amerton farm

I went home this weekend. After three weeks away and one week at uni, I just needed to sleep in my own bed. There’s nothing quite like going downstairs of a Sunday morning to find breakfast on the table.. the simple things, you know, like watching time team or David Attenborough with mum and dad. I love university, and I love my friends here, but home is still home.

Yesterday, as per my brothers instructions (he once famously wrote, aged about 9, that our Sunday ritual was to eat roast beef and to take grandma for a drive) we went down to Amerton farm. It has been ages since we visited my childhood joy: as a kid I used to love it. Back then it was a working farm where you could watch cattle being milked, hens being fed etc, but the thing I loved most was the tractor in the field. It was an old Massey, rusting away in the rain, but I loved it when dad took me from my pram, and later my chair, and placed me onto the old seat.

Yesterday we went down to see how much it had changed. Of course, it has changed quite a bit: parts have expanded, others shrunk. The milking parlour is gone, and there is now a petting zoo. I didn’t expect to see the tractor.

But, after a delicious ice cream in the restraint, we went walking. Dad commented on how much it had changed. We went into a barn, and there it was.

With a lick of red paint it stood there, unmistakably. The old tractor. ‘Hello, old friend.” I thought, patting it’s bonnet.

Life is good.

waltzing matilda

I’ve been humming ‘waltzing matilda’ all day today. I have been humming it all week, in fact. I have some very happy memories of that song.

It seems to be a symbol of everything Australian. Australians themselves seem to love it, and sing it regularly. While there, I had the good misfortune to go to watch two cricket matches; while we need not go over the result (I now regard English cricket as truly dead, and Rupert Murdoch the killer), I had great fun watching thee barmy army try to outsing the boony army, and vice versa. Surprisingly, we brits were more vocal than the ausies, singing our themes. However, after a rendition of ‘Jerusalem’, the Australian supporters decided to counter strike with ‘waltzing matilda’. The funny thing is, we joined in! this embodies the relationship between the two nations: the rivalry is a friendly one indeed.

But the most magical occasion when it was sung was on a bus. We were driving back from watching the sun go down at Uluru. If you ever have an opportunity to do this, you must. It is the most magical, beautiful thing ever, sipping wine while watching the awesome red rock glow. Our tour guide, Peter, one of the nicest, most knowledgeable people I’ll ever meet, had just finished talking, and the bus slowly made it’s way through the darkness. Slowly, quietly, someone started singing: ‘once there was a swag man…’ and others joined in. peter happened to have a tape of the song, so he put it in the PA system. That was quite a wonderful end to a wonderful day, and although the details may or may not be wrong, I remember it as being one of the happiest moments of my life. Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong,

Under the shade of a Coolibah tree,

And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boil,

You’ll come a Waltzing Matilda with me.

tall ships on the far shore

I’m afraid I won’t be able to write the article I intended to write tonight; I have had a lot of work given to me today, and, although it’s not due till march, its rather long and I’m eager to get it started. It is, however, a story, and for that I have plenty to write about.

Nothing provides one with more inspiration than travel. For my story I’m writing about one of the things I saw on holiday – the Endeavour. The replica of Cook’s ship is currently moored in darling harbour, Sydney; we got to that city on new year’s eve, and were planning to celebrate with dinner in our hotel, we’d flown in from Alice that afternoon, and were looking forward to a nice meal. My parent’s room looked out over the harbour, and, looking through their window I could see the National maritime museum, with three or four vessels ‘parked’ along side it.

There were two vessels clearly on the dock, and one sailing vessel to one side. I immediately expected this to be the endeavour, and asked someone if the sailing ship over the water was cook’s. he replied that it was, and I was happy.

