Charlie just dropped me off at uni after my semi-weekend at hers, so I’m knackered. The Jones household is the bright, cheerful place I left it. We went to the birthday party of one of their neighbours last night, hosted in one of the oldest houses in Chester. Needless to say, my intention not to drink too much was quickly forgotten after a sip of a very good Australian red. I spent the evening talking to the joneses and their friends and doing a bit of dancing.

This morning I went to church with Mrs. Jones. I realised I had never been to an English church, and so I asked if I could tag along. It was a very interesting experience, but I’m afraid to say I’m still a confirmed atheist.

So, it seems my fears over losing touch with people are unfounded. What’s more, old boys is just around the corner, and then we have Paris to organise. You know, friends like mine – like Charlie and her family – make the world a brighter place.

I have about four things to say in this blog entry, so bear with me. First, my hit count exceeded 200,000 last night. Woohoo. People have wanted to see what I have to say 200,000 times. It’s a strange thought really, because mostly I write piffle. Well, I try to keep it relevant most of the time, but sometimes the temptation just to fish for something on youtube gets too much.

Second, I must say I thoroughly enjoyed ash’s performance last night. I found it intriguing, and the actual thing was definitely better than the rehearsal. I fear I slated it a bit too much yesterday. Esther and I came up with a cunning plan yesterday: we only stayed for the lecture and skipped the screening. This way, Est didn’t have to get back from alsager to her home in Crewe too late – I am loathe to make a girl walk home alone in the dead of night. This way, she wouldn’t have got home too late, and I got to see ash’s piece and the lecture, which, as it turned out, was most valuable. Ashley performed brilliantly, except for one slight hiccup with a costume change. Also, it wasn’t the turgid thing I had expected, but actually quite funny. I think I had misread it, too: it was about potential and choice rather than deem and gloom. I had initially dismissed it as a tea party, but in retrospect her inclusion of tea was a nice touch given the audience had to stand (or in my case sit) outside.

Talking of parties, my friend charlotte has invited me to a party at hers tomorrow. It’ll be good to see her. Mind you, I’m yet to clear this with my parents, but it’s something to look forward to. To think that I complained on here once that I didn’t have a social life; these days I sometimes think I have too much of one. c says it’s a smart affair, and I’ll need my suit, which sounds cool. She also says I might b able to have a martini!

And speaking of martinis (notice the nice segway there) the title of the new bond film will be Quantum of Solace, which is typically cryptic. It doesn’t seem a day ago since Tony and charlotte took me to see casino royale, but the next offering in the bond franchise is out at the end of the year. I really like Daniel Craig, I must say he is, in my opinion, the best since Sean Connery, and much more akin to the heartless bastard of the original Fleming novels. I adore the ending of casino royale, which in my opinion qualifies as a cinephiliac moment – a moment in a film of pure joy, where the viewer is pricked (to borrow a term from Roland Barthes) Anyway, I better start my day. It seems I have quite a bit to look forward to, and therefore enough to write about here for another 100,000 hits.

Whenever something breaks I get mildly depressed. I suppose its worse when my lightwriter breaks, but my chair is now out of action for a while. Dad says, quite wisely, that it is probably best that I don’t use it until it is fixed. This makes this afternoon awkward, however, as I need my chair to get home after my late lecture on Thursday. Esther just leaves me at the bus stop in Crewe, and I get myself home. Therefore I’m considering bunking off this afternoon’s lecture and working on my thesis. Given I haven’t skived in three and a half years, its about time I did so. Its not actually skiving, anyway. I’ll see what Est says; she has a nasty way of talking me out of such things.

It’s ash’s performance tonight. She allowed me to view the final rehearsal on Tuesday, since I was going to be away later, and still might be. Its called the art of suicide, and comes, as you can probably tell, from quite a dark place – a place where I was about 5 years ago; somewhere I left behind and do not whish to return. Its kind of bitter, yet sickly sweet; kind of an obsession with an aesthetic of death. Don’t get me wrong, back then I wasn’t suicidal, just bitter and cynical. I think Ash’s piece tonight comes from this place, which is why I’m interested in it. Mind you part of me is angered by it: what is the point of such a piece? To me, it kind of glorifies it, kind of wallows in self pity; makes suicide seem something other than it actually is. Keep thinking of my friends who aren’t here any more; I counted during the rehearsal – 5, in all, from my class at school. It seems to throw away a life is a waste, a retreat. As I see it, life is too good a party to leave early. Mind you, I can only pass judgement really if I see the full thing tonight.

