I just watched the film Ghandi with dad. It’s a truly excellent film. I just want to say how much I’m in awe of this softly-spoken man, and how much I admire his methods of non-violent protest. I wanted to see it partly because I like Richard Attenborough’s work, and partly because I wanted to try to use the British Raj as a frame of comparison for what the Americans are doing in Iraq. In this era of the war on terror, where I feel neither the terrorists nor the Americans are in the right, we could do with a “great soul” like his around.

Often, I refer to the current state of affairs as a war of vengeance for 9/11, and I am reminded of Ghandi’s words: “an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind”

Let me start this entry with a confession: I don’t like staying away from home. I’m a complete wimp about it. I like being with my parents and my brothers, safe at home, with my room, and my bed. It is for this reason that when my parents wanted me to try staying a night or two a week at school, age 14, I cried my eyes out.

Never mind that there were kids half my age who stayed all week, something about Resi made me want my mummy.

See! I’m a complete wuss!

Why oh why am I now, age 21, starting t feel the same feelings of apprehension about university? I’ve been through this with myself again and again: if I don’t leave home now, when will I do it? Do I want to be the only 50 year old still living with his parents? No. therefore this is something I must do, for both mine and my parent’s sanity. To be sure, part of me is looking forward to it: more freedom than ever before, cool people to talk to, bars etc.

And yet there’s that old familiar tingle in my stomach which tells me to stay in bed and hope the problem will go away. What if I don’t find out where lectures are? What if I forget something? What if I’ve missed something I’m supposed to know? All these things are now going through my head, and I’m not sure what to do. Frankly, I’m scared.

I’m also scared that I’ll bottle it, and ask to be taken home. That must not happen – leaving home starts now, or it never will. As much as I worry about the big, wide world, I really do not want to say home all my life, never to see thhings like the amason or the great barrier reef. I cannot – I must not – be a wuss all my life.

“He who joyfully marches to music rank and file, has already earned my contempt. He has been given a large brain by mistake, since for him the spinal cord would surely suffice. This disgrace to civilization should be done away with at once. Heroism at command, how violently I hate all this, how despicable and ignoble war is;

I would rather be torn to shreds than be a part of so base an action. It is my conviction that killing under the cloak of war is nothing but an act of murder.” – albert einshien

I hate when people pat me on the head. It’s silly! Folks think I’m aged five, rruffle my hair, and talk down to me. I hate it, and it makes me want to kick their condescending little asses. But there are times when such behaviour is useful, and even endearing. I’ll explain:

I know this fine old English pub, called The Swettenham Arms. It’s way out in the countryside, down quaint little lanes; Dad says he found the place in the old CAMRA guide, and we sometimes went there when we were little. Last summer, I discovered the place, although well outside walking distance, was well within reach of my wheelchair, so I decided to mount an expedition to have a drink or two there. The thing was, although I offered many times, the owners – kind, elderly people – wouldn’t let me pay for drinks. They refuse o take my money, but they talk to me, hold my cup steady etc. and even though they sometimes talk down to me, they’re so nice that I don’t mind.

I was over there this afternoon: the bar keeper helped me with my Pepsi (free) and, as we chatted, stuffed two mint chocolates in my mouth. I think they were a bit surprised to find that I am going to university, and was able to enquire about the pub’s history (it’s 16th century), but, although their voices became less patronising, the chocolate still kept coming.

It’s such a nice place too. Just past the pub, the road gives way to bridal path, which leads one through some very picturesque scenery for five or six KM, but brings one out on the main Congleton-Homes Chapel road, which is too dangerous for me to go along. Also, directly behind the pub is a gate to a nature reserve, which I’m yet to explore.

As these people were so kind to me, I think it necessary to convince dad to go their more often, as I feel these kind people need to be paid somehow. If we buy a meal or two there, my conscience would be clear. I’m sure many of my friends would say that these folks were being highly patronising, but I just cant resent them if they are so kind.

No doubt you will have gathered, from my lack of entries, that I’ve been away since Wednesday. Mind you, I’m not the most frequent of bloggers, so you may just have thought that I was just being my usual lazy self, but let me assure you the former was the case. I had an excellent time down south, and we did more than usual this time.

When we go to visit my Yaiya, its usually just for two or three days, and we nearly always simply hang around her house (either that or I get left behind while my parents go shopping). Tres dull. This time, however, was different – we actually went places!

