If you’re interested in reading rage, the text me and ricardio are adapting for the stage, go here. It’s only short, readable in five or six hours, and, as I found this evening, quite fascinating.

Today I showed Mayer where rich was buried. He turned up at about half three – he has the habit of just turning up randomly. I do it myself to others, so I cant complain. Earlier in the week I had told him where rich was, and this afternoon he asked if we could go. So we went. in many ways, lee was even closer to rich than I was. Infernal, godawful business. I know I’m not the only one – many people my age have lost friends, including those from special schools. But I cant help the feeling that it’s all fucked up.

I read CaMoron’s speech last night, while I was eating dinner. I tried to read it with an open mind, honest, but the more I read the angrier I got. I don’t think I ever read a bigger piece of nonsense; no, scrap that – it can only be nonsense if it actually has substance. This was mostly rhetoric based on a few simplistic ideas.

For a start, it was built up of short sound bytes, like this.

For another, blaming brown for this current economic crisis is a clear sign that the guy’s a moron. If the Tories hadn’t screwed the banking system up in the nineties we would not be in this mess. And to criticise brown for founding a decade of prosperity on ‘borrowing’ is a clear sign that these are no more than the ravings of an idiot. Brown saved us from the economic doom and gloom major left us in. for CaMoron to then praise Thatcher as some kind of hero when she destroyed the livelihoods of so many people is, frankly, despicable.

He attacks the ‘short term initiatives’ and what he calls the beurocracy without understanding that we need the testing and the safeguards to ensure that nothing goes wrong. We need the paperwork; we need standardisation. He is clearly trying to appeal to those people bored of filling in forms.

And as for character and judgement mattering more than experience – give me strength. He only says that because he thinks he has character and judgement, as everyone knows he lacks experience. Well, his judgement is clearly flawed, and his character is so vapid, shallow and cloying it makes me want to vomit. Either way, he’s wrong – tried and tested and proven experience is what matters, unlike in 97.

I could go on, I could go through this speech line by line and tear it to pieces. I could spend pages just explaining why claiming that society is somehow broken represents a level of arrogance that makes me want to tear the guy’s head off. I mean, just because society no longer conforms to your narrow-minded, illiberal and paternalistic view of how it should be doesn’t mean it’s broken. But I have work to do and things to read. If you have time the speech can be found here.

If anyone is interested in an extraordinary bit of cinema history – science fiction from beyond the iron curtain – go here.

amazing, isnt it?

For the last few days I have been thinking about a comment someone made to me. We had been arguing over msn about my lifestyle, and he said I should respect his intolerant point of view because ”it was his culture”. At one and the same time, this struck me as both pathetically stupid and philosophically interesting.

I am well aware of a paradox in liberalism. It is, basically, that liberalism means respecting all beliefs but the belief which says you shouldn’t respect other’s beliefs. I like to think I’m a pretty open minded sort of guy. Indeed, I have recently modified my attitude to faith after a comment by my father made me realise that, just as faith can inspire great ill, it can also inspire great kindness. This made me realise that maybe religion isn’t such a bad thing; maybe there’s something to it. As Tony Blair recently commented, religion can be used for both good and ill, and by and large I think it is a force for good. But I digress.

The point is, should I, then, respect intolerance? It may well be cultural, transmitted to parent to child like any other belief system. Yet it runs counter to liberality, to the foundations of culture. I also think that what in liberalism is a paradox in conservatism is a hypocrisy: he expects me to respect his views, yet refuses, by the very nature of those views, to respect mine. What in liberalism means respecting all beliefs but the belief which says you shouldn’t respect other’s beliefs, in conservatism means demanding people respect your beliefs while refusing to respect theirs. Frankly, a paradox is an interesting anomaly perhaps leading to the avoidance of certain subjects when talking to certain people, while a hypocrisy, in this case, is just plain dumb.

I just caught a bit of bbc breakfast news in the wes. It would seem that CaMoron is on the warpath, making it seem like the current economic downturn is the fault of the current government, somehow claiming that it is the result of the ‘borrowing fuelled prosperity’ of the last eleven years that we are in this mess. The petaQ even has the audacity to claim that the government is spending too much on advertisements and it’s own image, and has grossly mismanaged this world crisis. I find this insulting to my intelligence: brown was the best chancellor for years; labour got us out of the fetid hole the Tories had dug by 97. but now the world economy has hit the rails, the Tories are making out they can do better. Total bullshit. When the fuck did the Tories give a damn about lower-income families? When the fuck was conservatism compassionate? The cloying hypocrisy, the dissembling, and the smarmy act of this guy really gets my goat, as does his attempt to rewrite history. If everything hadn’t been privatised, perhaps we would be in less of a mess. Assholes.

