I think I’ll just link to this today, not just because it mixes two of my prime interests – james bond and dressing up – but it carries with it a very important message. Sexism is a very real issue, and I have no doubt that all of what this advert claims is true. Frankly, though, I think something similar could be said about people with disabilities, although the discrimination people like me face is different. We are not beaten up by our partners, but we are often abused in other ways. Anyway, having the actor who plays one of the biggest misogynists in fiction help deliver a message about sexism is a stroke of ironic genius. Go watch.

Thiis naturally caught my eye yesterday afternoon, althoughh I can’t find a link to it now. It’s about a new type of voice for communication aids, one modelled on a real voice. It was created by a guy who has motor-neurone disease, and who wants to be able to keep speaking to his son using his own voice. He recorded something like 2000 sentences, which are then broken down into their constituent chunks so the sounds can be used to create new sentences. It’s quite touching really, but it strikes me that we VOCA users could do with something like that too. Although voice synthesisers are improving, I have long wished for a more natural sounding voice. Quite an obvious idea occurred to me. What if we got actors to record the voice – actors like Daniel Craig, Judi Dench or Patrick Stewart? How awesome would that be? Mind you, I’d be forever asking my PA for ”Tea, earl grey, hot.”

I was just trying to decide what I should write about today. The cricket is going well: we had a dramatic win over South Africa yesterday, and, although we lost to the Irish, we’re doing surprisingly well. To be honest I expected England just to give up after the emotional effort of winning the ashes. Mind you, how well we’ll do now Pietersen has come home remains to be seen.

I could also blog about Libya, where the situation continues to unsettle me. The bbc still refuse to call it a civil war, even though that is obviously what is happening. How much more like a civil war could it get before they call it one? I also don’t know what to make of the reports that members of the SAS were captured by rebel forces: the SAS are the most elite fighting force on earth – how could they have been captured by a militia? It just adds to my belief that we aren’t being told all the facts.

I could also blog about the Tory party conference. I didn’t watch much of it, having no interest in watching a bunch of arrogant toffs plot how they will fuck us all over, but I did catch the gist of CaMoron’s speech. It was the same old free-market nonsense we get from the Tories. What they fail to understand is it was freemarket economics that got us into this crisis, and it would have been even worse without the regulation put in place by labour. CaMoron may rail against the red tape, but what he doesn’t seem to grasp is that it is there for a reason: it ensures equality, transparency and a level playing field. Without it, the banks and business run amock, screwing each other and the rest of us over. If he were to remove this red tape, we will slip back into a recession which would make the current one look like a picnic. It’s clear that CaMoron and osbourne simply do not have the mental capacity to grasp the realities, and can only see the world through a right-wing distortion. Surely they cannot be allowed to remain in power.

But the biggest thing to get my attention is this: just as I was coming to the computer, I heard that the Barclays chief executive Bob Diamond has got a £6.5m bonus. This is at a time when the rest of us are struggling to survive thanks to a crisis created in the banking sector. How the hell can these bastards give themselves such bonuses, and, more importantly, how can CaMoron do nothing to prevent it and instead speak of deregulating the banks even further? If you ask me it is not only immoral but criminal; all of them – the bankers, osbourne, CaMoron – should not only loose their jobs but their liberty for it. Jail the dishonourable fuckers!

Something rather odd happened last night. I was in the antigalligan with chopper, having used his short-cut, enjoying my Friday night pint. Chopper, or Eddie to give him his proper name, is one of those people who knows just about everyone in the local area, so he was introducing me to some of his mates. I think they were a bit surprised to see him out with a ‘raspberry ripple’, but that’s another entry. At one point, anyway, one fairly young guy came over; he was about my age or maybe slightly younger. I thought he looked a bit like someone I once knew, but I thought nothing of it to begin with. But then he introduced himself: he said his name was Richard, and was a farmer.

Now, anyone who knows me knows I am not superstitious or anything. I am an atheist. But something in this fellows face and hair reminded me of Richard Simpson. When he told me his name and job, I did a double take – it was very strange indeed. I told myself that there are no such things and ghosts, and it was a coincidence, but the resemblance of this man to my old school friend struck me as very odd indeed. Could it be that this man was some sort of metaphysical echo of my oldest friend?

Such an idea is, of course, nonsense. We went through special school together, seeing each other every term-time day for over ten years. We had lessons and breaktimes together, and together we lost three classmates to their conditions. But Rich Simpson has himself been dead now for four or five years; he is gone in the most final, brutal sense. Yet I’m sure it wasn’t just the beer playing tricks on my sight – although the guy was ambulant, the resemblance was astonishing. In the end I put it down to chance, and didn’t mention it to the guy, other than to say ‘you remind me of someone I knew a very, very long time ago.”

