a dumb brute!” cried Starbuck, ”that simply smote thee from blindest instinct! Madness! To be enraged with a dumb thing, Captain Ahab, seems blasphemous.”

Ahab turned round. ”Dude,” he replied, ”STFU and go pay your tax!”

I better not pass too much comment, for fear of not knowing all the facts, but I must say that this story of forced institutionalization is truly appalling. A 14 year old Girl with CP died just hours after being forcibly taken into care by Florida state authorities. They argued that it was cheaper to take the kid into care than to provide home help: the institution didn’t know enough about the child to care for it properly, and she died from a seizure just twelve hours later.

I had hoped such dark things were behind us. Obviously not, and what can happen in america can happen in the UK too.

Something happened last night that I think is worth mulling over. We have a new PA,, Monika; a very clever woman with a background in photography. All yesterday afternoon we had been discussing art and film so after dinner last night I decided to ask her about the famous Olympic bond sequence: she seems more in tune with contemporary ideas in the art world than I am, and I wanted to know whether there was any intellectual mileage in seriously looking at that scene. Monika replied that of course there was, and that the convergence of fiction and reality was a huge, fascinating area. I showed her some of my blog entries on the subject, and she seemed rather interested.

But when I showed her the scene itself, she laughed: she thought it rather stupid. Interestingly, she would not accept that the queen actually played herself, and was adamant that it must have been a double. I tried to tell her that it was widely known that, while her majesty did not jump out of the helicopter herself, she did indeed play herself in the first part of the film. But it was getting late, and I had no luck.

But here’s the interesting part: what if that wasn’t the queen? On one level, it does not matter – all that matters is that a representation of her majesty acted alongside Daniel Craig. For all we know, it could indeed have been a double – our reactions would have been the same. Whether it was her or not doesn’t matter. Mind you, on another level, it matters a great deal: given the context of this film, where it was screened and it’s audience, if that was not the queen, we have all been royally duped. The deception would have had to have gone to the highest level; this country would have had to deceive the IOC and the entire world, just so that her majesty didn’t do the small bit of acting she did. I find that scenario very unlikely indeed.

I think the problem was I didn’t explain the context of this film well enough to Monika. Had the film had any other background, had it been a joke film made for a television comedy show, then of course, her majesty would never have been in it. But, that night, the world’s eyes were upon the UK and London, and we needed to make an impression. We needed to do something big, something unusual, something novel: I think we succeeded.

This film still fascinates me when I think about it. When you try to look at what is going on, it is quite intriguing: I have written before about the structures involved, and the tension between fiction and reality. The fictional world of Bond drawn into reality, at one and the same time rendering Bond real and the queen a fiction. Yet it also can be seen as alluding to the fact that the monarchy is just as much a national narrative as double-O-seven – both are stories we te-ll about ourselves. Thus this film takes us in an unusual, interesting place where one of the country’s oldest, most sacred institutions is opened up to a form of textual play, taken to the level of any other cultural narrative, at a moment when we had the entire world’s attention for the first time in sixty years. No wonder the morons of the Daily Mail loathed it: it showed that all they like to pretend is solid can melt into air, the same as anything else. From their point of view, her majesty was forced by populist liberals into participating in something far below her station and rank: if the queen is indeed the embodiment of Britain, then to see that figurehead being made to stoop to the level of just another bit of popular culture would have been tantamount to mocking the entire nation and everything that makes it stand out. After all despite the Britishness of the character, the Bond franchise is essentially American, so I can certainly see how, to some, this sequence represented the selling of the monarchy to American commercialism. Some would see it as the trivialisation of a unique aspect of British culture and history. The irony is, her majesty in fact volunteered to play herself in this film: Danny Boyle assumed they would have to use a double, such as Hellen Mirren. However, far from being forced into it, the queen was happy to play herself.

