I came across this video yesterday, and I would urge anyone even remotely interested in American politics to watch it. It’s a summary of Donald Trumps comments concerning women, particularly suburban women, and I found what it highlights so repugnant that I felt I had to flag it up here. Donald Trump is an utterly disgusting person: He thinks he has a right to act how he wants and say what he wants, which includes boasting about going into women’s dressing rooms, spying on them and groping them. He is shown speaking about women like they are just there for him to abuse. Granted, the guy who made the video may have cherry picked the comments and clips, but nonetheless it exposes a sickening, juvenile, arrogant individual, utterly unfit to be allowed anywhere near the government of any self respecting state. Frankly, I find the notion that America is even considering letting Trump anywhere near the White House again absolutely bewildering.

I am, of course, thinking about my brother Luke today. Today is his birthday, and his first as a father. Apart from on Skype or Zoom, it has been ages since I last saw him, and I’m becoming increasingly eager to go and see him and his family. I especially need to meet my nephew Elias. To be honest it feels like such a long time since my whole family has been together, I think we need to put that right pretty soon. For now, though, let me just wish my little bro a great day, and ask him to give Elias a cuddle from me.

Just for the record, I think I better note that John and I just got back from rewatching Oppenheimer. After the farce of last week, we thought we would give it another try. The cinema had kindly given us tokens for a free screening. It is a very interesting, perplexing film, definitely worthy of a second viewing (at least). As I wrote when I first watched it, ultimately it is about the American decent into McCarthyism and the intense paranoia brought about by the creation of atomic weapons, although I must admit we both found it slightly sluggish this afternoon, particularly in it’s second half.

These are very good questions, asked in order to make a point which is far too true.

Having just heard about Lee Anderson’s disgustingly racist, Islamophobic slurs on Sadiq Kahn, I felt creating this was necessary.

What Anderson said was disgusting, claiming that Islamists had got control of London and that Kahn had given it away to his ‘mates’. He is nothing but a racist thug who probably thinks he can get away with it because of all the right-wing, anti-woke, ‘proud to be a bigot’ nonsense around. Parliament is no place for intolerant, obnoxious vermin like him.

As many readers will know, I’m a huge Star Trek fan. Since I was very small, I’ve seen the exploration of space as the next great adventure for humanity. It is our collective destiny to go out and explore the final frontier. Part of why I adore Star Trek so much is because it showed us a future where we have overcome our petty differences and capitalist cravings to create a society in which everyone works together for the good of humanity – or at least, that’s how the producers spun it. However, it now seems that mankind is turning away from that noble future: Last night, the first privately owned, commercial spacecraft touched down on the moon. It may have had a lot of backing and assistance from NASA, but nonetheless it was created by a private company whose ultimate aim will be to make money rather than explore; and who say that they eventually intend to mine the moon for resources like water.

To be honest I find that sickening. Space does not belong to anyone; it is not there for us to exploit. More to the point, American capitalists have no particular right to it just because they got there first. Thus, as eager as I am to see people walking on the moon again later this decade, this is a step in the wrong direction. Space is there to explore, not exploit; opening it up to shortsighted, commercial interests turns humanity away from a far greater, more noble destiny.

In these days of global trade, travel and communication, I think it’s likely that most people would assume that everyone knows about everyone else: that, no matter where you come from, we’re all aware we’re part of a global society, and that the days of people living on remote islands, using bows and arrows, totally unaware of the outside world are long gone. Well, it appears we would be wrong. I just came across this Youtube video, and it made my jaw drop. According to it, the people living on North Sentinel Island in the Indian Ocean have had very little contact with the outside world. They use iron age technology, and their language has yet to be deciphered. Most attempts to establish contact with them have not gone well as they have reacted with hostility, and the consensus seems to be they should just be left alone.

