Tonight I thouught I might post a link to the blog / online diary of my mate chris. He’s a great poet, musician, annd all round good egg. however, he has the poor sense to let me into his house every week.

link.

Perhaps this article from the bbc represents final proof that the united states government is a hoard of nutters. They seem uneasy with the ‘net being so open to different points of view – so much for valuing freedom of speech.

As for taking control of the entire electromagnetic spectrum, could they be planning to block out the sun, a la mr burns?

today is mozart’s 250th birthday. It’s probably fair to say my taste in music is rather eclectic: I like everything from holst to hendrix, although I can’t stand helter skelter or house. I just put on some Woolfgang Amadeus, and it is simply breathtaking. sooo beautiful. how many contemporary musicians will be remembered 200odd years from now?

Anyway, go listen here

It looks like I should stop lambasting the americans for breeding creationists; it looks like about half of us brits remain unconvinced of evolution too. mind you, most of us watch big brother. I despair sometimes, I really do.

link

click here for a disability-oriented perspective on celebrity big brother, an article with which I could not agree more.

I don’t usually post jokes, but this links to the best blond joke ever link

I am currently of the opinion that eighty to ninety per cent of TV is crap. Well, most of it is. It was probably always crap, and we only remember it as being good in the past because the good stuff is more memorable: we remember Jacob Brovlovsky’s Ascent of Man, David Attenborough’s Life on Earth / Blue Planet / etc, and we remember Schalma’s History of Britain, but we forget all the shyte that was on before and after it. So TV was probably always crap.

But it seems to be getting crappier. No, scratch that, the crap is getting crappier, but the good stuff is getting better. How, for example, can one condemn channel four for showing big brother – a programme, the very mention of which had my film lecturer in spasms of rage and bile – when it has the sheer cajones to show Dawkin’s Root of all Evil?

This programme was an open, unmasked attack on religion. While I agree with Dawkins’ sentiments – wholeheartedly so – I think the way he expresses those sentiments is open to criticism. For example, ” Religion isn’t ‘the root of all evil’ as such, but a primitive attempt to understand what it is to be human and thus provide meaning and purpose to our action. Ironically, Dawkins fails to appreciate how religion has contributed to the humanism he is seeking to defend.”source

In other words, a more balanced approach would be to explain how religion came about, and how it was once needed. At times it seemed like he was preaching rather than teaching, and he did so with the attitude of Kent hovind. What he did note but fail to stress is that science should never be taken at face value, for it is always being refined. It can never offer us absolute answers, saying with 100 per cent authority that something is true. Thus it is open to refinement, change, which is what makes it glorious.

At least dawkins’ programme contributes to the public knowledge. To me, worthy TV should fall into one of three categories: it should be art, science or sport. All three of these can be studied and analysed. For example, Dawkins’ programme can cause debate; it is open to analysis and criticism; thus it makes an intellectual contribution. Just as one can analyse film, you can analyse TV drama or soap opera. Believe it or not, even soaps have a lot to say about culture – the way the dramatis personae interact is a reflection of our society, so for analysis of culture soaps are an excellent tool. The characters remain relatively constant over long periods, so one can look at thee situations these people are placed into to see how society changes. One can look at the shooting styles and mise-en-scene employed and ask why the director made such choices, just as one can ask why a painter chose to paint something in a specific way.

This can equally be said of documentaries: although they are non-fiction, they are still produced – there are reasons why they are shot in specific ways. Although they are mostly scientific, there is some degree of art involved – go look at ‘<arch of the Penguins’ and tell me it isn’t beautiful.

While both rely on some degree of Scoppophilia and voyeurism, this, I think, is the fundamental difference between documentary and reality TV. My preferring one over the other is intellectually problematic because they are both are about watching things: we watch the moppets in the big brother house, but we also watch the animals in the jungle. What’s the difference? Why is one reprehensible and the other beautiful?