I must admit I have been reluctant to pass comment on this before now. It is, of course, the story of the mother who drowned her four year old daughter in the bath, simply because she had c.p. I refused to pass comment because I did not know what to say. I could spit hysteric venom at the mother, accuse her of disabledism and breach godwin’s law; but I suspect this woman must have been mentally ill. No woman would kill her daughter were she of sound mind and judgement, disabled or not. I therefore think this woman needs help and psychiatric support, not to be demonised. Our hatred would get us nowhere.

Guess where I have just been. A fair! Excluding theme parks, which are completely different, I haven’t been to a fair in years. It turns out theres currently one in sandbach. The original plan was for me, Ricardio and Jo to go after a pub tea, but R wimped out, so I went with jo and her housemates. Although only two rides were open – it is Sunday evening, after all – I think we had fun. Jo’s friends turned out to be wimps, but I guess they were ok. In all, I think it was a nice end to a rather cool week – met new friends, got re-acquainted with an old one, and finally found something which I needed to find.

Its been a long day and I’m very tired. I decided to go out this morning in search of the stables where Michelle rides. It’s not far from campus, and I found it easily enough. we got back in contact via facebook, and it turns out she rides near alsager.

She is doing well, considering. She seems cheerful enough, but I sensed a few pangs of melancholy in her. It was she, however, who brought the subject of rich up to begin with; its clear she misses him very much, and I think she is still mourning him. We chatted for well over an hour, about old times, friends, and life in general, during which time she told me rich was buried in Nantwich cemetery.

After we had parted, I popped back to campus to check my mail then headed back out. My initial plan was to get the Crewe bus, then see which bus went to Nantwich. However, I looked at the timetable which said there was a direct service, which I assumed would be faster. I was wrong – it did go directly to Nantwich, but via about 10 other places first. A 30 minute journey tool over an hour.

Anyway, I got to Nantwich okay, if slightly off schedule. I don’t know the town at all, so I asked about for the cemetery. It took quite some time to find, as it turns out there are two of them – one old, one new. I assumed I needed the newer one, and eventually got someone to tell me where it was.

I found it. It was full of shiny new grave stones. Oh, man, I hate cemeteries. At length, tucked away in a remote corner, I found Richard’s grave. I’d asked a passer by to help, and he kindly obliged. I said: ”I went to school with him. I’d known him since we were 5”

The guy asked if I was ok, and I said I was. I was upset. There is a small firari logo on the grave – rich was really into his cars; for some reason that hit me the most.

I don’t know why I went, I just had to. I’m glad I found it but suddenly it seems colder outside.

Its been a good week: progress on my thesis is once again picking up, my room now looks the same as it always did, only with an updated year planner, and last night went well. I’m still highly bemused that Ricardio wants me to co-direct his play, but given that I want eventually to be a director of films, this is an offer I can’t refuse. I remember all those evenings in my third year watching him craft 100 years of solitude from nothing but the original text; I remember it being a highly communal affair, where all the cast became like a family; I remember my admiration for Ricardio growing by the week.

This is why I love campus: although it has little to do with my thesis, I love to be involved in such activities; to meet new friends and find new interests. Much of the cast is drawn from the first year, so last night I got to meet new people who will probably become friends. While I love my own work, writing my thesis is a solitary affair, so I relish this opportunity. I must admit I can’t wait till rehearsals proper begin Sunday afternoon.

This represents an unusual manifestation of cinephilia, but I’m sure that it is nevertheless a type of cinephilia which this man exhibits. He loves – or claims to, at least old vhs videos, and despises DVDs. The rarer and crappier, it seems, the better. Its kind of like a collector of old books or vintage wines: they may not be very good, but you just have to have them. Sure: some may describe this as pretentious, but I think it represents an interesting approach to film which has certainly given me more to think about.

Ricardio is crazy. It’s the only explanation.

I went to the pub last night with Ricardio and rich – possibly the only two people who have been here longer than I have. We always go on a Tuesday night to do the quiz and scoff cheese garlic bread. I’d already eaten, but I couldn’t refuse the garlic bread as it’s so good. Plus it was free – Ricardio bought me some as I’d only steal some of his anyway. True enough.

