I’ve been reading Metz again. This morning, I was amazed, and rather chuffed, to find that I had already mused over many of the ideas included in his books. Yesterday, I decided that one of the major differences between film and writing is that writing always requires a human who follows a set of fairly rigid rules. In writing this, I am pressing buttons on my keyboard according t the principles of spelling and grammar.. I would have to do this whatever I wrote. I could only break away from these rules if I were to stop using letters or words: that would be to scribble on a piece of paper, which would produce no meaning.

On the other hand, you could point a camera at anything, press record, and it would still make sense. A ninety minute tape of the CCTV recordings in Tesco would sill be a film, albeit quite a dull one. Dad, over morning coffee, suggested an equivalent might be to write cabbage many times on a piece of paper, but this analogy is flawed in that A) the word cabbage makes meaning according to rules of spelling, requiring a human presence, and B) unlike the CCTV film, such a page would make no sense. Thus, in film, you cannot ‘scribble’: you cannot help but make sense. Thus film is below the level of a language. Moreover, as Metz points out, this also means that filmic grammar is entirely superfluous: the CCCTV film still makes sense without cutting or editing of any kind. On the other hand, written language needs structure, as we all know.

As I approach the end of this book, I’m realising that Metz is answering questions I had intended to pose in my PhD. The linguistic approach to film is moot thanks to his work. This is kind of cool, because I can work using Metz as a starting point. He ma have thoroughly charted the linguistic paradigm, proving it a dead end, but structuralism is far from dead. Metz does not deal with the shot itself, rather he concentrates on the grammar of editing. But it is how shots are composed themselves, as well as their relationship to editing, which interests me. It is here, I believe, that work is yet to be done.

Prescot called bushbaby ‘crap’. even if it’s untrue, Prescot [i]should[/i]have said it. mind you, dubya is worse than crap. He, like most republicans, seems to have absolutely no understanding of the world whatsoever. many of them seem to think islam is an amalagous whole and the religion is ‘evil’.

idiots.

link

I admit this is hardly blogworthy news, but I think it’s cool. My dad and I were in Macclesfield today, getting Defiant fixed, and we passed a pub by the name of the Old Ship. To dads surprise I shrieked with the coolness: there, on the picture-board, was not a sailing vessel, but a Starship. Constitution class. NCC-1701. The Enterprise. star trek has now become so ingrained in popular culture that we are now naming pubs after them. Lmao!

Last night E4 aired the film ‘promises’ (Bolado and Goldberg, 2001). This is a documentary in which the filmmakers followed a number of Israeli and Palestinian children for three years. By turns it is both dismaying and heart warming. Some of these kids felt only hatred for their counterparts, no doubt having been fed such bile from teachers and religious leaders. Yet others were more accepting. Perhaps the greatest part of the film was when the two groups met and realised that most of their preconceptions were wrong.

There is no getting around the fact that the middle east situation is very complex. If you ask me, it all boils down to religion and the arbitrary divisions it makes between us. Yet if the situation is ever going to be solved, it is schemes like this, which focus on young minds not so engrained with the petty hatreds of their elders, which will do it.

Generally speaking, there are a few things which make me truly happy. The first is books – I love settling down to a good book of an afternoon and relaxing into another world. The next is film – nothing makes me squeal more than watching my favourite filmic heroes kick arse on screen. The next is travel – it’s as if the very acct of movement calms my soul.

There are others, of course – a beer of an evening; writing in the mornings, just after breakfast – but of these things none pleases me more than cricket. Watching that most noble and beautiful game is like nothing else on earth. Nothing can be more English as watching a game unfold over an afternoon.

Nor can there be anything better than watching such a game with my father. Now, I grant you my dad can be a cantankerous old pest at times, but he is my father and I know I can always depend on him. We went to a cricket match yesterday: a friend of his had told him about a cricket match being played in Chester between a welsh disabled cricket team and one from Cheshire, and had invited us along. So, we loaded the defiant into my van and, listening to radio 4 as we went, set off for Chester.

I had a great time! They were playing n a very well-kept pitch, by an old lane surrounded by fields. There was a pavilion, and the lack of a bar did not matter since, after the excesses of Friday night I gave up alcohol for a week as of Saturday morning. Most of the players were ambulant, being possessed of what I’d call ‘mild impediments, by and large. The standard was very good, and the 40-over match was shaping up to be a close game when we had to leave and return in time for tea. Nevertheless, I had a lot of fun, talking to people, making friends and working out average. It was, as the parlance goes, ‘all good’. I certainly hope to go to more such games with dad in the future.

