Given that I have occasionally blogged about Frozen Planet and other Attenborough-related stuff, I should probably give my two cents over the recent kerfuffle about the faking of certain scenes. The thing is, as much as I love David Attenborough and his programs, I do feel somewhat cheated; as an academic I think the beeb should have been more explicit in stating that certain scenes were not as they appeared to be. Of course, I understand why the scenes of the polar-bear cubs need to be shot in captivity; I just don’t like the way the show was cut to make the program look like it was filmed in the wild.

However, I don’t think we can be too hard on the bbc, and I certainly don’t think this in any way diminishes Attenborough’s reputation. After al, the only way that the tabloid press could have got wind of this story at all is by looking at the Beeb’s own website, so they were still open about it, just not as open as they could have been. As noted here, moreover, the bbc has experimented with on-screen titles which explicitly state where such scenes were filmed, but that it was found that ” [audiences] were quite happy simply [being told] after the programme, on the website, how we do it so those who want to know how it was made can find out. We’ve thought very hard about this and talked to the public.” I’m therefore quite happy with what the bbc did, even if I too raised an eyebrow at it. After all, it is not as if they tried to cover it up; on the whole, I think hey were explicit as they could have been without effecting the flow of the programme*. I think the fact that such a lot was made of this actually says more about the tabloids – they are clearly trying to fling muck at the bbc at time when they are in trouble. And I think phone hacking is a far more serious charge than filming polar bears in a sanctuary rather than in the wild, and not stating it overtly. *Television has no capacity for footnotes, after all

I suppose it is fair to say that yesterday was a pretty crappy day, all told. Given that I blogged that she was pregnant a few weeks ago, I must now sadly report that my friend Marcie announced that she had lost her baby. That cut me up quite a bit; I just feel it is unfair, and that it shouldn’t have happened. I was in two minds over mentioning it, but it just seemed that I had to. Marcie should know that she has my total respect, and all my love, and that the next time we meet she should be prepared for a huge cuddle.

The Americans are finally pulling out of Iraq. I can’t say that I blame them: like many people I opposed the war from the start, and it has been one huge disaster after another. Although Husain has been deposed an indeed executed, he fact is none of his wmd were ever found, no was anything linking him to al Qa’ida. It’s hard to think that those 4500 American troops and 100000+ Iraqi civilians died for much good; indeed, the world feels much less safe than it did ten years ago.

For the old certainties are no longer there. Where ten years ago, the economy was booming, we are now in a depression in all but name; where America was all-powerful, it’s empire and its influence is now crumbling; where ten years ago the UK was led by people of learning of honour, we now have a government of lying, selfish twats wrecking the economy, the wealth fare state and our relationship with Europe. As I wrote here, the last ten years have treated me well, but the world at large has been less fortunate. It has changed, taken a turn for the worse, and, looking out of my office window onto a cold, wintry London, I fear there is now yet worse to come. Given that the last ten years have seen ten years of constant conflict in iraq and Afghanistan, a severe economic downturn and now the likely break-up of the European Union, I must admit it’s hard to stop the Armageddon scenarios running through my brain. And the worst thing is, now we’re outside of europe, there is little we brits can do about it.

I yelped with glee when I got news of this earlier today. My friend Alex, who I studied writing at university with, is now a published author. I must admit it makes me feel a little ashamed of myself for not writing something publishable myself, but then, the truth is Alex is a far better writer than I’ll ever be. I could tell, even from his short stories back at uni, that he was bound for greatness; his style is unique, and has a kind of real-ness to it. Thus I know, even without reading it, that this nove will bee great. Go check it out.

A couple of days ago I came across a reference to Black Mirror, a program which channel four broadcast on Saturday evening. I had wanted to watch it when it first aired, but I’d missed it for some reason. However, the next day I saw someone on the all-knowing, all-seeing book of face slagging it off; he gave quite a lengthy account – for Facebook anyway – of why he disliked this program, including sentences like ” It is ultimately a programme that treats the viewer with contempt. Showing a Prime Minister of Britain explicitly having an orgasm with a pig on a national broadcasting channel isn’t avant-garde cinema – it’s disturbing. It’s not clever – it’s grotesque. It’s not reducing my levels of ‘prejudice’ – it’s repulsive. It’s not gritty – it’s immoral.” Reactions like this automatically raise my shackles; they seem narrow-minded and judgemental. They usually come from people on the right of the political spectrum, who, lets face it, aren’t my favourite sort of people at the best of time. There and then I entered into a Facebook argument, but it wasn’t until this evening that I got round to watching the program itself.