I am not sure it is my rightful place to mention it, but the memorial and celebration of Gordon Smith will take place in Chester this Saturday. Gordon was the partner of Miss Denis queen, one of the leading lights of the modern disability rights movement. Denis and I have only met once, and I never met Gordon, but by all accounts they were and are pioneers in the fields of disability and gender. Denis, who also sometimes goes by the name Claire, is one of those people at the cutting edge of culture and politics. It makes me very sad to hear that she has lost someone so dear to her.

link

I just came back from one of my voyages of exploration – my first proper roll this year. I don’t know why but going out in my chair seems to relax me, as I’ve written on here before. I can spend hours, literally just driving, not knowing quite where I’m going, simply seeing what there is to see. When I was living with my parents, there was a route I called the Swettenham run, which took me up into the lanes to the north of Congleton, past the centuries old Swettenham arms, along the bridal paths which extend beyond the back of the pub, and back via the main Congleton to Holmes Chapel road. The whole route must have been seven or eight miles, and took me hours.

Ever since I moved down to London, I’ve been looking for a route which is similar in length and beauty, and today I think I found it. A few days ago, my friend Chopper showed me a shortcut up to the north Greenwich Peninsular. It’s a sunny day for once, and this afternoon I fancied a look at the Thames, so, taking my new shortcut, I headed for the Anchor and Hope Lane. As I had suspected, the river looked pretty in the sun, full of ships and smaller boats going about their business. I watched them for a while, resisting the urge to get a pint in the pub which lends the lane it’s name, before pressing on along the Thames path towards the dome. This is a very industrial area, where large trucks shift dirt and coal on and off the ships. It felt a very long way from the bridal paths, country lanes and streams I used to know. Yet, with the Thames Barrier glinting in the sun, it was just as beautiful.

I headed west for a while, till I got to north Greenwich. There I turned back, having seen the dome and it’s surroundings many timed before, and, passing the pub again, headed eastwards towards the barrier. This was uncharted territory, but I knew roughly where I was going. I must admit I got slightly lost – London can be fairly labyrinthine at times – but my knowledge of geography and my nose held me in good stead. I left the river at the barrier and headed south, through an industrial area and back into residential. Part of the thrill of following one’s nose is being faintly surprised when you discover where you are, and so I was faintly surprised when I eventually found myself on the road to Woolwich. From there it was a simple journey home, stopping by at chopper’s en route.

London continues o thrill and intrigue me. It is, of course, quite different to rural Cheshire, and part of me still misses the fields and the hedges. London is chaotic and beguiling; like any city, it is, as Benjamin put it, a maelstrom. I now think I understand what he meant more fully now, not just in terms of people but in terms of geography. Roads and paths run in all directions; there are buildings of every conceivable shape and size; it is a three-dimensional cacophony of brick and tarmac. And in it people of every kind and creed go about, talking thousands of languages, doing a thousand jobs. It is truly fascinating, a little frightening, yet utterly exhilarating. Never have I felt so alive than in such a place.

I have absolutely no clue why these guys are so angry, nor any idea what they are saying, but this will have me laughing until bedtime. It has nothing to do with my blog, and I may be being slightly xenophobic in a ‘laugh at the angry french men’ way, but it was so laugh out loud funny that I just had to link to it.

As you may or may not know, 2011 is the UK year of communication. I came across this article earlier, about communication aid users. It features Beth, a young woman whom I’ve had the pleasure of meeting, and a truly outstanding spokesperson for the communication-aid using community. I’m not sure what impact having our own year will have – it is, after all, also the year of feeding tubes, as well as a great many other things apparently – but if it makes people more aware of voca users, then it can only be a good thing. Anyway, go and have a look.

I cannot really tell you how I found it, but yesterday evening I came upon this rather interesting article about the Maryland youth ballet involving children with disabilities in their productions. Let me state from the get-go that I have no objections to this: there’s nothing more natural than little girls wanting to dress up and dance. Yet it does raise a few interesting questions pertinent to the subjects of inclusion and disability.

Ballet is traditionally quite an elitist art form; I’m sure most of us have read about the body fascism that seems endemic in ballet schools. These are places where anorexia seems almost normal, and where any girl even remotely plump is bullied mercilessly. That’s what makes this article so interesting: dance seems almost innately anti-inclusive, but they are applying the principles of inclusion to it. While it’s wonderful, it’s also kind of odd: its sort of oxymoronic, in a way, to open an art form where physical ability is prized over all else up to those with very little physical ability. Of course, you could argue the same of disability sport – kids with disabilities are frequently included in, say, football clubs. But I think it is in this case that the paradox is most pronounced, and thus the most awesome. I know none of these girls will ever dance professionally, just as nobody with cerebral palsy will ever play in the premiership, probably; but it is a symbolic blow against the elitism in society which seems to prize physical ability above all else.I suppose some may argue that this is nothing but a shallow gesture, and ask why these disabled girls should have the chance to dance while other able-bodied girls are turned away, despite being more physically able. After all, one goes to the ballet to watch examples of physical perfection, grace and beauty. Yet I would counter this by pointing out that the nature off all art is, in part, to ask questions of itself and the world, which is exactly what this does. If a person with severe cerebral palsy can dance alongside able-bodied professionals, then surely there is no limit to inclusion.