Luke just sent me this brilliant, if slightly scary, video on atheists. It shows the sheer lunacy of growwing religiocity in America; to link religion to patriotism is something very dangerous indeed, and something we should all be worried about.

I must admit I’m only half way through Metz. It’s a fairly difficult book, full of technical language, and I keep having to re-read parts so I understand it. Nevertheless, it’s fascinating although he tends to repeat himself.

However, it is quite apparent to me now that film is not language. For one, it has no equivalent of ‘words’ – the shot being to complex and infinite in variety. Metz points out that shots are more like sentences, but for me this allusion is lacking too. Lone shots must be combined with others to make meaning; a shot alone caries very little meaning.

This, and other reasons have convinced me that I need to abandon the idea of film as a language. However, the question of filmic grammar continues to nag. Watch any two films coming out of Hollywood and you will see the director using similar camera techniques. The question now is how entrenched is this grammar? At what point do films cease to make sense?

This is a cool question, as it raises the prospect of doing some neat experiments.

I was watching Newsnight last night and…

Hold on; that date rings a bell…what is it? International goldfish day? The beginning of the Chinese year of the carrot? Oh, I remember! It’s the ginger one’s birthday!

Seriously though, my brother mark is the cleverest guy I know. He’s also one of the kindest. As children, we had many happy times together, although, as the oldest sibling, it seemed to be his prerogative to cheat in our games (don’t think I didn’t notice bro!) Nevertheless, I hereby wish him the best of birthdays!

Perhaps one of the largest problems with being a voca user, in my opinion, is getting people to understand you. That is to say, getting people to realise that what you are typing into your machine is a coherent message which you want a person to respond to. Many a time I have, say, rolled into a shop, tapped a request onto my lightwriter, only to be stared at blankly, or, worse, seen the assistant turn to another customer and say ‘what does he want?’

This really does get me annoyed. By and large, most people ‘get it’: they realise that my hands are pressing buttons on my lightwriter to produce a message, and respond accordingly. Everyone at university realised it intuitively, but some people – mostly but not wholly old women – seem to refuse to accept I can make coherent sentences. Vocas are wonderful thing, but they can only work if people realise their function, so to speak. No matter how many times I repeat or retype my message in different ways, some people seem to be unable to accept my intelligence, and so ignore my lightwriter.

Joking aside, this could be a major problem, and one that needs to be taken up elsewhere. I believe people in the public sector should be introduced to the concept of vocas; what if I had to talk to a police man and was equally banked? As I say, most people seem to cope with my lightwriter without a problem, but questions remain over what if they don’t. I believe this problem should be raised elsewhere, but I’m posting about it here first before taking it further.

I hope you all understand.

watched with great interest an article last night on Newsnight which outlined how the Reuters agency inadvertently published a photo which had been doctored. The photo was of the Beirut skyline, and had been amended with darker clouds to add drama. In itself, this is indeed interesting, as it is an explicit example of how we, the public can be and are being manipulated. However, what interested me even more is how Reuters found out about this.

Apparently, the news agency was alerted to the fact that one of it’s images had been manipulated by bloggers. That is to say, a person keeping a blog had spotted the telltale signs of Photoshop manipulation and posted about it. Unfortunately, Newsnight did not say which blog posted this first, but what interests me is how internet weblogs are fast becoming a political force.

Many people noted the role bloggers played in the most recent American elections; it seems that blogging will soon hold as much political clout as televisions or newspaper, if it does not already do so. Moreover, it seems a very democratic media: absolutely anyone can keep a blog. Yes, you need a computer, a domain et ceterah, but these costs are minute when compared to the cost and effort involved in publishing, or broadcasting n television, where one is liable to be vetted by an editor.

Indeed, one can say anything on a blog. Never before has one had as much freedom to speak his views; nor has it ever been so likely that those views will be seen by others. If one does not like what a blogger says, either he registers his grievances in the comments section, where the anonymity of a pseudonym ensures he does not have to hold back, or he can stop reading. Thus the so-called blogverse is a perfect place for debate.