I’ll let you know what happens tomorrow.

Well, I’m back in one piece. Those DVDs have been waiting for me to change them for ages. the hard part was choosing their replacements. It took me well over half an hour to decide!

I’d like to have been able to say that my trip went without a hitch. It did, until it was time to get off the bus at alsager. I accelerated too fast and bashed my footplate on a small post. I need a new footplate – there’s a shop in Crewe which might do them, but I’ll see what dad says. If the driver had parked closer to the curb, or had got up off his arse to put the ramp out, everything would have been ok. I also have a nasty graze on my right leg.

Bugger.

After yesterday’s productivity, I’ve decided to go into Hanley today to change my DVDs. This will be an adventure for me, which is why I’m making this blog entry. After I print off a map, I’ll get the number twenty bus there and back. Should be back by mid afternoon. I’ll blog again before 7pm.

Smoke me a kipper, I’ll be back by teatime.

Will someone tell me the difference why they are calling a sail a ‘kite’ here? I don’t care if it looks like a kite, as far as I’m concerned, it’s a sail, and I m very amused by it. We’ve had powered ships for about 200 years, but ironically we’re having to return to the ancient technologies in order to save the environment. Whatever next? Steam powered cars? Even better, horse drawn wheelchairs.

although there are many fan-made teasers out there, I think this one is for real. if so, it has a totally different mise-en-scene to any other vintage of trek. I think itss cool, but…mmm, somethings not quite trek about it. mind you, they said similar things about daniel craig as james bond, and look what happeened.

Its oout at christmas, so the cripple is issuing an order to his family – as is tradition, we are going to watch this film as a family. ok? mark and kat return from paris, luke from manchester or wherever. We can go as one family to the cinema. what do you say? Make it so

Bit of crip-related news tonight. Katie Thorpe, a teenager with cp, will not be having a hysterectomy. I think this is very good news, and a victory for disability rights and logic over what constitutes, in my opinion, narrow-mindedness and condescendation.

link

Far be it for me to relish in another person (or team’s) defeat, but I’m exceptionally pleased that someone has finally ended the Australian cricket team’s unbeaten streak. ‘India denied Australia a record 17th straight victory by dismissing them for 340 to win the third Test by 72 runs.’ Reads the bbc site. Hahaha. To be honest, while the Australian team impresses me, I think its bad for the game for one side to be too dominant or invincible. However, when I brought this subject up over lunch in the wes today, nobody seemed very interested. Mind you, two people at the table, ash and Steve, are American, and Maria is Portuguese, so cricket means very little to them. Grr.

Most people were recovering after a bit of a heavy night last night, too. I had fun, freezing my butt off in a dress. As I say, fuck knows why I do it – its a pain in the ass, but it draws me like a moth to a flame, and trying to explain it, even to myself, is like trying to explain cricket to Americans.

Tonight is the gangsta ball. Its organised by the student film society, so I’m definitely going. However, I thought putting tights on was hard till it came to these goddamn stockings. Why ddo I do this to myself?!

We’re just off out, but there’s just enough time to link to this story of a paralimpian called Oscar who wants to compete in the normal Olympics. The thing is he has been banned because he uses special springy prosthetics which allow him to run faster. Boo! I say, let him run! It’s high time we crips had some advantage over norms. Mind you, then I could compete in my electric wheelchair, which would be great fun until it comes tot the hurdles. Buzz….ouch…buzz…ouch…buzz…ouch…YAY

Today is interfaculty cup day. It’s been rather cool: did some reading this morning, and this afternoon I’ve been zooming around from sport to sport watching bits and bobs. I can’t believe that, in less than a year, they’re going to start tearing campus down – it’s quite a beautiful place, much better than the Crewe campus, which is small and ugly and far too dense. I met up with the dean earlier, on the touchline of the rugby pitch: I hadn’t seen him since graduation day, last summer, and was very curious about something. I asked him who got the loudest cheer, from where he was standing. He replied that, not only did I get the loudest cheer of my particular ceremony, I got the loudest cheer of them all! We then started to discuss my second graduation: to be honest, I’m in two minds about going. It won’t be the same. Anyway, a lot of water must pass under the bridge before then. In the meantime, my head is once again inflated.