The first day – Wednesday – we went to the famous science museum. Mum had to work, so myself, Luke, my cousin Cyril and Dad took a bus into the city centre, which is a rare event in itself. At that time, we did not know that most new London busses are adapted to accommodate wheelchairs, so I thought I had to get out of the chair to get onto the bus. This was ok, as I needed the exercise. The museum itself was fine, and not too crowded, although I did get rather peeved when a woman pushed in front of me to use a computer that I was just rolling up to. I think she heard when I shouted the word “bitch” at her fat arse. It was strange, though, how much that little incident irritated me: I was fuming all afternoon.

The next day, however, was the coolest from my perspective. I had arranged – that is, cajoled dad and Luke into arranging – to go see Becca for an hour or so. Why she agreed to let us all into her house I do not know, but it was very cool to chat with them for an hour or two. Not for the last time I wished I had brought my Lightwriter, but we managed. My parents seemed very impressed with both Becca and Katy, and they were quite taken when she told them she had chosen not to be ambulant. It was Kate’s decision to, use a chair more than walk, which would surprise many able-bodied people, especially if they cling to the medical model. All in all, it was a very enjoyable couple of hours – far better than those spent watching the chronicles of Riddick.

If Thursday was the coolest day from my perspective, then Friday was the coolest from Dad’s, for he got to walk around a farm chomping apples. We had all driven – yaiya included – into deepest, darkest Kent, to a fruit farm. I couldn’t resist, upon arrival, asking for a scone with cream and jam, for I had gone all nostalgic for all things British: the sun was shining, cricket was on the radio. We toured the farm, with a very learned guide, who let us taste all the different types of fruit grown there for research purposes. However, not satisfied with the small chunks the guide gave us, dad took to picking his own from the tree. As for myself, given half a chance I could have made one hell of a mess of the plumb trees.

The next day, I woke late, but still in time for breakfast and a walk into Harlesden for the regular surplices we get while in London. It is, by the way, the only place we have found which sells straws by the hundred. That afternoon, myself, Luke and Cyril went into the city centre for the Liberty Festival in Trafalgar square. This was a large disability festival, full of disability culture. While the disabled have a few things to be angry about, the festival was peaceful, filled with music, comedy and dance. Katy was there, and introduced us to her friends. I got to see Francesca Martinez perform, which I had wanted to see for some time, although from what I could tell she had not adapted her act for the occasion. I missed my Lightwriter, as it was noisy and communication with Katy et al was difficult. It was also very hot, so after about an hour I decided to be merciful to Luke and Cyril and go home. Nevertheless, it renewed my pride in who I am, and reminded me that I belong to a huge, great community of disabled people, who face just the same problems I do.

You lot know my attitude to religion by now, but Sunday was the anniversary of my Bappou’s death, so we went to church. It was the typical Sunday sermon, after which we took communion, and went to eat in a nearby ‘Armenian’ restraint. I certainly cannot complain about not eating well this week, as we ate at a Mexican resteraunt on the way back from Kent, giving my Yaiya her first taste of Mexican food. I think she liked it.

Well, that’s about it: we had a slow, relaxing, Sunday afternoon, and got home just after 10pm. I still miss Bappou each time we go down there, but this time I had a lot of fun. I also have a new mobile phone, which I am still learning how to use, and trying to resist the urge to throw it across the room in frustration.

Some time ago I made you (all?) aware of a Harry Potter-based Fanfic called Summon the Lambs to Slaughter. This novel is of great interest to me in that it explores the very nature of good and evil, by portraying a character conventionally thought of as evil as actually working for good. The main protagonist has cerebral palsy (CP), but Snape’s bitterness and hostility towards her actually benefit her by forcing her not to rely on the gadgets and gizmos she is usually afforded.

In the story, what is thought of as evil (and, frankly, inhumane) is actually seen by the protagonist as good. Thus the story vividly explains why ‘good’ and ‘evil’ are blurred. Thus I find it absurd for the republicans to be talking in such terms. To portray oneself as ‘fighting evil’ is as juvenile as it is arrogant, and no doubt bin laden sees himself as doing the same. The war on terror is not Tolkien’s War of the Ring, nor is it the fourth world war. Bush is neither Frodo nor Churchill, and to view terrorists as another Hitler is a gross oversimplification. They know no borders, and I fear that they will multiply as America romps so eagerly throughout the world in it’s current crusade.