Yet that very contrast between tradition and mainstream entertainment is why I find this film so striking, so bold. In a moment of utter seriousness, Boyle chose to do something utterly postmodern, something both subversive and reverential at the same time. There is a reverence for the queens authority (note how she makes bond wait at the opening of the piece, demonstrating her authority) and a kind of irreverence for it (note how 007 coughs showing his impatience and impetuousness), a combination which I find quite British. It brings together two of our best-loved icons in a way nobody could ever have expected. That brings me back to Monika’s contention that the queen did not play herself, as that ties into the very tension between fiction and reality at the core of this film. The queen did and did not play herself, as, of course, it was a stunt double which jumped out of the helicopter. Thus in the same short film we also have fictional and nonfictional representations of the same person. On top of that we have an interesting juxtaposition of the prerecorded merging with the live: the first part of this film was apparently recorded back in march, but then film suddenly evolves into a live event. I’m sure such a device has been used before, but has it ever been done on such a scale? This is a film which uses a famously fictional character to introduce one of the world’s longest-reigning and most highly regarded heads of state into the world’s biggest sporting ceremony. There can’t be many other pieces of fiction or works of art which have the same context, the same blending of fiction and reality, the same evolution between recorded and live, the same juxtaposition between esteemed head of state and one of mainstream fiction film’s biggest icons, and the same subversion of traditional power structures. Framed in such terms, this short film, intended, no doubt, to be something throw away and comic, can be seen as quite important artistically. It tells us something about our culture, about our so-called traditional hierarchy and our simultaneous reverence and irreverence for it. Given the audience it was intended for – that is, just about the entire world – that’s why I find it so huge and intriguing. That’s why I keep returning to it – a film which at first glance may be throwaway is actually very revealing about British culture.

I must admit that have now become something of a monarchist since the Olympic opening ceremony. It is to her Majesty’s great credit that she made this film, as it would imply that she is aware of her true status in our culture, as a figurehead rather than anything more substantial. She does not see herself as above such things, which, in my book, makes her somehow more accessible, more human, and more worthy of my support. This film lets us know that the queen is aware of her true status as one of many pieces of iconography which combine to represent Britain: in making it she has modernised the monarchy; in admitting to her true position as a cultural construct she makes herself culturally relevant rather than aloof and out of touch. That, I must say, has my respect. Moreover, I think it told the rest of the world about our sense of humour, letting them know that we don’t take ourselves too seriously after all. Whether the queen played herself or not, has any other film made such a bold statement in front of such a vast, worldwide audience before? Would this dynamic change in the unlikely event that it emerges that the queen did not play herself, though? Either way, that is why I find this film so remarkable, fascinating, important an brave; it was thinking about this which spawned my fascination with the Olympics as a political force, which I began to discuss a couple of days ago, for what other event could give rise to this sort of pseudo-political textual play on such a massive scale?

It has been quite a cool day, mostly spent chatting about future projects and making plans. I just came across this quite awesome piece by Martyn Sibley though, and thought I would share it. Essentially it is his take on life as a disabled person, and I find myself agreeing with most if not all of it. He writes: ‘I believe disabled people can start to ‘own’ their differences. Many are kicking ass at school, work and life. If we have sex differently, roll rather than walk, speak with a computer, require sensory stimulation; so what!? By showcasing this, being proud of it and never settling; the bar gets raised a little higher. Moreover the message can be ”disability is cool, sexy and I need to get involved”.’ He writes that we should not hide our disability, but be proud of who we are: We saw with the Paralympics a coming together of worlds. A group of ‘superhuman’ athletes who are cool, sexy and happen to have an impairment. They collided with a public who were on an Olympic high, more socially minded and ready to look beyond medical conditions.’ Wise, inspiring words indeed – who knew I was that sexy!

As I wrote here, not long ago, I worry sometimes that, as I can’t describe it, I’m not sure I know what love is. But I was just pratting about at my desk when Lyn rolled in, just to see what I was up to. Today she is in a soft wooly jumper, and her hair smells of conditioner. We had our cuddle, as we often do, and in that moment, squeezing her body feeling the softness of her top, I found myself wondering how I could be so lucky that one of the most wonderful people on earth loves me so much. I have no idea what love is, but it really does feel good.