I see no art in big brother, as I do in documentaries. Admittedly, big brother has a director who chooses which camera to feed to air, while documentaries have directors who chose how to shoot things. However, their palette is limited in that the cameras are fixed throughout the house and they have no control over the subject matter. Thus, Big Brother is not art, but is it science? No, because there are differences between Reality TV and documentary. The real difference is the difference between voyeurism and Scoppophilia – one has overtones of perversion, the other is simply the joy of seeing. In other words, one is manipulative while the other is not; one is unnatural while the other is not. We look at documentaries because they show us nature, albeit artistically chosen shots of nature – they quench our thirst to find out about the world, which is the urge that underpins most of science. Reality TV shows like big brother are fundamentally different – they do not focus on natural phenomenon because the programme makers themselves manipulate the subject matter. Hence they fit neither category.

What, then, is the point of reality TV? they are neither art nor science, but are simply voyeurism. They defy any intellectual analysis because they make no comment – they say nothing of culture or nature, they do not contribute to the human condition: these programmes are simply unthinking voyeurism, a complete waste of time, made only because they are cheap and people are foolish enough to watch it.

It’s been a good day. Thursdays always seem to be good. I was just talking to my mate Steve, and we stumbled upon an idea for a film. I was telling him about the types of film ii want to make, about my desire to make realistic portrayals of disability, and we decided on a rough idea. I showed him my old essay Disability musings, and part of summon the lambs (explaining, of course, that Stanhope’s point of view is particularly bleak and cynical, and I do not share it, but it was one way of looking at things which is sometimes handy). He was impressed, and we set a date for next Thursday to get to work on it. Excellent!

If ever one doubted that there is beauty in cinema today, I would strongly advise them to go and see March of the Penguins. I just returned from my local Odeon, and I’m full of excitement, for I have just been reminded what cinema is capable of.

There is something in natural-history films that really capture my attention. They offer us the most enthralling images, I think. They are scopophalic orgies. There are shots in march which are simply breathtaking, such as those of the southern aurora, or of melting icicles, or the endless ice flows, extending into the distance, with the penguins marching endlessly on. You know these shots cost billions to set up, and they are framed with the eye of a master painter. Each shot is worthy of a photography exhibition.

Morgan Freeman is an excellent choice of narrator. His deep voice adds gravitas and a sense of profundity. His rich, smooth voice helps lull you into a mystified stupor, as you wonder at the sheer beauty of it all. Thus, although there is very little plot in this film – it is, after all, a documentary – it s a pleasure to watch. My parents were talking about going to see it, but I could not wait. Yet if and when they do go, I would like to go with them, for this is a film I want to watch again, and again, and again. Its quite simply the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in ages (life in the undergrowth aside).

One last note: in the states, the Christian fundies have adopted this film because they say penguins exhibit family values. As noted elsewhere, this is simply not the case, as the penguins frequently have affairs, fight, and kidnap children. Moreover, the film refers to a time when Antarctica was forested, which clearly shows it is in accord with modern science, not biblical claptrap.

Anyway, this is a great film. I really suggest you go to see it in the cinema: it’s amazing on the big screen (mind you, the Odeon were sonly showing it in a small auditorium, which s a heresy. How they can profess to be fanatical about film I do not know) Even if you don’t usually watch documentaries like this, I suggest you go. If you feel any wonder and excitement about the world at all, you will not be disappointed.

Interestingly, blogs can be in languages other than english, which may very well surprise some americans (that is, if they’re not too busy itching for war in iran!) anyway, I just received a link to my aunt Dinah’s blog, which has the pictures of what we got up to over christmas. I think the most amusing is the picture of luke’s hair; theres also one of grandma looking miffed, and one of me in a bra! thanks uncle and aunt. tres bien!

Link

I have some very mixed feelings about Mr. Brown’s ideas about a day to celebrate Britishness. Indeed, the idea on one level may be paradoxical – Britain’s are characterised by the stiff upper ‘lip, and quiet respect for their country, rather than jingoistic flag waving, which I associate with Americans and vulgarity. Thus a public expression of Britishness would we innately unbritish.

Don’t get me wrong, I like being British – I loved beating the Australians last summer; I love old English beer; in the bbc I think we have the finest broadcasting company on earth, but this does not mean I want to put a flag up in the garden, or say ‘woo’ every time I hear the name of my country spoken. Such gestures of crass and puerile.