I must note that today is also my brother’s twenty-fifth birthday. Happy birthday Luke. I don’t get to see him much these days, and nowhere neaar as much as I’d like. Mind you, I’ve recently been ruminating over the fact that it’s now well over a year since I had any face-to-face contact with my older brrother, Mark. I know it’s a natural part of life, but I am very fond indeed of my brothers, and I think I better do something about seing them. Whille I’m sure we’ll talk on skype soon, I think something like a reunion must soon be arranged.

I am probably as alarmed as anyone at what is currently happening in north Africa and the middle east. The entire region seems to be ablaze; even seasoned commentators seem not to know what to make of it. Of course, as for myself, there is not much I can add to the debate or discourse: I know next to nothing of that region, or it’s politics. I can only really register my shock, horror and, if I’m honest, my fascination at what is going on.

For I must admit I do find it fascinating, as I’m sure anyone with even the slightest interest in world politics and history will. In the last few weeks, four or five of the regions dictatorships have fallen. Has there ever been such a spate in the history of the world? People compare it to the events of 1989 and the fall of the soviet union, but it could be even more monumental than that: the entire arab region is going through a huge shift. It’s like the UK, France, Germany and Italy all changing forms of government at once.

I suppose the next question is one nobody can answer: where is it all leading? We in the west hope democracies will be established in these countries. I truly hope freer countries are the result of these upheavals. Yet we cannot be sure that what eventually comes out of this won’t be regimes even more vicious and repressive than those of Gadaffi and Mubarak, which is why I am as worried as I am fascinated. All we can do is watch the news as the great drama plays itself out.

For all my writing and grandstanding about politics and about how these cuts will hurt us all, and about how CaMoron must go, I realise how comfortable and sheltered my life has been. I live a comfortable existence with the woman I love, the equipment I need and a supportive family within reach. While Lyn and I are worried about the impact of these cuts, I know I have the resources behind me in terms of friends and family to weather the storm. If you want to get an idea of the true impact of what the Tories are doing, please go here. Lives are being ruined, families torn apart. It’s heartbreaking, and it must be stopped.

I know this is not one of the usual subjects I blog about, but given who my future wife is and my taste in clothes, I see no reason why I shouldn’t comment on such issues. Worryingly, homophobic cards have appeared on the streets of Whitechapel and Shoreditch, declaring it a ”Gay Free Zone”. It’s evidence that there is a homophobic undercurrent stirring up in the east end of London. Perhaps even more worryingly is that the signs reference passages from the Koran.

Here’s where it sort of gets interesting, though, as there is a theory going around that these cards were actually placed there by the English defence League. Although I watch my fair share of science fiction, I must say I find that rather far fetched. It’s too convenient: rather than admitting that homophobia can arise in all sections of society, they would rather maintain that one particular group of far-right morons is stirring up fear of Islam by calling it homophobic. On the other hand, part of me wouldn’t put it past the EDL to do such a thing, then deny it using that very argument.

The truth is, we don’t know who is putting these signs up. It could very well be hard-line Islamists, or it could be the EDL. Either way, both homophobia and xenophobia must be combated.

We needed to get some odds and ends from the shops yesterday afternoon, so we decided to go over to Lewisham. On the way there, quite an unusual thing happened, which I think is worth recording. Lyn and I were both on the bus, having found a nice friendly bus driver who let us both on at the same time. We were sitting there quietly when a man sitting nearby began to take an interest in my lightwriter. This is nothing unusual in itself – people stare at my equipment all the time – but this man was different. It was not until he leaned over and started to gesture to his wife that I realised he was mute. He was interested in my lightwriter because it was something he could possibly use.

We got to talking: I showed him my lightwriter, and Lyn showed him her Ipad. He said he had an Ipad, but, interestingly, he got out a large magnetic stylus thing – the type children use to draw on – in order to write messages on. This struck me as a very low-tech form of communication, and I wondered if the couple had had any input from the relevant authorities about more high-tech equipment. It seemed somehow improvised; like something you might buy if you didn’t know there was specialised equipment.

Both parties got off at the shops, and went our separate ways. I thought about giving the gentleman my blog address so we could tell him more, but we didn’t get chance. While I’m sure he’ll be okay, the feeling of astonishment I got from him as he looked at my lightwriter, which, after all, is a pretty dated bit of equipment by now, gave me the scary impression that this couple had been abandoned by the council and left to find their own way to communicate.

