Just a quick note to say what a truly great day today has been. This morning, my parents visited: our meeting want well, and we all got on like a house on fire. I think mum and dad really like Lyn, and she likes them very much. Shortly after, Charlie and holly came by – coincidence would have it that they visited on the same day, but my parent had left by thee time my friends got here. Marta had made a fantastic roast, so between both parties nothing went to waste.

It was great to catch up with them all.. mum and dad seem well, as do Charlie and holly. Lyn and I have had a great time. I’d been worried that something would go wrong, but it all went very well indeed. I’ve written before on how much I love my parents, and how dearly I think of my friends, so right now I’m pretty much the happiest guy on earth.

I know I said yesterday I was going to leave politics alone for a bit, but I was just watching CaMoron speaking in Wales, and it made me angry. I honestly think that, despite his eloquence, the guy is actually a bit stupid. He talks of spending more for less, but doesn’t say how;; he says there are too many people on benefits, but doesn’t understand that there are reasons for that other than sloth. CaMoron says he wants to cut beurocracy, criticising the number of checks and balances – how else do we establish whether what we are doing is right? Dad’s a quality control manager; I picked up enough from him to know that these systems are necessary. In other words, I think CaMoron is criticising things because he simply doesn’t understand them. The guy is thick. How can we possibly elect this moron?

Thinking back on what I wrote yesterday, last night it struck me that I could be being a bit idealistic and arrogant in my politics. I was going on about people contributing to civilisation, and so on. That is to say, I was writing from a particular background, in a particular paradigm – writing as one brought up with a set of middle class values. Thus ii write about ‘bigger pictures’, civilisation’, and so on. I sometimes forget that other people don’t have those values; people to whom big ideas like the future of mankind doesn’t matter as much as earning enough money to put food on the table. I can see their point. The thing is, last night I asked myself: who am I to impose my ideas of a socialist utopia on such people? if it were to be implemented, wouldn’t it mean forcing a certain set of values on others, something which contradicts my belief in liberalism and democracy? Thus the very ideals which give birth to socialism – equality, freedom, liberalism – also mean it can never work. So much for that idea.

Anyway, I think that’s enough of that. In other news, on Sunday both my parents and Charlie and holly are coming to visit, but not at the same time. Should be fun.

Last night on facebook a friend of mine asked me why I only criticise the Tories, as some of the accusations I make about them are just as valid to make of labour. This is, to be fair, true; but the difference is I don’t have a problem with Labour’s philosophy. I am what you might call a left winger, and I think this stems from my disability. I believe, firstly, that everyone is equal, regardless of gender, creed, colour or disability. This might lead one to conclude that if we are all equal, we should all be left to our own devices.. the best will rise to the top. This is more or less the Tory stance, and it is wrong. All it means is that wealth will be handed down from generation to generation; only the rich would get a decent education; and society will remain divided.

On the other hand, if we are all equal, shouldn’t we all be treated equally? If we are all of equal worth, don’t we all deserve equal access to education and healthcare? We all have equal potential to contribute to civilisation, but if some have better access to resources due to their class (or theiir disability), doesn’t it mean that some human potential is being wasted? This is why I think we must do away with the class system; tax thee rich to feed the poor. That way, resources can be pooled – a great example is the NHS. Only then can we start off on an equal footing, so we all have the same chance to contribute. I think, personally, that what Marx ssaid about the socioeconomic constraints of class is equally aplicable and transposable to the physical constraints of disability.

As far as I can tell, the Tories want to perpetuate the class system. They see meritocracy as a good thing; but meritocracy often only benefits the greediest rather than the best. The Tories want to keep their money, rather than giving it away to benefit society. This is a philosophy of greed and selfishness which, in the long term, wastes human potential and gets us nowhere. If we value all human life in all it’s diversity, we must work together and pool our resources in order to foster everyone’s unique talent. The individualism of the right will get us, as a civilisation, nowhere.