And now that I have , the review I read seems infinitely more ridiculous. It is a very interesting program about the relationship between government, traditional media and new online media, and their manipulation. Basically someone kidnaps a princess and posts a video onto youtube stating that she will be killed unless a video I posted showing thee prim minister fucking a pig. Clearly that would never and could never happen in reality, and the film is quite absurd on man levels. But when I heard that, I realised it was deliberately absurd and in fact quite irrelevant because of it. The programme is about media manipulation and how the online world has changed it’s dynamic; in away I could almost call it Lacanian. Charie Brooker, the producer, chose to make the PM fuck a pig because of it’s depravity and absurdity, mirroring the depravity and absurdity of the online world; it was probably the most depraved obscene random act he could think of. Thus it was just a symbol through which he could deliver his message about modern life, so for some people to call the film vulgar strikes me as hilarious. In fact the act itself is not shown, although one of the greatest touches off the film is that the entire country comes to a halt to watch the event, which, as per the kidnappers demand, is being broadcast live on tv on all channels. For someone to damn this film on grounds that is immoral is to greatly miss it’s point. It is about a ‘what if’ scenario, which the audience and director acknowledge would never happen, but which Brooker uses to explore certain issues. That is what art should do, and the conservative prudes should stay away if they don’t understand or have nothing sensible to contribute to the debate.

Scientific discoveries always cheer me up. I don’t want to say much, but yesterday was a pretty fought, stressful day: there have been one or two problems that I thought I could ignore which I realised cannot be ignored. But don’t worry – I’m sure such issues will be resolved soon. On a more cheerful note, however, it seems that scientists have found what they are calling a ‘hint’ of the Higgs-Boson. Not that I know anything about such things, but the Higgs-boson is apparently the particle which gives everything substance. This hint is therefore a pretty big discovery, and, like the extra-solar planet I mentioned recently, I find it quite exciting. It seems no matter how big a mess I’m making, or temporarily feel I’m making, of my life personally, the scientists will always be there to cheer me up with their breakthroughs.

Lyn and I were both very excited to see an advert for this programme on bbc4 tonight. for starters, I’m usually interested in watching people make things – I used to love programmes like Scrapheap Challenge. more importantly, it’s presented by Charles Hazlewood, the very same guy Lyn is working with in the Paraorchestra. It will be nice to see his other projects, and, after seeing this trailer, I can’t help but suspect that Lyn might soon be in a similar documentary. Now that would be awesome!

I think it is fair to say that I am not at all happy: I have half a mind to catch a train up to Milbank and demand the immediate disbanding of the Tory party, although I suspect the only thing that would happen is I’d be taken home by the police, who’d tell Lyn ”We think you have lost something”. David CaMoron, despite not having a proper mandate from the people, has severely damaged this country’s relationship with Europe. Through his xenophobia – and that is what euroskepticism boils down to – he has cut off this country from our European neighbours. Europe and the rest of the world is in an economic crisis, one which we need to work together to solve, yet CaMoron and osbourne have acted with the foresight of numpties, cutting Britain off. Their failure to see the bigger picture is astounding: given that Europe is our biggest trading partner, we need to be cooperating with them, making sure we are at the centre of Europe, making sure we cooperate with our neighbours in making a system in which we can all grow. Instead, in using his veto in an effort to prove his credentials to the morons in the right of his party, he has cut Britain off, turned friends into adversaries, and severely damaged the reputation of Britain. I am severely pissed off at what this man has done, seeing things only in terms of this country and the financial institutions of London, rather than in terms of a bigger picture, in terms of European cooperation and humanity as a whole. Europe will stop trading with us, and America will trade more with Europe as it will be the bigger market, making us irrelevant through our isolation. Moreover, he did something he has no right to do given he did not have the consent of the majority of the people. He and his party should be expelled from power immediately – in terms of the damage I will do, what they did yesterday amounts to treason.

I was going to blog about this yesterday, but, between my parents coming to visit and several other things, I did not get around to it. I came across an article which seemed to advocate the complete segregation of gay bars in places like soho. That is to say, the writer wanted to make certain bars exclusively for gay people; his argument was that gay people need areas where they can express their love for their partners without being gawped at by women on hen nights or other straight people out for a jaunt in places like canal street. While he may have a point there, I think what he is proposing is foolish in the extreme, and would do far more harm than good. It would make the gay community seem separatist and isolationist, and would make homophobia far more common.

I suppose being a guy with cerebral palsy with a transsexual fiance and a liking for women’s clothes, I have the advantage of belonging to two subcultures. As a disabled man, I know what it’s like to be segregated, to be seen as ‘other’. I know that the moment a minority is shut off from the mainstream, prejudice towards them increases. That is why it is so important to include kids with disabilities in mainstream schools, where at all possible. Indeed, one only has to take a cursory glance at the history of relations between ethnic groups to see how damaging segregation can be. I therefore find what his guy is proposing very, very naive. It would be a retrograde step, and a recipe for conflict and hatred.

He argues that, given some pubs are virtually off limits for gay people, gay bars should be off limits for straight people. When I read this, I was struck by a thought: given that despite recent efforts to make more public places accessible, many older pubs are still no-go zones for wheelchair users, so shouldn’t the sae logic apply? Under that reasoning, shouldn’t we crips have crip-only bars? I think it’s a wonderful idea: we would be free to drool without being stared at, and drinking through straws would be compulsory. The problem is, our PAs wouldn’t be allowed to go in, so we crips would be stuck and the place would get rather messy pretty quickly. I also quite enjoy having a beer with m able-bodied friends, so on the whole I think this would be a pretty foolish idea – almost as foolish as barring straight people from gay bars.