A day or two after tat, we visited the museum. Oddly, the ship I had seen was not the endeavour; cooks ship actually lay with the rest of the ships in the museum, right by a destroyer and a sub. With my brother’s help (18th century barks are not accessible to us wobblies) I explored the ship. It was as if the crew had just left it. The captain’s uniform even hung in his quarters. Cook has been a hero of mine for quite some time, and it was amazing just to be in that ship/

However this left a mystery – what was the second sailing vessel? Secretly, I’d hoped it was called Enterprise, but it turned out much more spooky. On our second to last night in Australia, I went with Luke for a walk around the harbour; I asked him for a closer look at the mystery ship, and he obliged. At first, the ship appeared nameless, and we were about to walk past the ship when I finally saw her name, painted on her aft. I shivered. It was the most famous pirate ship ever to sail; Blackbeard’s ship.

The bounty.

this pom is back home

This is just a quick entry saying I’m back. The lack of bloggage was due to me being in Australia over Christmas. Although they do indeed have computers down under, I was too busy to blog.

I have much to write about, but it’ll have to wait, as I’m basically shattered. I have enough material for several months of entries, and memories which will last a life time.

home time

Esther and I are packing up my room. I go home tonight after about 6 wees away. Apart from a brief visit to give mum a form on Tuesday, it’s the longest time I’ve ever been away. I must say I’m rather pleased with myself, as a man who not very long ago couldn’t bear tto stay a night away from his parents. Why I was ever such a wimp beats me. I see university as my home now – it’s the place where I’m most forfilled. its whhere my friends are Anyway, dads waiting. I cannot believe I’m about to enter my final year. Time flies, and uni is too much fun.

And about time too!

EXTREMELY coolly, 1voice was in the guardian today. My favourite charity has won an award from my favourite newspaper. Mind you, given the work they do, if you ask me it’s about time: all joking aside, I think 1voice do an excellent job. Growing up, I felt somewhat alone, so the idea of bringing children who used vocas together with adults who used them is quite quite brilliant in my opinion. I’m not sure what the kids get from my being there – an academic rather too fond of alcohol – but my fellow role models do a truly great job. To say this award is well deserved is an abject understatement. Well done everyone!

Click here for the article, or see page 8 of the society supplement of today’s guardian.

no explosions

Please can someone explain chick flicks to me! I was at the cinema last night with a couple of girls and we went to see The Holiday – I told them they could decide what we saw, since I chose last time. I rather like Jack Black anyway, so at first I had no objection.

However, this was a sugary, over-sentimental movie: apparently we brits all live in chocolate box cottages and have plumy accents; apparently everyone in LA works in the film industry and has big houses. This is a film where nothing bad happens – that is, there is no plot-retention, no twists or suspense. Its just two women swapping houses and finding love in each others countries. They all live happily ever after. No baddies, no cheating, no cool cars, no guns.

Well, charlotte and Julie loved it. They both said they cried. Explain please!

the gig at the limelight

Last night was cool! Four of my friends are in a band – kind of the campus house band – and were playing last night in the limelight club, Crewe, in a charity gig for St. Luke’s Hospice. The limelight is one of those cool little places where you feel like you’re entering some underworld, although I was cursing the designer for putting in so many steps. You go up some steps to enter the place (where there’s the foyer with the bar which sells old speckled hen) then down into the room with the stage. Steps having been negotiated, I sat down with my beer.

Almost inevitably, given the purpose of the gig, I thought of school. Before the bands came on, Bryan Adams’ everything I do’ was playing on a big screen: that reminded me of a trip with school to centre parks back in 1994. we went to the one in Sherwood forest, and Miss. Tomlinson put Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves on to help prepare us. I thought of my class, hoping that they were having as much fun as I was. But then, the truth of that situation is complex, and, given that three of my old class had MD, prone to make me think bleak thoughts. Aye, I know about hospices…

That bit of thinking having been done, I sipped my pint and thoroughly enjoyed the evening. Brand new day were the last of four bands to play, all quite good. One band was made up of teenagers, and – as Nicky remarked – the lead singer looked like Elijah Wood, which struck me as funny. I then saw the lead guitarist had a passing resemblance to Samwise Gamgee, and mentally branded the band Hobbits.

I spent the evening talking and dancing. I realised too that I don’t like Brand New Day simply because I know its members – I like their mix of rock, Irish folk and strong procession. Charlotte rules on the violin, and I don’t just say that because she’s a good friend. These guys have a truly great sound.