Although its full of crappy Americanisms, like the horribly nauseating subtitle ‘live forward’, yesterday I came across a new social networking site called disaboom. While I have yet to fully explore it, the site, like Ouch, has many interesting articles and discussions to engage with, but, unlike ouch, is written from a non-u.k perspective, which, for me, gives it a novel quality. I look forward to investigating it. Besides, how can I resist a website with ‘boom’ in the title?

link

Today I found out about something odd called machinima: its where people use games platforms to create films. Short films have been made using quake 4, and more recently second life. At first I must admit I was revolted: it’s the project of the bored and geeky, who don’t have the first clue about making a film. But it then occurred to me that this is a democratisation of the filmic art: now all you need is a game like quake, and you can make a film. No more need for editing software or even cameras. No more need for actors, costumes and props. Film is now as accessible as writing, a prospect which fascinates me. I’ll certainly be looking into this more, perhaps even as part of my Masters.

Link to the wikipedea article on it

I was just in Crewe seeing a man about a fish. Needed to get some things from the shops; ash is cooking tonight and she needed eggs and oil. Trips to Crewe are now fairly routine: I know what I want, and go get it. I must admit I enjoy the change of scenery too.

This afternoon’s trip went well. The sun was out at last; Crewe town centre was crowded, and the bus home was packed. I feel that people treat me with a reasonable amount of dignity; the shop assistants were very helpful. Its all very pleasant.

Yet it was as I was wheeling back up hassall road that I passed three boys in hoodies. I was reasonably cheerful, minding my own business, when, as they passed, one said ‘spacker’. Why? Why did he say that? I wasn’t doing any harm. Why did he insult me for no reason. I hate such people: people who cling to outmoded stereotypes. People who think they’re being big. What puzzles me is why he said it. I don’t understand.

I fail to see whats so heroic about this. I’d have done no less. Only i’d have caught the fucker because of the superiority of brittissh wheelchairs over american ones. I feel the woman acted as any other person would have done. no doubt she felt victimiised and therefore angry,, but nevertheless part of me askss why is this so special?

yawn. back to late thursday lectures. knackering. anyway, ouch’s so called disability bitch has posted quite an interesting article on this incapacity benefit hokum. quite an interesting read from a slightly different perspective. Go here

I discovered this morning that, as a masters student, I can technically go to any lecture I want, which is certainly an amusing prospect. Over breakfast, jen invited me to one of their lessons. They were holding a ‘happening’ in ps1. those of my readers who took writers contexts last year will recall that happenings are related to fluxus – sort of events which are pieces of art in and of themselves. This ‘happening’ was a piece of nostalgia based on the sixties hippy movement. Everyone dressed up as a hippy and did stuff hippies did: burn joss sticks, read tarot card, listen to frank zappa etc. it was really cool. I got a bandanna put on my head.

Such happenings interest me: most other art forms can only be witnessed from one point. With film, we all ‘see’ the same picture; with literature we all read the same words. Yet this form of theatre is different. It is participated in rather than observed. Everyone has a different experience. There are no ‘units’ like shots or words, and therefore it cannot be created. In film, literature or photography, there is always a certain type of relationship between text/image and viewer. In such happenings, there is no viewer – they just happen. Thus this bypasses the Lacanian symbolic and renders itself ‘real’. I noticed the thing was being filmed, yet any such film is doomed to fall short, for it can only render the real in symbolic form, as a photograph can only be a symbol rather than it’s referent.

I thus find these things quite fascinating in relation to my own work. To what extent can films be considered real. What is the nature of the image in relation to reality? Why indeed do they draw us so?

short of anything more interesting happening today, I’ll just post a link to this. You don’t have to know german to understand that suspicions that bert andd ernie are two drug addled pill-heads. I find the fact they only have one eye most amusing.