Anyway, we got to talking. We discussed what we did over summer, and so forth. It was then that Ricardio offered me the job as co-director of his next play. I was stunned and flattered. I’ve never done anything like co-directing, but Ricardio seems sure I’m the right man for the job. It would mean giving up two or three nights a week, reading some books etc, and to be honest I’m relishing the idea. I think I need something to do in the evenings other than going to the bar, and it’ll make a change from research.

Our first rehearsal is tomorrow at 6 in ps1. I just hope I don’t let Ricardio down.

A few of you may be interested in this. it’s the first part of the pilot episode of ‘I’m Spazticus’; I personally find it highly amusing, and I’m pleased to hear it has just got commissioned. Mind you, I bet I could do a better impression of professor hawking!

So here I am, back on campus. I must admit it is an odd feeling; everyone seems very pleased to see me, yet at the back of my mind there’s this feeling that I no longer belong here, that I should have left by now. I suppose, though, given the amount of work I have to do, that’s wher5e it must stay – at the back of my mind.

On the other hand, I am still fond of campus. It feels now like a second home, and I’m sure once I get back into the swing of things, that feeling will disappear.

Well, I better get on with sorting things out.

Dad just came into my room and placed a cap on my head. The cap I had been looking for all summer; the one with the pink Mickey Mouse badge. It had been put in a bag and taken to grandmas for storage. This cap, or rather the badge attached to it, means a lot to me, as its part of a pair me and Charlie bought in Euro Disney. I am now very happy indeed.

For those of you who are interested, here’s the theme to the new James Bond film. To my mind, it’s a little strange; it’s in the vein of the more recent bond themes from Tomorrow Never Dies onwards, whereas I prefer the earlier themes – Carly Simon’s nobody does it better probably being my favourite. Mind You, the last one, You know my name, grow on me, so perhaps this one will too.

For me, travelling, it seems, is less of aa question of how or when, but who. The first two factors are indeed important, as is cost, but the first thing I think about when I need to take a trip of any size is who is going to help me get there.

I need to take two trips; precisely when is yet to be fixed. Quite ironically they are to opposite ends of the country: I need to go see Lyn in London, and Steve has invited me to Edinburgh where he and jenny now live. I’d like to take both trips before the coming of Christmas. While I’m sure I can find a way of doing this cheaply enough, the question is how.

I’m crap at organising stuff, and need practice. As mentioned here, the Paris trip was largely organised by Charlotte. I strongly suspect, however, that miss Jones will be too busy this term to take any such trip, and while she might otherwise be my first choice given her tried and tested and extensive abilities, it would be wrong of me to rely on Charlie as my personal chauffeur. She’s my best friend, not my servant, and besides I need to organise this myself. The question, then, is who?

My first choice would be ricardio. He’s a good PA, very astute and observant. I think he’s met lyn too. Thing is, he can’t drive and might be busy at his theatre. Mind you, I could work around that.

I like Rob, but I’ve never asked him to do stuff like put me to bed or bathe me, so hemay not feel comfortable helping me with these particular tasks. He’s an older gentleman, which may make things awkward when it comes to certain planned activities with Lyn. He has a car, but I’d prefer to go on the train either way.

I’m also considering asking my friend Chris. He and Steve used to live together, and are good friends. Chris isn’t officially a PA, and has never PAed for me before, but he’s a local fellow whose abilities I am extremely confident in.

Then there’s lee, a friend from school, who helped me at Onevoice this year. Capital fellow, but such a trip may be too tiring.

Of course, I’m intending to make two trips, not one, so I could ask two different people. there are also people like Esther to consider. I’ll let you know how I get on. As it stands, I’m just at the beginning of the planning stage, so neither trip might happen. Mind you I thought that last time.

Hold on. I just had an idea…

This video links quite a few of my current interests. Okay, I’m not the worlds biggest potter fan, but I’m interested in fandom, secondlife and the work of professor Henry Jenkins, and this film links all four. Geeky though it may be – and I’m aware of the irony of using that word in conjunction with Jenkins – I suspect many of my reader(s) might like to take a look.

I was dosing about on the web yesterday, looking at various things and sating my addiction to facebook. Among other things, I found the story of what is probably the worlds youngest transsexual. I am interested in such matters, even if it’s hard to explain why. Apparently, children as young as twelve are showing signs that they were born into the wrong gender.