For, like it or not, religion is a major part of this war. I am an atheist: I see no evidence of a god, save for his venom. At school, I saw kids suffer and struggle for life while the teachers fed us platitudes and kept us away from the public. And I ask myself: “what God would allow this?” God is not there, and for the republicans to prey to him as they fight this war against Evil is merely a sign of their stupidity. Religion is for the weak. Republicans use it as an excuse for their tunnel-vision –their belief in a free-market economy, which breeds only greed and corruption at the expense of the majority. Socialism may not work, but one of it’s downfalls was the greed an selfishness of humanity.

Another example of the sheer childishness of the people attending this convention was the way Moore was booed, like kids booing the villain at a pantomime. He dares to question your views, tries to make you look outside the tunnel: maybe America isn’t the great land your fathers said it was. Maybe it is corrupt and flawed, like any other country on earth. Admittedly, it no longer has the highest crime rate (I just looked it up.) Yet you condemn Moore as a traitor for speaking his mind and questioning dogma.

You criticise Kerry while supporting a man who has seen no battle. You were so eager for vengeance for 9/11 that you believed the claptrap about the links between al qa’ida and Iraq: links which amount to a few money transactions and a hospital stay. It is almost as if you want to prove to the world how big and macho you really are, after someone kicked you in the nuts. Have you ever wondered why you got that kick, other than the typical “they hate our freedom”. Well, maybe they do, but if so they are fools and deserve only to be ignored.

I have written enough. Let the fools play soldiers.

just so u lot know, i’m in london ’till sunday, so I’ll not be able to blog much ths week. sorry dude(s).

Just a little thought: no doubt you’va all seen the film ‘unbreakable’ (rather crappy, innit?) which proposes that, if superheroes exist, so do their antithisis. I’ve been recently wondering about something similar with reference to the olympics. The gymnastics got me thinking – there are these athletes who can perform these superhuman feats, jumping and spinning through the air in unfathomable ways, and on the other hand, there’s me who tripped over his own feet, and chaps like my mates at school, who can barely control their bodies. I’m not aying that I necesarily envy the gymnast, But I just think it srange that they seem so opposite to people like me.

I can think of very little to write about, today. Tomorrow I should be going to another meeting about inclusive schooling, so that should give me something to rant about, but today is grey and overcast. It’s the type of day you just want to put Michael Palin videos on, and forget about the weather, but then I’d feel guilty about not writing anything. I’ve just been to La Guerra’s blog, where tethers a long essay about Metalica, which made me feel guilty even more.

So, I could launch into a diatribe about politics, but my dealings with certain yank conservatives have made me question my political stance. Now I’m not sure that my usual stance of All Tories Are Eejuts is true, because they say I need evidence for it. I know they’re wrong, but cant explain why, which kind of makes me uneasy.

When I was little and felt like I do at present, I’d simply go ask mum and dad for a cuddle. I kind of feel insecure, but I’m unsure why. I could just be bored. I’m a bit worried about university, too, but shouldn’t be because I should be looking forward to it. Its just a step into the unknown, away from home, etc.

Anyway, I feel a bit better now I’ve written this. It has, for one thing, shut that little part of me that accuses me of being lazy up. For some reason, it always sounds like my mum!

I got my results today. I was quietly confident, but apprehensive at the same time, if thats not a paradox. anyway, I wasn’t prepared to hear that the four d’s I needed were, in fact, 1c, 2 b’s and an a. yes, you read right: the cripple, ill-informed by about 12 years at a dumping-ground speciial school, is off to university. Mind you, I need to work on my planning skills: South cheshire college don’t give results out over the phone – I’d banked on them doing so, either that or Luke being availlable to take me 7 miles to crewe. Niether did they give results over the phone, nor was my brother so disposed. fortunately, dad went in to pick them up, and so he phoned home to tell me the best results I ever had.

cripples going to university? my, these exams are getting easy!

I watched Baz lurman’s Romeo and Juliet last night. My cousin’s over, and he and Luke were watching tripple X downstairs. I have no interest in the latter film, as I see it as an attempt to basicaly turn bond into an american. besides, it had been ages since I’d seen any shakespeare.