Even more interestingly, politicians and the people in the traditional media are taking notice of what bloggers say; indeed they participate themselves, with many members of parliament and journalists keeping blogs themselves. What, then, are we seeing here? Is political power dispersing itself via the internet? Power seems to be shifting to the proletariat, or at least those of the proletariat who have computers. Before the advent of blogging, the average Joe had little outlet for his views, save perhaps the occasional letter to the local paper; now, however, if something enrages him, he can easily air his views by ‘blogging it’.

One could argue that blogging is a placatory solution – something given to the masses to give him the illusion of more political power while being essentially harmless. Thus blogs may be seen as outlets for political frustrations but essentially amount to nothing: a blog entry can never replace a riot.

Yet last night’s Newsnight article shows this not to be the case; politicians and journalists are indeed taking notice of bloggers. Now, I seriously doubt any such people will read my blog; I think my readership consists of mostly friends and family. Nevertheless, TIIROAC aside, it seems the blogverse is becoming a force to be reckoned with, the proletariat did not seize the printing presses after all, but just built their own.

I watched ‘prehistoric park’ on Saturday. I seldom watch ITV, and to begin with I dismissed it as crass, but in retrospect I concede it does have some virtues. It’s sort of Walking with Dinosaurs meets Zoo quest, where the presenter goes back in time to capture dinosaurs for a park. Thus it’s a mix of fiction and documentary, with the camera swapping between the notional hand held ‘first person’ and the omni positional third. Thus it’s ambiguous.

Nevertheless, I must say this was quite a fun way to approach the subject, allowing the presenter to handle and examine the dinosaurs. There are quite a few documentaries which purport to re-create history these days. There was one on the Antarctic expedition on bbc2 last night. These programmes may have little to add academically – a re-creation is not an exact replication of the real thing – but they are very good for illustrating it and fleshing out the textbooks. Recreations can never substitute proper academic research, but it complements it very well indeed.

It’s quite glorious how these days I have more time to read. For a time, a few months ago, I was hardly reading anything, and was getting quite worried; I’ve always loved reading, and have been known to spend entire afternoons reading solidly. After finishing next years theoretical reading, I picked up fiesta, by Hemingway: I have had this odd liking for the old sonofabitch for a while, and – as it’s been ages since I read any of him – I thought I’d give his first proper novel a whirl.

This does, of course, stem from my current preoccupation with filmic linguistics and narrative structure. Currently I am of the opinion that writing stands alone among narrative arts because it relies least on visuals: all one can ‘see’ (in the literal sense) while reading is the text on the page, whereas all other narrative art, from film to opera, relies to a greater or lesser extent. Moreover, the text is arbitrary to the image: read the same book in two different languages, and one reads the same story with roughly the same allusions etc.

Anyway, I’m sure all this is only interesting to me. Amid all this reflection on film books ect, is a concerned thought about many of my peers, fermenting away in the back of my mind. I read recently about a predominance of illiteracy among folk with cp. I am increasingly aware how much the ability to read can effect one’s life, for it is the key to real cultural capital. I was taught to read at a young age, and my first love will always be literature; yet without that ability, I would have no access to the things I most enjoy. Indeed, my enjoyment of film is enhanced by my reading, and it also allows me to approach film from a linguistic perspective. Thus illiteracy among those with special needs, stemming largely from the failures of special schools, is a growing concern of mine, and needs drawing attention to.

Dad and Luke are cleaning out the loft. It needed to be done – there’s stuff up there from even before I was born, including, apparently, a very early computer dad used when he was 14. it has digital input and optical output, and looks like a ruler with bits on it. It is probably related to the computer in the garage – the so called washing machine.

It’s funny. While they were going through all the clutter in the loft yesterday, in about the middle of the afternoon I was struck a dreadful fear. I try to be a rational person, and rationality tells me they’re only stuffed toys, but I was suddenly overcome by the mortal fear that they were going to throw out Ted and Cuddles. I’m sure they wouldn’t throw them out on purpose; it was the thought they were in some unchecked box that worried me.

I have not seen my childhood bedfellows in ages, and don’t often think of them. I suspect they’re in the loft. However, the idea that they would end up in some landfill was alarmingly horrible: these two things – nothing more than fur and stuffing – brought me a great deal of comfort as a child. Why should I still be so attached to those things?

I think I’ll ask Luke or dad to look for them.