I’m honestly amazed. I had assumed that such situations were long gone. Of course, there would still be native or indigenous communities living on remote islands, but by now they would all be using mobile phones connected to the internet. That anyone could still be so isolated is incredible. I have only just watched a single Youtube video about it, so I don’t think I ought to comment much further, but I certainly think this warrants looking into more: how, exactly, has this community survived in isolation for all this time? How aware are they of the rest of the world?

The guy narrating the video relates how an American Evangelical Christian once went to the island to try to convert the islanders to Christianity, and was brutally murdered. I must say, the arrogant prick got what was coming to him. That said, North Sentinel Island is so intriguing, perhaps I should try to convince John to take me there next.

This can only be classed as an ‘epic fail!’

Needless to say, I just love the idea of a missile going ‘plop’!

I think I better make one thing straight about what I wrote yesterday. I have not started to believe in god, the afterlife or anything like that. I still view religion as an utterly repugnant, oppressive social force, as evidenced by the fracas I had with a street preacher in Greenwich this afternoon. It’s just that, I must admit I rather like the idea that Lyn and all the other friends I have lost might somehow continue to exist and be observing all the messes I get into. It’s a warm, comforting thought, far more reassuring than the notion that they have simply been obliterated from reality. Yet that, I suppose, is how religion works: how it ensnares so many people, manipulating and controlling them, to the extent that they can’t bare to contemplate that it might just be a lot of baseless nonsense.

To be honest it has been a total car crash of a day. Frankly, it all started yesterday with that utter failure at the cinema. Then, this morning, Serkan messaged me to say he had suddenly been taken very ill so I would have to get myself dressed and breakfasted. At around lunchtime I was feeling very low indeed, worrying about whether I would have help with dinner this evening. Then, to cap it all off, as I was trundling along the road this afternoon, I almost crushed my Ipad: my hat suddenly flew off in a gust of wind, I suddenly halted my powerchair, the Ipad slipped down from my lap and landed in front of my right wheel before the chair jerked forward a bit more.

For a few seconds I honestly thought I’d crushed my Ipad. I started to panic, picking it up. Yet my Ipad is in a protective case, so to my utter astonishment I noticed it wasn’t damaged at all. The rubber of the case was a bit twisted, but even that could be put back into place. I could hardly believe my luck.

All being well, in a few minutes John will arrive to get the evening sorted. I messaged him, and he kindly offered to get an early train back from Cambridge to come and help me. When I read that my relief was literally palpable; it felt that all my concerns of the previous few hours had suddenly vanished. I’m not a religious person, but sometimes it feels like Lyn or someone is ‘up there’ looking down, making sure I don’t muck up too badly. Today could have been a complete catastrophe: I could have smashed my Ipad, I could have starved. But somehow, right now everything is back to normal, and hopefully Serkan will feel better in the morning.

Theres only one thing for it. Time for some of this. All together now…

Forget about vicious dogs or anything taking up the wheelchair space on busses. Most annoying of all is when, having planned to meet John at the cinema, and having him come to Eltham specifically, your screening is called off at the very last moment due to a problem with the projector. Fortunately we were planning to watch Oppenheimer, which I have seen before, but it was nonetheless bloody annoying: that film definitely warranted a second viewing. It has never happened to me before, and frankly strikes me as utterly pathetic. The Vue, Eltham, has definitely gone down a few notches in my estimation today.

At the suggestion of my parents after they read yesterday’s entry, I just googled what an Invalid Carriage is. It turns out it’s not some sort of anachronistic euphemism for a wheelchair at all, but some kind of three wheeled car. According to Wikipedia, “Invalid carriages were usually single seater road vehicles, buggies, or self-propelled vehicles for disabled people. They pre-dated modern electric mobility scooters and, from the 1920s, were generally powered by small gasoline/petrol engines, although some were battery powered.” Well, that’s me put right, although you can rest assured that I’m still not going anywhere near any dual carriageways.