I’ll probably post a lengthier entry later, but, following on from last night’s entry, it is with great pleasure and a tear in my eye that I direct you here (or here if the first link has stopped working), to what I suspect might be David Attenborough’s last appearance. It is a short piece, brilliantly composed, and although it s clear Attenborough is not a singer, I can’t help but find it rather beautiful.

Thanks for sixty years of amazing television programmes, sir David.

Given that I’ve linked to two or three of the others, I think it right that I direct you here, to the final part of Frozen Planet. It is a vivid illustration of climate change, and how global warming is increasingly affecting the planet. In fact it is unusual for an Attenborough program in that it argues a point – that global warming is a real phenomenon – rather than being purely descriptive. To that end, it is very persuasive indeed, and I’d urge anyone who still somehow doubts the reality of global warming to watch this programme

However, the part which touched me the most, must have been the piece after the show itself had finished*, where sir David speaks the lyrics to ”What A wonderful World”. He has had a remarkable career, and I can’t help suspecting his appearance tonight (remarkably in tonights programme he stood in the Antarctic at the age of ninety and did several pieces to camera – I’m in awe of the guy) may be his last. Thus, this final part acted as his swan song, a summation of his life on air, and perhaps a farewell. I therefore found t very touching indeed; it brought a lump to my throat, and I suspect it will be something I’ll watch again and again. Thanks, sir David.

*Sadly, it is therefore not on the Iplayer recording

While I certainly don’t agree with everything the writer states, this seems to be a well-rounded discussion of the debate over Emma West. I agree that no matter how repugnant we may find miss West’s comments, her right to make them must take priority. There is much that I do not like about this article – the defence of drink driving for one – but at it’s core is a discussion of a central truth: that we should all be free to speak our minds. That, in a way, is why I must link to it. It’s all very well me going on about freedom of speech, but my words would be hollow if I only linked to articles I completely agreed with. I cannot deny that there is truth at the core of what this guy writes, even if we disagree on the details: he, too, has a right to argue his position.

To be honest I doubted it would happen in my lifetime, but it seems that a NASA telescope has located an earth-like planet outside of our solar system. For me, this is incredible news; the bbc are reporting it in the slot where they usually put funny or quirky stories, but I think it should be the main news story. Think about it: if it does have liquid water, this planet probably has life on it, which means we have probably found life on a planet other than earth. That is incredible news, in a way far more important than the financial farce or the moronic activities of our unelected government. Those things matter, but the discovery of this planet could be much more significant – what if it does have life on it? And what if that life is intelligent? In, say, 52 years and 5 months, people could be looking back to day, saying ”That’s when it all began”.

Like many people, I take seing the coca-cola advert as a sign that christmas is coming. Well, after seing this at the dome yesterday, I reckon the festive season is definitely here…

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It seems somebody has, at last, had a good idea. I heard earlier that a survey by Scope suggested that majority of disabled people supported combining the Olympics and Paralympics. I couldn’t agree more. Indeed, a similar thought occurred to me not so long ago: to have two separate events sends out the wrong signal as it represents a divide between the able-bodied and disabled communities. How cool would it be to have the two types of competitor compete side by side. Granted, they may have to compete in separate events – think of the carnage a race between a sprinter and a wheelchair racer might end in – but I can’t help thinking that to have able and disabled athletes compete in the same stadium at the same time would be a huge rhetorical step forward.

I suppose I should say something about Jeremy Clarkson today. Well, here goes: Jeremy Clarkson is a twat. That is all.

…

Okay, I suppose I should write a little more on the subject, but what else is there to say? He said something extremely insensitive about public sector workers at a time when they are getting desperate. He may have been joking, he may have been trying to be provocative, but that doesn’t excuse his narrow-minded, judgemental and frankly nave comments. On the other hand, I also think Clarkson is a caricature of a bigot: a figure that exposes how ludicrous right wing views are by expounding them. He is a laughing stock, and anyone who claims to agree with him is equally laughable. However, that doesn’t justify what he said, and no doubt he will be punished for his comments.

I hate having to write retractions and corrections, although I suppose in the grand scheme of things, this one is only minor. It has been a busy day: my friend Chopper and I have been all over the place, mostly getting stuff for the conservatory roof. On our travels, we bumped into Alex – it turns out he didn’t film that woman after all. He only posted it to his Facebook page; Chopper was misinformed by his sons. Needless to say, I am rather disappointed.