According to the latest ouch podcast, there exist such things as wanbabe disabled people – folk who want to be disabled but aren’t. I’m not sure why they do this, but some even go so far as to damage themselves.

And I thought I was crazy.

why?

link

Although today I did not do half the reading I would have liked – okay, I didn’t do any because I felt lazy – I am becoming increasingly keen on the idea that fiction can hold vast quantities of data beneath it’s surface. I now feel quite certain that fiction has as much to tell us about the human condition as empirical science. The case in point is Heimat: reading up on it these last few days has given me vast insights into German culture and history; in turn, through reflection, this also gives me some insight into my own too.

With this in mind, I want to test my theory: can any piece of narrative fiction supply us, through interpretation or directly, with insight into the realm of the human condition? Let us, for the sake of argument, take several short texts previously thought remote from the ‘truth’, and subject them briefly to analysis.

Firstly, the dirty Hungarian phrase book on the surface looks frivolous, but I think it quite likely that the writers of this sketch were familiar with the work of de Sasseur. It is a play on the arbitrary nature of language itself. Given that the sketch was written at the height of the cold war, the concerns about inaccurate translations in a simple phrase book may also indicate concerns about similar problems at the UN. Given the cold war was largely fought using semantics, worries over mistranslation would seem reasonable.

Something similar could be said of the two Ronnie’s sketch ‘Four candles’. Again, this draws attention to the highly ethereal nature of language, and the arbitrary relationship between sign and signified. The growing frustration of the shop keeper, while extremely comic, reflects exactly why this is so dangerous. Moreover, philosophical points could be made when we read language as an extension of the mind.

Schizophrenia is most definitely alluded to in the parrot sketch. Here two directly opposing versions of reality are made apparent: one holds that the bird is dead, the other that it is resting. The shop keeper’s insistence that the parrot is simply pining for the fjords is interesting; it suggests the bird longs for it’s homeland, giving it an aspect of death. This brings to mind Genesis, and the banishment of man from Eden and the advent of his mortality. That we have two separate versions of reality no doubt reflects the inachievability of objective truth, and when we apply this to our biblical hypothesis may be a reflection on how scripture is open to interpretation. Thus two men arguing over the status of a parrot may become two men arguing over the meaning of scripture. The ultimately mad-cap nature of this sketch in turn reflects the absurdity of such arguments and hence all religion.

Thus I have shown how three quite absurdist texts can be read as reflections of reality. This is, by and large, a statement of the obvious: any text is open to interpretation, from eastenders to postman pat. There is, however, one exception, the intellectual equivalent of a blank screen:

BIG BROTHER

we all heard that there was a huge fire at pinewood studios yesterday. part of me worried that this might signal the end of bond films.

but, as it says in the end credits james bond will return

A few weeks ago I managed to pick up the theoretical reading for next years culture module. It’s on the German series heimat. We were in London this weekend, and I had taken it to dip into in case I got bored, or simply as a show of making the effort to study. I found, however, that I couldn’t put it down.

It would be futile for me to try to condense a 300+ page collection of essays into a simple blog entry. Needless to say, the German idea / conception of heimat, when read alongside freuds 1919 easy ‘das unheimliche’ gives one valuable insight into German culture. It is as if the second world war made the comforting concept of heimat, with its overtones of home and warmth, unheimlich in the same way that to a neurotic, what was once familiar becomes uncanny due to the oedipal complex.

Of course, this is a gross oversimplification. I need to read lots more, think on it too. Ultimately, however, one cannot help but feel sorry for the German people – the German idea of heimat seemed to go to the very core of German society, and was what they used to feel good about themselves. But heimat was the very thing which saw fascism rise to power. It seems this gave rise to a sort of ambiguity in German culture which needs to be exorcised.

I may have misunderstood it, which is why I need to read more. It seems to me, however, that the Americans may have a similar positionality these days with their fervent patriotism; are they too in for a similar fate?

Although I must point out that home help isn’t as bad as she thinks – they’re very useful when I’m at uni, and they beat institutionalisation any day imho – this ouch article by liz car is very accurate. Mind you, I found it rather pessimistic too, as it seemed nothing could quite suit miss carr’s needs. She seemed to be quite the pedant, or maybe I just give up fighting my case too easily.

The overall impression she gives though is that personal assistants are the best solution for the day to day needs of disabled people, and I must say I agree with her entirely.