Whenever I see this sign, usually riding the bus on my way home, I can never decide whether to be insulted or amused. It’s at the entrance of a dual carriageway, and announces that “No pedestrians, cycles, invalid carriages, animals or motorcycles under 50cc” are allowed beyond that point. What I find strange is why they call it an Invalid Carriage rather than a wheelchair: who would use such anachronistic term these days? Everyone calls them Wheelchairs! More to the point, I resent being referred to as an invalid – I am perfectly valid, thankyou very much! Calling disabled people invalids is rather Dickensian. Call me a cripple or spazz if you want, but do not question my validity. Besides, what kind of cripple in their right mind would try to drive their wheelchair down a dual carriageway? The suggestion that anyone would even try is enough to make me chuckle.

I seem to be fast developing a thing for tube and train stations. Anyone who knows me will know that I’ve always had various fixations or obsessions. It’s usually something in the media, like Star Trek or James Bond. Recently though I have started to get excited about railway stations, especially here in east London. Of course I use systems like this DLR and jubilee line fairly regularly, and I have begun to notice how each station on the various lines is different. They all have their own architecture, so they must all have been designed separately. Some of them are astonishing feats of engineering. For example, now that the Elizabeth Line is open, Bond Street and Tottenham Court Road stations are nothing less than three-dimensional labyrinths of corridors, lifts, escalators and platforms; to have that all going on under Central London is surely incredible. To be honest I find it mind blowing that such an elaborate public transport system could ever have been created, and it only adds to my love of, and fascination with, London in general.

I made quite a discovery coming home from my trundle this afternoon: There is, in fact, something which irritates me even more than prams taking up the wheelchair space on busses. That’s annoying enough, but I can just about live with it. However, I came across something even more perverse today. Coming home from Woolwich, I was unable to get on a bus because the wheelchair space was already occupied by a wheelchair, but nobody was sat in it! An empty manual wheelchair was in the zarking space. It could easily have been folded and I could have got on, but instead the driver just closed the door and drove away. Needless to say I was furious. It seemed so shortsighted and inconsiderate. I don’t know where the owner of the wheelchair was, or whether they were even on the bus. All I could do was sit at the bus stop and wait for the next one, instantly resolving to note what had just happened in a blog entry.

Coincidentally, an hour or so ago I asked on one of the Monty Python Facebook fan pages what everyone thought the best way of keeping the legacy of Python alive might be, now that we’re unlikely to see those guys make any new films or shows. A few moments later, I checked the BBC News Culture page and found this story reporting that “Monty Python actor Eric Idle has said he is still working at the age of 80 for financial reasons.” Idle says that he has been unable to retire because the money he expected to get from his comedy and media career has run dry. “I don’t know why people always assume we’re loaded. Python is a disaster. I never dreamed that at this age the income streams would tail off so disastrously.”

If that is so, then I can’t help wondering whether Python really is dead after all: those guys are all over eighty, so we’re unlikely to see them make any new films or shows. Yet, if they have a financial incentive, perhaps the five remaining Python members will find a way to keep the legendary comedy series going. Who knows: perhaps it will now somehow evolve into something new, with fresh talent taking up the reins. Of course, I know the original cast can never be replaced – the Parrot Sketch with anyone other than John Cleese or Michael Palin just wouldn’t work – but if we draw inspiration from Star Trek or James Bond, franchises which have both had multiple manifestations, surely anything is possible.,

Given that the Clangers have now turned fifty, I couldn’t resist the temptation to make something like this.

When I was little I had two big obsessions, things I was so crazy about that they were pretty much all I could think about. When I was seven or eight, my dad started reading The Hobbit to me and my brothers as our bedtime story. Of course I became instantly engrossed, and since then I’ve been a huge fan of JRR Tolkien. I loved hearing about the adventures of Bilbo, Gandalf and the dwarves. Naturally, in the thirty years or so since, my appreciation for Tolkien has matured, although I still class myself as a fan (no doubt Jackson’s films have had an influence).

On the other hand, my second huge childhood obsession has faded and disappeared: I used to love Disney and Disney films. For some reason, again when I was around seven or eight or so, I used to insist my mum put videos of things like Aladdin and Beauty And The Beast on for me to watch ad nauseam. I used to watch them for hours and hours, even bursting into tears when they ended. Something about the animation and the songs made me engrossed. Then, when my parents took us to visit Disneyland in California in 1994, I was over the moon.