I was helping out at GAD today. They hold a weekly wrier’s group, which I volunteered to come to. It was very interesting – the participants had a wide range of abilities. One of the warm-up exercises involved writing about a stimulus like a twig or leaf, so I quickly dashed off the following poem, which I thought I’d share with you.

—

Autumn winds blow

Cold as ice

Shaking brown leaves onto London concrete.

A thousand feet fall

Trampling crisp windfall

Lifeless. Dead

—

Yet next year the sun will return And with it, new life, new green London will again bloom.

Time flows like the mighty Thames

Grey now, yet soon blue as the summer sky.

Question: is a Jerusalem 2032 Olympic bid feasible? What would be necessary to bring such an event about, and what might the implications of it be? I was thinking about this last night, and it seems to me a very interesting proposition. As we all know, this year saw a ‘Golden Summer of Sport’ for Britain – a summer which will not soon be forgotten. Accuse me of sounding like a tourism ad or a cheerleader for Boris if you must, but I really think London and the United Kingdom in general did itself proud this year: we came together, got the job done and put on a hell of a show.

Now it’s over it’s time to think about other things. If London benefited so much from hosting the Olympics, where now might it be good to see the Olympic party go? Such an event can be a massive boost, not just in terms of sport but socially and culturally as well. London is a peaceful first-world city; politics and economics aside, we are not that hard up. It occurs to me that the Olympics can be a tremendous force for good, as it brings the entire world’s attention on one city for four or five weeks. Thus, instead of awarding the Olympics to a flourishing city like London, wouldn’t it be great if the international Olympic Committee directed the world’s attention to a city that needed it, like Jerusalem, or Nicosia in Cyprus? Would the boost London received, primarily to both it’s economy and reputation, not also translate into a force for reconciliation?

What, then, would be necessary to bring such an event about, and what might the implications of it be? Leaving aside the obvious fact that Jerusalem is tiny compared to a city like London, and, as was pointed out to me by Sandy on Facebook, ”it needs to expand quite a lot to put all the stadia in”, what would have to happen before Jerusalem hosts the Olympics. Now, I am no middle east politics expert, and nor do I like being a pessimist, but the answer must surely be a hell of a lot.

Of course, one of the first steps down that road would surely be to grant Palestine statehood, but therein lies the first problem. Whose capital, and thus whose Olympics, would Jerusalem be – Israel’s or Palestine’s? This also gives rise to a chicken-and-egg type paradox: the point of holding an Olympics in Jerusalem would be to encourage peace, but peace would surely have to be a prerequisite before the IOC even considers awarding Jerusalem an Olympics. The IOC must therefore show bravery: any such award right now would be extremely problematic, if not downright dangerous. Yet by awarding Jerusalem the Olympic games they might supply the peace process with the very impetus it needs: it would be a supreme act of faith. Moreover, if palestine is indeed it’s own state by then, why couldn’t the games be jointly hosted by both countries, independent yet united.

The situation is very complex, and I can’t pretend to understand it, but I do sympathise with this piece of creative writing concerning how such a games might come about in twenty years: ” The co-lighting of the flame is thought to be a compromise: Palestine initially wanted to include its dead in the commemoration, while Israel refused to equate the athletes with their killers. The proposed arrangement will acknowledge the slain athletes as individuals and Olympians, and the joint lighting of the flame will symbolize both the tragedy of the event as well as the possibility of reconciliation.” It was this article which proposed the year 2032 – sixty years since the tragedy of Munich. If any human activity is capable of reconciling such a divided people, it is art and sport – the two things which the Olympics seems to fuse perfectly. As we saw this summer, both art and sport, when use in the right way, can be a tremendous force for good. Sporting events, like the Olympics, are capable of bringing people together in a way few other occasions can. Call me a hopeless romantic, an optimist, or utterly unrealistic if you must, but surely this must be worth a try.