If anyone is still under any illusion that the ‘huge structural deficit’ this country apparently has is anything other than a Tory lie; if anyone thinks the cuts they are imposing are necessary, and not part of the Tory scheme too rip up the state and cut tax for the rich; and if anyone thinks George Osbourne is anything other than a lying, dissembling twat, then I would direct you here. This clip clearly demonstrates that, far from being absolutely necessary, these cuts are provoked by Tory philosophy and will hit the poorest the hardest. While we’re on the subject, I noticed something interesting this week: one of the reasons the Tories cite for opposing the Alternative vote method is that, had it been in use last year, Gordon brown could still be in power. What does that say about the Tory mentality? They don’t give a rats ass about the will of the people, as long as they get to rule. Surely such people have no place in government and should be removed from power as soon as possible.

Regular readers of my blog will know that I usually disdain football, favouring gentler, more noble sports like cricket. Yet for certain matches and tournaments I have made exceptions, and have become as worked up as the rest of the country over the silly ball-kicking game. I think today will be such an occasion. As we all know, today Manchester united, one of the biggest clubs in the history of sport, play Crawley, a place I only know exists because my friend Emma comes from there. Being a northerner, I usually support Manchester when they play big teams. Yet I am a romantic, so today I want the smaller team to win. It would be awesome if Crawley pulled it off, wouldn’t it? In a way it would demonstrate, once and for all, that no matter how much money you have you can still be beaten by those with passion. It’d help cut a few egos down to size too.

I’ll therefore probably take myself round to the pub later, position myself near the screen, and hope against hope for the biggest upset of all time. Of course, my realistic side says it’ll be something like five nill to Manchester, but we can all dream, can’t we?

Surely anyone but a complete fool can see CaMoron’s ‘big society’ for the bullshit it is. He somehow expects the voluntary sector to magically step in and undo the damage caused by his cuts. Call me a pessimist, but that won’t work: volunteering is wonderful, but it won’t put food on the table. Things need doing – roads need sweeping, cripples need feeding – but it is unfair to expect people to do such things for free. What will happen, I strongly suspect, is that, as the state is reduced, it will be the private rather than the voluntary sector which will step in. CaMoron knows this, and all his talk of big society and encouraging altruism is a shallow front for the Tory desire to open things up to the free market.

I struck upon an idea last night which may be somewhat controversial. Feel free to leave a comment or email me if you disagree. Mind you speaking of which, I must first say that I have no intention of killing any bar staff, especially if it means traipsing halfway across London to do so, and I was never as drunk as Ricardio describes. Seldom anyway; and I certainly wasn’t that drunk on Sunday.

That aside, yesterday I stated to wonder whether there was a difference between ‘old crips’ and new crips’ in terms of attitude. Broadly – and this is essentially an arbitrary division – old crips are those with congenital conditions, who have been disabled from birth; new crips are those who have become disabled, through accident or otherwise, later in life. I was on facebook and I came across a woman complaining vehemently that disabled toilets shouldn’t be called disabled toilets but accessible toilets. I thought, ”relax, there are far bigger battles to fight than what bogs are called.” I know the person who said this, and they are a new crip. It occurred to me that, in my experience, those who have been disabled from birth are more likely to let such things slide, having learned over the years that some battles just aren’t worth the energy. I think one can be too combattative, and that this leads to a situation where one rails against the entire world. It’s unhealthy.

New crips are more likely to rail; I think, in some ways, they have more reason to. Yet I think they must learn to calm down, to accept the world as it is sometimes. They must learn, as we did as infants, that the world can never truly be how you want it to be.

I decided not to mention a fairly important detail in my entry yesterday, as I didn’t think it fitted the mood I was trying to convey, but which I think would be well worth recording today. As I said, we went to a pub just off Leicester square. It was quite an old place – the type of pub with a low ceiling and a real fire. Best of all, it had Leffe on tap. I was just getting into the live music when I decided it was time for another pint, so I asked Adrian to go and buy one for me. However, he soon returned with no pint and all the cash I’d given him – apparently, the woman at the bar had refused to serve us, accusing Adrian of being irresponsible for letting disabled people drink too much.

We left in a hurry. It wasn’t as if I’d drunk a lot. Surely it’s up to us and us alone how much we drink. Granted, bar staff have the right to refuse to serve anyone if they see fit, but what this woman apparently said was condescending, patronising and downright offensive.

Earlier today I came to the conclusion that, of any given time throughout the week, I like Sunday afternoons the best. Throughout my life, Sunday afternoons have been the most homely and warm: it was always a Sunday afternoon when my parents drove us home after visiting my grandparents in London, or, later, dropping mark off every term in oxford. It was on Sunday afternoons that I used to settle down before going back to university on Monday morning; a time to watch Time team, David Attenborough, or Michael Palin – the three best things on television.

I was thinking about this earlier. It occurred to me that, time being time, the Sunday afternoons of my past can never be revisited, although their memory remains. I’ll probably never again drive home with my parents after visiting my grandmother, get fed a sandwich by mum and then settle down to watch Tony Robinson drone on about the past. Yet the spirit of Sunday afternoons remains.