The great irony of this combination of fixations, I now realise, is that they are pretty much incompatible: as I just heard in this video, Tolkien loathed Disney. It is well known that Professor Tolkien was very much a traditionalist, and relished traditional modes of storytelling. As such, he hated the way Disney cartoons made light of fairy tales like Snow White, rendering the dwarves as bumbling, comedic idiots, rather than the proud mine-digging civilisation he would render them as. He detested the way Disney toned down such stories, seemingly infantilising and patronising audiences. As the video notes, the Hobbit may have been a children’s book, but there is still a gravity to it; it never talks down to readers, and can still be appreciated by adults.

It amuses me that two of the things I was so obsessed with as a kid now seem so at odds with each other. One of Tolkien’s biggest fears was that Disney would get the filming rights to The Hobbit and turn it into a pile of commercial pap. Knowing what I now do about the American film industry, I can certainly see where he was coming from. Fortunately that never happened, and in my opinions the adaptations of Tolkien’s work we now have are as good as they could have been. As storytellers, Tolkien and Disney were the complete antithesis of one another, yet as a child I was captivated by both; they both whisked me to all kinds of magical places. Now, however, I see one as one of the greatest writers of the twentieth century, and the other as one of the biggest driving forces behind the genericism and commercialism of film.

I had a very, very close shave this afternoon: in fact I’m very lucky indeed to still have my right hand. I was just going along the regents canal at a leisurely pace. I think I have said here before that it’s probably my favourite route. Despite the cloudy sky it was fairly busy. All of a sudden, a dog that I was passing in the opposite direction jumped up and bit at my right hand. It was a hell of a shock. Of course I came to an immediate halt. Fortunately the snarling beast only got my jacket sleeve, but it was within centimetres of sinking it’s teeth into my hand. I was very shocked and turned to face the dogs owner, automatically insisting that the violent animal be put down, but the cowardly bastard tried to ignore the whole incident and continued on his way.

Needless to say I’m still quite shaken up about what happened earlier. The entire episode only lasted a few seconds, but it was extremely violent. It could have been far worse, and I’m staggered that I was not injured. It could even have caused me to swerve into the canal. A few other walkers stopped to ask if I was all right having seen what happened, but there wasn’t much they could do.

This has only increased my disdain for dogs. Animals as violent as the one which attacked me today should not be allowed to exist, let alone walk around a city like London. The beast’s owner made absolutely no effort to control it. I’m not sure what breed it was, but I think it was one of the bull terriers which will hopefully soon be banned. Above all, though, I’m just relieved that I wasn’t seriously hurt.

I’m not sure why we haven’t heard anything about this in the mainstream media, but if you want to catch up on speculation about a mysterious potential ninth planet in the solar system, check this video out. As the guy in the video says, all scientists have to go on as yet are hints, but based on the orbits of several other bodies orbiting the sun, there could be a massive object somewhere outside Uranus with a very, very long orbit. Needless to say, I find this fascinating: the video even goes as far as positing that it could be a tiny yet massive black hole. Evidence has been growing over the last few years or so, but given we have not had any direct confirmation yet, this is probably something to keep an eye on.

I don’t think The Zone Of Interest is the kind of film you can write any kind of fulsome review about, at least if you want to concentrate on things like narrative or character. I went to see it at The Barbican yesterday with John and Mitch. It had been on our ‘to watch’ list for a couple of weeks. Now that we have seen it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more disquieting, unsettling film: set during the holocaust, The Zone Of Interest is about the banality of evil. We glimpse the day-to-day life of the commandant of Auschwitz: a family man trying to cope with state bureaucracy and the needs of his wife, while in the background we get clues of unimaginable horror. At about 105 minutes it’s not a particularly long film, but it’s artistry and importance lies in the fact that we are never directly shown what is going on: the horror is only ever alluded to, as if the characters were running a factory like any other. For example, they discuss designs for new gas chambers as if they were discussing any other piece of machinery or architecture. The difference being that both the characters and audience know that they are talking about the mechanics of mass murder, which is what makes it so chilling.