I don’t think I would be able to hold my head up as a crip blogger if I didn’t direct you here. I think I have mentioned lost voice guy on here before: this is one of his finest sketches. It is about speed dating using a communication aid, and I love it! I really think Lost Voice Guy is one of the greatest assets the disability community have*, in terms of breaking down barriers, challenging assumptions and generally telling it as it is, but then, perhaps I’m biassed as a fellow voca user. Nevertheless, his observations are very astute, wryly observed, and, to me, very very accurate. Check him out!

*Along with the paraorchestra, hehehe

Lyn and I just got home from the AGM of the greenwich association of disabled people, where she spoke about playing at the paralympics. They had asked her along as a member of the Paraorchestra (whose single, incidentally, is out today!) Lyn did a wonderful presentation: she was informative and witty, and ended by playing True Colours. Everyone loved it, and afterward, one person came up and reported she had already heard it played on radio 2 this morning. How cool is that?! Mind you, I rather suspect we better get used to that kind of thing – our cabbie on saturday recognized Lyn from the TV.

While there I was able to speak to the woman in charge, and now they want me to run a writing workshop. That, too, is excellent news, and something I’m now really looking forward to, even if it isn’t quite as cool as being played on radio two!

Life does not get much better than the moment when, sat in your manual wheelchair, you look up to see your brother pushing you, having not seen him for months. And then you look round, to your left and back, to see your father pushing your girlfriend in her chair. In that moment you realise how wonderful it feels to have such a family, and how great life is in general. Walking through the streets of London yesterday afternoon, Lyn, my parents and both my brothers and their wives with me, it occurred to me what a truly lucky guy I am

It was one of those rare occasions when the guys were all in town: Mark was over from Paris to present his latest paper; mum and dad were down from Cheshire; Luke and Yan live here; so we were all able to converge as a family. It felt great. Mind you, it didn’t quite go according to plan: we had intended to spend the afternoon at the Christmas fair in Hyde park, but the place was uncomfortably busy, so we left, making for a nearby coffee shop. There we talked, my mum feeding me chocolate brownie, bringing back warm, comfortable memories. We then made for the Indian restaurant Luke had suggested. It was a fifteen minute walk, during which I was able to fill Mark in on all the awesome things which Lyn and I have been up to: things like the news of this single, as well as the things I can’t post on my blog.

We ate a truly excellent meal, chatting as we always have done, save that, last night, beside me sat my fiance. It is remarkable when you think about it: sat at that table were physicists, biologists and megastars! And I felt damn proud of each and every one of them, proud of my family, and proud that that family now includes Lyn.

We got a taxi back. We were, I think, extremely glad of it, freezing as it was. As it turned around outside the restaurant, my family waving at us from the pavement, I felt my eyes get damp. I don’t know when I’ll see them again, especially all in one place. I don’t think they were all tears of sorrow, though: some were of fondness; some of pride that I have such an excellent family, but that I am nevertheless now free of them. That is how it should be: it is because of their love and care, and indeed Lyn’s, that I can now live the life I do – independent, interesting, packed with surprise. In short, a life that is wonderful.

The British Paraorchestra’s version of ‘True Colors’, featuring ParalympicsGB athletes & The Kaos Signing Choir for Deaf & Hearing Children, is scheduled to be released on Monday. It can be heard here. I hope you all like it; don’t forget to download it on Monday!!

I have never been proder than the moment five minutes ago when Lyn called me into her studio and showed that to me.

Lyn and I went to the unveiling of this short film yesterday. It was at an event in a very posh central London hotel focussing on trying to encourage designers and architects to bear in mind the needs of those with disabilities. That is to say, instead of being forced to use purpose-built kit, mainstream products should b expanded to be able to meet everyone’s needs. One example they gave was a TV which had audiodiscription for blind people built into it’s menus as standard. Pretty good stuff – exciting times indeed!