Life rules more and more these days; I am almost considering trying to slow down. I can’t believe we’re about to enter our last term.

its trek, jim, but not as we know it

The internet is an odd thing indeed. It is at one and the same time the most wonderful depository of information ever known, and the biggest pile of shit ever to grace thee planet. This is it’s greatness; its why I spend hours on it; its why I add to it.

Nothing epitomised this paradox better than fanfic, or it’s most recent incarnation, the fan film. Yes, believe it or not, people have started making films of their favourite television programmes and posting them on the net. Predictably, with the demise of Enterprise, there are groups of people now making films based in the trek universe: I’d presume that one would need a fictional universe as detailed as the star trek one to facilitate such an endeavour. Either way, I came across such a phenomenon on Thursday night, and decided to find out more.

What I uncovered is, in a way, quite fascinating, both on the sociological level, and from the perspective of a student film interested in structuralism. Why would these people need to make such films: where do they get the resources, and for that matter the time, when they get no profit? Already, ‘hidden frontier’ has 7 seasons to it’s name, each with 6 half hour live action episodes. Admittedly, the cgi and production values aren’t up to cinema, or even television standards, but it’s still impressive. I watched season 6 last night, and it’s not as abysmal as you would expect.

The creators seem to be reading trek against the grain, as it were. We have a crew on a federation star base – DS12 – fighting a war against the ‘Grey’, but they seem to doubt Starfleet; that is Starfleet is portrayed as sanctimonious in it’s ‘holier and thou’ attitudes. It can be covert, too secretive; it wants other species to help it, but it keeps information from them.

No prises for putting two and two together! This is obviously a critique of the conduct of the united states in its war on terror. Both Starfleet and the US see themselves as having the moral high ground without actually having it. In hidden frontier, it is posited that the federation planted the evidence which brought the romulans into the dominion war on it’s side. Thus, the federation is shown to be fallible and duplicitous where once it was seen as the moral guardian of galactic piece.

You see now why I am interested? As people start to question America from within, the on-screen surrogates for America start to be questioned. This is why I can forgive the terrible dialogue and often abysmal acting. What we see in such series is a response, not only to star trek but contemporary society. Hence we have an openly gay couple in this series, something avoided in the mainstream.

I can already hear my brothers moaning, but I like it, and find it interesting. I’ll certainly continue to watch. Go take a look.

singing

I must admit the pangs of homesickness returned last night. Believe it or not, I was in a church; my friends were giving a gospel choir concert, and I went along to listen. They were really really good, actually. Sat there in the church, with a decidedly festive spirit in the air, I suddenly thought of my parents and home. I wondered what was happening back there – my parents probably sat round the TV, or talking to mark or Luke on the phone.

Given the family home is about seven miles away, for about two seconds I wondered if I could get someone to drive me home. But then I realised my friends all felt the same way, and to do so would be very selfish. Indeed, there are people here from as far afielld as the united states who do not have such an option. I looked at a friend of mine from Texas, singing on the back row, and resolved to hug her as soon as I could.

After the concert came yet more singing. It was karaoke night in the plough, to which we all went after the show. The place was heaving, but we found a table near the stage. My friends, extroverts that they all are, performed, and it made me very happy when I got three of them to sing ‘nobody does it better’ by carly Simon. If I had gone home I’d have missed so much fun!

Home is home, a place where I’m always welcome, but university is so much cooler!

link

recharged

I woke up this morning in a much better mood than I have in the last couple of days. University just seems to be dragging abit, or perhaps its just the time of year, but today I feel re-energised, ready to face the day. Ready to continue my search for filmic neuroaesthetics; ready to write stories; even ready to do paperwork (well, it needs doing). It feels like someone just put new batteries in. how long it’ll last I’m not sure (I haven’t checked my email yet, which always has the potential to herald doom). Today I have writing, my culture lecture, then a carol service, then a house party which promises to get messy. Now doesn’t that sound like fun?

Well, onwards and upwards, and forwards into a bright new day.