Dad had radio four on as we drove to campus this morning. It may be uncool for people my age to admit to liking radio four, but I love it. It has great authority perhaps the greatest authority and gravitas of any radio station in Britain – yet can let its hair down on occasion. (Mornington crescent, anyone?). anyway, I was very amused to hear of the new Tory plan to cut down on benefit fraud. I mean, who are they trying to kid? Benefit is an urban straw man; I admit it’s a problem, but its nowhere near as widespread as people, especially those on the right, make it out to be. The benefit fraudster is a popular bogeyman, and nothing more. CaMoron might as well have promised to get rid of the grinch.

More seriously though, this has profound implications. The conservatives will make it much harder to claim incapacity benefit. This is hard enough already:

apparently, there have been cases of people having heart attacks during this process. Moreover, many people have hidden disabilities, such as arthritis or late onset m.d, which, while hard to verify, render one incapable of working.

If I was paranoid, I would say the Tories intend a war on disabled people. with their attitude towards inclusion, and now this, it certainly seems that way. The recent polls scare me. I just hope the country comes to it’s senses before it does something really stupid and turns back to the right.

Christmas is officially over: my parents are downstairs undecking the halls; my brothers returned to the places from whence they came yesterday; I go back to uni tomorrow. It was too short, and it’s kind of weird now the place is so quiet again. It has been one of the best Christmases ever – at one point, there were 13 people in the house, all laughing and cheering. That is not to say that it didn’t get irritating at times, but that’s natural.

I’m looking forward to 2008. 2007, save for one thing, was a particularly good year. Getting my degree is my greatest achievement, and thinking about it still makes me squeal with excitement. I still have much work to do for my masters, but despite doing virtually nothing towards it over Christmas, I’m still very enthusiastic about it: you cant write about cinephilia without being a cinephile. So, its back to work tomorrow.

Spring term is also the term of Old boys. My friends from my undergrad years will be coming up. I cant wait to see them, to see how they’re doing, to buy people drinks. I especially need a good natter to people like Emma, charlotte, Steve, Nicky etc. also, we have a trip to either Dublin or Paris to organise.

At the dawn of a new year, with the sun beating through my window,, and as I look at the pictures of my friends on my wall, its hard not to feel extremely optimistic about what lies ahead.

I was just watching bbc parliament. CaMoron was talking about education. I had to stop myself throwing something at the TV set; how anyone cam fall for the garbage he spouts is beyond belief. I mean, he spouts stuff about believing in equalled, but when you consider he’s anti-inclusion, you realise how hollow his words are. He goes on about opportunity for all, but in the same breath talks about streaming, which, almost by definition, means opportunity only for the few. For all his weasel-words, this is still a policy of segregation, unfairness, and, essentially, fascism. What is laughable is he’s giving this speech in a school, which he showers with praise, founded by labour in the last ten years. Even more laughably is he trots out policies remarkably like labour’s, then tries to pass them off as his own.

Only a cretin would be unable to tell how much of a fraud this man is.

This evening, we were just in Manchester for a meal. Mark and Kat go back to Paris on Saturday, so we went up to eat a curry with Luke. The food was, let us say, less than great, and I remembered why I prefer real ale to larger, but anyway…

I don’t usually take my lightwriter out when just with my family; part of me wants to, for the sake of my identity as a cripple, but as they all understand me I don’t usually bother. I therefore don’t speak much to anyone outside the family – none of us do, actually.. I suppose this is a throwback to my pre-uni days when I was shy and retiring.

The thing is, I am no longer shy. Thus, at one point, my beer needed pouring into my glass. Mark, who was sitting opposite, was chatting away. Therefore, I gesticulated to the waiter, pointed to my bottle of cobra, then, in an arching movement, the glass. I do not know bsl, and I doubt the waiter would have, but the sign was clear enough. He came, poured the so-called beer, and I thanked him.

My lightwriter would have been better for disability rights, but, sometimes, when you need a beer, gesturing works just as well.