I must say, mrr lurrpack did a fine job. he stuck splendidly to the script, and although he had mercutio in drag as he spoke his most exquisite soliiiloquy, it was the joy to watcch. He did the seemingly impossible in merging shakespeare’s language with the modern world, but I think this was partly doone through a very rich, ornate mise-en-scene. in other words,the lavish sets and rather novel camera work bridged the gap between the elizebethen language and modernity. Thus, although it no oubt baffled many people, I think the directors choice to use the original script was a good one, but only because the cinimatography was eqully exotic.

however, there was one drawback to this film, and that was the casting of leonado de crapio. the man’s a wuss! Ok, he didn’t fluff his lines, but he just seemed too girly for the part – too weak. Mind you, casting a stonger male lead would have been a bigger mistake: imagine arnie saying “what light through yonder window breaks? Hasta la vista, julie”. No.

all in all, though, ts a damn good movie, and lurman is to be commended simply for opting to sticck to the origional text. more of the same would be nice.

Luke bought doom 3 today, and I’ve just been watching him play. I always watch my brothers play, since I find such games too fiddly to play myself, requiring the co-ordination of both hands. Its not that I’m particularly jealous of their ability to play: in fact, I probably get as excited as they do, just from watching.

Anyway, this game is sooooo cool! The graphics are like nothing I’ve seen in a game before, and are comparable to those found in a film. I mean, the monsters have shadows! One thing’s for certain: it’d scare mum to death!

If anyone wants me, I’ll be in Luke’s room watching him play!

I wrote the following to denny wilson, explaining my opinion of the war on terror.

Of September the eleventh, 2001

I remember it quite clearly. I had just turned 19 – the age of your nephew – and had began college that week. Because of the abysmal quality of British special schools, I lacked the qualifications to go to university, so September 2001 saw me starting two courses at Macclesfield college, about six miles from my house. The first two days were half days, filled with activities for students to get acquainted with the new surroundings. It was very different from the rather mothering environment of school, which had been more like day-care than education.

The 11th, you will recall, was a Tuesday. I had been brought home in time for lunch. Unusually, both my parents were home from work, perhaps keen to see how I had got on, and after lunch Dad began flipping through satellite television channels. I was slouched in an armchair, not very interested in the television, when dad switched to CNN, and I saw the first tower smoking in the autumn sun.

“A Cessna” I thought, “some idiot in a Cessna had crashed his plane into the tower!” We watched the smoke rise and cover New York, and then a second plane hit. This was no accident; the world had changed.

At that moment I felt personally grieved. I had been up those towers. I had also seen the beauty of the American country; smelt the sequoias up in the Rockies; I had been to a baseball match and had loved every moment; I had read the novels of Hemingway and Twain; in short, I loved America and its people. How could anyone do such a thing? How could anyone hijack a plane and murder so many people in cold blood?

For, regardless of America’s actions abroad, it was in cold blood that those attacks were carried out. At school, I had been around people who had fought so hard for life, many of whom would not reach their twenties. How could these terrorists just throw their life away – not only theirs but those of hundreds more, and for a faith for which they have no proof? I resolved that these people are the antithesis of my friends, whom I regard so highly: these people are scum.

I maintain – and this I swear – that I still love the United states. I love to travel, and would go to your country tomorrow, if I had the chance, although this applies to just about anywhere. I mean no harm to her people: yourself, your sister, and especially not your nephew. However, I would argue that criticising American foreign policy and criticising it’s armed forces are not the same thing, and I know that the latter is doing a fine job.

Yet how can I feel so aggrieved at the atrocities of September the eleventh and not support the war on terror? This, I admit, is a bit of a paradox. There is no doubt that we must prevent another such atrocity. But if we go out and actively seek to kill terrorists, I fear that the fundamentalists will be angered so much that their numbers will swell, rather than deplete. Over the last few days we have seen militancy growing in Iraq, with some reports claiming a death toll of 300. both the CIA and MI5 have, apparently seen evidence of more terrorist preparations, which must be stopped.

Like Hitler, the terrorists must not be appeased, but unlike Hitler, they cannot be invaded. They have no territory we can invade, no battlements we can storm. Attack, and their numbers may multiply; do nothing and they will attack. Bush chose the former, but I would argue that the latter sends out a stronger message: we will not be cowed and continue with our lives regardless. Try to swat a fly, and one will anger it further till it stings again, but stay still and ignore it, and it will fly off.