Diskjockeys are nobjockeys.

My plan failed at the last hurdle. Last Saturday, at Onevoice, a guy called andy made a track by mixing recordings of statements from the kids and rolemodels and putting it to a beat. If you ask me, it was a really good record, and the first time I heard it I decided I wanted to get it played at the chrisstmas disco in brandies.

I asked Andy (whose band is called the Victors) to send me a CD as soon as he could. He happily obliged, and it came yesterday. Embarrassingly, the cd was in a ballamorey case, so I spent most of yesterday carrying what looked like a kids TV programme around. Anyway, everything seemed to be going according to plan.

Last night was quite a cool night. Before the disco, there was a party In kellet with pretty much all my mates. I was, needless to say, dressed as a fairy, my costume trimmed with tinsel. We were all dressed up, with four of my mates going as each other. We played I have never, a very embarrassing game indeed.

After that, quite drunk though we all were (Steve actually carrying me down the stairs, to my great surprise) we all progressed to the bar. It was freezing! Nevertheless, upon getting to the bar, I handed Steve the cd and asked him to ask the dj to play the track.

The dj said he would do so – later. So I waited, dancing and drinking rather copious amounts. And I waited. And I waited. Having a 9am lecture, and probably looking tired, charlotte took me home at 11, the track still not having been played. I cursed the dj for his lack of taste, and fell asleep.

Well, I tried guys.

feedback

My blog may be back up, but as you know, we have had to disable comments so I don’t get spam-attacked. It’s probably the first time ever that a voice has been drowned out by canned meat, and it pissed me off. I am quite upset that I can’t get feedback on my ramblings. The whole point of this site is that I write crap and you lot tell me I’m talking crap, only to write yet more crap the next day. (its very democratic, blogging, don’t you think?)

I will nevertheless keep blogging. The hit count keeps rising so one of you must like it, at least. I like blogging anyway – writing rubbish is relaxing.

i hate faffing

Things are getting irritating. All my work is done, but me and Esther are busy faffing about making sure everything meets the right assessment criteria. I’m sure it’s all up to standard, but this side of work just does not interest me. My mind keeps straying, and I start to potter about on the internet (youtube is my current addiction). I know I should concentrate,, but with the dark weather, and Christmas coming, I can’t.

Give me an essay title and I’m happy; give me this paperwork and I’m depressed.

I’m back.

woohoo. this is working again. thankyou thankyou thankyou luke. anyway, I wrote the following last night

I’m not sure when my blog will be back up, but I’m writing this now while its fresh in my memory. I just got back from Onevoice with Steve; the more I go to Onevoice and am involved with it, the more I am convinced of it’s profound greatness. Do you ever get that feeling – that kick – when you are doing something, and you know it’s good, and you know your helping people? I get a buzz every time I go to Onevoice, knowing I’m contributing, actually making difference.

Mind you, it’s also a great social event: I meet lots of good friends there. I honestly think Tamsin and Katie – it’s organisers – are two of the greatest people ever to walk the earth. They work on a voluntary basis, and produce something truly magnificent, bringing joy to kids and much needed support to their families. My only regret about this weekend was that I didn’t speak to all the kids, or interact as much as I’d have liked. I didn’t like interrupting! Nevertheless, it was great to see them having fun, and if I can in any way help them do so, then I am honoured,

I say we break shane warnes leg.

Oh god. I was quite cheerful this morning until I saw the test score. Doon’t get me wrong: I knew we’d probably loose, but even after three days it looks like we’re in for a drubbing.

Nevertheless, loose or win, it’s nice to see the game being played. Cricket has a long and glorious set of traditions behind it, and it’s great to see them being preserved. If one of those traditions is that we only win the ashes every 18 years, so be it. Besides, loosing makes winning even sweeter.

who am I kidding. Will someone please break shane warne’s leg!

actors workshop day

Its been a long day, really. Today was the day of the actors workshop, and reasoning that I’ll one day need to learn about actors if I am ever to become a director, I went along to watch. Besides. Most of my friends were there.