I wouldn’t say The Zone Of Interest is an easy film to watch; it certainly isn’t a piece of standard, post-classical Hollywood cinema. Stylistically, it is quite jarring and haunting, the screen going blank for several seconds two or three times during the film. Of course, this suits the sheer horror of the text. Thus it is not a film one watches to enjoy, or get a thrill from watching: it is a film which says something about the mundanity of evil, warning us that it is all too evil to overlook if we’re not careful.

In my entry yesterday I mentioned that I was looking at my posts from February 2012. To be honest I was curious to see what I was thinking back then, and to remind myself how I felt. London was about to host it’s third Olympic Games, and I had suddenly found myself living in a city about to become the centre of the world’s attention.

I can’t help wondering whether I would get the same feeling if I was in Paris right now: the same sensation of almost visceral excitement as the city prepared to host the world. There is no denying that there was a degree of apprehension in London in the spring of 2012; yet everyone here knew that we would probably never experience a summer like that again. Truth be told I can’t help envying Parisians that sensation, and can only urge them to relish it while it lasts.

I was looking through my blog archive earlier. I often like to look at past entries, just to remind myself what I’ve written and to continue the slow process of putting all the missing links back. This morning I came across this entry from February 2012, about the vastness of London. At the time, I felt like I was living in a vast, sprawling place: London felt huge to me, as though it extended almost to infinity in every direction. Compared to the small Cheshire towns where I grew up, Greater London’s sheer size felt quite incomprehensible.

Yet, since then, London seems to have shrunk. The feeling of vastness which it once had is now no longer there: I have now grown to know this city and how to get around it. I can now get from one side of the metropolis to the other quite easily. Of course, this feeling has no doubt been boosted by improvements in public transport like the Elizabeth Line, but I also think that it helps that I now feel very much at home in London.

Yesterday afternoon for instance, I enjoyed a lovely long trundle to Lewisham, through Deptford and up as far as the south bank. It was a similar trundle to the one I wrote about here. It took two or three hours, but I now feel confident enough to try such long trips. It’s an if I have the whole of humanity on my doorstep waiting for me to explore. Places which once seemed like they were miles away now feel within walking distance, or at most a tube ride away.

At the same time, London still has a type of awesomeness and intrigue which it has always held for me. I still think of it as a microcosm: people from all over the world live here, speaking countless languages representing countless cultures. One of the things which made London feel so vast was this variety, and that has not changed. Yet where once I associated diversity with distance I now tie it to tightness and community. Riding the Jubilee Line this afternoon I heard multiple voices speaking languages from all over the globe.

London is still a microcosm, but perhaps the operative syllable is “micro”. After all, I now have experience of far more geographically sprawling cities than London – Delhi, for instance. Yet the metropolis still has the qualities which made it so beguiling and intriguing when I first moved here, and still make me want to go out and explore it. The difference is, all that wondrous diversity now feels within touching distance, as if I merely need to get in my powerchair to explore the entire globe, or at least one of the greatest cities on it.

Sunday night is now my pizza night, the night of the week when I treat myself to a pizza from thee shop just up the road. I just got home from placing my order for later, and this evening I noticed something rather cool: I didn’t have to say anything. When I rolled up to the shop door, the lady recognised me. She knew what I wanted, and after confirming it with me also confirmed my address and the time I wanted it delivered. All I needed to say was ‘yes’, and after they had taken my money to pay I was free to go. The whole exchange was over in less than five minutes, and couldn’t have been more easy. It’s not that I have anything against communicating per se, but when you have to type what you need to tell people a word at a time, little things like this make life much more convenient.