I know I am British, I do not need to remind myself or anyone else of it. Being British is being tolerant – about being tolerant of everyone upon this island, regardless of belief or skin tone or anyone else. It is this multiculturalism, not some vague idea of some mythic Britain, which should be celebrated. I may love British beer, but there is nothing more British, I’d maintain, than drinking a Belgian larger with a curry.

Yet, if tolerance is British, why can’t our schools be fully inclusive?

link

I was just catching up with the news on the bbc website and wondered onto ‘From our own Correspondent’. I sometimes listen to that programme as it reminds me of far flung places. I was, however, surprised to read that it is fifty years old, having began in 1955. they post some articles from the archive there.

What I found was quite incredible – an article written just after Stalin’s death. It allows us to glimpse the end of the cult of Stalin, when the man was worshipped as a god. we can see how the people of Russia loved him through fear.

I know a little about Russia, but it relates to the beginning of the communist era. During the October 1917 revolution, it was Lenin, not Stalin who lead – Stalin’s nickname among the Bolsheviks was ‘comrade paperclip’, because he just sat behind his desk. Only after he brutally came to the fore after Lenin’s death in ’24 did Stalin alter documents to show he was close to Lenin,

Fascinating, bloody era of history. How could this man, this insanely paranoid man, be worshipped as a god?

look here. My childhood role model, professor Stephen Hawking, is now a doll, and a yellow one at that. Is nothing sacred?

I sometimes think of the oddest things while lying awake in bed. This morning, at about four, I woke up, cold, and couldn’t get back to sleep. I looked at my alarm, and wondered why time wasn’t decimal. Why doesn’t the clock have 100 minutes instead of 60? And why not ten hours rather than twelve?

I started to do the maths. Assume we keep the second the same, a normal half day lasts 60*60*12 seconds instead of 100*100*10. that’s 43200 normally, instead of 100000 seconds with decitime. To fit decitime in with the normal day, we would have to make seconds shorter.

It then occurred to me that this would mean replacing every clock on earth, which would be very hard indeed. Alternatively, we could slow down the earth’s rotation, which may have implications vis–vis gravity. All in all, although it would make time easier to use in maths, decimalising it would cause more trouble than it’s worth.

It just seems quite a random number – 60. the Hittites came up with it. Oh well, perhaps when I become rich I can include decimalising time in my plan for world domination. [insert sinister laugh; enter the guy in a tuxedo]

Quite why I’m obsessed with David Attenborough I’m not sure. I think his programmes are comforting, as well as exceptionally beautiful. The interlocking web of the natural world never ceases to amaze me. I am thus very excited to read of this: although I can only find a few press releases, and details are sketchy, if life in the undergrowth is anything to go by, it will be marvellous.

However, programmes like this are surely TV’s attempts to apologise for big brother. How anyone watches that crap I do not know. For Christ’s sake – there are so many beautiful things on the world upon which one can focus a camera, and all most people want to watch is a few z-list celebrities in a room. Why do we watch this worthless pap – it is not artistic, nor does it contribute to the public knowledge. I mean, the first series was an experiment, so it was OK, but now, after five series, it’s simply trash: an attempt by some ‘celebrities’ to restart their washed-up careers. And this attracts million’s of viewers! This is a sqandering of the potential of television

Sod it. I’m off to read a book.

As a disabled person, I am slightly concerned about all the hubbub over ‘benefit fraud’. Listening to radio five earlier, I got the strong impression that people thought that most of us who claim DLA are slackers. Putting aside my own tendency to slob in front of the television of an afternoon, may I tale this opportunity to refute that allegation. We are, for the most part, very industrious: two CP-ers I know run their own companies, one writes for disability now, and one woman with mobility problems is a professional musician.

This is not to say that we do not need the DLA. It is of great help. However, it is very hard to live off the DLA, and I daresay none of us would choose to live off it. I get agitated when I hear of able-bodied people claiming falsely too – the money that costs is enough to fund something like 9000 nurses – and the people who do so should be brought to justice. In part, such behaviour gives rise to anti-disabled feeling: we are tarred with the same brush as the benefit cheats, and accused of not pulling our weights. In extreme cases, people have suggested we walk funny and drool on purpose. Thus, benefit fraud should be stopped, and a part of me favours jailing the culprits. It hurts all of us, both economically and socially.

further reading

I am alarmed how similar the two main political parties are appearing these days. I was just watching the lunchtime news, which ran a story about how labour plans to reform incapacity benefit. They plan to reduce it drastically, to try to get people into work.