All this running about south-east London mean I couldn’t go up to see any of the protests. I’ve seen evidence of them: there have been more kids about than usual because the schools are closed, but the busses are running and things are quiet. Ii am disappointed about this too: if we are to get the government to listen, the entire capital must come to a halt*. I only just got in so I haven’t seen any of the up-to-date reports, but I bet you any money this already-failed government is continuing with it’ cuts, despite the fact that half the country is on strike, and the fact that the economic data shows that their cuts are not working. They were shown yesterday, beyond doubt, to be cutting too far and too fast; but instead of doing the sensible thing and easing the cuts, Osbourne decides to cut even harder. No wonder the country wants these idiots out of power.

*mind you, it struck me as a relief this morning that the direct payment system is in place. That is to say, we employ personal assistants directly; they are not public sector workers, so they are not on strike. Another advantage of DP, I suppose, although I dread to think what might happen if – or should that be when – the Tories cut that.

I should probably be writing about the budget, but think it would be wise for me to let the dust settle a bit before I do so. Instead, I just want to point out something cool: just as the world went mad over a clip of a dog chasing deer in Richmond park last week, this week it is up in arms over some racist woman mouthing off on a bus. I came across it yesterday, and like most people I was appalled. I thought about blogging about it there and then, but given that I didn’t have anything to say about it other than the normal statements of disgust that would have occurred to most other people, I decided against it. What could I have said about it that nobody else could?

However, I just found out something funny. The Chopster just popped in on a routine visit, and, according to him, I know the guy who made the video. It was made by one of his friends, Alex, whom I have met. How cool is that? Of course, I need to confirm it, but the woman in the clip does have a strong south London accent. Indeed, the truth is a lot of people around here have views similar to hers, although I suppose you could say that of anywhere these days. It just struck me as odd, and worth pointing out; it also presents me with the possibility of finding out more. I’ll have to talk to Alex the next time I see him.

Now I come to think about it, what happened yesterday was a little odd, but it was cool nevertheless. It started normally enough: we need or conservatory roof fixed, so about noon I buzzed over to choppers to investigate the plan for it. As usual, he invited me in, sat me in front of the film he and his sons were watching, and started feeding me biscuits, all the while chatting about this and that. However, he then said he wanted to take me to his mums house so I cold help him fix her light.

Although I’m usually much better at breaking stuff than fixing stuff I thought I might as well go with him; after all, he was going to fix our roof so it would be rude to say no.

Fixing choppers mums light was no straightforward task. The whole thing needed replacing, which meant getting to it from the room above. That was the fun part: we had to take up the floor boards, which meant chopper gave me a big crow bar to use. It really appealed to my sense of anarchy and destruction; mind you, it was also very tough going, so I could also manage a bit; I also think I took up a board that didn’t need to be removed. However, while I was doing this, it made me ponder: I’m not that great of an academic, at least compared to my brothers, so maybe had I not had CP, I would have been the sibling who used his hands rather than his brains. Maybe I would have been the builder, carpenter or scaffolder of the family; after all, I have always liked watching stuff like that. I know that is idle speculation, but, hard though it was, I really liked what I was doing yesterday. I got home dirty, tired, and in need of a drink.

Having said all that, my back hurts this morning, so perhaps I should not have been a workman after all. It did make me wonder though. Nevertheless, this afternoon the less physical task of continuing with my thesis beckons. That is fun too, although I don’t get to use a crowbar.

I was chatting to my friend James last night. He made a point which, to begin with, I was quite dismissive of, but the more I think about it the more interesting it seems. James was saying that events currently unfolding in Cairo reminded him greatly of the 1917 Russian revolutions. I am instinctively very weary of such talk:

after all, history does not and cannot repeat itself, so supposing one event can be used as a template for another seems to me quite foolish. Yes the two cases are similar inasmuch as they both have two changes o government, one each side of the year. But pre-soviet Russia and modern Egypt are two completely different places, so I thought trying to compare the two would lead only to superficial conclusions at best.

Yet the more I think about it, the more I think James has a point; in retrospect he was being quite astute. As in February 1917, earlier this year Egypt’s long-ruling dictator was overthrown, and as in October 1917, we have a group as extreme as the Bolsheviks, the Muslim Brotherhood, eager to cease power. The question remains, however, as to how closely the transitional council in Egypt resembles Russia’s hapless and shot-lived provisional government. The former seems slightly stronger than the latter, and indeed has promised elections. Crucially though, the world is watching Egypt, ready to step in in a way it couldn’t in 1917.

I’m not saying James is wrong; his is a very good point, and the thing it implicitly predicts, that one autocrat will merely be replaced with anther, might well come to pass. Yet however interesting this debate is, it is ultimately only frivolous academic speculation. It might be interesting to discuss such parallels after a good dinner, but it is ultimately useless in predicting what is really going to happen in Egypt. That only time will tell.

Rarely if ever have I felt as proud as I suddenly find myself feeling. The only time I ca compare it to is when my dad pushed me across the stage at graduation day. Lyn just called me and Marta into her studio to show us something, and showed us this. It is a video of her performance on Monday: once again I feel like a parent, but, this time, a parent whose child has just received a standing ovation from two thousand people after giving a most wonderful performance. Seriously, though, I had no idea how wonderful a thing Lyn’s orchestra was, or how big a thing they will no doubt become. Lyn is now set for enormous things, and once again I find myself struggling for words to convey how proud I am of her.