Actors, I have decided, are weird. They seem to play games. Their warm up exercises are decidedly odd. They seem to be possessed of a power to turn emotion on and off like a plug socket. Its also odd to watch them rehearse: trying out different ways of saying things, trying to ratchet up intensity. Their misuse of the word ‘energy’ aside, it was most fascinating.

Tired as I am, there’s not much more I can write. Ii ate fish and chips at Tony’s house with Jim and, err, Tony, then watched an Eddie Izzard DVD; I only just got in. All in all, a good day

of cats in metaphysical places

As I was getting dressed, Yvonne mentioned the cricket score. My first reaction was an expletive of Germanic origin. At time of writing, as I chomp breakfast, Australia are 602 for 9 against our 50 for three. Oh brother. We don’t stand a chance!

the hobbit movie

I emerge from my bond craze, if just temporarily, to see the most stupid film-related news in years. Peter Jackson might not be enlisted to direct the Hobbit. WTF?

Given that his job on Lord of the Rings was so good (I think it’s still my favourite film, but don’t tell the man with the silly moustache), Jackson is the only man who can make that film. Moreover, if you got any other director for the task, there’d inevitably be a stylistic mismatch which would make the whole thing ridiculous aesthetically. I admit I’m an auteurist when it comes to film, and thus believe Jackson is the only man for the job.

link

Commander Bond has expensive tastes

I was invited to go to an Indian meal last night with the cast of 100 years of solitude. I went, naturally, but since I had taken the opportunity to eat in the canteen earlier (one never knows for sure how an evening will pan out) I only had something light. However, since the bar seemed well stocked, I decided to try something.

One of the advantages of using a voca is you can store messages. Ordinarily, you store common phrases like ‘yes please’ or ‘Hi, I’m matt’. You can also store small recipes, and this is how I ordered something called a Martini, or a slight variation thereof: three measures gin, one vodka, and half a vermouth, served cool with a thin slice of lemon. I had wanted a vesper (”Three measures of Gordon’s, one of vodka, half a measure of Kina Lillet. Shake it very well until it’s ice-cold, then add a large thin slice of lemon peel.”) but suspected the bar didn’t extend to kina Lillet. As it was, they didn’t’ have vermouth so I just substituted bottle martini. It was, of course, shaken, not stirred.

Nice though it was, it cost £8.50! Zarks! That’s the last time I follow James’ advice, at least for a while.

u just need a sledgehammer

Today as part of widening participation (the scheme run here at mmu) I went to talk to people at the Hillary centre, Crewe. Joss west-Burnham asked me to do so a while ago: it is a centre for disabled adults, some of whom have had some quite negative experiences when it comes to learning. One man in particular was focussed too much on the barriers, but I told him the benefits and joy I get from uni life far exceeded the hastle.

It is true there are barriers to learning for some. Walls exist, but so do great big sledgehammers. I think I was there to reassure them that there are certainly ways their dreams can be for filled, whatever they are. whatever your age, ability or race, all dreams are achieavable: you just need a find a way.*

It was quite a pleasant afternoon. I went for an hour, discussing university life and answering questions. Such tasks make me feel proud of myself.

*It is the route, not the goal I questioned last friday

bullies

Bbc news has reported on something very worrying indeed. Disabled and visibly ill children are more likely to be bullies at school. To a certain extent this is obvious: one needs only to have been a kid to know how shallow and vicious they can be. Many cant seem to tolerate any difference whatsoever.

I fear that many people would look at this article and say ‘wouldn’t they be better off in a special school?’ at first this seems the obvious solution: keep the special kids away from their bullies. But a closer inspection reveals this analysis to be as moronic as it is condescending. Keeping kids apart only feeds prejudice against the ‘other’ when taught apart, kids learn to feel and resent difference even more, so when such kids do come into contact the bullying is ten times worse.

Obviously, Professor Al Aynsley-Green’s report will be ceased upon by the maria hutchings and David CaMoron’s of this world – people with absolutely no understanding of the issues – as evidence that inclusive education does not work. We must counter them with logic, inclusion does work and it is the only sensible solution to such problems.