Is my memory failing me, or was labour a left-wing party once? This sounds very conservative to me. Reminiscent, slightly, of Thatcherism, with that make-the-lazybuggers-work mentality. Now, I’m not saying I want to live off the dole – I intend to get a job one day – but what new labour fails to realise is that some of us crips will find this hard, especially given the standard of education we receive in special schools. With labour lurching to the right, the door is open for ccameron, and we all know what that means!

link

Things kind of suck around here. My brothers went back to their respective universities this afternoon, uncle aki et al went home on Wednesday, and we will take Chris to London tomorrow.. thus I have the downtrodden feeling that everything is over – no more parties, no more brothers, no more cards.

Well, at least I have my room to myself again. I love Luke, but I like my privacy. When out Christmas shopping, I instructed bill to get a pear of black tights for my grandmother; these, I later realised, turned out to be fishnets, and so not appropriate as a gift. I had to get my grandmother another gift, leaving me with the fishnets.

Because Luke was here, I haven’t had chance to try them on…until now.

They fit.

Esther, possibly my closest friend, wrote this. It comes, in part, from a mutual love of james bond, and my overriding desire to assassinate the campus pet. That cat is evil, I tell thee! Nice one esther!

I saw with some considerable interest yesterday how the Tories have chosen to consult Geldof on their policies concerning debt relief. While I am totally behind geldof’s campaign, this made me very scared and angry. I should welcome this move, but something tells me not to be so optimistic.

For one thing, what tells us that the conservatives are really behind debt cancellation? They are a party of business, and it is in the capitalist’s best interest not to cancel this debt, but to keep Africa poor. Thus this is, I think a mere ploy by David Cameron: he wants his party to appear nice, friendly and delectable.

What scares me is he’s succeeding. His party is gaining fast in the opinion polls: he is approachable and jovial, and the British public is fed up with Blair. To recruit Geldof will surely make this effect even stronger. And this is dangerous.

I seem to have become politically idiotic these days. I have become focussed on a single issue, and seem to have become blinded to most others. I know this is foolish, but I care very strongly about inclusive education. To focus so strongly on a single issue is naive, and especially one so remote from the mainstream (forgive the pun). Yet the fact remains Cameron is on record saying, if elected, he proposes a moratorium on the closure of special schools, and intends tot build more. Sorry if I seem monochrome here, but this must not happen. Simply must not!

This is why I got so scared. Elect the Tories, and the thing I care most passionately for dies.

My relationship to clothes is rather odd. Usually I hanker after girl’s clothes, but recently I have been hinking about getting a suit. A good suit. Something cool and very male for contrast. Something one can order a martini in.

Well, today me, mum and Chris went shopping, ad that’s exactly what we got. A black suit, white shirt and bow tie. Mum is going to elasticise the trousers so I don’t have to bother with the fly, and the shirt has poppers. I had to try it on. It fits almost perfectly, so next I want a walther PPK.

Well, I’ll settle for a martini.

Possibly the best indicator of the quality of ones Christmas is the state of ones room on boxing day. If one has had a good Christmas, with a large haul of gifts, one’s bedroom should be a mess. This is because one dumps the pile into one’s room after the unwrapping has ceased, then goes back downstairs to rejoin the family. The presents wait till the new year to be allotted places, so for a while one’s route to bed is fraught with pitfalls and booby traps.

At the moment, this place looks like a bomb has hit it. Of course, this is not helped by the fact that Luke, my little brother, is staying on my top bunk, so there are clothes and wrapping paper strewn over my floor. I am not complaining, but for a person with mobility and balance problems, it can be a challenge, especially last thing at night with a beer or two in my belly.

In short, however, this Christmas is shaping up to be one of the coolest. Of course, I miss my older brother, but it is only fair that he went to Kat’s parents this year. The place is packed anyway, and one can barely move without bumping into a relative.