On Monday dad and Julia came up with the grand idea that I should learn how to do my own washing, as then I could be more independent. Apparently, clothes don’t clean themselves after all – I had always been lead to believe that, if you threw them into the bag in the corner of the room, a few days later they would be transported back into the wardrobe, cleaned and folded mid-flow.

I was wrong, as this morning dad showed me a big white box in the garage with knobs on the top. At first I thought it was a primitive computer, but then turned two of the knobs and opened the lid: there wasn’t a circuit board in sight, but a big bowl with a spindle in the middle. Into this dad put some odd-smelling powder, and then asked me to put all the clothes from my bag into it too.

This was very boring work and meant a lot of lifting and dropping. I am not designed for such things – I was meant for more scholarly stuff, not the lifting and dropping of clothes into big white boxes! This is what one has a slave – sorry, PA for. Its silly. I’m an artist, not a clothes crane.

I prefer my idea of transporters! There are no silly powders or liquids in that – and how do they expect me to handle those anyway? I can barely control toothpaste. Mind you, I did get to poke the clothes with a stick, which was cool.

Washing machines indeed. Humbug. Now, if you’ll excuse me I have Freud’s 1917 treatise on the uncanny to finish reading.

I’m still trying to figure it out. I’ve been trying to organise an advert for a new p.a in the local press, so recently I have been swapping quite a few emails, making sure everything was organised. All normal; just part of a crip’s life.

However, this morning I got an email from the editor: the local paper now wants to run a story on me. This is very odd indeed: apparently me wanting a PA is a newsworthy event. I couldn’t really say no – I suspect it will vastly heighten my chances of getting a PA.

Today being rather hot, I decided to go into town this afternoon to sort this out in person. Anyway, the ad needed paying for and I’d rather not d that via email in case I push the wrong button. So I rolled up to the chronicle office and asked to see someone about the advert. However, they knew exactly who I was and acted as though I was expected.

I first paid for the advert on my visa, which wasn’t a problem. They then introduced me to a young journalist – presumably a trainee – who, once we had found a quieter space, asked me questions like where I was from, what I studied and so on. I even managed to mention my work with Onevoice, simply as a point of pride – I think those guys ought to be ‘bigged up’ more.

Anyway the interview over, I went on my way, highly amused at the truly weird course of events.

after reading this from the site of a right-wing fool, i jotted the following, and decided thereafter to post it here, as it follows from what i wrote yesterday

Who is this idiot and what fool allowed him his own radio show? What he says is illogical and conceived of base hatred and lack of understanding for the Muslim people. The caller was merely trying to defend his faith in a calm peaceable manner, but this Bortz was only interested in painting Islam as an evil religion. You will note he drowned out any counter-argument the caller might have; ergo Bortz is only interested in his own point of view. Such people never listen to reason or logic.

However, bortz asks where the Muslim condemnation of terrorism is: if you look it is there. Maybe due to the repressive structures of countries in the middle east mass protests cannot be organised, but the vast majority of Muslims are appalled at terrorism. The protests borts wants to see are impossible for various reasons does he want a million Muslims to march down the mall shouting ‘we condemn terrorism’? why, that would be akin to, say, Catholics marching in protest of the inquisition. It would be asinine and humiliating.

Yet the truth is bortz would rather this not happen: he likes having his enemy. He does not want to listen to any argument other than Muslims are evil because that’s what he wants to believe; it means he does not have to look at his own country for thee root of the problem, but can comfortably deflect any blame away from himself. Never mind the fact that America is partly to blame for this whole mess due to its involvement in Saudi Arabia (can we say hypocrisy?) the problem is that Muslims are evil.

How can a faith be evil? All humans need shelter, food and love. An evil, warlike faith would, in the long term, deny it’s adherents this, so eventually nobody would follow that faith. Therefore Islam cannot be evil, and it is illogical to say otherwise.

Thus this extract is nought but the watering of some crass fool, full of self importance but proving himself a base idiot.

In war there can be no just party. All hands get dirty somehow. Therefore I do not wholly blame the Israelis for the current crisis in the middle east. It is true that Hezbollah is a terrorist organisation with no reservations about sending child suicide bombers to their deaths – an act abhorrent.