Lyn got safe and well last night, having had an excellent time in Brussels. She was only a few minutes later than ii expected – well within normal parameters – but even so I was beginning to fret. I felt like a housewife waiting for her husband to get home after work, or a parent waiting for a teenager to come in after a gig. Anyway, Lyn was very excited when she got home: she was performing with the para-orchestra, and the event, she and Dominic reported, had gone wonderfully. In fact, when they described it, and after I saw a shout clip of the applause Lyn and her group received, I began to feel quite miffed that I hadn’t gone. I think I’ll have to put my foot down and insist on going with them next time.

Since I did one baby-related entry, I might as well do another. I have great pleasure in announcing my great friend Ricardio is now a father. He and his Partner, Hannah, today had a baby girl. You know, I’ve often made fun of Ricardio – I remember referring to him as ‘beardy’ when we first met at uni – but, truth is, he is an amazing guy, and I know he’ll make an excellent dad.

As for myself, Lyn is away on business for the night so I’m here alone. The house feels empty without her, and although I know she’ll be back tomorrow I find myself missing her a great deal. It feels so strange and empty. Oh well, at least I have the thought of ricardio now having to get up and change nappies to cheer me up.

It’s a long, slow, lazy afternoon. Lyn has gone to her music group (which I’ll be blogging about in due course, but I can’t say much about that now – it’s all hush hush). I went up into london yesterday with the Chopster, and we both came back exhausted, so today I’m just chilling, doing a little work on my thesis and generally mooching around the house. Thus, in the spirit of cheering everyone up and generally chilling out, I think I’ll just direct you here, to a video of Charlie’s group, The Harmonettes, singing Valerie. I think they’re quite good; they certainly brought a smile to my face.

I’ve been debating online again, and this morning I had occasion to set out the rational behind my worldview. I wanted to explain why society existed and needed to exist. I think it might also be of interest to readers of this blog:

I fundamentally disagree with you when you say society is a construction. Frankly, you only say that because it suits your selfish, self-centred worldview: you make the assumption that you’re okay fending for yourself, so everyone can fend for their selves just as well, or else die out. This is, of curse, a social Darwinian approach, and is intellectually void.

Man evolved to live in societies for a reason. We are social animals. We all know different people have different skills. A group is made up of individuals, yes, but each individual will have his or her own skill to contribute. Living as an individual, one might have some, but not all, the skills necessary for survival. It was therefore necessary to work together in a group, pooling resources, so that the maximum number of people had the maximum chance to procreate. It’s the survival of the species in all it’s diversity, rather than the individual, that matters – that’s the bigger picture.

We don’t live under the same evolutionary pressures now, of course, but the same principles apply. For the individual to be happy, he needs society to flourish, and for society to flourish, it needs to care for all its members. Say someone had a certain skill which society needed, but was otherwise unable to look after himself. The group has an interest in caring for that individual because it helps guarantee the survival of the rest of the group. That’s why I find individualism a poorly thought through concept: it is a poor attempt to rationalise greed and selfishness, but gets us nowhere. For the individual to flourish, society must flourish, and for society to flourish, individuals must work together.

I’m not sure I should publish this here, without their permission, but tonight on facebook my friend Marcie announced that she was expecting. This is absolutely incredible news: Marcie, know at uni as Rockie, is an absolutely incredible person. I have never met anyone with more warmth, and morre strength. She and Mike will make absolutely amazing parents.Words fail me – I’m overjoyed for them both.

I had previously dismissed Rich Hall as a mildly amusing American comedian who sometimes appeared on panel shows, but I was flicking through television channels last night, and I caught the end of his documentary about the American road movie on BBC four. I was impressed by what he was saying, so I decided to watch it in full on Iplayer, and I think t is one of the most intelligent things I’ve seen on tv in some time. The road movie, of course, is one of the most profound of genres, where the scenery itself echoes the internal conflicts of the dramatis personae: they are about going somewhere, about movement; but they are also about self discovery, about searching for something internally, as if the vast open spaces act as visual metaphors for the human soul. Thus, as I vaguely recall Alan saying in one of his second year lllectures (or I could have read it) the journey out is also a journey inward.