As predicted, the conversation has been rather academic at times. This morning, Christina was describing that she might find new species of fish in the Amazon; yesterday, Luke and Cyril were discussing the Turing test. We should probably get out more, but my family still amazes me.

Right now, most of them are out walking. The house is quiet, giving me a chance to write. I haven’t been all that involved really – I just watch and listen. It takes ages for me to say anything, and I hate slowing everything down. I know I shouldn’t. when everyone is waiting for me to say something, I just get tense, making it ten times harder. Oddly, this happens more with the in-laws than with a lecture theatre full of students. Odd, no?

Anyway, everybody will be back soon, and the place will once again be thronging. This afternoon, we have games planned, which, with my uncle Aki being the incessant cheat that he is, despite my cousin Chris’s attempts to keep him in line, will almost certainly be a good laugh. Watching my family is better than any Christmas TV show any day of the year.

Things, I suspect, are going to get interesting around here. In more ways than one too. Come this evening, we’ll have eleven or twelve people around the place – the most people at home I can recall – and mum has already started to cook. In fact poor mum seems already slightly perturbed, and even at this early hour I smell onions frying.

As the crip of the family, and having no household chores, I take the role of flaneur at such times. That is, ii merely observe things as they unfold, then write about them. The forthcoming few days should supply me with enough material for the next three terms of writing class (not that I plan to divulge any family secrets, of course).

I love it when we have family round – there is rarely a dull moment. I come from a family of scientists, so dinner table conversation sometimes gets odd. Already this morning over breakfast Luke and dad were discussing interesting graphs. Being a crip-ranch educated arts-student, most of the time I do not have the foggiest idea what they are talking about, but it astounds me to hear everyone talk. Either it’s about whether zero is a number, or stuff about programming, or stuff about medicine. Of course, they all have their specialisms – Dad, electronics; mum, medicine; Luke biology and computing; uncle aki, philosophy of mathematics, Aunty Dinah, philosophy; my cousin Cyril, biology and computing… and so on. The result is an eclectic mix of technical gibberish and banter.

The above would imply that I am the dunce of the lot, which is not true. There is no dunce. I suspect I will have to explain the concept of flaneurie to them when this is posted. Just as I am proud of them, they are proud of me, and that’s how it should be. Hence there is already a feeling of warmth throughout this old place, and there is nowhere else I would rather be – nowhere else on earth.

Thus, tomorrow, I’ll be looking over a table of twelve, chomping sprouts and turkey, listening to the conversation, and remarking how lucky I am. It’s what Christmas is for.

A merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

The following just begged to be recorded for pposteritty.

1.a carol:

Deck the hall with boughs of holly,

Fa la la la la la, la la la la.

Tis the season to by jolly,

Fa la la la la la, la la la la.

Don we now our gay apparel,

Fa la la, la la la, la la la. Then we get a civil partnership

Fa la la la la la, la la la la.

2. a new word

Sudblx – that which matt speaks when talking of films. Psuedy bollocks without vowels 3.another new word

Smoergleburble – that language luke speaks when telling dad how to do stuff on the computer.

Well, they made me laugh.

in case anyones interested, here’s the outcome of the dover trial. itss a relief that logic and sense won the day. Must admit, I had no faith (forgive the pun) that the judge would rule in favour of science. there were quite a few kooky idea going around that courtroom. something tells me these religious fools won’t shut up though.

thanks for the link luke

I just read tom Shakespeare’s most recent article on ouch, and I would encourage you to do the same. It is a short essay on disability issues in the bible, and I was interested to note that Hebrews 12.13 says ‘Make a level path for your feet, so that the lame may not be disabled’, one of the earliest descriptions of the social model.

The problem professor Shakespeare and most disabled people have with Christ is that he went about his business in the wrong way. There is a supposition in the bible that disabled people want to be ‘cured’; most of us do not, for without our disabilities we no longer can be us. My cp is part of me, part of what makes matt matt. I think I would be quite lost without it. When I was very little, I asked dad if I could have a brain transplant in order to move properly; my father wisely replied that, were I to have such an operation, I would not be Matthew anymore but someone else inside my body. Although literally true, this can also be seen as allegorical cure my disability, and you eradicate matt.