Yet Israel acts by firing a scud missile at the ant that bit it, killing many innocent people in the process. Now, Israel is a fact; I isn’t going anywhere. As I see all religious books being equally silly, it has just as much right to that tract of land as anyone. It also has a right to defend itself. Yet, by and large, I see the current state of affairs as being largely Israel’s fault: it has occupied and repressed the Palestinian people to the point where they want to blow themselves up.

The Americans are no better in their blind support of Israel. Together they seem to be keeping the Arabic peoples of the peninsula divided, for were they to join forces, Israel would have no chance. Thus they are acting as if they are an empire repressing a colony..

Of course, tell this to an American, and they accuse you of communism; tell this to an Israeli, and they accuse you of anti-Semitism. As a person with a good understanding of Marx and a good few Jewish friends, I assure you I am neither, but try telling that to those who believe that Islam is a religion of hate and should be wiped from the map.

It is they who are the root problem.They refuse to realise that, given the relationship between sign and signified is arbitrary, all texts, religious or otherwise, are open to interpretation. They blame Islam but Islam is not the problem. If the Koran teaches hate, so do the torah and bible. By no means do I acquit terrorists of blame after all they have choice; rather, I am saying that, as the dominant power, we in the west should first look to ourselves before denouncing others. No party is blameless.

Most of my time recently has been spent pondering filmic linguistics. I don’t know why, but I seem to have become obsessed. I have decided, and am convinced, that using natural language as a paradigm for film is a dead end – the two are just too different. Words are both simple in their composition and highly complex in their combination. Metz was right when he said that shots were more akin to sentences than words.

Yet I think the truth – even from this highly reductive perspective – is even more complex than that. Shots are not still, but move – the camera moves. This gives the director an extra dimension with which he can make meaning. Of course, unlike writers, directors have an infinite lexicon, so all the shots available cannot be bound in a simple dictionary, but the question is, can we catalogue all the available techniques.

I have observed that two films on similar themes may employ the same style. Last weekend, Luke and I were channel hopping: on one channel, there was a batman film, on the next was a Spiderman film. Both superhero movies used the same kind of triuphalist music, the same cinematography, etc. in other words, they were using precisely the same set of signs: ergo language, but not as we know it.

Pinning it’s exact nature down is a huge task, but it intrigues me as the question appears to have many paradoxes. for example, does film have a basic unit, and if so, what is it.

I need to read, think, write and – above all – watch lots of films.

According to my father, I don’t say enough on my blog about being disabled. I think this is a very good issue to write about, as it raises a few important issues, like how far should I be focussed on my disability? Given what I like to call my unique perspective, should I only bee writing about disability-related issues here?

Maybe, but I refuse to let my disability govern my life. I am not the sum of the two letters, CP, but much more. Yes, I have ccerebral ppalsy, and yes I am proud of it, but if I write too much on that side of my life, things would get dull. Moreover, I think it important to illustrate how all us toids and crips are not just two-dimensional beings, but go out and grab life. Thus I like to write about university – both academically and socially – politics – I haven’t taken a swipe at David Cameron in ages though – and the many other things which take my interest. When the subject arises, of course I’ll write about disability, but in the meantime I’ll just jot stuff down about the stuff I find on the net, news, etc.

Nnote: a comment on the current situation in the middle east will be posted soon.

It’s official. It was just announced on bbc news 24 that today is the hottest july day since 1906. I feel lethargic and achey. Now, far be it for me to tell anyone what to do, but I understand that my site might be read by parents with kids with cp. If so, I should point out that it may be hard for your child to say if he or she is uncomfortable. When I was little, I disliked complaining about such things.

It is easy for me to escape the heat and ask for drinks. For some – say kids who use special wheelchairs with adapted seats (which are prone to get hot) – it might not be s easy. I’m sure such parents know all this already, but I thought I should point it out. Please be aware of these factors.

I hope we are all enjoying the heat. As usual on days like these, I like to get out of the house and have a razz about in the Defiant on days like these and so today I headed off towards the park. I think I have described Congleton park here before: it is still very pretty with its Victorian flower beds and paths.

However, today I noticed a difference: the pavilion has been renovated. Now, I have been acquainted with that pavilion since before I can remember – mum uses to take me to playgroup there when I was three or four. I remember being taken there to ‘paint’ (I use that term loosely) and play with toys. The building itself is Victorian, and I remember it’s dusty wooden floor and the faint smell of damp.