Talking of the olympic opening ceremony..

We love our national health service; CaMoron and his party does not – after all, they can afford to go private.

I suppose it is fair to say that, despite Boris’ wistful musings that London could host the Olympic games again within twenty years, we won’t be seeing a summer like the one of 2012 for quite some time. That is not to say we couldn’t: after this summer and the run up to it, it would be the simplest thing in the world to get everything going again, and I bet it would be even more awesome than the last. It’s just that London has already hosted the games three times – more than any other city. There are plenty of other cities for the Olympic party to go to – cities in countries which have never hosted the games. That means, of course, that I better come to terms with the fact we probably wont get to see the queen making any more grand entrances, with double oh seven or anyone else.

I’m still obsessed with that bit of film, sorry. As I mused last week, I hope Rio does it’s own reply. I’m intrigued by it’s postmodern juxtaposition of fictional and nonfictional characters: it blends reality and fantasy in a new way, which brings me to wonder what other weird and wonderful combinations I can come up with. Now we have had the queen meet James bond, anything else is possible, nothing else is unthinkable, no person too big or too important, no scenario too far fetched. She may not have realized it, but when she uttered the words ”Good evening, Mr. Bond”, her majesty opened up an exciting new world of postmodern possibilities. Although she may never utter them or their equivalent again, what might they have spawned?

The mind boggles: there are so many fictional characters and so many possible scenarios, it’s hard to know where to begin. What if president Obama was shown talking to superman? What if the mayor of New York was shown talking to Batman about crime in the city? Such stunts could be put to good use, and help deliver important messages. I have been trying to think of ones which are vaguely realistic all day though, and it is harder than you might think. James Bond was the obvious choice for introducing the queen as the stunt did not really need much setting up in terms of pretext. If he were indeed real, as a government agent her majesty would already know him, which is why she could just greet him with a simple ‘good evening’; indeed, the way in which she has 007 wait a few seconds while she finishes her writing subtly demonstrates that the queen is familiar with her agent – had she not known him, surely she would have turned around as soon as he entered the room. Bonds grin and slight pause before he replies underscores this sentiment. yet, as she then rises and walks towards the door, bond looks straight ahead, maintaining a formality and verisimilitude. If Bond had turned his head as her majesty passed him, it would have looked odd – even disrespectful. Thus the pause is not bemusement or impetuousness, but 007 being a professional royal servant, which I think adds to the sense of reality vital in such stunts.

As for the question of why the queen used such an unusual way to get to the ceremony, given that her majesty didn’t actually parachute in to the stadium but landed outside of it and entered as she ordinarily would, how do we know that this is not her usual way of getting places? In other words, whereas if anyone tried to do a similar stunt with some other fictional character they would need to establish a pretextual justification for it, because Bond is a (fictional) government agent, the film makers did not need to explain why this character could appear with the queen. If professor Dumbledore had been used in the olympic ceremony sequence instead of Bond, for example, it’s makers would have had to explain why he had taken a break from his duties at Hogwarts; with 007, a government agent who for all we know does such things with the queen frequently, no such contextualization was necessary. That’s why other examples may be harder to find, as they would need a greater degree of preamble. I’ll continue to mull it over, and try to come up with one as good as bond and the queen. Please put your suggestions in the comments.

It is quite an interesting day for us observers of media. I’ll try to write something in-depth and intelligent soon, I promise, but as the dust is yet to settle, I can just direct you here.

These dark London nights seem somehow unlike the winter nights of Cheshire. They feel darker and colder, more alien, as if people seem more distant. Everyone is, of course, in a hurry to get back home to the warmth and the light, as they would be all over the country. Countryside, town or city, a winter’s night is a winter’s night. Yet here in the capital, that urgency is more pronounced: cars zoom by, and people seem to walk a bit faster.

I was just out with Lyn. We went to the coffee shop around the corner: we have a new personal assistant to train up, and that is a good place to start. My dad had came to visit this morning; it was good to see him, as ever, and after he had left we felt some coffee and cake was in order. It was quite dark when we got home, but, despite that, I felt like a short walk, just for some fresh air.