This morning I came across this article on facilitated communication. This is a technique where people help severely disabled people to communicate, for example by holding their hands as they point to a letter-board. The thing is, as the article points out, there is sometimes difficulty in establishing whether it is actually the disabled person talking. I am in two minds about this: it might well be that such communication is sometimes a mirage, and the facilitator, consciously or unconsciously, is the one producing the words. But if we say that, and condemn the technique, we automatically deny some severely disabled people the chance to communicate. Anyway, go read.

The oddest thought occurred to me today. You know when you just catch yourself thinking odd things. I was looking through my parents photos of their trip to Hamburg, and I thought: ‘I miss Dad’s cap’. Not ‘I miss dad,’ but ‘I miss dad’s cap’. I saw a picture of my father in his ccap, and this odd thought just arose. Of course, my dad’s cap is now part of my dad’s identity; he often collected me from university wearing it, so I associate that cap with a warm feeling.

You know, I’ve never written on my blog how much I respect my father, or how close we are. He is, without doubt, the man whom I respect the most in all the world: he brought me and my brother’s up well, teaching us to value learning, and to always do our best. This is also a man whom I can always depend on for a cuddle. He has the best reading voice I’ve ever heard, and it was he who introduced me to the writings of Tolkien and Asimov. Seeing my dad in those pictures, ccap on his head as protection from the German winter, just stopped me in my tracks. I love this brave new urban world in which I find myself, yet sometimes I need to see that cap an the truly great man who wears itt.

I have decided it’s better to stay dirty, or ask Dan to do it. This morning I wanted a shower. Lyn has quite a cool set-up – she has a shower you step into, and close a vacuum-sealed door behind you. You sit in it and it fills up like a bath. I’ve seen Dan do it a few times, so today I decided to spend time by doing it myself. Big mistake. It was going well at first; my bath was filling up nicely and I was getting pleasingly warm. Then I heard something go bang. I thought nothing of it, until I noticed water leaking out of the tub. Oh crap! I was in trouble. I yelled ‘DAN!!!’ but he couldn’t stem the flow. I mustn’t have pressed the vacuum button for long enough.

I felt rather stupid, but Lyn and Dan saw the funny side. Lyn was playing water-related songs all morning. The bathroom floor and the floor in the passage are still rather damp though.

No more baths for me!

There are a couple of things I could write about today. I could write about the Tory party conference, and about how they’re still trying to pretend brown failed us in the recession; but I fear my political rants have grown somewhat ad Hominem of late, so I think I’ll give that subject a rest.

I’m actually more interested today in Disney’s decisions to send their new film Alice in Wonderland to DVD sooner than it ordinarily would. This lead many cinema chains to threaten to boycott it. The argument is if it spends less time in the cinema, there’s less chance of it being pirated. Ii must say, as a student of film, I have to raise an eyebrow: I love the cinema – they are special places. The film theatre, as Bazin wrote, has an aura to it; a kind of magic. You enter into it, the lights go out, and you’re swept away. It’s a kind of fettishistic act; something special. Okay, at home you can close the curtains and turn off the lights, but it simply isn’t the same. This is why I disapprove of Disney’s decision, which seems to have been made for economic rather than artistic reasons. I think the same could equally be said for socalled 3d films – never have I seen a more blatant money-grabbing con. Films are flat media! Oh don’t get me started.

It has been quite a cool little day. I attended a meeting at school. I can’t go into much detail, but they want me to act as a sort of rolemodel for one boy in particular – a voca user who often seems reluctant to participate and rather insecure. He just needs to be shown what is possible, I think.

Today is also my brother’s twenty-fourth birthday. Happy birthday Luke. I don’t get to see him much these days, but I’m sure we’ll talk on skype soon.

Something rather cute happened today at school. It was only very small, and hardly blogworthy really. I was going down one of the corridors, on my way to class, where I overheard one child say to a staff member ”is he the cheverest man ever?” I think the boy had thought I was Stephen hawking. I know I look nothing like professor Hawking, and if you want a physicist you’ve got the wrong Goodsell, but I was very flattered, as well as being rather amused. I take it as a sign the kids look up to me, and feel rather encouraged by it. I really hope I can make a positive difference in school.