To me, there is nothing abhorrent about this. I see these kids as having what can be equated to a disability caused by a testosterone imbalance at birth; surely, therefore, they should be raised in the gender they feel most comfortable in. however, I found this story on a right-wing homophobic website, whose writers were irate about how this was wrong, part of some sort of homosexual agenda, and that treating this kid as a girl was abusing him.

It really makes me angry how intolerant some people are. To me, they are at odds with the modern world, outdated throwbacks. Ironically, by saying this I risk sounding intolerant myself, but, to me, a refusal to accept the diversity of humankind is a sign of stupidity. Some of us are fat, some thin, some male some female, some black some white, some able-bodied some disabled; only, in all these categories there are shades of grey. Most people have some kind of disability, however minor. I am not white but olive-skinned. The same is true for both sexuality and gender.

I would hope that most people who read my little blog realise this. it would seem that some people, however, do not. They call homosexuality a blasphemy and against god (presumably ignoring the part of the bible which says god loves everyone) and use religion to justify their intolerance. I hate such people; they seem to think that only they have the right answers; that only their way of life is the correct on. Generally, such people come under the category ‘conservatives’, which is why I have come to associate conservatism with stupidity, if an inability to understand modern society can be termed stupidity. It is these intolerant people who have the problem, not anyone else. Their hatred of difference is indeed problematic. The irony is, the moment we move on them, they accuse us of intolerance. Hypocrites

I have been in two minds about posting about this, but since I doubt the couple in question would object, I have decided to go ahead. I am very pleased to announce the engagement of my good friend Vanessa Kirby to Mr Neil Clayton. While I know next to nothing about Mr. Clayton, other than he is bald and has big ears, me and Miss Kirby go back some way, and I count her as a good friend. It is fantastic to see her engaged to a man she so obviously loves, and I wish them the very best.

It would seem I have another wedding to look forward to. Yay!

I was just going through the photographs me and Charlie took in Paris, for the umpteenth time. Whenever I feel down, these days I just have to look at those photos to cheer myself up. It was a remarkable week we spent, in a remarkable city, and the photographs trigger great memories which make me feel warm inside. Frankly the photographs taken in Disney land make me feel like a child again. I also feel a great admiration for charlotte – she just took it in her stride, but her endeavours that week, in terms of both her kindness and sheer physical effort, were quite incredible. I have been reticent in writing this before now for fear of embarrassing c: on one hand, I think we both see our Parisian adventure as just like any other trip taken by two good uni friends; yet on the other, the fact remains that it was Charlie who both organised and powered this trip in an amazing gesture of kindness for which I am extremely grateful. After all, its too rare that a person will push someone miles through the streets of Paris, feeding them, making sure no harm comes to them, simply because they’re their friend. It was like my cp wasn’t an issue. If only the world contained more people like charlotte Jones.

Today, as we all know, marks another, far graver anniversary than yesterday’s joyous events. Even though I may criticize the American government for their gross mishandling of the aftermath of the atrocities, that anyone would hijack four commercial jets and turn them into missiles is an affront to civilisation itself.

The question, however, remains: why would anyone do such a thing? I mean, how can anyone justify such an act? As a reasonably educated young man in the west, living a comfortable petit-bourgeois life, it is beyond my comprehension; I’m quite sure it will be for anyone likely to read this. to me, however, this fact leads me to think that we need to understand what lead these men to do such things. It cannot be as simple as hatred, unreasoning and pure. Yes old Ahab hated the white whale, but the white whale bit off Ahab’s leg. Indeed, the leg was bitten off, was it not, because Ahab was hunting Moby dick to start with? My point, as I’ve written before, is that instead of going in all guns blazing to get the bad guys, we need to recognise that good and bad are but two sides of one coin, and that the only way to get rid of terrorism is to address the root causes.

First, let me whish my good friend Charlie a very happy birthday. Although at time of writing, Miss Jones will probably be teaching, I really hope she has a good day and gets lots of cool presents. I attended her party two weeks ago, which was a blast, although, knowing the joneses, there will be much frivolity in Chester tonight. Have a good one guys!