And so I went, through the parks, along paths I now know quite well. It was cold, though, and before long I decided to head home,, but before I did I decided to take a look at the view I once described here. London may seem alien and cold sometimes,, especially on a dark winter’s night, yet it is also beautiful. Canary Warf, lit up at dusk like a thousand photos of Manhattan, looks magical. It is an image powerful enough to chase away the coldness in an instant, and with that I turned for home, thinking of my father, my family, but most of all the wonderful woman waiting for me.

I find it more than a little bit awesome that almost precisely a year ago today I wrote this entry. In it I record how proud I am of Lyn after seeing her play in her first Paraorchestra performance. I go on to wonder what might be in store for them: I knew they were going to be fairly successful, but, to be honest, I would not have dared to dream that they would hit the heights they have this year. It has frankly amazed me: first, going to Orchestra in a Field, and then watching them close the Paralympics. Moreover, although I’m not at liberty to say what, there are a few very big things in the pipeline. Lyn and I have some very busy days ahead.

Or rather, Lyn does: I’m not a member of the orchestra – I don’t play an instrument. I have thus started to feel guilty about glorying in a success which I have not contributed to. I feel rather like a groupie, a hanger-on. I suspect I just get in the way. I want to help somehow, though – I want to contribute in a more meaningful way; I suppose I want to be a proper part of this groundbreaking, increasingly important organisation. The question is, what can I do?

This story caught my eye today. Scientists in the middle east have had quite a brilliant idea: several nations in the region, from both sides of the arab/Israeli conflict, have decided to come together to create their own particle accelerator. They have decided to put their nations differences aside for the sake of science. If you ask me, this is profoundly brilliant news, as it shows – does it not – how superficial our petty conflicts are, and that, when we choose to, we can put them aside and work together as one people, one species. I found it so glorious that I just had to flag it up on here. Mind you, I must admit that, when I first saw this story on the lunchtime news, the grim thought occurred to me: ”I wonder how long it is until this place is attacked by a group like Al Qa’ida.’

One of the best things about living in London, or any large city I suppose, is the abundance of reasonably nice walks. In stark contrast to other parts of the country, it’s a beautiful day here, and not that cold for the time of year, so I just went out in my chair. As I wrote here, I have always liked going out for strolls, but the problem was, back up north, there weren’t that many circular routes. Of course, there were lots of good walks, but these were along roads and paths leading further and further away from home, so at some point you would have to double back on yourself. I prefer paths which lead you in circles, so you never have to see the same bit of road twice: that is why I loved the walk to Swettenham.

The problem was, that walk was rather long. Here in south London, however, there is an abundance of circular walks, long, medium or short, so I never get tired or bored. The one I took this morning was short to medium: through the parks down to shooters hill road, along to blakheath stopping in M&S Food for some supplies, and from there home. Not very long, but long enough to get my cognitive juices flowing. Part of it was on a stretch of road I had never been down before, too: another advantage of living in a metropolis is that there are always new paved, accessible roads to go down – new places to explore in my chair. There were all kinds of people about, going to and from church, doing their weekly shopping, playing in a football tournament in the park, or, like me, just out for a stroll. It was the perfect start to a lazy Sunday, after what has turned out to be one of our busiest weeks ever.

I’m sorry, but I just have to flag this up – it’s just too funny not to. According to an article in the Guardian, MI6 has posted a presumably fake job advert on the direct.gov website, looking for ‘target elimination specialists’ who ‘will receive all necessary equipment, including passports, special watches, jet packs, mini submarines and a Walther PPK.” Needless to say, I’m considering applying, but I may need to forgo some of those martinis, as much as I like them.

Thanks to John white for sharing that with me!