The place was subject to a arson attack two or three years ago, and for a while it’s future was doubtful. Today, however, the distinct smell of coffee wafts from it’s windows; the wooden floor is polished; there are a dozen or so dark black tables surrounded by chairs apalstered in leather. Opposite the double doors which overlook the park, there is a bar.

I found the ramp round the side and rolled in. it was cool and shady – I took to it instantly. Unfolding my lightwriter, I ordered an extra sweet espresso: the guy serving seemed to know instantly what was required off him, getting my purse from by bum bag, as instructed, and showing me exactly what he was doing. He even helped me drink.

Granted, the place is on the expensive side – £1.40 for my espresso – but, all in all, I think I have found a new watering hole.

wooo. bushbaby swored! what a naughty little moron redneck go read. mind you, i wish he would stop doing his shit too.

It’s odd how fast things ccan change. tonight, i managed to make amends and settle my grievences with bill, and Kate assures me thaat she is not angry with me, although I still deeply reggret letting 1voicce down. thhat is to say, my absence seems not to have caused too much trouble (I hope not anyway). my woorld again seems peaceful, and no permanent damage seems to be done; mind you,, I shouldnt have been such a humbug all weekend. I just wish things in the middle east could be settled equally swiftly

I have been forced to let down the organisation i feel most passiionately for – at the last moment, my p.a said he could not take me to the onevoice evemt. right nw, despite the facct my brothers are here, I feel sadder and angrier than I have ever felt.

tamsin, kate and katie – I’m so ssorry.

The bibliophiles among us may be interested in this article, telling of the sale of an early edition of the first folio. In my opinion, £2.8m sounds cheap when you consider this book is, in terms of culture, more valuable than the mona Lisa, for in Shakespeare we find all of humanity.

I suppose these last few days I’ve been feeling down. I’ve been worrying about leaving home; concerns about my car; there has been friction between myself, my parents and a good friend of mine, which I utterly loathe; and so on. Yet, on the reverse side of it all, I have, possibly for the first time in my life, the feeling that I can deal with it all. I know what I have to do to solve these problems, and know I can do them.

Of course, this is helped by the news that I got a first for my Classical Hollywood cinema essay. I popped over to Crewe yesterday, and bumped into my film tutor. We got chatting – I told him of my intentions to do a PhD in film there, and he seems to think it was a great idea. I’m still intrigued by the question of filmic linguistics: how, exactly, does film work at the level of the shot? What ‘drives’ meaning from one shot to the next? Is it the principals of ‘montage or bust’, as Eisenstein had it? Is it through sheer necessity, rather than anything bore complex? Or – and this is the part which fascinates me – does synesthesia play a role? Further, the other day I was pondering visual / pectoral languages, and it occurred to me that I could potentially draw lessons from minspeak, for there pictures are used to make meaning, but because the minspeak user often selects two buttons (thereby modifying the selection made to make a third meaning) the relationship between sign and signified is more arbitrary in the sesseurean sense. Now, I may be completely barking up the wrong tree, but the question is could film be functioning in a similar way, albeit unconsciously? Could the juxtaposition of two shots be combining to make a third meaning, slightly arbitrarily? As I say I am fascinated by the whole plethora of questions this (admittedly reductivist) approach to film gives rise to, and I am eagerly looking into it.

In the meantime, I am eagerly looking forward to this weekend. With luck, I’ll be able to get more acquainted with Minspeak, perhaps enough to work out if it is of any theoretical use in my film work. If it is, and something similar to minspeak is operating within film (thereby bypassing Metz’ major reservation over whether film constitutes a language) I’ll be very excited. Either way, I can’t wait to see the 1voice kids this weekend – if last year was anything to go by, it’ll be one hell of a weekend. I just hope I don’t bore them too much.

Dontchya just love taking the piss out of crips? It’s just so funny! the best thing is, they can’t fight back. The problem is, they’ve started doing it themselves: they’re taking the pee out of themselves. It’s not fair.

Listen to this. the ouch podcast is both interesting and very funny. On the face of it, the presenters just sound like they’re mucking about, but they do indeed raise some important issues. Go listen.

On the local news today, it was reported that the city council of Liverpool plans to rename several streets named after slave traders. This, I must say, raises my eyebrow, for while I can see why they are doing this, we can never forget our ties with our past. Those streets were called so for a reason: deeply regrettable though it may be, slavery is part of our heritage. Forget it and we risk repeating it.