I think I better note something which struck me as a bit odd a couple of days ago. I was in Eltham High Street, when I noticed that one of the Bric-a-Brac shops was selling American Confederate Flags. I might be overreacting, but does that not strike anyone else as a bit dark, even potentially racist? After all, the American Confederacy rebelled to maintain slavery and the African slave trade; it was a fundamentally racist country which was fortunately defeated 160 years ago. Why on Earth would a shop in South-East London be selling it’s flags? To be honest it seemed akin to selling swastikas. More to the point, why would anyone who is even remotely familiar with history want to buy one.

My dad being my dad, he often suggests that it’s time for me to start some sort of longer writing project. I tend to agree: of course, I blog here almost every day about whatever comes to mind, but blog entries are just short and swift. I want to start working on something more sustained as well. The problem is, coming up with ideas. It would need to be something that I could really get my teeth into.

I have been thinking about it for a while, and recently came upon an idea which would bring together two of my biggest interests. It’s only a rough idea, and could probably do with some refinement, but I am thinking of looking at the extent to which London is a cinematic city. Of course, the metropolis has appeared in countless films, and may well be one of the most photographed urban areas in the world; yet I want to look into how London is represented in film, and how that representation may differ from my experiences as a Londoner with a disability. Again, it’s only a hazy idea at the moment, and I’m not sure exactly how I’ll go about answering it, but at least it is something to keep me busy.

I was googling slightly randomly earlier, trying to find my old film tutor’s master’s thesis to show to John (we were discussing Moby Dick, which Alan was an expert on). Through the combination of search terms I used, Google turned up my own thesis, which has been uploaded to the university website. To my great pleasure, it also said how many citations my thesis has had: three. That means my work is mentioned in at least three bibliographies, somewhere. Not only that but, looking a little further, I saw that my thesis has been downloaded over 300 times. I must admit that made me feel rather chuffed. I know three citations over ten years isn’t much, and that other, more useful work gets referenced much, much more; but it is good to know that the text I worked so hard on for so long is actually being read and made use of, if just occasionally.

I went up to Stratford again this afternoon. As usual I encountered a group of street preachers just outside the station there. They were very loud, shouting all kinds of absurd things through a speaker, threatening people with being sent to hell unless they listened. Some of what they were saying strayed into homophobia, and at one point I was accused of being possessed by daemons. People there were trying to go about their business in peace, but the noise being made was inescapable. Surely I can’t be the only person who finds this not just intrusive and annoying, but actively offensive?

I suppose this entry is a bit of a confession. I was out and about as usual again today, over near Canada Water. It was getting on a bit, so I thought I’d hop onto a bus to make my way home. A couple of stops after I got on, Twitter guys also got on through the front door. One had Down’s syndrome and I think the other also had learning difficulties. They were both wearing lanyards, obviously having just left a nearby college or something. To my shame I caught myself looking around and wondering whether they had some kind of carer or chaperone with them. It surprised me to see two guys with LD out on their own. Of course, it then immediately occurred to me that a lot of other people probably think the same when they see me out and about; and that if I don’t need anyone following me around, why should these guys? It seems certain stereotypes are hard to outgrow, no matter how enlightened and open minded we try to be.

I just came across this Guardian article and I’m suddenly very concerned indeed. With more and more local authorities increasingly strapped for cash, it appears the so-called ‘warehousing’ of disabled people is starting to make an ugly reappearance. That is, rather than being supported to live in our own homes independently with the help of Personal Assistants, we’re increasingly being sent back to live in institutions or care homes like we were thirty or forty years ago. Frankly, I find that absolutely chilling.

Luckily I have been relatively independent all my life: I grew up as part of a loving, supportive family. Going to university gave me my first real taste of living on my own, choosing what to eat and when, and what I wanted to do. Then, when I moved in with Lyn here in London fourteen years ago, it became impossible for me to imagine a life without absolute agency: surely I have the rights and liberties of any other person. However, I have heard what life is like in such institutions for disabled people, without such liberties: being told when to get up and when to go to bed; having no choice over what you eat; not being allowed to leave the institution without permission or without a ‘carer’ with you. I think Lyn herself lived in such a prison for a time before I met her. She told me how she was perpetually treated like an infant.