Mind you, today is also momentous for science. They turn the large hadron colider on today. Apparently, thwacking two protons together at very high speeds will recreate conditions shortly after the big bang. Err, I’m no physicist but has it not occurred to these people that they might create a universe which will expand to destroy our own. The clue is in the title ‘big bang’ as in kaboom. If you ask me it’s a very bad idea. Mind you, they could equally discover how gravity works, the warp drive, or a new way to make apple sauce, which would be much better if you ask me.

Whatever happens, its exciting, but not quite as exciting as birthday parties.

at last some good news from america. a new candidate has been announced. not me this time, but someone with good common sense, well read and with a good sense of humour. what’s more, his sense of geography is better than bush’s. Click here

We all know that the internet is a wonderful place to meet people. this is especially applicable for us crips, particularly if we can’t get out much. The internet is also good for keeping in contact with offline friends during periods when you can’t physically meet up. I have a great many on- and offline friends, and I try not to differentiate between the two. I love to see how everyone’s getting on on facebook etc.

However, a few of these people have turned out to be morons who seem to like picking fights for the hell of it. They irritate me very much. Yesterday, for example, I got a message from one such person calling me a ”stupid little prick” out of the blue; I responded, saying that he should learn to think for himself, and his reply this morning was ”well, at least I don’t dress like a fucking woman”.

Reading this makes me extremely angry. My dressing is, as I’ve explained before, in part a reaction to the world; I do it in the spirit of postmodernity. Why can’t sex and gender be interchangeable if we are all equal? Why not reread the boundaries? Moreover, his statement implies there is something wrong with women ad their clothes. If such clothing is good enough for women, its good enough for men, or are women inferior? That’s what the statement implies, and that’s why it’s sexist.

I suppose I should have expected it, being so open about my transvestism. But then I think: why? Should we just ignore such intolerance and backwardness? For it is backwards – it’s the inability to accept difference; it is discrimination; it is, in short, immaturity. We could of course ignore such people as Matthew Wedlake like a parent ignores an errant child, but then, how are we ever going to teach such people that their outdated ‘views’ have no place in the modern, liberal world?

The weather is getting us all down, I think. summer seems to have passed us by. So, if I may don my DJ cap, i’ll send you here. In my opinion, Ladysmith Black Mambazo produce some of the most beautiful music being made today; I’ve been listening them for a while now – I find their music both relaxing and evocative of far off places. just what we need oon these cold, wet, summer’s days.

My blog last night got me some stern looks from dad this morning. I guess it wasn’t exactly fair, and to a certain extent showed me to be the lazy mother’s boy I am.

The truth is I like it at home, and I am very fond of my parents. Lyn was right inasmuch as if I wanted control of my beer intake I should move out. Yet the truth is I’m not ready to do this just yet. I tasted independence at university, and on trips like those to Newquay and Paris, but the fact remains my parents have always been there to back me up, to put up the cash, and to bail me up if things go wrong. While I believe we coped well enough in Paris, (superbly, in fact, largely thanks to charlotte’s level-headedness) I think I’ll soon need to go without the lifeline of mum and dad. The thing is, I’m still not sure how.

I think I better explain something tonight, really for my parent’s benefit. I’m at home, as you probably know, so my parents have control over what I eat and drink. They, quite naturally, don’t like me drinking too much. The thing is, I resent this – any other guy my age could just go into the garage and get himself a beer whenever he wanted, so why do I have to appeal to my parents’ judgement? I think my own judgement, exercised throughout four years living quazi-independantly at uni, should be good enough. this is why I resent having to appeal to my parents for beer, and risk them saying ‘no’, which occurs about 30 to 40 percent of the time. What my parents haven’t realised, or what I haven’t yet found the opportunity to explain, is if I knew their response to my request for beer was always going to be simply to go into the garage to retrieve a cold one, my requests would be less frequent. Power would no longer be an issue, as I’d know that I’d have just as much access to alcohol as any other person. For like any other person my age I know my limit, and I know when not to drink. I resent the implication to the contrary.

I was about to go out for a roll, but both my dad and a glance up at the sky have warned against it (already as I type the rain has started again). It hasn’t been a very good summer for flaneurie, unfortunately. I like just rolling around town, botanizing on the asphalt, seeing what is going on. This passion is connected with my passion for travel and exploration, of course, and I guess I use it for a stop-gap for bigger adventures. I guess I just like observing. Examining society and culture from the street level. This is of course why I cherish trips like the one me and Charlie made to Paris, as I get to really explore new places, taste new foods, meet new people, but unfortunately such trips can only happen every so often. You know, that holiday was probably the highlight of my year so far. Then again, all being well a family trip to brazil is on the cards for December.