Nevertheless, please accept this letter as my apology. I have learned many things from your site, and although I still believe that the government, as an extension of the people, is the best way to achieve some kind of equality, I have learned many things from reading your entries. Yours truly, Matthew Goodsell

I never thought I’d say this, but I feel guilty about doing nothing. I’ve had about three weeks of holiday, during which time I’ve done absolutely zilch…. Well, not exactly nothing: I just feels that way because I haven’t had any college work.

So, what the smeg have I been doing? Well, for one I’ve been looking up about a few of my favourite directors, especially peter Jackson. I’ve a lot of respect for him – although Lord Of the Rings was not an exact copy of the book, it seems to me that every effort was made to stay true to Tolkien’s work. Perhaps the most obvious evidence for this comes from the fact that he decided to keep the narrative divided into three parts. He could very easily have just condensed the film into one, given that it can largely be seen as one large story. This fact alone shows that Jackson was very serious about adapting the book, and also that he was highly confident that it would sell cinema tickets. Obviously, most sequels are made after the initial film has been proven a success, and that initial film is usually a self-contained narrative with beginning, middle and end (think The Matrix or Star Wars) but Lord of the Rings (LOTR) is rare in that it was made as a trilogy, and Fellowship of the ring was only a beginning. I cannot think of any other example of this. Jackson was gambling that fellowship would sell, and hook audiences enough to bring them back the following year. In the fickle world of the film industry, the stakes were very high indeed.

But Jackson’s gamble paid off, and he made it do so. He re-created the rich world of Tolkien for film, staying faithful to Tolkien’s creation. He incorporated his languages, maps, chronologies into the film: he maintained the integrity of the books. On my wall hang posters with the original ring poem in it’s elvish form. I am thus satisfied that Jackson succeeded in transferring the books to screen.

The thing is, it may have been so different. For example, what if Disney had beaten Jackson to it? No doubt, such a company would have just made one film, romanticised and Americanised! Look at what such companies do to stuff like Aladdin and Cinderella. Oh god, it’d have looked like the Wizard of Oz! the hobbits would have been like frikkin munchkins! AAARGH! all I can say is thank Illuvitar for peter Jackson and his beautiful native New Zealand! Surely his trilogy stands alongside stuff like Star Wars in the annals of cinema history.

All this pondering over peter Jackson lead me down some weird channels of thought. If a book like LOTR, can be filmed so well, surely anything can be filmed.

Yesterday, I was reading up on Jackson, and discovered that they’re intending to make a film out off….guess what…..[huge spastic grin]…The magic roundabout! Holy shit! How cool is that? I hope Quentin Tarrintino directs it! That’d rule.

Also, I read on Sunday that Matt Stone And Trey Parker are making another film, this time wwith Puppets. It’s called team America, and they haven’t released too much information on it. As far as I can gather, its another of their obscene political satires about post 9/11 America, and it takes the mick out of characters as diverse as bush and Moore. It should be good.

But I’m yet to see Farrenhiet 9/11, I, Robot and a bunch of other films. Time to go harass my brother into taking me o the cinema.

Let me start this entry by admitting that my parents were right about two things: they were right when they said that I am crap at planning stuff, and they were right when they said that Hebden Green was a waste of time. Both of these things I realised, once and for all, yesterday.

I had been invited to a meeting of a local disability network by Becca – who, I should say, is fast becoming a good friend of mine – part of whose agenda concerned inclusive schooling. I am becoming increasingly aware just how sinister the segregation between mainstream and ‘special’ schools is: report after report shows the gaping divide between these two types of school in terms of quality of education. Socially, the fact that students with special needs are taken to completely separate schools, using completely different school busses, is reminiscent of apartheid. Thus, when Becca invited me to a meeting where this issue would be discussed, I thought it a valuable use of my time to attend.

The problem was getting there. I had to ask Luke to take me, which, noble man that he is, he agreed to do, even though it meant him taking hours out of his time. This was not helped by the fact that the directions and map I got from the internet were as accurate as using a toothpick for a compass needle, and to cut a long story short, we arrived over an hour and a half late at our destination…

…which, thanks to the beurocratic nature of such organisations, meant we arrived during an opening discussion on how minutes were taken. We entered the meeting hall, and instantly were invited to sit next to Becca and Katie, who I had communicated a lot over the net with, but had never actually met. I must admit that I am very much impressed with Becca’s vast knowledge of the issue, her resolve, and her determination: due to Katie’s condition, bringing them both up to Manchester from north London must not have been easy, either. Nevertheless, we had arrived well before the discussion on inclusive schooling was to begin, which meant I had time to get a cup of tea, and assess my surroundings.