In other news, Lyn, as predicted, is now right as rain. Yay!

Poor Lyn is ill. I think she has what I had on Saturday, which hopefully means it’ll clear up soon, but right now she looks severely under the weather. She spent most of today in bed. I feel bad because I don’t know what to do; I whish I could help but I don’t know how. I want to be useful. Luckily, Dan, our PA, is proving to be quite a good nurse, but I guess one of the suckiest things about CP is that you can’ help the girl you love get better.

What a surprise! The lady in charge of the national bullying hotline has, this afternoon, asked Max Clifford to represent her; she obviously thinks she is heading for stardom. She probably would be, if the allegations concerning Brown’s bullying were true. The thing is, they aren’t; nor are they even new. They stem from a book written about two years ago, and one which has been refuted by the persons it claims to quote.* The thing is, guess who told the media about this? who told the bbc the bullying hotline had been called by someone in the civil service. The Tories! Can you believe it. Then Dave CaMoron comes on the box and, in his most even, reasonable-sounding tone calls for an enquiry ‘just so the government can clear all this up’, even though he knows full well that such an inquiry is both totally unnecessary and would be suicide this close to the election. The insincerity of CaMoron – the way he makes lies and ploys sound reasonable – absolutely sicken me. *bbc interview with John Prescot yesterday

I met the headmaster of Charlton park school yesterday. I was a bit intimidated at first, but he quickly put me at ease, telling me of his young sons and exercise regime. Nice fellow – I’m not sure why I was so worried. He mentioned a bit of the school’s history. I got the impression that it was quite long and varied, dating back to the nineteenth century. I’ll have to look into that.

I’m also getting a flavour for local history, too: the other day, John, a friend from round the corner, mentioned that a church once stood nearby, and our house is built on a graveyard. He also said they used to hang people somewhere near here. He told us this on the way home from the pub, which meant it slightly freaked me out. Anyway, I’ll have to look into it later, for I have school soon.

I feel better – much better. Yesterday I felt like crap; I felt like I was dying, almost enough to feel a twang of homesickness. My neighbours had a bug this week, and I think I caught it Friday evening. So yesterday I took it easy, drinking lots and not eating much. A conversation over skype with my brother Luke dealt with the homesickness (thanks bro). This morning, however, I woke up feeling fine – well enough to get worked up at the observer’s bull about Gordon Brown, and at the Tories’ most recent scheme to buy votes. There is nothing like a bit of indignation to clear one’s system.

Let me preface this by saying I’m not an economist, or much good at maths, but I was just thinking about economics. As we know, Labour say we need a slow and steady recovery, whereas the Tories say we need to act now and cut spending. Sixty top economists have today issued a letter in the financial times backing labour’s strategy, whereas only twenty wrote to the Sunday Times backing the Tories’. Now, I have a few points to make. First, 60 is larger than 20; second, the financial times is fairly independent, but the Sunday times is owned by Rupert Murdoch, cheer-leader in chief of the Tory party. Moreover, as we all know, to cut spending now, as the Tories say, would threaten what little recovery we have made – it is almost as if they want the economy to fail, and for us to go back into recession. Of course this would be perfect for them; they could then say brown ruined the economy and hence win the election.

In other words, they are playing politics with the economy; putting their lust for power before our economic well-being. They want a double dip as they would benefit from it. Makes you sick, doesn’t it?

For several weeks Lyn has been working on a new track, called echoes of the past. She finished it yesterday, and posted it to her myspace page. She uses her mac to compose, so I got to hear her build the piece layer by layer. It was a remarkable experience, but I must say I’m blown away by the finished piece. It’s fair to say I’m a very proud boyfriend. Anyway, go listen. Link

We just watched a film called Home on Youtube. I just picked it at random, pretty much, but it turned out to be an absolutely stunning videoessay on climate change and the impact of man on the planet. It is absolutely beautifully shot – I think it was entirely composed of aerial photography – yet, more than anything, it scares me witless. Particularly frightening is the rate at which we’re running out of drinking water.