Holidays, of course, take time and money to organise and undertake, making them rarer than I’d like. There are other constraints, too, like those of work and school and university. Even trips into town are dependant on the weather. With this in mind, I finally decided to download and install second life last night. I spent so much time talking about it to Simon and thinking about it, I thought I better try it. I spent an hour or so in it last night, and my impressions were mixed. I am still figuring out how to control my avatar, which is still apparently a white cloud, but its kind of like exploring a new world.

Only here, everything is different. In real life, I am both used to and fascinated by the way in which people react to me. I’ve written here before about how I often like making heads turn. But in second life, things are different. If I ever figure out how to stop being a cloud, I can be anything I want, so the subjectivity of being a disabled person and the philosophical baggage which goes with that status (normal vs. special etc) is not necessarily there. I can escape being ‘other’ if I wanted, but if I did would it imply that I dislike being ‘other’ in real life? I am quite happy with who I am, of course, so should I try to be ‘me’ in second life? And if I try to be me, how does one represent a young man with athetoid cerebral palsy and a liking for girl’s clothes, real ale and star trek on the computer? The question is, can disability with all its philosophical implications be truly recreated in an online world? To me, this is one interesting question among others, and I guess the only way to find the answers is simply to participate.

I have spent the weekend at charlie’s. It’s her birthdayon the tenth, but I’d guess they wanted to celebrate before the new term started. Part of me is still getting used to c being a teacher – for one thing, aren’t teachers meant to be older than I am? Its still quite weird, but on the other hand I just know Charlie is a born teacher if ever there was one.

It was a great party. As well as Charlie and her family, it was great to see Jodie and hollie, two old friends from MMU. I was rather surprised there weren’t more people from university there, actually, but oh well. As I said, it was fancy dress, and I was pleased to see some people went to a lot of effort with there costumes. There was one person, for example, who had made a robot costume with working lights and personal sound system which plugged into an mp3 player. As for myself, I am still yet to figure out a way of keeping my bunny ears on my head.

The party itself was a great success. It started at the jonses, then at midnight we all decamped to a barn for a rave (sanctioned by the owner of said barn). The ravesite itself was upstairs, so I was relieved I had paced myself. In the end, I was out to about half three, listening to the live awesome music of ‘Laffin’, a band Hugh plays sax for. Then, it was high time I turned in,

I don’t think I would have missed this party for the world, and I was glad I went. For one thing, it was just what I needed – I do like a good party, ad it feels like months since my last one. Also, Charlie has been and is one hell of a good friend, and I’d have felt awful if I had missed it (well, that’s my excuse, anyway…)

Still no sign of that hat or the badge on it. It must be around here somewhere.

Not much has happened these last few days – they are notable only for their distinct lack of sunshine. Right now I’m just moping around the house, but at least tomorrow I have a party to go to. Fancy dress – the best sort.

Elsewhere in the world, however, things are more interesting. Barrack Obama last night delivered the speech of his life; the fact that it was delivered to coincide with the anniversary of Dr. King’s ‘I Have a dream’ speech was not lost on many. Question is, can that dream truly be coming to fruition? I still get the impression that many people in America will not vote for black people. interestingly, some people on the right are saying that to vote for obama would simply and shallowly salve national guilt for slavery. Yet, while this might indeed be partially true, it suggests that if any black person were to come to power, he or she would always face such criticism and the subsequent lack of credibility. This leads to a catch 22-type situation (without the B52s) where no black person can be elected without such criticism, yet if so then the words ”all men are created equal” are meaningless. On the other hand, if obama is elected, people will say ‘it’s just because he’s black, not because of his policies.’ After all, voting for someone because they are black is just as discriminatory as voting for someone because they are white. The guy can’t win.

America now stands at a cross roads. The question is not can it leave race out of politics, but how can we tell if it has?

I hereby announce my candidacy for the oval office. Yes, I am running for president. What america needs is a no-nonsense cripple at its helm. I pledge free beer and to ban larger. Don’t believe me, just click here

I cannot recall ever being so attached to something so small. I have lost my hat – when I got home from university, I put it down in the conservatory and itt promptly disappeared. That, in itself, wouldn’t matter, for I have plenty of hats, but the thing is I had fixed something to this particular hat. Just up from it’s brim, there’s a small, metallic badge. Ironically, I put it there so I wouldn’t loose it. Its pink, in the shape of mickey mouse, and is one of a pair me and charlotte got in eurodisney. She, of course, has the blue twin, and as a result this badge is very precious to me.