Thus, in a way, Jesus did these lepers and blind people a disservice, robbing them of their individuality (and, in one case, their livelihood). As Shakespeare argues, it would be far simpler to fit ramps everywhere, and make VOCAs easier to obtain, rather than curing a select few. Then everyone benefits, not just a handful of people fortunate enough to meet Christ.

I just found this blog entry on intelligent design / evolution by Scott Adams, creator of Dilbert. I must say it is fairly well balanced: in fact, it is one of the most wellrounded articles I have read on the subject, which I think can be very polarising. Also, Scott Adams is one of my dad’s favourite cartoonists, so it’s worth a peek just for the satire.

How on earth I got his name wrong I do not know. The guy to whom I referred to in last Fridays entry is Michael leach, not llang. I suppose I assumed that he would have the same name as his wife. Anyway, here is a link to his fascinating site, full of some of the most extraordinary wildlife photography I have seen.

I just read this re-reading of a christmas carol on ouch. I must admit, tiny tim has always grated a little – I hate how the cute disabled person is used as a dramatic tool again and again. tiny tim, polyanna, etc. they’re all so cringeworthy and unrealistic portrayals of disabled people.

Hurrah, my blogs back. Praise be to Luke – greatest webmaster of all.

Anyway, normality having been restored and the evil forbidden sign being gone, let me tell you of my experience yesterday. As noted in the previous post, I intend to go to the ballet; I’m very thirsty for all types of art now I have been to the opera (something which I once saw as bourgeois and inaccessible) and thoroughly enjoyed it. Here at MMU, they do courses in dance,, one of which was staged yesterday. Needless to say I went, paid my £1.50 at the door and took a seat.

What I saw, it must be said, was odd. La Rondine was in Italian but thanks to the surtitles was still understandable. What these dancers were doing seemed random. There were about ten pieces, some set to music, some with music but the movement taking no heed of it, and some in silence. He final piece actually took place on the seating, with the audience having to sit on thee stage. It was all quite odd.

So far, I may be appearing to be a luddite, which isn’t my intention. I love how my university experiments in terms of art. Last week, I went to a very disconcerting piece of theatre where the audience were shepherded around, and were supposed to be inhabitants of an asylum. That too made little sense, but does it matter?

No, I think not. What matters is that they’re stretching artistic boundaries: experimenting. I find it exciting, and cant wait to see what’s going to come next.

At the time of writing, my website is down: it currently says access ibis forbidden in big letters. I fear this may have caused some of you to conclude that I blocked you from my website. I assure you that A. this would go against every one of my beliefs apropos the freedom of information and speech, and B. I wouldn’t know how to block anyone, even if I wanted to. Rather, I suspect certain people have neglected to transfer certain monies to certain Web Space companies. [update – it was a nasty little virus that did it. Prase be to Luke for fixing it.]

Anyway, last night I went again to the opera. This was part of my ongoing ambition to experience as much culture as possible: I want to see as many art forms as possible, just as I would like to eat as many different types of food as possible and go to as many countries as possible. As john Donne once wrote ‘to live in one contrie is captivitie’; I have merely taken this slightly further. I want to remain open minded, never dismissing anything until I have experienced it.

The opera strikes me as a rather exotic, very cool art form. It is rather strange in that it’s communication system bears very little resemblance to the normal forms of communication. Baring dad’s tuneful, but often obscene, outbursts of tuneful displeasure, we do not often sing to communicate. Yet, as any philologist will tell you, language is beautifully tuneful, so the opera can be seen as a mere extension of a certain aspect of language. And how beautiful this extension is: a phrase, when spoken, may be beautiful, but a phrase, when sang, can be exquisite.

Last night’s performance of Puccini’s La Rondine at the Royal Northern College of music was indeed exquisite. The first thing to note is the sheer power of the performers on stage: they are all around my age, but they have vocal power enough to fill a huge auditorium without electronic assistance. Even though one knows these people are, for all intents and purposes, professional singers, I am still amazed by their sheer talent. But then, this is the RNCM – should I expect anything less? The sets were lavish, the acting faultless.