Anyone with any intelligence can see that man is causing severe damage to the planet, and that we must act now. Part of that action is to acknowledge our responsibility, and to stop hiding behind statistics. It angers me that some people do not believe in climate change – to me such people must surely rank alongside creationists, and deserve only scorn and ridicule,. Unfortunately, such people happen to bee the ones best places to solve the problem, which probably means we’re all doomed.

Anyway, if you can, go look up Home on youtube movies. Link

This has nothing to do with being a cripple, and most of you will probably already know about it, but a night or two ago Lyn and I realised there are entire films on youtube. Lyn pointed it out. What makes this cool for me is, Lyn has her big TV hooked up to her computer, so it’s just like watching films normally. The other night we watched a film called ‘Fired’ which was about being fired, appropriately enough. I know I can’t expect blockbusters to appear on there, but there are some classics like His Girl Friday. What’s more, it’s especially cool if you can’t physically handle DVDs and your PA has gone home. See – I knew there was a disability link in there somewhere.

I have a new book. two, actually. We went to Lewisham yesterday as me and Lyn booth needed to get each other gifts for today. We took the bus: I got there first as you can only have one wheelchair on a bus at a time. The funny thing is, by the time Lyn and kasia caught up with me, I’d already bought my gift for Lyn. This left me free time, as I couldn’t follow Lyn around, for obvious reasons.

I popped into the Works. I don’t usually like the works as they sell coffee-table, populist books rather than the more discursive, academic texts one might find in other book stores. However, yesterday I was in luck: I stumbled upon a Readers’ Guide to JRR Tolkien – two thick volumes in a box. £70 knocked down to a tenner – a bargain.

It’s been a while since I considered Tolkien. As I have aged, I suppose I’ve followed the academic herds in dismissing his works as simplistic fairy tails. At the same time, I find the concept that there are far-right wing political themes in Tolkien unsettling, largely because I can see their point. However, yesterday I decided I would give Tolkien another chance; I’d like to investigate the arguments and discussions around him; to look at him with the same mentality I acquired at university. After we got in last night I had a cursory glance online for papers about Tolkien and politics, and I wasn’t disappointed: writers are now reassessing Tolkien, defending him from accusations of parochialism, anti-urbanism, and so on. To be honest, I have missed such debates. Yesterday’s trip, it seems, was quite fruitful.

It is turning out to be a slow, lazy kind of day. Me and Lyn both overdid it last night: we were having a bit of a celebration as I had had a bit of good news. The school I volunteer at run an event on AAC technology every year, and it seems they want me to be involved. They want to project manage some of the logistics, for which they said they would pay me. This Lyn and I thought cause for celebration, so we had fish and chips with champagne.

I had no school today, so we had a lie in. breakfast became lunch, and after that I flopped out on the sofa. This gave us a chance to watch Dancing on Wheels. Interesting programme: rather like strictly come dancing but with cripples. Interestingly, I noticed all of the cripples were the non-congenital type, and there were no spazzies! It’s a pity: I would be ace on that programme, I reckon. I once won a wheelchair dancing competition when I was 17. All you need to do to win is put your legs over the side of your chair and hurtle around like a maniac. Easy.

I would like to return to a point I made in an entry last week. I said that CaMoron wants to do what Blair did in 97. in fact I think he wants, in a way, to be Blair: we see him presenting himself as a fresh-faced figure, using lots of hand gestures and short sentences. I reckon, if you compared the two men’s styles, both in oration and how they conduct themselves, you’d find the two very similar.

My point is this: what other proof do you need that CaMoron is a sham? He’s obviously latched onto Blair’s successful formula and thinks he can dupe the country into electing him. His is a screen, a mask, behind which lies the same old outdated conservative values. Blair was liberal and open; CaMoron speaks of austerity and a return to rigidness. While I do agree with some of his points and think hip a good speaker, I think he uses lessons learned from Blair to repackage an ideology of class division and the repression of the poor.