Moreover, as Hall notes, these films act as social and political commentary, concerning such things as the hippy movement, free love, and so on. Of course, most of them were made during the classical period of Hollywood, when the American cinema was still an art form which directors used to actually say something, rather than the bland, witless form of mass entertainment George Lucas turned it into in 1977. I must say that one of the great joys of Hall’s program is watching someone call star wars what it is: meaningless crap responsible for turning one of the greatest art forms ever into something vapid and puerile. I screamed with joy when Hall named Lucas as the talentless hack he is. I mean, star wars fans lord him as a great auteur on a creative par with Tolkien, when he is nothing of the sort: star wars is unoriginal, derivative, and meaningless in terms of social commentary. I therefore took great, great joy in watching Hall rip into it in his sarcastic way.* (The next time I meet a star wars fan, I’ll be very temped to shout ‘CHEESECAKE!’ at him)

It was refreshing, then, to see something of intelligence and substance being said about cinema. Hall makes very good points, particularly in relating certain films to their social contexts. He also examines how some films were made: for example, I particularly like his account of the filming of Easy Riders, a film which we covered in my second year at university. Easy Riders is a film possibly most notable for the fact that most of the crew were off their heads on crack throughout filming, including and especially director Dennis Hopper. Of course, he could have gone deeper, as I know I should but, probably better not, here, into examining the relationship between the road and the psyche in terms of psychoanalysis in this genre; but while that would have been interesting to film graduates like me, it would have probably have just weighed an essentially lighthearted, if fascinating, program down. As it is, though, there is definite intellectual weight behind what Hall has to say, and I think he gives a valuable insight into the American road movie, and American cinema in general. Go watch.

*to be fair, it must be noted that jrr Tolkien cannot be called completely original, for he famously borrowed from Icelandic and Germanic epic poetry.

While I still don’t feel quite right, and you should see the mess my bum just fired, machine gun like, into the loo, I feel a hell of a lot better than I did yesterday. Twenty-four hours ago I was in hospital, having puked all over the bed at about 4am. How I got there runs like a Victorian farce: I puked, Lyn rang the alarm; the emergency staff came, and thought Lyn was having a fit when she was just trying to get out of bed. They called an ambulance but before it arrived we managed to explain she was fine. The ambulance arrived, they took my temperature, and decided to give me a paracetamol.

Everything would have returned to normal had I not puked again at that point. The ambulance drivers would have gone, and we would have got back into bed. But I puked, and was taken to hospital. I thought they were just going to check me over and let me come home, but instead they put a saline drip in my arm. Thereupon followed a weird, very boring, few hours, during which time I grew more and more anxious to get home: I knew Lyn would be worried about me. I felt afraid and alone, being patronised by staff. Eventually, when the drip was over, and after a long wait for a porter to push me, I was moved to a place where I could wait for transport home. I was in my manual chair: had I been in defiant I’d have been homelike a shot. But no, they made me wait – I kept telling them to ring my friend to pick me up, but they refused to do so. Needless to say, I was fast loosing my temper.

What happened then, however, was one of the most incredible things of my life. I’d popped into the loo, and when I came out chopper was there, powerful and decisive. Never have I been more relieved to see anyone – you couldn’t have scripted it better. It was as if some deity had taken pity and sent me exactly what I needed, but in fact Lyn had just asked him to come get me. I guess that makes Lyn a god, but I digress.

Well, without further ado – chopper never being one for waiting on protocol – we were out of there like bats out of hell. We first came here to see Lyn, then, not wanting her to catch what I had, I spent the afternoon at choppers. There I snoozed on his sofa, coming back home inn the early evening, Skyping my parents, eating some dinner and having an early night. After a good night’s sleep, I woke up feeling much better, but with a newfound dislike of hospitals. Now, however, I’m afraid Lyn has caught what I had yesterday..

I came across this beer recently, and I thought I’d draw your attention to it. It’s a fairly nice beer, but it’s name strikes me as strange: it is amusing, yes, but does this mean that poking fun at people with ginger hair is acceptable. Call me a politically-correct spoilsport, but it struck me as odd – I mean, what if I came across a beer called ‘Total spazz”? Would I laugh, and order myself a few pints of it, or would I take offense and leave the place in disgust? Truth be told, I am not sure I know how I would react. The questions this raises, such as why it is acceptable to sell a beer poking fun at one minority, when a beer poking fun at another would certainly be banned, strike me as interesting and worth drawing your attention to.

We just watched the second part of the Beeb’s biopic of George Harrison, and I must say I was very impressed. I was largely ignorant of Harrison: I knew about john Lennon because of ‘Imagine’; I was aware Ringo was the drummer; I knew Paul because of this; but I knew next to nothing of the fourth Beatle. I was only aware of him as close friend of the Monty Python team, indeed tonight’s programme included interviews with Eric idle and Terry Gilliam. What struck me as odd, however, was the fact that Michael Palin did not appear. Palin was, I’ve heard, the closest python to Harrison: he was with the Beatle shortly before his death, so that Martin Scorsese, who directed this otherwise intriguing programme, didn’t include an interview with Palin strikes me as very strange indeed. That aside, though, is still a fascinating study of a very important and gifted musician.