Now, in classicism it is often necessary to separate style and content. The content of Puccini’s opera is not the best. It is ostensibly the story of a kept woman falling temporarily in love with a young student, running off with him, and when his money is gone, returning to her sugar daddy in Paris. It is thus very cynical, which is why it was slated by critics upon it’s debut. Nevertheless, the denouement when Magda reveals she cannot marry Ruggero (”Let the grief be mine”) is quite simply astonishing in it’s beauty. It was quite, quite moving and it was impossible not to feel spellbound.

thus the style outweighed, I felt,, the content. I have a huge respect for RNCM: the whole evening was enjoyable, and the college is very professional. Even the interval wine wasn’t bad, although it was a little expensive. I intend to go to more, but not for some time – there are other art forms I want to experience. Next, I think, is dance.

Nevertheless, ii shall end with a quote, not from the opera, but a play: ‘If music be the food of love, play on.” [naff ending – ed]

I was handing a piece of finished work in at the writing room yesterday for my scripts tutor, dr. mariel land. I think she had an appointment to make, so her husband was there. I like mariel – as well as being a good teacher, she’s a pretty cool person. For one, she was giving away chocolate.

I got talking to mr lland – mariel introduced us. He was quite an interesting fellow, it turns out – an anthropologist. I asked if he was a scientist.

‘I’m a cameraman for the bbc’ he said. It turns out that this guy is actually a good acquaintance of sir David Attenborough. I went into squeal mode upon hearing this! Sir David is one of my all time heroes. Mr lland had been all around the world, to places like Borneo, the Amazon etc, taking the most wonderful photographs. He told me how his anthropology work has lead him to meet peoples who have only just made contact with western society. What an adventure that must be.

The mystery is I cant find his website: he showed it to me during our conversation, and I think I’d like to check it out. He said we could keep in contact, and I’d love to. However, I can’t find his site anywhere, despite several hours on google. The internet can be so frustrating sometimes!

Since I last blogged, quite an important fact has been brought to my attention. Two facts, in actuality, and they both concern the new leader of the opposition. The first is that David Cameron has a son with cerebral palsy (cp). This alone does not worry me in the slightest: I initially thought this would mean Cameron was more in touch with the needs of people with disabilities, which is a good thing, especially for a Tory.

I was wrong, for the second fact I learned about Cameron is he is against inclusive education. This struck alarm bells in my head – given that this guy could well be prime minister in four years’ time, it would spell disaster for the inclusive education scheme. It might put us back to the days of segregation, and a second rate education for disabled kids.

You can’t blame him, of course. You can’t blame any parent in such a position, who wants to send their disabled child to a special school. Any child is precious to a parent, so there is, quite naturally, a tendency to want to wrap disabled kids in cotton wool and send us off to the warm, sheltered environs of special schools. My concern is, however, that this would be almost disastrous for the child in the long term: when he or she reaches eighteen or nineteen, he or she will be so poorly equipped for the real world, so used to the homely atmosphere of school life, that he or she will be quite unprepared for the often chaotic maelstrom that is modernity. If they are lucky, students will have four or five low grade GCSEs to their name. not many get a-levels, and I have not heard of any student going straight from a special school to university. Furthermore, nondisabled kids would benefit in that increased interaction with disabled kids will break down prejudices and misconceptions. You would be surprised how many people around uni still have no idea how to act around me.

Yet to a parent of a disabled child, inclusion represents a threat. Of course, there are exceptions – and I can point you to at least two who post on my comments – but many parents do not seem to think their child could cope in mainstream school. Thus, when they finally escape the linoleum carpet and the signs in Makaton, their kids hit the real world with a bump. This means, in my experience, that many are unable to enter higher education and get jobs. If, on the other hand, they are educated alongside their able-bodied peers, both socially and educationally they would be on a par with everyone else (providing, of course, they get the right support in mainstream).