Immitations are never as good as the real thing.

Why do head teachers still scare me? They always did, as a kid: to me they were this stern, powerful figure of authority – something to be respected, avoided and feared. Of course, good little cripple that I was, I rarely had to see my headmaster, although I think he was involved that time I cracked my head open trying to ride my walker down the mound.

Yesterday, though, Katherine, the person I work with in my ‘job’, proposed introducing me to the headmaster of the school where I’m working. This is, of course, a good idea, and initially I thought nothing of it. Yet this morning I felt a slight pang of nervousness; I wondered whether I looked respectable. They were similar pangs I felt to the ones I used to feel when going to see a professor at uni. Part of me felt like a small kid again. As it turned out, the headmaster was busy, so our introduction will have to wait. But I still feel nervous.

We went bowling today. Lyn suggested it, and, not having been bowling in ages, I thought it sounded like fun. Lyn won; of course, gentleman that I am, I let her win, just like I let her win the chess game we had in Amsterdam. (persons wanting to dispute this are reminded that they have their own blogs!).

After bowling, I was thirsty. The atmosphere at the bowling ally was so dry, I just needed a coke, so we went to a nearby pub. We took a seat, and we noticed that there was football on. However, I then noticed who was playing – we had stumbled into the local derby! The pub was on two levels, but there was a large screen behind the bar which one could see from both floors. Chelsea supporters were on the upper balcony, arsenal supporters were downstairs. However I got a bit worried what if either team scored? What if a brawl broke out? Would we be able to defend ourselves? I was a bit concerned, and rather excited – we were inn a south London pub for the local derby: it was quite an interesting sociological phenomenon.

As it turned out, neither team scored while we were at the pub, and everybody left quietly. It was quite a cool little outing, though. I’m really enjoying my new life here.

I know that I’m repeating myself, and that I blogged about this the other day, but I’m still very concerned about the stuff about assisted suicide. It isn’t that I’m against suicide per se – I believe anyone should be able to make such a decision – but what worries me is where legalising such acts might lead. It kind of sends out the message that the lives of people with disabilities are somehow worthless, and that we’re all itching to top ourselves. I also worry that it opens the door to some very dark possibilities – what if people start assuming you want to die? What if you can’t communicate your wishes properly? I may be being paranoid, but we may be starting down a slippery slope to some very dark things.

I realised yesterday, with great astonishment, that my friend Hugh Jones – brother of Charlie – lives in new cross. To be fair, C had mentioned it before, but yesterday with the aid of google maps I found out where new cross was: it’s practically within spitting distance of Charlton. I found a poster on Facebook concerning Hugh performing at a pub there, so I looked it up. I was kicking myself, as, if I’d seen it the day before, we could have gone to watch Hugh.

The reason I was looking Hugh up was, the night before, Lyn dan and I were talking about the music industry. Lyn is a musician, and a damn good one at that: she composes using her mac. She is really eager to make it in the music industry, so I suggested she meet Hugh, who now works for the ministry of sound. Now all I have to do is organise a way for them to meet, Lyn will get a record deal, and I’ll be rich! Easy!

A strange thing occurred to me the other day: that, despite it all, despite the absence of WMD and the horrendous loss of life, I still trust Tony Blair more than I do David CaMoron. I think it’s because of what Blair once was: a bastion of hope, a fresh face; the person who ended 18 years of misery under the Tories. I was watching him at the chilcot enquiry, and I thought, ”this man lied to us, yet I still trust him more than CaMoron. Why?”