To be honest I think I would rather die than be institutionalised like that, I value the freedoms I have so much. Yet because of the cuts the government is now inflicting on local authorities, it is becoming a very real prospect for many disabled people; people who are now used to living on their own and are perfectly capable of doing so. As the Guardian article notes, many people are now trying to find ways to resist being warehoused, but as government money gets tighter and tighter, I fear it will be an uphill struggle. More and more people with less and less severe disabilities are probably going to be ‘encouraged’ to relinquish their independence. I know that social services are unlikely to set their sights on me in my flat, at least for a while; but as a disabled man I nonetheless find that a very worrying, troubling prospect.

Something quite awesome happened out on my trundle this afternoon. The skies above London are notoriously busy, with planes and helicopters flying around almost constantly. Well, I was near Lewisham trying to follow the Thames west for a bit, when I started to hear a helicopter overhead. I thought little of it at first, but it persisted, so I looked up to see it was a London Air Ambulance. As I continued my walk I noticed it getting lower and lower, seeming to circle the area I was in. Pretty soon it grew very loud indeed: it was obviously landing very close by. Remarkably, I came upon a park just in time to watch the huge red helicopter touch down on the grass and the crew get out. It made my jaw drop. I knew they were attending an emergency and that someone nearby obviously needed help, but to see such an awesome, spectacular sight so suddenly and unexpectedly felt like a real treat. This city will always have the potential to surprise me.

It has been a while since I posted anything about American politics or Donald Trump, but I really think this video is worth checking out. It’s quite a thorough analysis of trump: the man clearly has no idea what he is talking about, but aspires to be some kind of dictator. Any intelligent person can see him for the buffoon he is, but as the video explains, trumps own lack of comprehension actually makes him quite dangerous.

Watching the breakfast news earlier I noticed a short item about the Paris Olympics: it still isn’t for six months and they’re already talking about it. Obviously they were focusing on the sport side of things, but what I’m most interested in are the ceremonies. To be honest I’m expecting nothing less than spectacular from Paris this summer; anything else would be a disappointment.

Mind you, I’ve already started to wonder about the LA Olympics in four years. I’d be curious to know whether they have already started to plan their ceremonies: Los Angeles is supposedly the entertainment capital of the world, after all. I wonder if they would try to do something similar to having James Bond escort the Queen, a la London 2012.

Strangely, the prospect that they might do so interests me. We know how competitive American culture can get, so I reckon that there will already be several film studios vying to have their characters and franchises foregrounded like James Bond was. What producer wouldn’t be dying to have their lead character be shown to escort the President from Washington to LA? It would obviously give that character a status in American culture like no other. After all, Happy and Glorious was arguably the stand out moment of the 2012 Olympic opening ceremony – the bit everyone still remembers, a moment of incomparable national pride. Then again, do any American fictional characters resonate with America culturally in the same way that James Bond resonates with Britain? I don’t think any character holds the same cultural significance. Nonetheless, the execs of every film studio in the States must be jumping over one another to get their franchise used in such a moment of national glory. The question is, what could the ceremony planners do? What character could be linked to the American state like 007 was linked with the UK twelve years ago? Jason Bourne? Agent Jay from Men in Black? Captain Jack Sparrow? I suppose we’ll have to just wait and see.

I was just watching the local BBC London news, when this story pricked my attention. “A teenage boy from London has become one of the first in the world to be treated with a new brain device. Surgeons at the Evelina Children’s Hospital hope it will help Sean Igbokwe deal with the uncontrolled movements caused by his cerebral palsy.” The device apparently works like a car gearbox, helping to filter unneeded brain signals. Not that I think CP necessarily needs a ‘cure’ – I’m perfectly happy as I am, thankyou very much – but I can’t help thinking this is very exciting news. No doubt it will improve the lives of many people with severe CP. Mind you, I can’t help thinking that cybernetic devices like this are just another step closer to humanity becoming the Borg.