We were just up in London, sorting out bits and peices. We decided to get a quick drink in a pub, just off Leicester square. I was sitting by the fire, listening to the live music, when it occurred to me how good life was. It was Sunday afternoon: maybe not like the Sunday afternoons of the past, of long sleepy car rides and good TV to look forward to; but Sunday afternoons with Lyn, as great as they ever were – exploring this great city, and then coming home to eat dinner, snuggle, and look forward to the week ahead.

I have two or three short things to say today. Firstly, in denying prisoners the vote I think that the Tories have demonstrated how simplistically they view the world. In many respects, criminals are victims of societal constraints and pressures. Denying them the right to vote simply pushes them further away from society. This is an utterly stupid, narrow-minded move on the part of the government. Of course, people argue that if you have perpetrated a crime, you should no longer have the full rights of a citizen, but I think this is to view prisoners as untermench – innately bad people who do not deserve to be seen as fully human.

Secondly, I have been fascinated to watch events unfolding in Egypt. When I last saw the news, yesterday evening, mubarack had stepped down. I find this remarkable, not least because it is pretty much the first real revolution I’ve had the chance to watch live. Question is, how much can we in the west interfere: we can’t interfere too much or we risk accusations of imperialism; yet that means we risk extremists like the Muslim brotherhood coming to power, which would not be good. It is very complex when you think about it: we must respect the will of the Egyptian people, but what if that will is to elect leaders whose views run directly counter to our liberal, democratic values.

Both of these things are part of what I call the paradox of liberalism. Liberalism, or the belief in tolerance, seems to bring up many contradictions with itself. but this doesn’t mean we should disregard it for a simpler, more hard-line approach. It seems to me that part of being a liberal is forever being conscious of the contradictions and complexities involved in life. Only then can we see the world as it truly is.

It made me very happy indeed to watch Madagascar, narrated by David Attenborough, last night. I don’t know why, but I find his programmes intriguing. It’s not just that they are beautifully shot; I find it incredible to reflect on the fact that Sir David has been on television since before my parents were born, yet still produces some of the best programmes on television. Of course, part of the credit must go to the BBC natural History unit for taking such beautiful footage, but it is Attenborough, with his engaging yet relaxing narration style, who makes those shows so good. I was thinking about it last night – even when I was young I found his shows amazing: I remember once, when I was young, being very upset at seeing a small monkey gradually get weaker and fall out of a tree. I immediately crawled over to mum for a hug, wanting to know why the camera crew didn’t help. Mum explained that this was part of nature. I suppose it goes to show how much this great man has contributed to the public understanding of nature – I really hope he continues to do so for a long time yet.

Sir, I write to demand that you stand down as prime minister immediately. You were not elected democratically to that position in the first place, and it is only due to an act of treachery on the part of Mr. Clegg that you gained office. I find your actions over the past half year woeful: you are cutting services many disabled people like myself rely on, while pandering to your rich financiers in the City. I find the concept of a ‘big society’ nothing more than a shallow con, nineteenth century politics wrapped in twenty-first century jargon, and deeply rooted in free-market ideology. You are cutting services too fast and too hard, and every time it is shown how deeply you are hurting the ordinary people of this country, you trot out the lie that you had no choice.

For it is indeed a lie – a shallow, despicable lie for which you should bee removed from power. I demand that you stop perpetuating this falsehood. It was labour which steered us into a boom after 18 years of mismanagement, and labour who got us through the recession. For you to now try to con the country into thinking the ideological cuts you are choosing to implement are the fault of the previous government is nothing more than a deception – the weasel-words of a conman who charmed his way too power, and is now systematically undoing every good thing implemented over the last thirteen years. For this reason among others, you and your party are unfit to rule the united kingdom. The damage you are doing means you have nothing but my utter contempt. You gained power through the actions of a man unworthy of the party of Asquith and Lloyd-George, and immediately set about reopening class divisions. You are hurting the people of this country in order to please your rich backers. I demand that you stand aside and call new elections.

M Goodsell.

I felt a distinct shudder go through my spine when I first read the headline of this article, and the more I read the worse that shudder became. It is now apparently ‘unsustainable’ for the government to fund disability benefit: due to the cuts, there is going to be a twenty percent reduction in DLA. More and more people are going to be pushed off benefits and into work. This is not helped, of course, by an increasingly vitriolic tabloid press painting most disabled people as workshy scroungers.

They claim, of course, that those who need the most ‘care’ won’t be effected. I guess that means people with severe physical conditions – people like me and Lyn. We both need help with day to day activities – bathing, dressing eating. It occurs to me that, ironically, we are both more suited to work than those who may need less traditional help. I think, with the right adaptations, we could both do jobs – I have been doing a voluntary job at the local school for over a year now, and Lyn has skills as both a musician and webmistress. Yet we are less likely to be forced into work by those with, say, more emotional conditions, whom the authorities will look at, see that they can wash dress, feed themselves and so on and say ”You can do x, y and z. Off benefit and into work you go” without taking other things into consideration. Such ”other things’ may seem small to an assessor with a checklist of criteria and a quota to fill, but may be the difference between life and death to an emotionally fragile person. People with such conditions will be suddenly denied benefit and forced into work, at which point many will see no option but suicide.