London really is a beautiful city. It is, perhaps, at it’s most beautiful at dusk on a chilly late autumn afternoon, when the street lights are just starting to come on. Mind you, pretty much anywhere is beautiful at that time, particularly the inside of a good pub, or home. Yet that is when the city takes on a special type of beauty, especially here in the east, and down by the river. I was just walking back from Woolwich: I was on one of my exploratory strolls, and decided to try to find an alternative route home. I found a path by the Thames – out there it is wide and majestic; one gets the impression that you’re in an ancient landscape. The buildings look old, as if they belong to a time long gone, and indeed they were. The heyday of Woolwich was the late nineteenth century, when London was the capital of a vast empire: if you go down the high street, the shops look kind of shabby, but if you look up to their first floor windows, you can see the buildings the shops now inhabit were once finely decorated. For that place was once the centre for boat building, and thus a centre of wealth and trade

Walking home this evening I crossed over the entrances of the old docks and slipways, log since abandoned and forgotten, and they stuck me with a melancholy beauty. Cities like Paris have a beauty that strikes you instantaneously, taking your breath away with the poetry of its layout and architecture, yet while central London does indeed have some stunning buildings, the beauty of this city is one that takes time to find. It’s beauty is a kind of melancholic timelessness which you can only experience once you have lived here a while; it only it you from time to time, like when you’re by the river at Woolwich, but which every cockney has a sense of.

Poppies grew where men once fell, on fields once soaked in blood

Life goes out, in a wink, after the cannon’s thud

”To war!” They cried, ”To war! To WAR!” swearing oaths wholly hollow and so they went, those doomed few, food for the cannon to swallow.

—

I wrote the above poem a few years ago. I still remember it, ant thought it appropriate to post on here today.

I’m now supposed to write something on here about honour and sacrifice, and about how we must remember our brave soldiers who died for us. But we all know that would be platitudinous bullshit: the truth is I know nothing of war, and very few of us do. I fear the country has lately become obsessed with the wearing of the poppy, as if not wearing one is a sign of disrespect, and any organisation which dares to suggest they shouldn’t be worn to prevent political bias is pounced upon from the highest echelons of government. It is starting to remind me of the Americans, with their jingoistic flag-wearing; there, anyone who doesn’t have a flag on their lapel is an instant outcast. The men who died for this country do so to protect our freedoms, in theory at least, but where is the freedom in demanding everyone conform to mindless, jingoistic patriotism? The truth is, they fought and died for those in power, to protect people to whom they were just cannon fodder, and who thus have a vested interest in making sure we all keep chanting this patriotic bull.

I was about to come in here, sit down, and write a damning review of ‘Life’s too short’. It initially struck me as insensitive and crass, simply a vehicle for Ricky Gervais to childishly make fun at short people; and indeed part of me thinks it is just that. Yet, while I think Gervais has grown too arrogant recently, too full of himself, there is no escaping the fact that this program did make me titter. While I still think Gervais now somehow thinks of himself as the sole arbiter of humor, giving himself permission to make jokes at anyone’s expense, no matter who he offends, his shows are nevertheless endowed with a certain pathos which I cannot help but laugh at. I couldn’t help getting into it, finding myself seeing past the arrogance and childishness to the subtly beneath. I know I should hate these programs his offering tonight, in many ways, amounted to half an hour of ”laugh at the short guy” – but there were inescapable, if fleeting, moments of true humor and true wit which I couldn’t help but like.

Forgive me, but I just found this. It is a vid of all ten themes of the Star trek films played as one, so they form a suite. I’ve been listening to it for the last forty minutes or so, and it has, I must admit, brought me almost to tears a few times. To me, they are beautiful, triumphant pieces, which work together rather well, and which encapsulate one of my life’s passions. They also spur me on with my thesis, the third chapter of which is about that same passion. They make me want to sit down and watch the films again too, but most of all, these pieces remind me that I, like humanity in general, have so much to explore yet. I think, from now on, whenever I feel fed up or low, I’ll just have to put this on.

It has been quite a day. Ii got back here about three and was already ready to go to bed. I feel better now, after some coffee and a bit of playing around online, but not so long ago I was cream crackered. It happened like this: Sunday afternoon I was on one of my drives down in Woolwich, when I had an idea for a Christmas present. I passed a certain shop which sold certain things, and decided to make certain enquiries. The man said that the thing I wanted would be ready the next day wich was cool. So yesterday, shortly after posting my blog entry, I got up to go pick up thee the things I had ordered.

Only there was a problem – a big problem. My wallet was missing; I’d got rather drunk the night before and must have dropped it on my way home from the pub. Thereupon I began to do a passable impression of a headless chicken, hunting high and low,, asking in the pub, looking in the leaf litter, but it was gone. Eventually I gave in to the obvious, and asked my mum to cancel my cards, but by that time my bank branch was shut. Mum did what she could online, but I would have to physically go in and do the rest.

This morning, then, was quite hectic. I first got the bus to Bexley to sort out my bank stuff. That bus ride in itself takes over thirty minutes. Thankfully, the guys at the bank were very helpful, but even so it took ages to sort it all out. Then another interminably long bus ride to make sure I picked up my gifts. Fortunately they had kept the things I had ordered, which I paid for with the money I had just got out.

That, however, wasn’t all. I got home, dumped my stuff, then went right out again as I go to school on Tuesdays. I find helping at school very rewarding, and take that commitment rather seriously, which is why I went in, but part of me just wanted to forget about it and just crash out on the sofa. Needless to say, I got home, two hours later exhausted.