I think it’s because Blair is genuine – CaMoron isn’t. Blair had firm convictions, and has stood by them. He honestly thought he was acting for the greater good. All I see when I look at CaMoron is an act: a shallow, hollow attempt to present himself and his party as reasonable and delectable. The other day I saw a poster with CaMoron’s face and the words ”are we Blair yet?” I thought it hit the nail on the head: CaMoron is hoping to do what Blair did in 97. He goes around trying to tell people that Britain is broken, when in fact it is doing rather well. We’ve just come out of the worst recession in living memory relatively unscathed, thanks largely to brown; unemployment is also lower than it might have been. In short, the last 13 years have been a period of prosperity, and for CaMoron and his brainless minions to go around pretending otherwise is just plain wrong. I’ve spoken to Tories who would have you believe the recession was caused by brown.. How can anyone believe such demonstrably untrue bullshit? In fact it was only because of brown that this country didn’t hit a 1920s-style depression, yet the Tories intend to lie and cheat their way into government by any means. And that’s why I still trust blair more than CaMoron.

There is a small voice in the back of my head which screams the word ‘hypocrite’ every time I go into school. I still think I can make a difference there, and I still think it is a good thing to do. Yet there was a time when I was appalled at the very existence of special schools, and I still think most of the arguments I heard in those days are essentially valid.

Inclusion must proceed where at all possible; I do not think many people would argue with that. But where vulnerable children are involved, idealism must give way to pragmatism. Part of the reason why I’m going into school is to better educate myself on the other side of the debate. I must admit the situation is far more complex than I must thought, and I can see why some kids need the settled environment a special school provides. Yet, other times, I look at kids and think ‘why aren’t they in mainstream?’ this is not an argument one can afford to be dogmatic about, and I’m yet to draw any final conclusions.I am starting to come to the opinion that inclusion can proceed, but elements of segregation must be retained.

The less said about the events of today the better. Let’s just say I haven’t seen that many self-obsessed pretentious teenagers since college, and let me remind Lyn that I still love her. Perhaps she should go here.

Today I had my first speech therapy lesson in over ten years. Well, it wasn’t really my lesson, as I wasn’t a student; more like a participant. I don’t think, however, that they’ve changed much: the aim of speech therapy, as far as I can gather, is to get one to communicate as much as possible. So, in my day, Mrs hickson and I used mostly to sit and talk, often about books. Today we played a version of Who Wants to be a Millionaire? It was rather slow going – we were working with one boy who seems to be a reluctant communicator.

I’m already finding volunteering at school very rewarding. At the mo, I only go in for a couple of hours every two or three days, but I get the same kind of buzz I got from Onevoice – the buzz which comes with the feeling that you might be making a difference.

The subject of Islamic dress has cropped up again, and as uusual I found myself in two minds. Now, you all know my stance on clothing in general: people should be allowed to wear whatever they want. Hence Lyn and I have two tutus hanging on the wardrobe door in our bedroom!

But what about the burka or hijab? Naturally, if some people choose to wear them, Muslim or otherwise, it’s their choice. The only reservation I have is a practical one: in places where one’s face needs to be seen for identification, I think people should be obliged to take the head covers off. I guess this should also apply to things like hockey masks and zentai suits. Mind you, it also occurred to me that such clothing might be useful if one intended to break the law. But this is no reason to ban the things. In Japan and other places, people are increasingly going out in public in zentai suits where they are seen as figures of curiosity and fun; in a way it’s a form of performance art, something like having a life-sized plasticine figure walking down the street. If I have no objection to that, how could I possibly object to people wearing the veil?

In other words, while I can see the disadvantages to veils on the practical level, my urge to tolerate and celebrate diversity must win out: people should be able to wear what they want. But now we get to the really problematic bit: is it really a choice? In my more facetious moments, I sometimes think that, if it’s just about covering up, why don’t women wear zentai suits instead of veils? But that would defeat the point of trying to desexualise women’s bodies; I guess the point of veils is in part to prevent men from seeing women as sexual objects. But I sometimes think veils – especially the big black ones – objectify women in other ways. It denotes gender, making it impossible to see the person inside. You can’t see that person as an individual, but just as ‘a woman’, in a way, especially if there is a group of women in such veils. I sometimes see women wearing such things when I’m out with Lyn; having only just moved to London, I must admit to still feeling a little scared by the sight. On the other hand, you can say exactly the same about zentai suits: they can be said to turn people into objects, removing their identity; and some people are indeed scared by them.