I write this with utter serious. These cuts will effect the most vulnerable in society the hardest, and I find the lack of sympathy in the right sickening. The cuts they are implementing, and their lack of tolerance for people they simply dismiss as lazy fakers, utterly disgust me. To describe caring for some of the most vulnerable people as unsustainable caries with it overtones of some of the worst chapters of human history.

I know I shouldn’t simply link to stuff that has nothing to do with my blog, and that anyone is perfectly capable of finding theirselves, but I think today I’ll direct you here. Last night Bill O’Reilly interviewed president Obama, and I must say it makes for fascinating viewing. To be honest, when I heard about this interview this morning, I was eager to see sparks fly. However, it is actually a fairly sensible interview, and Obama deals with the right-wing nut job fairly well. Mind you, I sometimes wish someone would put morons like O’Reilly in their place, but although he is intellectually more than capable of doing so, Obama declined the opportunity. Anyway, go watch.

Just a quick one today. I just got wind of the utterly momentous news that my friend Tony is now a dad. Tony and I were friends at university. In fact I value him one of my best friends, although I rarely mention him on here. I remmber him driving me and charlie down to stoke to see Casino Royale in the cinema when it came out, and I remember going to film seminars with him. My gut reaction was one of shock, but now I come to think of it, I cannot think of a nicer, more caring fellow. Tony shaw will be a great dad.

There was an item on the local news last night about a painting by Gaugin recently selling for ten million quid. They made a bit of a deal about what an enormous sum of money that was, especially in this age of austerity, and indeed they had a point. Yet later in the show they spoke unquestioningly about footballers transferring from one club to another for five times that sum? How is that right? Yes, you could argue it’s only a painting, but like all art it has meaning; it is part of art history, which is intertwined with the history of ideas; it can be analyzed and has intellectual depth. Ten million is a lot – just think of how much communication or mobility equipment that could buy, or how much aid for Africa – but it just might – and I stress might – be worth it. What is manifestly not worth it, and is actually quite sick, is giving some football club 50 million for one of their players, then giving the footballer just as much simply to kick a ball around. The whole culture surrounding the game is wrong, and if I had the power I would start it all again with new players, clubs and managers, and a transfer fee limit of a tenner.

My blog passed the 500,000 hit mark yesterday – people have now visited my site over half a million times. I know that, given I’ve been blogging for about eight years, that’s not that special, and that the major blogs and websites get that in a week, or a day, but for me it seems a major milestone. To be honest, I didn’t really expect to keep blogging for thus long, but, as I wrote on Tuesday, something compels me to write down my thoughts every couple of days, and I can’t see that abating.

Looking back over past entries, my blog seems like a real miscellany of ideas and topics, as well as a record of my life over the past eight years. When I first began blogging, I was still living at home with my parents, finding topics online to blog about, or recording the day to day occurrences of the Goodsell household. Things have changed quite a bit since then. I’m rather pleased my blog spans my time at university, for it gives me near enough a full record of one of the happiest times of my life. Uni supplied most of the dramatis personae of my blog – people like Charlie and Ricardio and Steve, whom I mention quite a bit, and who have starred in some of the best entries. But there will soon be more characters to introduce, including a man known somewhat disconcertingly around these parts as chopper. As much as my blog is for me a record, it also is for me a reminder that there are some great entries yet to write. This drama is far from over. Indeed, it seems I’ll soon have several weddings to detail, not least my own!

You know, I reckon I’ve written nigh on 100,000 words for my blog over the years. I think that’s pretty good going. Granted, they are a cripple’s ill-informed ramblings, largely uncoordinated and haphazard, but I’m proud of most of my writings here, and I’m proud I’ve kept it up. I’ll do my best to keep blogging; for some reason, people seem to want to read what I write on here.

While I ordinarily hesitate to link to or believe anything the daily mail publishes, Alan, father of my friend Ricardio, just sent me this link. It concerns the student protests in the autumn, and the fact that there were thieves and trouble-makers disguised as protesters there. This certainly rings true: until quite recently I was a student and I think I know their defining characteristics. By and large, students are peaceful, like a bit of music and fun, and the occasional joint. I therefore went to the protest pretty much expecting to find similar people to my friends at university, if slightly more politicized; and indeed that is what I found when I first got there. But as the day wore on, things began to change, and the dynamic of the crowd turned from that of a carnival to something far more hostile. I believe strongly that there were people in the crowd manifestly intent on causing trouble, and that their hostilities began long before the police did anything to provoke them. The daily mail article bears out that there were people there who had nothing to do with the protest, but were just there to steal, pick pockets and ruin things. Indeed, I was one of their victims. My concern now, however, is that this will detract from the very real anger felt by the majority of protesters; Mail readers can now claim that the protest had nothing to do with the government, and that the anger on show was merely caused by a bunch of hooligans. The truth is, people feel very angry at what the Tories are doing, angry enough to go out onto the streets and protest, but those protests are being hijacked by trouble makers, causing their message to be diluted and impact to be softened.