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seen it!

We just got back from the cinema. We went to see casino royale – well, me, charlotte and Tony. All I can say without spoiling it is that it rules. Totally. I especially like the end. I love the beginning, too. Of course the middle bit also rocks! Its just excellent.

I’ll go to bed a happy man.

cleaning up lafter ast week’s brain fart

I just realized something with regards to academia that I wonder why it didn’t occur to me last week. The two purposes of university are education and research. We want that research to be as accurate as possible and I see two opposite ways of ensuring this.

Universities should have tougher selections. This means that only the best people go to university, meaning a smaller amount of ‘good’ research.

To have a student body as wide ad diverse as possible. Work produced will vary hugely, some good, some not so good, but in diversity there’s a truth which transcends subjective ideas of ‘quality.

In art there is no right answer. In science we should do research into as many areas as possible and let peer review do any weeding necessary. Give these two facts, universities should open their doors.. option two is the logical solution The government wants 50% of people to go to university, this now seems low. If humanity is to progress, we should do it as a whole and as many people should be given the resources ad support to pursue their talent as possible. This is irrespective of race, religion, physical, or metal ability, or ay other superficial factor, ad is applicable for all arts and sciences. The fact that I ever said otherwise appals me.

I must see it

As most of us probably know, casino royale is released in the cinemas today, and never before have I been so sorely tempted to abandon lessons to go to the cinema. I guess it’ll have to wait till Saturday – after all, films don’t disappear after a certain period – but my id demands I see the film now.

NOW NOW NOW!

I’ve not been this excited about a film since return of the king. What is it about bond? The gizmos? The girls? The locations? I love it all. In my teens, before uni, ITV had a bond season; every Wednesday I used to watch bond films in bed. I tended to fall asleep and since then I’ve associated them with comfort and warmth. Also, they put bond films on on Christmas day, so there’s an association between bond and the taste of roast turkey, the feeling one gets when surrounded by family.

I better stop writing before I get carried away and miss lessons. But something tells me I have to see this film. My mind is bent on the task. I wants it!

campus

Campus is a very liberal environment. I was just talking to a couple of friends: academia is like a country unto itself, where creativity is encouraged and free independent thought is the norm. its quite wonderful, and my friend, the previously mentioned graham, was lamenting the prospect of ever having to leave. It’s a place where the constraints of the outside world are irrelevant, so that one is free to prosper. It’s weird, now that I think about it. I’ve already nearly finished my degree. Only about 7 or 8 months to go. The prospect of saying goodbye to my friends is absolutely gutwrenchiing.

300000

I just realised: today my hitcount reached over 300,000. woohoo! Quite why people keep coming here frankly baffles me, but people obviously like it, so I’ll keep on blogging.

cease, cows. Life is short

Graham must be insane. It’s the only possible solution.

Some time ago my friend graham asked for my input on his stage adaptation of Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s A Hundred years of solitude. He leant me the book, which, as usual, p prevaricated about reading. However, last Thursday I went to his rehearsal, and was so impressed that I decided I wanted to get the damn book read. I was then only sixty pages in, and, given the next rehearsal was next Tuesday – today – I would have to average 100 pages a day.

I read slowly, so this meant at least five hours of solid reading a day, at least. I’m glad I did it on two counts: first, I needed to prove to myself that I could still do it; it’s been ages – years – since I seriously sat down and read something. The last time was Moby dick, and then I cheated by getting the pc to read to me. Second, I wanted to know what the hell graham was on about. Now that I know, however, I don’t think I support g’s project.

The thing is, the book is beautiful: it’s absolutely stunning in it’s scope; it matures over time; characters mature and shape in the mind. It’s a slow, introspective piece of prose, and that’s why I think it’s unsuitable, almost ludditry, for graham to want to convert it.

But that is also why I am fascinated. I want to see how he would pull this off. With any luck, he’ll let me help. What he produces could either be a masterpiece or a total mess. Either way, it’ll be fun.

jock fihting?