Cameron therefore represents a threat in my eyes. He wants what is best for his son, and others like him. However, we have very different opinions on what is best for disabled kids. Having a parent with a disabled kid as opposition leader or PM might be beneficial, but if he acts on his views, it might also be catastrophic. As Justin R said, politics just got interesting again,

So, David Cameron is the new Tory leader. Unlike the past four, this is a leader I would vote for. He seems well rounded, and not too insane or right-wing. Yes, he is a eurosceptic and I’m pro-Europe, but at the moment he’s presenting a reasonable alternative to Blair, who, frankly, seems to be dying. I reckon the Tories have a good chance of winning the next election. – I never thought I’d say that!

link

Ever been to a place where you want to help, but aren’t too sure how? I felt kind of like that in Blackpool this weekend. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed myself thoroughly, but there were times when I did not know what to do. I was there to be a ‘role model’ for kids, but, unlike Lilleshall, the young people at this event were preteens, so I wasn’t quite sure how to engage with them. I found myself talking more to the parents rather than the kids.

I knew I was doing it. Kate challenged me to ask an open question to all the kids there, which ii attempted to do, but the parents were often answering for them. The problem was, the children were at a very early stage of communicative development, so I suspect it was nigh on impossible for the parents to resist the urge to do the talking. This, combined with the fact that the parents were as inquisitive about me as I was nosey about them meant that the kids had very little chance to join the conversation. Having said this hopefully when the kids see their parents talk to me so deeply, they will see that they too can achieve what I have. They will see that, just because you may use a communication aid doesn’t mean you can’t have fairly in-depth conversations. I think this, to a certain extent, is the whole point of the role-model project.

However, I daresay most kids there hardly needed encouraging. Like most children their age, they had much to say, and given half the chance, say it they would. All it needs is a little patience and these kids can chat for England, or will be able to do so soon, given patience and the right help.

Thus, although I have reservations about how much I helped, it was undeniably a great weekend. The kids were super. If they invite me, I’ll definitely be going again.

Just blogging to say that the one voice blackpool event seemed to be a total success. It was knackering, but it was also great fun. Once again, I hope the kids we were being role models for got as much from it as I did. I’ll report more soon, but a huge congratulations go out to tamsin, thee two katies, and everyone involved.

the snow has cleared, the temperature has risen, and I’m nearly all ready to set off for blackpool. I should have a cool weekend. anyway, there’s not much time to blog, so allow me to direct you here, to a page which points out the alarming stupidity of the ‘theory’ of intelligent design, as sent to me by Luke.

Its odd how very wrong one can be about a person if one only judges them by first impressions. I have a friend, called Marcie: she always struck me as a tomboy, overbearing, loud, and patronising towards me. I did not like her very much, and hated to see her coming. I had her down as the type of girl who automatically assumes I am her friend just because I am a crip.

then, one day, we got chatting over a coffee in the wes. A few of my friends were there, and we were just talking about this and that. In Marcie the patronising tone vanished, or rather I no longer detected it. I realised I’d misjudged her, and a nicer girl you will never meet. She’s cool.

Tonight I’m going round to Steve’s again. He has to watch Titus Andronicus for his course, and Marcie will be there. I’m looking forward to this evening very much.

Oh brilopads! I think it’s starting to snow – the first snows of winter, and its still officially autumn. It’s either global warming or the next ice age! Plus, the sky is falling!

Its really starting to fall now. Usually I do not mind, but later I’ll be going out in it, and I would far rather stay hunkered down in my room, by the radiator. I hope this clears up by the weekend.

Saturday sees the 1voice Blackpool event. Some of you may recall I went to a similar one this summer in Lilleshall. I found it life-affirming – there is nothing, I feel, more worthwhile than helping kids: nothing more fundamentally important than hearing them talk. A life without the ability to communicate is bleak – you have all choices made for you, and therefore your dreams remain unfulfilled. Its not as if these kids are unable to express themselves, they just need to be shown what is possible.

Come snow, or come sleet, or come glaciers, I will be in Blackpool by Friday night. This project means a lot to me. I am in a position where I can help these children, and it is thus my duty to do so.

I have never seen bbc news this cynical before. In this article, it is being openly sarcastic about our progress on climate change. It’s amusing, ad although I have to agree with its conclusions, is it not being a teeny bit biased?