A couple of days ago, I had an idea, or rather I had an idea which I hope people in brazil have. Given that one of the most memorable parts of the London Olympic opening ceremony was a short film in which James bond escorts the queen to the stadium, how might the Brazilians develop that meme? If you think about it, it is quite an interesting question: that film brought together two British icons, one fictional, one non-fictional, capturing the moment in the most brilliant, surprising and awesome way. After all, who would have ever expected to hear her majesty utter the immortal line ”Good evening, Mr Bond.”? How, then, could brazil respond to that? It occurs to me that they have to – London threw down the gauntlet when it made this film, creating something emphatically British yet playing with British icons, in so doing telling a joke that the whole world would get. The question, then, is how can rio reply?

I was pondering this on Monday: I have a couple of brazillian cousins, so I thought I would ask them whether brazil has it’s equivalent of 007. Alex suggested a guy called Capitao Nascimento who seems to fit the bill, although I daresay no other character from any country occupies Bond’s unique niche. Nascimento comes from Brazilian hit film ”Elite Force”, and, according to alex, has a couple of cool catchphrases, like ”your not man enough to use the black uniform” – he would do nicely. The question is who would jump out of the helicopter with him, if indeed there is going to be a helicopter at all. As I wrote here, ‘Happy and Glorious’ is a rereading of power structures – power structures which are uniquely British. Only we have this benign maternal figure, slightly anachronistic, slightly absurd but which still has our respect and admiration; only we have a martini-drinking spy who is the central character of the biggest, longest running film franchise ever. Both icons have unique places on not just British but worldwide culture: it will be intriguing to see whether the joke is taken up by Rio, and the meme evolves Brazilian style. I love the way an event like the Olympics affords us an opportunity to play with such concepts, and I really hope London has started a tradition continued in rio and beyond.

Apparently, more and more people are being forced to skip meals – sometimes for two days or more – because they cannot afford any food, a study said today. If true, this is very disturbing news indeed. Surely this cannot be the type of britain david CaMoron wants.

It’s been a while since I posted a Quote Of The Day (assuming I have ever posted one) but I just came across a good one from frankie Boyle* I thought I’d share, short of much else I can write about: ”With no job vacancies, withdrawing benefits to encourage people into work is like withdrawing medicine to encourage them to become immoral.”

*I do not condone his comments on down syndrome, or agree with him on many other things

It has been another long day, and it’s only half past four. Trust me, guys: all will be revealed quite soon. We just came home, rather tired and very hungry, and I found this link in my inbox. It concerns the subject of prams on busses, and whether they should move if a wheelchair user needs the wheelchair space. This is, of course, one of my major bugbears: although we have mercifully been using taxis for the last few days, kindly supplied to the paraorchestra free of charge by Radio taxis, I have lost count of the times I haven’t been able to get on a bus because the space was taken by a pram or two. The sign clearly states they should move, yet the mothers blatantly refuse to take their babies into their arms, fold the pram and allow me on. It makes me furious, and it looks like I’m not the only one. However, judging from the comments in reply to the article, some people are prepared to defend such selfishness. As one reply to such a comment states, though, prams can be folded, but I can’t fold my wheelchair.

(Thanks to Johnboy and matt for the link)

L and I are having a busy week, one which promises to get even busier. As I wrote yesterday, though, I can’t really tell you much about what is going on, save that, as with the Paralympic closing ceremony, you guys have a big surprise in store. However, I can tell you that our activity has involved a lot of to-ing and fro-ing in taxis.

Thus it was that, on our way home tonight, I had my first encounter with London talk radio. Never have I heard such repugnant, ill-informed bullshit in my life. Alright, the host sounded level headed half the time, and made some valid points; but at other times he struck me as a total loon. For example, he referred to climate change as ‘so called climate change’, as it was some far-fetched concept, made up to exploit people. This is both scientifically wrong and totally irresponsible: climate change is real – man is causing the earth to warm. The effects of this could be catastrophic, so we need to do something about it. What we do not need is numpties like Peter Hitchins in the tabloids, and on popular talk radio, trying to deny it’s reality. I have no problem with people sharing their views, but to be worthy of broadcasting those views must be bedded in some sense of reality (something which would probably bar ninety nine percent of British conservatives and one hundred percent of American republicans from the airwaves), especially on such serious issues. If their views lack that foundation but they still want to express themselves, then I suggest they just write a blog!