Yet, as an atheist, I also worry that women are forced to wear veils and denied the freedom to wear what they want. Problem is, how can you tell whther they are given a choice – many Muslim women argue they chose to wear the veil to show their religious identity, in which case it is prescribed to them and, paradoxically not a choice. If this is so, then the difference between the full veil and the zentai suit is that one connotes fun and freedom, the other is repressive. The whole debate rests on whether it is a choice.

I fear I might be rambling here: I’m talking about things I might not fully understand, so I’ll leave it there.

I just came across this link, which I think you should all go watch. It’s another perspective on what I was blogging about yesterday, and one with which I totally agree. I’d like to dismiss such people as reactionary and paranoid, yet I cannot for I know they are right. There is an inherent danger in assuming some lifes aren’t worth living.

Btw, the person in the bandanna is Claire/Dennis, whom I have mentioned here before.

I was just watching the news. I’ve had quite a good day: I went into school to help with an ICT session. We’re starting to figure out my exact role there, but the staff seem rather eager for me to help. Anyway, I was watching the news item on the court case of the mum who killed her daughter who had ME.

I know I’ve blogged about this before, possibly more than once, but it still worries me. Of course, people have a right to do what they want, even kill themselves, but I worry that some person would take advantage of this case? Say someone is caring for a severely disabled person who can’t communicate, and decides they’ve had enough? they might claim that the person being looked after wants to end their life when they don’t. of course, there will always be ways of communicating – even wiggling one’s toe can form the basis of a system of communication – but my point is that this can be abused. Disability history is littered with abuses like this. I mean, how do we know such people really want to die? What if they lack the cognitive capacity to make such a decision, and are being coerced into doing so? It would be seen as condescending to have one rule for people with learning disabilities on this, and another for those without. Thus this ruling opens up a huge moral can of worms, and I feel rather uncomfortable about it.

I went exploring again today. Again, I tried to find the dome and again I failed. You’d think that it wouldn’t be hard to find, wouldn’t you? It’s big and ugly and looks like a huge white spot. But no! this time, though, I went along the previously mentioned Shooters Hill road and found the royal observatory? How incredible is that? I went in and took a look – it’s free! I didn’t do a very thorough tour, but it was amazing to see things like the ancient telescopes. I also wondered over the Greenwich meridian almost without noticing.

From there I went down the hill, to the national maritime museum. I have an affinity for ships and boats, but couldn’t find an accessible entrance. I was going to go further, but I noticed my battery had dropped a few bars, so I headed home. Next I’m going to figure out the busses, and maybe the tube; then virtually the whole of London will be my playground!

And I will find the damn dome one day.

I should probably have typed this up yesterday, but by the time I got in I was knackered. Even just three hours at school wore me out; I don’t know where my teacherfriends get their energy. Nevertheless, they want me to go back there on Monday afternoon, so I must have been doing something right.

I encountered quite a few things off extreme interest yesterday afternoon, but there isn’t much I’d want to put on here, not at this point anyway. They had the kids interview me for school radio, which was rather fun. One of the kids on the radio team seemed to be a born entertainer. They also showed me around the school: it is bigger and more laberynthine than Hebden, and very impressive. Yet it had the same ‘feel’ as Hebden – that special school feel I can’t describe. An oxymoronic feeling.

I’m looking forward to going back there on Monday. I just want to help, and I think the staff think I can be a positive rolemodel for the kids. Who knows – maybe I can teach them a few things.

I am now an urbanite. Well, kind of. For all my life I’ve lived in the country: the housing estate where I grew up – indeed, where I was born – backs onto fields. Three minutes driving in my chair would bring me to lanes and hedgerows and the smell of manure. Every day, growing up, my trip to school took me past fields full of cattle, sheep, or crops.