I’m sure it will turn up somewhere – nobody would throw away such a thing. It’s just irritating.

Call me a spoil sport if you must, but as I was watching the Olympic closing ceremony yesterday, I couldn’t help but feel ashamed. I wasn’t ashamed of team GB’s performance, which many are calling the best for a century; nor was I ashamed of the fact that London will host the next Olympics. I was ashamed of the bumbling, shallying image of Boris Johnson walking up to take the Olympic flag.

That image disturbed me. Why should this country be represented by him? Why should our capital be represented by that joke of a man? That relic of the old boy’s network? That complete fool. His election was a joke – he was elected because the people of London thought it would be a laugh to elect that figure of fun.

Yes, they were fed up with Livingston. But it was Livingston and Blair who won them the Olympics in the first place. By rights it was Livingston who should have been waving that flag last night, not that overgrown turd. This gets my goat, but what gets me even more is the fact that CaMoron will probably be prime minister in 2012, and that little piece of shit will probably take credit. Britain is a booming, prosperous society, but next election – if the polls are anything to go by – we’re going to throw it all down the drain. The more wealthy people become, the more likely they are to vote Tory, thinking that the Tories are more likely to save their money but forgetting how narrow minded/, inept and selfish conservatism innately is.

I read a review of a book called ‘Cameron on Cameron’ in the Sunday times yesterday. Would you believe that toadying fuctard still has the audacity to pretend that brown is the one obsessed with spin. The book itself sounded like a repellent tract of ego-boosting: the reviewer dismisses it at one stage as cynical propaganda.. the book itself contains such absurdities as ”[to CaMoron] It looks like you are two breastplated sportsmen, battling it out…you look like you enjoy playing with him as though you were a cat and he [brown] was a mouse’. Here, the author pretends to describe PMQs, but obviously hasn’t watched one, or does not understand what’s going on. Brown OWNS CaMoron, and is the only intelligent choice next year, but the people of this country are apparently too stupid to see that.

That’s why that cretin Boris Johnson got to wave that flag; and that’s why I’m ashamed.

What a difference a week makes. The guy who I was having difficulty getting on with a week or so ago has turned out to be not that bad. In fact, I think it was mostly my fault that we weren’t getting on – I was taking most of what he was saying out of context, and he was getting royally pissed off. Yet we seem to have sorted most things out; we even agreed to meet up sometime for a pint or two. I think I’d like that very much, and it’s long overdue. If we can organise it – and I see no reason why we couldn’t – it would be like a crip meeting, as I have two or three other folk with cp in mind whom I’d like to invite.

The prospect of such a meeting excites me, not just because I like nights out. I relish the chance to go out and meet fellow crips – there are few disabled folk at university, so there’s naturally a chance my views in that area have stagnated. Plus the prospect of this night out feeds my optimism about friendship. It would be a chance to exchange ideas, to actually get to know people I have never physically met. There’s nothing like alcohol for cementing friendships..

I would like to draw your attention to this article, by tom Shakespeare, on hate crime. I have been reticent about calling crime involving disabled people ‘hate crime’, as, as the professor correctly point out, there are always going to be other factors involved. Its not as simple as blind hate.

I do not feel I have anything particular to complain about. Life, for me, is pretty good – I have two supportive parents, two great brothers, and more friends than I can count. The only thing I’m particularly worried about is my thesis, but that’s generally of another order to the subject of this entry.

I think I’m content with life, all in all. There is, however, a school of thought within the disabled community which says that disabled people are subjugated and oppressed, and that we are well within our rights to rail against this oppression. They cite, for instance, the carer/client relationship as innately coded within a power structure – that when one is bathed, dressed, washed and toileted by someone, the person being cared for is always going to be under the power of, and in effect subservient to, the carer. If we further generalise this principle, it follows that we crips are always going to be second class citizens.