I am afraid it is another of those awesome days which, despite wanting to, I cant tell you too much about what we are up to. Too many games would be given away. Needless to say, it involves the paraorchestra, currently rehearsing in a north London church, and the melodies coming through my ears are magnificent.

It’s strange: by rights I should probably be at home. After all, what boyfriiend follows his fianc to work? I should be at home getting on with my thesis? And yet, how could I turn down the opportunity to be privy to this? How can I stay home while lyn is away making the most sublime music with a group of such amazing musicians? I just can’t; and so here I sit, in the corner of this drafty church, the book I brought to read unread, listening to music, history and beauty being created before me.

I think I’ll just send you here today, to a blog post about what Lyn and I were up to on tuesday. It’s written by Nikki Gomez, who organized the whole thing, and very kindly included a link to my site. I can’t wait to see the finished film: I think we are going to it’s screening the week after next – I hope I get to meet professor hawking!

Does this make me an actor?

I hope I have made it clear on here over the years how much I support the BBC. To me, the beeb is the finest broadcasting organisation in the world: it’s news is less biased than most, it’s documentaries are of a very high standard, it’s drama…well, that can be hit and miss. Over the years it has supplied us with some of the cornerstones of British culture, such as David Attenborough (who, by the way, had another fascinating how on TV last night) and Monty Python. It has also just covered a magnificent home Olympics.

I could cite more examples of the beeb’s greatness, but there is one thing it does which I do not like: Children In Need. We watched ten minutes of it last night, then had to turn the godawful patronising pap off. As Lyn sagely put it: ‘It’s that time of year again where the BBC stereo type disabled people as charity cases.’ She was right: such ‘charity’ does steriotype us; it represses us; makes us dependent on ‘good will’ and thus second class citizens. Little more than beggars on the street.

We crips need help – that is unavoidable. But that help should and must come from the state. We are members of a society of which the state is an extension, and therefore in any truly civilised society our care must be paid for through tax. To me, anyone who denies this and demands the care of disabled people is funded through charity, as I have heard some Americans argue, has no right to call themselves civilised. Charity is just a conscious-salving mechanism for those who hate paying tax, loathe the welfare state and ultimately don’t give a flying fuck about people like me and Lyn, or anyone other than themselves for that matter. A diverse society benefits us all, so it is in everyone’s interest to help those who need it. Feeding us though goodwill renders us untermensch. We would be expected to feel grateful to charities in whose interests it would be to keep us dependant, and to the oh-so good men and women who chose to put a few pennies in a pot, telling themselves they are doing something good on their way home to their large, warm houses.

I would rather die than live like that. That’s why I find it odd that the bbc, a company funded through the license fee for the good of all, and which is usually so enlightened, would stoop to such detritis, using that big yellow bear-whore Pudsey to try to make us forget we are contributing to little more than a form of oppression disguised as kindness.

I know it is lazy blogging, and that I should be commenting on things like the middle east or attacking the patronizing farce that is tonight’s ‘Children in Need’, but I can’t resist sending you here. Entitled ‘James Bond Was Wrong – Don’t shake Your Martini’, its a fairly serious look at the mixology and politics of the famous drink. Surely this is proof that everything in film, and indeed all art, must be semiotically analyzed with the utmost seriousness. I must admit that I find it oddly fascinating. Then again, as the article says, ‘Deconstructing what a fictional book and film character drinks is slightly absurd, but so is taking drinking advice from a fictional character’. Indeed, my tipple of choice is usually beer, something fleming sneered at, and I’m trying to keep off alcohol these days anyway, but the rarified, precise, elitist culture this article tries to evoke strikes me as curious.