I find quite some irony in this video of a school play. Dickens’ original story was not particularly good on cripple rights – I must admit to wanting to throttle tiny tim. The thought of any disabled person asking to be paraded so that people could be reminded ‘who made cripples walk and blind men see’ quite disgusts me. Indeed, we have come a long way from being spectacles of pity. Sure, I can make a spectacle of myself if I want, but I never want people to pity me. It’s quite amazing to see how far we’ve come since dickens’ time, but I fear we have even further yet to go.

This time last year we were probably in bed. its 5am in sydney, or thereabouts. yet at 5pm local time we were just ariving at our hotel from uluru. thoose days now seem so very distant, almost like a dream. thherefore, on the aniversarry of my eating lobster, I’ll let dad blog for mme…

Dec 31st (written on the 1st Jan) [06/07]

The boys had breakfast and went swimming while Mary and I walked into the town of Alice Springs. It’s not very big, and the main street is mostly Grockle shops. It was also very hot, even though it was only 9.00 in the morning. We had a juice in a small caf, and walked back to the hotel, across the bed of the Todd river. You could see the water flow was strong when there was water, but we were walking through sand and gravel that was bone dry. Under the bridge there were hundreds of bottles and cans, clearly a place used for night time parties. We saw many aboriginals in the town, apparently Alice Springs can be a bit dangerous at night because of drunken and drugged aboriginal people. This was according to our tour guide Evan, who said this during the Kings Creek walk.

Back to hotel, packed, checked out, rode in a full sized wheelchair-accessible taxi to the airport. The taxi driver was a real Aussie, who had moved to Australia when 2 years old, having been born in Hastings! He has lived out in remote districts on various stations, started driving when he was ten. Drove many times from the station into the town to buy a hamburger, a distance of 400 Kms!

At the airport saw the Winstons for the last time – Rozie said goodbye to Matthew. The Winstons are a Californian (Santa Cruz) couple who had been on the tours with us, John, Jill, three daughters including Rosie, who is learning-disabled. She had taken an interest in Matthew from when she saw she was not the only disabled person on the tour. Luke also attracted interest from a young lady on the same tour, an Aussie girl who was on holiday from her job organising tours for other people. Luke’s interest was not so obvious.

The flight to Sydney was remarkable only in that our Customer Services agent Pam was on her last flight, retiring after 36 years. There were very emotional farewells, good wishes and applause from everyone on the plane. She gave Matthew a big hug and a kiss, as he was her last ever passenger to look after.

The hotel we are in, the Four Points, is very well placed for the New Years Eve celebrations, so it was absolutely packed last night. It was therefore to be expected that we had trouble getting rooms – they had reserved rooms on completely separate floors for us. However, with a bit of persuasion (and 15 minutes of juggling by the room clerk) we had a complementary upgrade so that we have rooms opposite each other, and our room has excellent views across the harbour.

We also had personal invitations to the buffet meal in the hotel restaurant for the evening, starting at 8.30. It was a really excellent buffet, with tons of seafood, wine, beer, for the evening. Fireworks for the kids at 9.00pm, a box of party favours to be played with (we have the photos of Luke experimenting with them), lots of laughter, many people including a family from Cyprus. So at 12.00am there was the famous Sydney firework party. We were all out on the terrace watching, and to use the clich, we were spellbound. It is enormous, loud, bright, and it seems to last hours, but is only about 20 minutes. So we all wished each other Χρόνια Πολλά, along with all the Cypriots, and went exhausted (MG: also both exhilarated and stuffed!) to bed.

[how time flies, eh? oh well, what a year its been. nevertheless, I fancy some VB]

I was out in town this morning, looking for one or two things I’d forgotten, pondering the whole subject of disability rights. Navigating my way through the crowd, I stumbled the idea that the whole movement can be framed in terms of a paradigm shift: the problem of disability does not lie with disabled people, but with those around us. Further, this does not apply only to disability but any other so-called minority.

Take, for example, my dribbling. I drool quite a bit. for me to try to stop it, however, I’d need to concentrate on swallowing more than any other thing. At the extreme ends of the scale, my productivity in writing would slow, almost to a halt, because I’d be concentrating on not dribbling. Thankfully, my friends and those around me accept me for who I am, including the fact that I drool. Other people need to adapt to me, not me to them.