I have a problem with this. it isn’t as if I don’t agree with it – they certainly have a point – but I see it as a part of life which one should allow to fade into the background. I have better things to worry about than whether the manner in which I need to live my life is encoded with oppression. If you need to be fed, why worry about it? And anyway, this power structure is not always the case: I have been fed, on many occasions, by people whom I consider my close friends; I have asked one or two to help me bathe a few times. No doubt they would be bemused at the notion that there was some kind of power involved. I would guess they, like me, think that it’s just something that needs to be done. Moreover, I was reading an article in the business supplement of the Sunday times about this guy who works as a trader in goldman-sach’s as a trader, who uses one of his fellow traders as a kind of work-time PA. again there is no evidence of this power-structure in their relationship its just something that needs to be done.

I guess it could go to the other extreme. Some people seem to think that the term ‘personal assistant’ means ‘slave’ and that they deserve to have someone at their beck and call 24/7. although I admit I may have, at university, been guilty of pestering people like jen, Charlie and ash a little more than I should have, I tried to respect their private time, and understood that if they said ‘no’, that meant ‘no’. Yet I get the impression some crips can be over-reliant on their staff, in effect demanding a slave. To me, that constitutes an abuse of one’s rights.

Back to my main point, though: there is an argument which says that it should be our right to complain; that

” Blacks and Latinos are encouraged to form communities and discuss the [insert minority group here] Experience. Abuse and incest survivors are rightly lauded for their bravery. People with eating disorders are told they can find support here.

Disabled folks? Not so much. While we’re appreciated as a quaint novelty, we’re in the steerage with the cutters and the kohl-snorting emo children when it comes to expressing angst or anger. And if we persist, well, it won’t be long before the cries of ”Being disabled, you’re doing it wrong!” ring out, along with accusations of whining, pity-whoring, and delusion.” source

We could detail the means by which we are repressed. Wee could detail the perceived humiliations and the indignities we ‘suffer’. But I fail to see the point, as all it would lead to is a particularly bleak, pessimistic outlook on life. I tried it once: I paid special attention to all the things which made me different, all the means by which we are allegedly oppressed. All it did was make me miserable, and annoy my parents. I suspect it even put people off me. In short, it got me nowhere but a depressed pessimistic stupor.

Such points of view are counterproductive and self fulfilling. It was also cyclical, and I didn’t really break that cycle until the berlin trip with south Cheshire college. It is far better to focus on how alike we all are than how different we are. I guess this is why I dislike the idea that disabled people have a community, for if we are a subset of people, then we are somehow different. This leads back into feelings of ostracisation and persecution. Yes, we are a community as expressed through the ways in which we articulate our lives, but as soon as that articulation becomes one of persecution and negativity, we risk losing the thing which unites us to wider humanity.

This is very pleasant. I’m just waiting for breakfast. Both my brothers are home, and Luke and Yan are cooking breakfast for us; Mark was just playing some Bach on the piano, which, although I’m in the mood for something more upbeat, was very nice indeed. What’s more I have much to look forward to, ranging from tonight’s turkey pie to charlottes party a week next Saturday. It may be rather grey outside, but at the moment it’s very hard to be miserable.

As a rule I dislike having enemies. I try to remain optimistic about humanity, and prefer to believe that everyone is a potential friend, and that all grievances can be settled. I try to get along with everyone I meet, and I suspect – or hope – most of my friends would confirm this. my friends mean a lot to me: I’ve mentioned a few of the closest here, but there are many more people of whom I am fond, and would hate to anger.

Yet there seems to be this one guy with whom I just cannot get on. I’ve never physically met him, but we talk on msn. He seems to misunderstand everything I say, make the most stupid of statements and resorts to insults when I try to correct him. I frankly find it impossible to debate with him on any adult level. I know what I’m talking about, but he talks down to me.

I know what you’re thinking: ‘just leave it matt, he isn’t worth it’. But this man’s arrogance gets to me. Ricardio once told me ‘everyone should have an enemy – it’s healthy’, yet I dislike the concept that no relationship is irredeemable. Unfortunately, it appears this particular relationship is (at the moment, at least).

What is it about me, razors and dad? My dad just gave me a shave – at home, I don’t shave as often as at uni, but we’re eating out tonight so I thought I’d better have one. I’ve noticed that I get more tense when my dad shaves me. When the home help ladies do it at university, I am usually perfectly relaxed, but when dad does it, I tense up. My father, mind you, shaves me a lot closer than my Pas do – probably because A he’s had more practice, and B isn’t afraid of cutting me. I guess dad doesn’t have to worry about me claiming damages: he could simply stop funding my various addictions.