Tonight sees the second in the current series of planet earth. I cannot wait: I’m going over to watch it in the student lounge with Steve tonight. I’m a huge fan of this amacing series, of just on the scoppophilic level. It’s just…wow!

If the dumbass jocks are in there watching the infantile kikkie-ballie, there’ll be hell to pay!

good food, old friends

I still feel uneasy about what happened here yesterday. Part of me says my concerns were legitimate from an academic perspective, but a larger part of me says I was being an elitist prat. I suppose I was being narrow minded, and Kate’s point about me ‘always saying you are pro inclusion – or is that only at school level. You seem to be saying higher education is only for non or not quite so disabled people.” Made me feel like dirt. She is, of course right. I should never have written that damn piece, let alone posted it.

On a much happier note, yesterday was Dan’s birthday. Dan is the boyfriend of Vikki, and they’re both good friends of mine. Just after lunchtime, I was talking to Vikki, who was telling me about how herself, Dan and a few friends were going to a Thai restaurant. Jokingly, I said ‘ehem, and why wasn’t I invited?’ (the way my lightwriter says ahem is quite amusing). I expected Vikki to laugh it off, but instead she said they had two spare places – did I want to come?

It transpired that my friend Steve was going. Steve has done some PA work for me in the past, and apparently he would be more than happy to help (although he’s too fine a man ever to say if he wasn’t). to cut a long story short, at about seven last night Vikki, Steve and Nicky came round to my room; I put my coat on and we headed across town to Dan’s. Dan had a couple of mates from back home up, and we watched something called dirty Sanchez while we waiting for the taxi to take us to Crewe. Our table at the lak Thai restaurant being booked for half nine, the plan was to have an aperitif in a pub before eating.

This plan was going quite well, until we got to the pub. We all got in except Jamie, who the bouncers refused to admit. Apparently he looked too young, which is rather silly because I look younger than he does and got in no problem. Poor dude had to wait outside. I was tempted to go to he bouncer and explain that Jamie was on my PA staff (which he kind of was) and therefore needed to be admitted, but that would have just been an abuse of the system, if not downright cheeky.

We stayed in the pub, talking, drinking, and watching music videos. At one stage I found it highly amusing to note that I owned a white leotard similar to those which were currently being worn by the dancers on screen, but nobody was interested in this odd fact except Vikki. I must say that it seemed quite a pleasant little place, if crowded and slightly Smokey. It certainly made a change from brandies and the pubs in alsager.

Either way, about half an hour later we headed out again. I expected to see Jamie by the door, but he wasn’t: I supposed he must have gone for a walk. We started to head to the restaurant, Steve pushing me in front with the others behind, passing the now dark shops. As in Paris, Steve made slightly irreverent jokes about the things we passed (”help the aged? No. we do not want to help the aged. We do not like old people!” in a slightly dirty French accent which had me chuckling.)

It was then that it all went terribly wrong! Out of the dark a man with a hood approached us: ”give me your money!” he demanded. I shrieked, Steve prepared to fight. I thought we were doomed.

The man pulled his hood down to reveal Jamie. Never have I been more relieved to see his wolf-boy complexion. I laughed in the relief we were not doomed after all, silently vowing to ram Jamie in the ankles next time I see him.

”Apparently, disabled people are more likely to be sexually deviant (for want of a better term). This could be due to our affiliation with rear entrances.” I thought this rather crap joke up as we entered the Lak Thai restaurant through the back door, avoiding the stairs at the front. It was then that I had the second shock of the evening, but this one was much nicer. It was a hug.

”is that Jane Higgins?” I thought. Jane, the learning support co-ordinator from South Cheshire College, was sitting at the table in front of the door, and, recognising me, rose and greeted me. It was great to see her again, and we had an all too short conversation before going to join our friends. She is doing well, as bubbly and as exuberant as ever.

The meal, I must say, turned out to be one of the best I’ve had. Ever! It was delicious; I think I’ve fallen in love with Thai cuisine. Me and Steve ordered a meal for two, consisting of a mild, creamy, pork curry, curried fish, and dips. The taste and texture was gorgeous, and I’ve not had food as good as that in a long time.