Moreover, say two guys were walking along the street, obviously in love. The most appropriate response would be none at all, or rather to respond as you would suing any other couple. Yet some people would be appalled at such a sight; and it is such people that I have no time for. I hate intolerance, bigotry, and conservatism.

We all need to accept people for who they are. We also need to see disability in terms of ability, not the lack thereof. Most of all, ‘we’ want to be seen as people.

A week or two ago, I came across a new York times article on a dance class for girls (and presumably boys) with cerebral palsy. They would be changed into dancewear, and helpers would guide their bodies through a ballet class. This seems the epitome of social model thinking: under the s.m, nothing, not even something as quintessentially physical as ballet, is closed to us. If those girls wanted to do ballet – and what’s more natural than a little girl wanting to spin about in a tutu? – then why shouldn’t they. The organisers have seen those girls as girls, not as kids with cerebral palsy. While some may say ‘that’s silly’, I say ‘why the hell not’.

The point is, society’s perceptions of disability must change. I drool, so what? Those girls probably can’t walk, let alone dance en point. So what. We are, first and foremost, people. at uni, for the most part, people got this point. Why can’t everyone else? The problem lies with other’s perceptions and failure to adapt, not disabled people.

I went over to Chester today, to see charlotte. She’s well, as ever, as is her family. I think mark was surprised by the enormity of the hug with which we greeted each other but we were glad to see each other. I think I rather needed to go over there – I was going stir crazy,, sitting around the house, and anyway there were one or two things we needed to discuss. I love the fact that I can do such things, go visit my friends. To be honest the only reason I don’t visit my other friends too (not that the burrow isn’t welcoming enough) is that I don’t have their addresses, so if you want a weird, twentysomething cripple turning up on your doorstep, demanding food and alcamafrol, leave your addy in the comments box.

Although I firmly support democracy, and the power of the people, I kind of like the monarchy. It, along with cricket and proper beer, is what defines Britain.

Therefore, and because there’s not much better to write about, I’ll send you here, to the 2007 queens speech, and here, to the 1957 one. quite interesting, really.

Yesterday was nice. Even with so many people about, mum managed to stuff everyone. The turkey this year was probably her best, and even her sprouts were good. How she does it I’m not sure, as I was banished from the kitchen all morning. I was just sitting about, not doing much.

As for presents, my haul consisted mostly of books, clothes and films. Part of me still yearns for a toy or two, but I’m supposed to be an adult now. Got a new watch too. I think everyone was happy with what I gave them, which these days seems to please me more than receiving. Odd isn’t it.

I spent yesterday nursing a distended stomach, wondering about the house seeing what everyone was up to. At such times, I act like some domestic flaneur. I love when the place is so busy. I must say, though, I’m very disappointed that everyone is pissing off today. To disappear so quickly seems…well… a bit rude, quite frankly. I don’t see my cousins enough as it is! Anyway I still owe Cyril a drink for graduation!

Speaking of such matters, I got a phone call last night from charlotte! I rarely get phone calls from anyone (usually I use email or facebook). Of course, it was great to hear from her; these days, we have much to discuss: lets just say there are two or three things in the offing, one of them huge. I’m going to try to wrangle a lift her way soon, if I can. I like getting phone calls though – it just feels so normal!

Anyway, I think my pc might be in demand. The house just went eerily silent too. Better go investigate.

I must admit I’ve been somewhat antisocial today. 13 ppl in the house and I’ve spent most of the day behind my pc. Not sure why – I just keep out off the way. The family are doing various things. However, I had a cool conversation about French cinephilia with my aunt.

I’d like now to wish all my family and friends and everyone who reads this, the best of Christmasses!

Here’s some christmas music

I don’t recall a time when the house has been fuller: there are 13 people downstairs, from places as diverse as brazil and the Russian far east; between us, we speak about 6 or 7 languages. Its just incredible. Better go back downstairs.

I love Christmas.