I don’t know why, but I keep wanting to blog. As I wrote yesterday, it was a pretty awful weekend – I cant’t go into detail, but it was the most terrible thing to happen to me in a long time, particularly because it hurt Lyn so much. Yet, despite this, the urge to blog – to write down my thoughts and publish them online – was still there. I don’t know what’s wrong with me; it should have been the last thing on my mind. Yet, for some reason, sometimes I just wanted to write. I didn’t have that ability over the weekend. of course, many writers have described the compulsion to write: some even claim it’s a physical urge, or that they become ill if they can’t write for whatever reason. For me, I think, it’s a form of therapy – an outlet for my thoughts and emotions. It’s like an analysts couch. I know I don’t write much, and my entries are usually rather short and crappy, but blogging is something I feel I must do. It is as if I must tell the world what is in my head or it gets too full and explodes. Either that or I’m a drama queen craving attention. It’s as odd as it is annoying.

Sorry there haven’t been many entries these last few days. Something happened friday night which I can’tt go into, but needless to say it was one of the worst events of my life. Lyn and I are both fine, and have had lots of support from PAs, friends and family. My normal ranting should resume soon, but in the meantime bear with me.

I would encourage everyone reading this to go an watch ‘Posh and Posher’, a political program with Andrew Niel.It vividly illustrates just how corrupt our politics has become: we have turned our back on meritocracy and returned to the bad old days where only the privileged few can rule. The program points out that most of the current cabinet went to schools like Eaton or Westminster, and universities like oxford? How is that fair? How can that give us a government representative of the people??? niel suggests that thee institutions produce so many o our prime ministers because they are the best and can therefore teach kids the best, which i indeed problematic, but i’d go a step further. it is not because these institutions are the best, or just happen to have the brightest kids. it is more about the maintenance of power and wealth in certain families. it is all about keeping up the class system. camoron did not become tory leader or prime minister because of his intelligence or merit; he got to where he is because the tory upper class thought he was one of them, and was just about nice enough too woo voters. in other words, it is all about the maintenance of wealth and power by the upper classes.. the current government has nothing to do with merit and everything to do with greed and cronyism. it appalls me that we are returning to a pre-1960 style status quo, and i think it will continue unless we get etonian assholes like camoron and clegg out of power. it’s not far and not right.

I just got this, appropriately enough, from one of my friends on facebook. I have used facebook many times to organize things and arrange stuff – a week ago, for example, I used it to tell one of our PAs that our PA for that day had not arrived when he was supposed to. Lyn was stuck n bed, and I was getting worried. However, I have not had to use it to get help in a major emergency, as the man in this story had to do. I suppose it’s testimony to facebook’s behemoth status on the net that such things can happen.

We were watching a program on TV last night about pleasure and pain. Unsurprisingly, the thing that gives most people the most pleasure is their loved ones, something which I can certainly say rings true. But the thing that caught my eye the most was a section where they did an experiment to see which minority could take the most pain. They had a group of people, subdivided into gender, one group swore, one group all had ginger hair, and so on. They all had to dunk their hands into freezing water for as long as possible. I forget the result, and I don’t think it matters that much anyway, but it occurred to me: what if they had a group of disabled people. By and large – although this is a huge generalization – we tend to take more pain than more than others. Those with CP fall and knock themselves; those with other conditions put up with huge amounts of pain. I’d have been very interested to se weather we differ from the ‘norms’ in any statistically significant way in our tolerance to pain.

It has been a long tiring ay, full of meetings and things to sort out. I think bed is soon to beckon. I order to relax, I was looking through some of my old entries, reminiscing to myself about times past. I found this entry, about my last few days as an undergraduate, where I write: ”Time never ceases – there will be other people to meet, other places to see. If uni has taught me anything, it is that there are no barriers.” I was struck by how prophetic those words were – of course time has not ceased, but has brought me to the new places and new people I wrote of. I did not, mind you, envisage these specific new people and new places: who would have known, just three years after writing those words, that I’d be happily engaged and living in south-east London. But the optimism in those words held true – everything is indeed possible, and it still feels as if the world is my oyster. University opened my eyes to so much, and lyn opened them further still. Those days felt like the end of something, and I remember how sad when I wrote some of these words. But that sadness was unfounded, as those days were, in retrospect, a beginning.

Reading my entries of that time back, particularly this one and this one, I remember the sense of optimism I felt for the future. Everything seemed possible to me, and it still does, but I wanted to impress that idea on the kind of young person I once was. I suddenly thought of the young people I work with at school: of course, they are in rather different circumstances to those I was in, yet I see no reason on earth why they too should be constrained, why they should not go to university, or why the world should not be their ouster too.