Yet now, I’m surrounded by miles of concrete and tarmac. I’m not complaining about this: in fact the prospect of exploring London excites me; but I find it odd to reflect on the fact that, for the first time in my life, I’m living in a place without a field or tractor in site. Even alsager campus was surrounded by farmland.

I’ve already taken my first steps into my latest brave new world. I’ve been making trips to the local shop and back, but the other day, armed with an electric door key so I could let myself back in, I set off on my first real voyage of exploration. We’re reasonably near the O2 arena, so I decided I’d try to find that. Lyn gave me directions, but I must have taken a wrong turn as I couldn’t find a pub I knew I needed to pass. Interestingly for history buffs, I did find Shooters hill road, which was strategically significant during world war two as it would have been the road the Germans would have taken into central London had they invaded.

Anyway, this afternoon we’re off to the shops – I need more cash – and tomorrow I start a voluntary post at a local school. I’ll let you guys know how I get on, and whether I see any cows.

this is just a quick blog to say that I’m safe and well in charlton. The last few days have been largely uneventful. I’m settling in okay; dad dropped my PC off this morning, as well as other essentials. I get the feeling todday just might be the first day of the rest of my life.

I am in two minds about blogging anything today. Tomorrow I begin my move to Lyn’s. all being well, I’ll live with her permanently, which means tonight is my last night living here. I was born here, in this house, so it’s kind of an odd feeling. It is, at one and the same time, both sad and exciting. I don’t want to reflect on it too much, so I’ll just send you here – it’s one of my favourite songs, and today it seems a good choice.

It is probably lazy of me to do this two days in a row, but I must say that this is probably the most inspiring bits of writing I’ve read in quite some times. It’s written by Clair Lewis, probably one of the leading lights of the disability rights movement. She writes how it takes courage to ‘be our best selves’, and not to bow to social pressures and simply be good little cripples. As I’ve written before, part of the reason why I love Lyn so much is because she has done just that: she had the courage to become the person she believes herself to be, not for any quazi-political reason, but because she refused to let social pressures get in her way. Lyn’s might be an extreme example, but to a lesser extent most disabled people feel a certain amount of pressure to conform to what society expects of us – to be meek and mild crips grateful for being allowed to live at all. We must overcome this feeling; we must stick up for ourselves, and show our true colours. Only then can equality be attained.

I have been reading steve graby’s site throughout today. I met steve a month or two ago, but have only just started reading his blog. While I disagree with some of what he writes – he can be too radical sometimes – most of what he writes is fascinating. His stuff on gender in particular made me think, and I like the notion of being nongendered or gender-neutral particularly interesting. This is not the same as actively crossing gender boundaries, but simply not associating with either gender, in a way approaching my stance on gender from the other end. While I like to negate the gender binary by crossing male/female lines (dressing up as a woman) he negates it simply by not recognising it. Anyway go here.

I caught dave CaMoron on the Andrew Marr Show earlier. Truth is, he doesn’t seem such a bad fellow – a nice approachable family man who used to play footie with chris evans. I also like the fact that he supports both the BBC and NHS, the two finest institutions of their kind in the world. Yet what I find unpalatable about the conservatives these days is that underneath the charm and spin lie the same old rigid values that have always been the hallmark of conservatism. On Friday I explored how liberalism is, from certain points of view, inherently contradictory: if you take it too far it actually becomes illiberal and intolerant. However, I didn’t mean this as a criticism of the philosophy: bearing such things in mind is an integral part of liberalism itself.

I think this is where it contrasts with conservatism as I perceive it. Whereas liberalism has the ability to perceive it’s own contradictions, conservatism is too rigid and dogmatic, especially in it’s American form. To conservatives, concepts like right and wrong are absolutes rather than subjective constructs. Hence we hear CaMoron talking about things like the family and austerity – his own pre-conceived ideals. Tories hold such things to be good, when in fact A) they are idealistic constructs and

B) there are many good examples of such things being repressive or destructive. The problem is, conservatism, unlike liberalism, cannot acknowledge the fact that it can be wrong.