Yet I was also exhilarated, and quite pleased wit myself. I like going out and doing things – sorting out problems like this. I know, thanks to mum it wasn’t a very complicated problem, and just required a bit of sitting on busses; but I really think the time is approaching when I’ll be able to handle it myself.

My friend Alex, ho now works as a teacher in Jakarta, wrote to me about inclusion. I think I’ll post my reply here too, as it sums up my attitude to that debate these days.

—

Dear Alex. Good to hear from you again.

You know, my opinion on the issue of inclusion has changed since we left uni. To be honest I’m not sure what to believe anymore; I certainly don’t believe it’s an issue one can afford to be dogmatic about, and I was indeed dogmatic about it in the past. I think a lot of people in the disabled community are. Mind you, I suspect they have every right to be. However, since moving to Charlton (slightly less exotic than Indonesia, I know, but it has it’s fair share of wildlife) I’ve been volunteering at a local special school, and that has made me question my opinions. A result of the inclusion policy is that whoever can be included in mainstream schools now is, so now only the most severely disabled kids are segregated. I’ve thus been working with kids with very severe cognitive and behavioural proems – much more severe than me and my classmates; it’s hard for me to see how many of them could be included in a mainstream environment.

Yet that, I suppose, is part of the problem. For inclusion to work – and I still think it would be great if it did – the mainstream environment must change: most comprehensives are set up for ‘normal’ kid with ‘normal’ minds and bodies. As yet there aren’t the systems in place which would enable such schools to accommodate the type of student I encounter in Charlton park. Forcing such kids into a rough and ready comprehensive would be inhumane. I know one young man with quite severe autism; he’s very intelligent, but has a childlike fascination with clowns. I dread to think what would happen if he was put into a classroom with thirty adolescent thugs. Indeed I have friends who were included, and were bullied mercilessly. On the other hand, to segregate kids from their able-bodied peers, like monsters to be kept away from society, is often just as reprehensible.

Thus I don’t think we have found the answer yet. Indeed I’m not sure there is one. I think, though, that Charlton Park is the most suitable type of school for most of the kids there. To find a better solution would require a hell of a lot more resources, resources which, at the moment, we do not have. The problem is balancing the needs of the individual child against the need in society for inclusiveness and equality. Again, above all, it’s not something one can be dogmatic about.

I hope I have answered your question. Please don’t hesitate to ask me more, and if you have time, tell me more about things in Indonesia – it sounds fascinating. If you don’t mind, dude, I’m thinking about posting this on my blog, too – is that okay? Peace Matt

I think I’ll post this image here today, partly because I think it’s quite an interesting picture with a cool composition, but mostly because I’m a big softy.

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I keep intending to get back to political analysis on here; I have yet to write anything meaningful on the eurozone crisis. I know I probably should, given that this blog is an attempt at political and social commentary, however half-assed. The thing is, I don’t know enough about economics to write anything of the sort; I just know that I would feel more comfortable with someone with a better understanding of economics than the numpty Osborne representing us at thee G20, like Alistair Darling, or even a goldfish.

Another factor in preventing me from writing a blog entry about economics is hat I keep finding far more interesting stuff to blog about. Marta was just helping Lyn to get up, and we were talking about David Attenborough. Marta has been watching frozen Planet, and is just as captivated by it as I am. However, she said she only just discovered the joys of Attenborough; I explained that he interests me greatly, and that I had read his autobiography. While she hoisted Lyn out of bed, I popped in here to try to find the Life on Air website, but look what I found instead. Attenborough’s Zoo Quests, which aired when my parents were babies, are online. They are fascinating bit of television history, not only because they began Attenborough’s incredible sixty-year career, but also because they demonstrate how much our attitudes to wildlife, as well as indigenous cultures and people, have changed. Moreover, they are part of a lost world: Britain still had it’s empire, and everyone on the beeb had an upper-class accent. I have the impression that the world was a very different place back then, and the bbc was a very different organisation, so these programmes appearing online allow us to glimpse a lost world. What intrigues me, though, is how David Attenborough has straddled both worlds; culturally he’s become a figure of permanence, stability and comfort to a great many millions. I hope Marta’s children can grow up with him on their tv screens, as we all did.

Nigel Farage, please just shut up. everything you say is intellectually void. I called you a xenophobe when we met in Crewe; you arrogantly and patronisingly ignored me, probably because I was using a wheelchair and communication aid, so you thought I was not worth talking to. Well, you may not have the intelligence to realise it, but all your beliefs boil down to xenophobia and the outdated belief that britain can be an island politically as well as geographically. I suggest you shut up and sop going on bbc news as if your views count for anything other than the ravings of a bigot. Europe is in crisis; it is not helped by idiots like you going on national tv and wasting air time.

I just have two words to post today: He’s back!

[cue squeals of childish joy and lots of running excitedly about the house. Lyn looks on, bemused]