I have been putting off writing about this for some time, as, like my entries on cricket and politics, it has nothing to do with disability. That is to say, I cannot contribute anything unique too the subject. But must say that I feel severely annoyed at the idea that London’s Olympic stadium could be turned into a football-only venue after 2012. To me it seems very short sighted that after the Olympics this site of national pride should be only used for football. What really pisses me off are Tottenham’s plans to knock the stadium down and build a football pitch in its place. Does it strike anyone else as arrogant on the part of the footballing fraternity that they think they are entitled to do such a thing? After all, not everyone in this country likes football; some of us enjoy other sports more.

Indeed, if you ask me, it would be better to convert it, t least partly, into a cricket pitch – it is, after all, an oval stadium, a shape more suited to cricket. You could even keep he running track by simply covering it with some sort of astro-turf when there’s a cricket match on. This would probably make for quite a fast outfield, but I think that’s a compromise worth taking. This, to me, seems a far better use for the stadium than simply converting it to yet another football pitch. There is far too much money in football, making for some over-inflated egos; it just seems to me that they think they have an automatic right too this stadium, and can do with it as they alone please. It just gets me angry that football takes priority over all other sports and uses, even to the obscenely stupid extent that they propose knocking it down to make a football-specific stadium. How can anyone seriously propose that in the age of austerity? Surely this is a sign of how stupid and arrogant the football industry has become.

I was very glad I put tights on under my trousers yesterday. We needed to go shopping in the evening, and it had turned bitterly cold. I told this to Lyn and our PA, Marta, and they agreed. There are definitely advantages to being a trannie sometimes. The thing is, it suddenly occurred to me that I can only dress as I do because I can communicate, and Lyn can only be lyn because she can too. I had to ask Marta that morning ‘please can you help me into a pair of tights’.

It seems to me that we often forget how important the ability to communicate is. It is, in my opinion, the most important facet a person has, and the most taken for granted. If I did not have that ability, I wouldn’t have gone to university, met lyn, moved to London or done anything. Someone can be as intelligent as anyone else, but if they can’t communicate their thoughts and ideas, they are treated as non-people. I mean this in the most literal sense: at the school I volunteer aft there are kids with no ability to communicate whatsoever. The are treated like babies. It seems to me that the most fundamental difference between them and me – indeed, the only difference really – is that I can communicate and they cannot.

I don’t think I’m going anywhere with this. I’m just recording what seems to me a fascinating contradiction: that the ability that is moist important and is most central to us as people is the one we take most for granted.

It has now been just about a year since I moved down to Charlton. It feels good to write that; for a guy who, up until the age of about twenty, was determined never to leave home, I think it’ pretty good going. I really enjoy life in London – the entire city feels like my playground, and there’s so much to explore and see. Mind you, I haven’t been beyond the M25 all year, and I think it’s time I did so: part f me is still a country lad, and misses the fields and lanes. Mind you, google maps works much smoother on my new Mac, so I can take a virtual walk whenever I want. Nevertheless, I think Lyn and I both want to take more trips out of the city this year, and I think at least one of them will be back up to Cheshire.

Well, here’s to another great year.

I am now officially a mac user. After years of taking the piss out of those who use macs, I have given in and joined the dark side. Truth be told its a bit of a relief: my old PC had started to crash quite frequently, and its good to have a machine hat is a bit more stale on the other hand, I now have to get used to an entirely different type of computer with a new set of quirks and new ways of doing things. For example, wile we have plugged in my extended keyboard, the mac doe not seem to respond to it very well – it keeps missing letters. This is the type of thing which could improve with time, or else I’ll grow accustomed to it, but for now it’s fairly irritating.

There was another big change yesterday: Natalia and Andrzej had their last day working for us. It was rather sad, as we had all grown rather close. They shared Christmas with me, Lyn and my family, which was rather special. They are returning to their native Poland for personal reasons, so we had a bit of a farewell party. Life goes on, I suppose, but I really hate goodbyes. At let it means the next time we meet it will be as friends rather than employers and employees.

Lyn and I decided to cook last night. We actually cook quite often, as opposed ti putting two ready-meals in the microwave or going to get a take-away. Lyn is a good cook – she tells our Pas what to do and most of the time produces delicious meals. Last night we decided to use some of the vegetables we had in a roast with some mince. The thing is we weren’t sure how to make roast potatoes, and they turned out fairly hard. So hard, in fact, that I found them difficult to chew. Hell, Andrzej struggled to cut them up! I was trying my best to eat them, when I remembered when mum and dad used to liquidise my food. I absolutely hated it at the time; I wanted to eat the same thing as my brothers, and not mushed up slush. However, the irony is the idea of turning the spuds into mushed up slush last night seemed a good one, but Andrzej refused, pointing out that it would look more like puke than it already did. I persevered and finished my dinner as it was, but it just strikes me as ironic that last night I saw the logic of something I once thoroughly resented.