You can probably tell from my last couple of entries that I haven’t been having the best week. To cheer myself up, this afternoon I took myself on one of my favourite walks along the regents canal. It’s a long, quiet walk across the north of London, through fascinating suburbs like Camden, towards the city centre. It was exactly what I needed. One of the things I noticed, though, was the number of Palestinian flags which have appeared: I saw them all over the place, stuck to lamp posts and fences. I also saw things like “Free Palestine” and “Free Gaza” scrawled everywhere. I don’t know how significant this is: obviously it’s a response to what is happening in the Middle East, but I really hope it’s not a symptom of something more ominous and intolerant.

I really don’t want to go into detail about this, but I have a knack of screwing things up and making things worse when I’m trying to help people. From time to time, I get these big, bold ideas about how to make a situation better, so I set off with resolve. But in the end it turns out that I misunderstood things, got the wrong end of the stick and should just have stayed at home. I’m afraid today was such a day: we don’t need to go into detail, but I set off thinking I could do something to resolve a situation, but came home feeling dejected and useless, and afraid I’ve made things even worse.

Does anyone else have such days, or is it just me?

I think I really need to flag this Steve Shives video up today, as it’s one of the most articulate and interesting pieces of analysis I’ve found on Youtube in a while. In it, Shives starts to explore star ratings and how, in reacting to anything both online and off, we’re now encourage to give five star ratings to anything we encounter. Such ratings have become a kind of currency: particularly in America, people now feel socially obliged to give the highest rating to everything whether they liked it or not, rather like tipping. As Shives says, such ratings have thus become meaningless in assessing how good something is.

This can be applied to anything, including film of course. These days, films are often assessed and compared via the number of stars they have, especially online. Numerous film review websites use such ratings to rank films currently in cinemas. The problem is, such stars are usually not awarded using any objective criteria. Shives has an issue with the principal that someone can actively dislike a film, but still award it five stars for various other reasons – perhaps to keep a particular actor or director high in the rankings. Yet that reminds me of my work on cinephilia: should we try to judge films based on some form of objective criteria, or should we go with our subjective opinions, or try to use both? If we rank films based on a set of externally mandated criteria, then in theory it would be possible to award a film a maximum rating, even though a reviewer may dislike the film overall. Yet would that not still make a nonsense of such ratings? Doesn’t a reviewer, by definition, have to like a film to award it a maximum score?

I’m still intrigued by all this. Shives goes into far more detail in his film, and it’s well worth watching. It’s a great example of how articulate and nuanced this form of online video discourse is becoming, seemingly picking up upon debates found in film journals, and taking them in fascinating new directions

Something rather odd happened earlier. It was only a fleeting event, but it struck me as so strange that it was worth noting here.  I was out and about again, crossing Shooters Hill road. When I cross roads in my powerchair, I use zebra crossings where I can. When I do, I have a habit of waving to the waiting drivers in thanks as I cross.  I know they are legally supposed to stop when they see people waiting at zebra crossings, but it just seems friendly to recognise their gesture. I just raise my left hand and nod towards the waiting drivers. Mind you, I usually have the cloth I wipe away my dribble with in that hand, so it probably looks like I’m waving it at them.

Crossing Shooters Hill earlier, everything had gone as it usually does: two cars had stopped, I’d crossed and waved. I was about to continue my journey, though, when all of a sudden a strange man came up to me and cried “Wow! That was the most cheerful crossing I’ve ever seen!” before continuing on his way. I don’t know whether it was cheerful or not, but it certainly struck me as an odd thing to hear when you’re crossing the road.

I just came across this on my Facebook feed. I find it staggering I must say, not only because Johnson spouted such utter rubbish - Trump belongs in jail, and the fact that America could even consider electing the charlatan again is frankly bewildering – but also because he has the gall and temerity to assume anyone still takes his opinions seriously. The world could really do without either of these jumped up, arrogant fraudsters.