As I ate, listening to my friends chat, happily celebrating Dan’ birthday, I got to thinking.

”you know, without that lady sitting over there,” I thought, ”I wouldn’t be here. Without her encouragement and support, if not her sheer level headedness, I would still be that rather bitter young man I was four years ago.” When we first met, Jane had asked me a simple, but life altering question:

”Matt, why aren’t you at university.” Before then, it never occurred to me that such a thing was possible: I didn’t think myself good enough. Jane proved that assumption wrong – very wrong. I never thought it possible that I would not be alone.

I looked down the table: Dan, who is always good for a laugh; by him, Vikki, one of the kindest people I know; by me was Nicky, a fellow geek and trekky; and opposite me Steve, who is probably one of the greatest friends I ever had. Before I met Jane, I was a lachrymose little twerp, full of self pity and unable to see beyond disability. Two years at university had taught me how very wrong I was. Looking down that table, I realised with regret the errors I made yesterday: no disability, intellectual and physical, should be seen as a barrier to happiness. No disability, intellectual and physical, should be seen as a barrier to education, at whatever level.

And I was happy. I looked over my shoulder at Jane: ”You know, Steve, I owe that lady a the world.” I said.

The meal continued. After a while Jane came to say goodbye, and presently we left too. Striding out into the rain, listening to my friends chat; then the taxi ride home, snuggling up to Vickie as if to nod off; then the warmth of bed back on campus. To say that anyone should be denied such joy, for whatever reason, is nothing more than idiotic.

idiotics

This afternoon I did something rather stupid. I tried to argue that there should be limits to the social model of disability in the area of academia. I argued that some people should be denied entrance into university. While I am still for academic rigor, to argue that literacy should be a yard stick was stupid; there are no reasons why the inability to read should dictate one’s intellect. To be honest, on bad days I find reading hard due to a shaking head and restless fingers!

What I wrote here earlier was inane. I felt guilty about it/ and deleted it (see previous post) education is for all, irrespective of disability. In my exploration of the issue, I blundered, unthinkingly, the wrong way.

Is elitism a necessary absurdity?

What I posted here earlier, in retrospect, was absurd. while i have kept the origional document, I relise it was not appropriate to publih it here. I hope no dammage was done. here, instead, is poetry.

I am not special;

Why should I be?

I have done nothing noteworthy

Not lead men in battle

Not climbed mountains.

Nor am I brave

I flee from danger

Wince at loud noises

In fact, I am a coward

Do not call me brave!

I simply have a condition

Nothing more. Just cerebral palsy.

I wobble, I drool, I talk through a machine;

Yet this does not make me special:

Simply different.

As different from anyone to anyone else,

And therefore it makes me simply human.

Neither brave nor special nor anything else

Just human.

So I am not special. Emphatically not.

I am not fucking special!

america goes tto the naughty chair?

It seems this morning we wake to some rather good news: in the US mid-terms, the democrats have given the republicans a bloody nose. Whether this will translate into a result in the presidential elections remains to be seen, but I hope this is a sign that the American electorate has woken up and smelt the coffee over conservatism. Hard-right conservatism seems very childish to me, driven by a very narrow view of the world. The problem is, Americans have been brought up thinking only their country matters, and it is the greatest place on the planet; it follows, then, that they would have a very Americano-centric, self-centred view of the world, and therefore align themselves politically on the right. It reminds me rather of children whose parents so adore and spoil them that, when they start school, they hog all the toys at break and refuse to share, for they are used to being the centre of attention at home and used to getting their way.

Thus America is very childlike; more specifically, its very much like a little boy who like playing with guns and toy soldiers, but has no concept of the true brutality of war, and therefore thinks that violence is thee key to solving all it’s problems. Of course, I’m drawing a caricature here – I’m not saying there aren’t some very clever people in the u.s. however, the result of spoiling kids is the playground bully, only answerable unto itself, ignoring the dinner ladies’ ruling.

Hopefully these mid-terms signal some much needed time on the naughty chair.