Happily, however, the streets will be now named after prominent abolitionists.

I am a trekkie, and I come from a family of scientists, so this news of today’s spacewalk is naturally of great interest. needless to say, I’d love to go into space wouldn’t we all? if space does represent the future of humanity, at least some progress towards the final frontier is still being made.

Today, as you all know, is the first anniversary of one of the most terrible terrorist attacks ever to occur in this country. It was tragic, and my heart goes out to all the victim’s families. Yet, just as every action has a reaction, everything has a cause, and no doubt our involvement in the war on terror lead to this country being attacked.

The abject stupidity of the war still reils me: how can we fight ‘terror’? our very actions in Iraq and Afghanistan are causing more and more people to resort to terrorism, so it’s counter-productive. Why can’t Blair and bush see this obvious truth? How can they fail to see it?

Nevertheless, life goes on. The fact that Londoners simply returned to work thee next day showed their true grit: my heart goes out to them today, and I salute their courage.

I’m tired; not just physically but emotionally. I’ve began, in the last few days, to think about leaving home. It’s high time I severed the links with childhood; it’s time I became independent of my parents. University has taught me how great life can be, and how great having nobody around nagging you is. Yet to me as a crip this raises all sorts of questions: where shall I live, and how do I cope? 1001 little problems go through my head from ‘how do I get a flat with a key I can use’ to ‘how can I withdraw money?’ for all my life I have had the certainty of my parents as back up, organising things, making sure everything’s ok. While I’m sure my parents would continue this unction if I asked, I must do stuff by myself. Questions then arise about who I can trust, who is trying to screw me, and whether or not someone might one day turn around and say, in a condescending tone, ‘wouldn’t you be better in a home?’

As a crip this problem has always scared me, but I know I must do it. As soon as I get settled into my own place, perhaps with a live-in p.a, I know I’ll be happy. Hell, I was like this before I went to university, and look what happened then! It’s time to take the next logical step.

Illogical though it may be, I suspect this anxiety arises, in part, because I worry that, for some reason, I won’t be able to communicate my wishes. I worry that, as a VOCA user, others will assume they know best and start talking for me. I will not, must not, let this happen, but this does not stop this nagging fear which right now I cannot shake. I know that, with my lightwriter firmly attached to my waist, I can achieve almost anything, yet….

Oh well, I suppose it’ a big step for anyone. I’ll just need to take it slowly, looking forward to the great adventures I am about to have while taking comfort in the thought that my parents, brothers and friends will always be there for me, and making sure my lightwriter is fully charged.

I think the oppressive heat, combined with the losses in tennis and football, has caused the whole country to become miserable, long in the face. It did me. But when your chewing on life’s gristle, you should go here.

Didn’t manage to post yesterday because absolutely nothing happened. Had a rather relaxing day in front of the box – it was too hot t do much else, and I was feeling lethargic. Watched alt of ‘a Natural history of Britain’ on UKTV History, and read some Metz.

It’s all very depressing: we are out of the world cup; we lost the cricket too; one year on from live 8, hardly any progress has been made; both Iraq and Afghanistan seem to be going to hell…;etc

Hmm. Che sirrah, sirrah, I suppose. Although it unfortunately clashes with the coming of mark, the Onevoice weekend is soon, so I can look forward to that: helping those kids seems to always cheer me up, and sort of gives me a refreshed sense of worth. The only downside is that it occurs on THAT weekend. Typical, isn’t it?

This, combined with various other decisions I have made, I am kind of glum, in a way; yet I know I can handle all this, so I’m also quite cheerful. It is a challenge life that is – and one I can meet.

Oh well, have a good day everyone.

Must admit I came up here to thrash at my keyboard about how portugal is an upstart nation which never contribbuted anything to the world. None of it would be true, and I’d regret it in the morning. so I’ll just say that i’m dissapointed, but relieved that I do not have to get het up over the football any more. nevertheless, I need a beer.

Artscool, it must be said, was a huge success. It was also shattering. There were kids of all ages coming onto campus from throughout the Crewe area this week, and I was part of the squad of students who looked after them! I have never seen so many sprogs: they were all over the place.

I’m quite tired now, so I won’t write much. I’ll just say this week was a true credit to joss west-burnham, kerri tomkinson, and everyone involved.

now, though, I need my bed!