I am actually quite irritated to read that the Archbishop of Wales, Dr Barry Morgan has compared atheism to fundamentalist religion, for it is to me a case of the pot calling the kettle black. There is a huge difference between religion and atheism, as the latter is based on the principals of logic rather than a series of ad hoc superstitions. I find it preposterous that Dr Morgan said: ”All of this is what I would call the new ‘fundamentalism’ of our age. It allows no room for disagreement, for doubt, for debate, for discussion.” For atheism rather than religion is the very thing which allows debate inasmuch as it doesn’t rely on a set of rules. If science proved there was a god, I would be fine with it. It is religion that is intolerant. Of course, the archbishop is reacting to scientists like Richard dawkins. While dawkins may sometimes go too far, all he is doing is presenting empirical testable data; there’s nothing intolerant about that.

As for myself, I do not have anything against religion, save when it causes problems. I reserve my right to call it irrational, but welcome debate. I certainly hope I am not intolerant. I just dislike hypocrisy. Mind you, things would be so much simpler if we all believed the same, provable, thing! Grrr!

link

An adjunct of wrapping-paper theory (Esther, 2007) is, of course, mince pie theory. Just as in wrapping paper theory, branes envelop ideas surrounding objectivity as in a Christmas gift, the truth of what is inside is unknowable. Mince pie theory takes this one step further, stipulating that branes surround dark matter: in essence, the truth about dark matter is unknowable,, for it is surrounded my lighter matter (pastry). However, sometimes the dark matter leaks out, and we can see it has bits of light matter within (the so called suet phenomenon). This is very mysterious: we don’t know much about the suet phenomenon, only that it is very hot at first, then cools down. We know that it is a major ingredient of the main part of Christmas phenomenology: the pudding.

Ok, I better stop trying to marry cookery and physics. I’ll go back to cripple politics tomorrow…maybe.

Its kind of strange really, how much two of my main interests seem to ‘match’. That is to say, they have roughly the same schemata.

My blogging about creationism has dropped off recently. While I’m still interested in it, its such a one-sided debate that there isn’t much I can say. I find it both amusing and frightening how one sided the debate is: evolutionists hold all the cards, their argument is by far the strongest, but certain religious people still want to argue that we didn’t evolve and were created by god 7000 years ago. They (quite irrationally) dismiss the mountain range of scientific evidence for biological evolution.

Something similar applies to inclusion. On the one hand, study after study shows that segregation is damaging, and inclusion must proceed. Admittedly, this is not as Himalayan as the evidence for evolution, but it is vast in comparison to the almost wholly circumstantial ‘evidence’ supporting segregation. Indeed it’s not evidence at all, but the gut reaction off overprotective parents. Here again is a one-sided argument. See http://www.leeds.ac.uk/disability-studies/archiveuk/titles.html

However, the main difference is that, while one can comfortably dismiss the creationists as nutters who pose no real threat, I for one cannot ignore those fools who think segregation is the way forward. It is too damaging to be ignored. This is why I attack CaMoron. He would rather see kids with sen back in special schools, and don’t fall for his bull about caring: if he actually cared, he would have read the data. He just cares about cutting taxes and getting votes rather than children’s welfare.

I suppose I passed a bit of a milestone today: I gave myself a shower! It was pretty much the first time ever I had done so at home. I must admit it wasn’t a particularly thorough one – at least not as thourogh as when I am helped to shower – but it got me reasonably clean. My dad has stalled a walk-in shower at home, and this morning I was feeling dirty. Plus, I like the thought I can nowtake a shower whenever I want! Strange eh?

Shaving, however, is another problem. I’d like to shave myself, but electric razors don’t seem to work, and the less said about my experiments trying to shave myself manually the better. Any ideas, guys?

I must admit its getting harder for me to defend the government; things are going pear shaped for labour right now. Frankly, they seem inept. But there’s a huge difference between appearing inept, and actually being stupid. And CaMoron is stupid.

Read this: ”’I think this word segregation is pejorative and wrong,”’ he retorts, obviously annoyed. “I look at my own case, with my son, who needs a lot of special care, special attention and special services. It wouldn’t be possible to do all those things in a mainstream school.

”For him, a special school that has given the love, the attention, the therapy and the education he needs, has been an absolute godsend. I certainly don’t think my son is being segregated. I’m delighted he’s in a school that meets his needs.””

And this is the guy who would lead this country. This imbecile. Its called segregated education because that is precisely what it is – segregation. It is the separation of children on the basis of ability, and, rather than give our son love, sir, it has neglected him, educationally. I spent nigh on thirteen years in such a place; I saw what it did to me, and my friends. It betrayed us. I was told, aged 8, that I’d never do GCSEs by my head teacher. No doubt others were fed the same crap. I call that neither love, nor a godsend, so stop deluding yourself and do your son a goddamn favour. see it for what it is: abuse

At present, we have almost escaped segregation. And I will see to it that idiots like you never return us to such places.

source

It would seem that Christmas has come a tad early for me this year: dad just set up my pc at home, and installed my new roller ball. This, of course,, needed to happen as I had broken my other one. not too sure how – it just broke. However, unlike my old roller ball, which had a button for dragging, I can’t find the drag facility on this one, which may make highlighting text interesting. I should, I suppose, go consult the handbook, but that would be admitting defeat.

Dad suggested writing something about how xmas effects disabled people. personally, it doesn’t effect me too much, except I get even lazier. However, most of you are no doubt aware that the ‘Christmas bonus’ we cripples get is something like fifteen quid. This is pitiful: its only about ten beers. Yet, joking aside, I suspect this could be even worse if the Tories are elected.

I’m starting to despair, quite frankly, at the opinion polls. A conservative government would be a disaster for disabled people, and the country, for it would set us back ten years to the gross mismanagement of john major. Would you believe that that fool claimed yesterday that the prosperity of the Blair years was due to the systems he put in place? Either the guy is deluded, stupid, or both. The country was going to hell in a hand basket before Blair and brown saved it.

People seem to have forgotten this, and now that everyone’s doing reasonably well, are becoming more conservative in outlook. What they forget is that turning back towards the right will undo all the good done since 97; they forget that conservatism only serves those who have money, and lets those who have not fall by the wayside. If we elect the conservative party, the old social inequalities will return. That fifteen quid will seem like fifteen hundred.

For the sake of the society we have built, and the ghost of cripmas future, don’t be fooled by CaMoron.

Looking back, I’m not sure how my parents coped. I mean, how do you get three small kids into the centre of London from Harlesden, one of whom has quite severe cp, and all insisting they wanted to ride on the top deck? It mustn’t have been easy, but every year we did it. One of my fondest childhood memories was going to see father Christmas at Selfridges. They do a grotto there, and we went in early December, year in, year out; it was a family tradition, until we grew out of it. One year, they did a snowman theme – I was in heaven, as I adored the snowman. Always have.

I just watched it again, on youtube. Est mentioned it being parodied by n irn bru advert, and I became nostalgic. Watching it sent me back to the top deck of the number six bus, being told not to jump or the driver may think we want to get off. You know, my parents were very patient with us.

Its been a long term. I really am ready to get home, although, naturally, I have a lot of work to do. It should be a nice rest, and a good chance to see family. Its interesting, though, how a film can trigger feelings.

I’m declaring Thursdays exempt from this ‘don’t just post a link to youtube’ rule. I’m shattered by the time I get back from lesson. So, today, I will just post a link to this pretty funky bit of animation on the subject of inclusion. Enjoy.

Today I went Christmas shopping. It was my first solo trip into Crewe since my run-in with the car. I had intended this blog to be about my trials and tribulations, but there weren’t any: the place wasn’t too busy, and I managed to get most of my gifts.

It was rather pleasant. This morning, I emailed lee to say I was going into Crewe, and, about ten thirty, we met up. We shopped together for a while, then, just before noon, we went to get a coffee. We tried to go to the cinema, but found nothing was on for an hour, so we gave it a miss. After that, we split up, and I did a bit more shopping and exploring, before coming home on the bus. I admit I probably spent too much, but 95% was not for me.

The remaining 5%, however, was on the coffee with lee, and tights. Now, my tight-wearing may have started as my little oddity, but I’m discovering their practicality: it’s sub-zero out there, without much exaggeration. In such weather, my stationary legs usually feel very cold, but today under my trousers I have a reasonably thick pair of tights. My legs have felt nice and warm all day. I’d therefore recommend them to my fellow wheelchair users.

Thing is, my hands froze. I really need some gloves or mittens.