Most people there had disabilities of various kinds. I think me, Katie, Becca and Luke were the youngest people there. Gemma, an highly articulate woman with CP, was the chief speaker, but Felicity – an AB former teacher – seemed to be chair. However, it soon became apparent how much in fighting and petty beurocratic squabbling there was even within this meting of some ten people. Myself, Becca, Katie and Gemma seemed united over the issue, which, since we had all experienced the special school system to varying degrees, I think is quite natural, yet various other (older) people seemed only to care for their particular social subgroup, and, it must be said, were cantankerous almost to the point of being an obstacle.

Nevertheless, one of the outcomes of this meeting was the idea that we should set up a specialist conference about the issue of inclusive schooling, with workshops about the various aspects of the issue. There are many hurdles to overcome, both physical and social. On the physical side, there is the problem that many existing mainstream schools are not adapted for disabled pupils – there are stairs where lifts are needed, doors are often too arrow for larger wheelchairs, and so on. However, it seems that the social problems involved are far more insidious: although what physical problems there are can be overcome by making adaptations to the school, whether they will be made by a council which does not seem to want to make them is another question entirely. During the meeting, Becca pointed out that only one English borough had signed an international accord on inclusive schooling. Time and time again, such councils find reasons – a more appropriate word would be excuses – not to implement inclusion, a fact which this report clearly shows. When governments choose to send kids to different schools, for whatever reason, there can only be one term for it: apartheid.

Like the struggle in south Africa before 1992, the struggle to make education truly inclusive will be long and hard. But yesterday, I vowed to see it through, helping Becca and Katie however I can.

The other day, I was looking up stuff about brian lara, tthe west inddies cricket captain. Do you know he once scored 500 not out? I mean, that is mucho impressive.

[btw england just got lara out. its 178-4] anyway, I found a site which suggests cricket isactually played in the states! ha. I wouldn’t have thougt they had the ppatience, but this generalisation may be wrong.

yet, on second thoughts, the generalisation may be accurate: test-mach cricket is quite a slow sport, whiich requires patience to play. if american forign policy is anything to go by, the americans seem too eager to have tthingshappen at that moment. they rush all over tthe world, seeking members of a loose organisation, rather than waiting for them to make a mistake. if u set your field too aggressively, u sttand to get struck by ttthee ball on your head.

link

It’s a nice day, and should the cloud cover we’re currently experiencing go, it should be a scorcher. Pretty much the first this year/ on days like this, I like to get out and about, for while I can spend hours behind my computer, surfing the web, I like to get out and about. I woke up this morning and thought it a perfect day to go out on my F55 wheelchair. While I am fine walking about the house, where there are plenty of soft things to land on should I fall, going outside is another question. The answer is the Defiant, named after a ship in star trek; a fairly nippy little chair which allows me to roam independently as far as Swettenham.

So, I got up, dressed, and during breakfast asked Luke if he could get my chair out of the garage. He asked me if I had dad’s permission. This is a problem – I have no doubt dad would say yes, and that it was fine for me to go a-roaming, provided I had made a blog entry. Recently, he’s been reminding me to make more entries for some reason – I think he just wants something interesting to read when he’s at work.

The problem isn’t that writing blog entries is a chore: it can be very interesting, and somewhat relaxing. When I am writing about something which interests or angers me, writing is very easy, and about three hours later, I have a page of fairly eloquent text to add to my blog. For example, a recent entry on inclusive schooling was banged out one afternoon after a conversation on MSN Massager with my friend Becca. I feel very strongly about that subject.

The problem, however, is finding a subject interesting enough to write about. I could go off on one of my political rants, but they might be getting lame; I could launch into a tirade against bush, but I think most people who are reading this know what the W in his name stands for, and anyway I need to read up on the 9/11 report before I can write again on that subject with any authority. I also need to read the Butler report.

Which brings me to a second subject which I could have a good rant about. This week saw Tony Blair talking in the commons with more authority than he has had in quite some time. His party seem to be behind him again, and chances are that he’ll regain some of his popularity. The question is, how did Blair do it? Of course, he is greatly helped by the Tories being in such an amusing shambles: most media commentators say Blair trounced Michael Howard in the commons on Tuesday, and I personally like to think his days are numbered as Tory leader. How, then, after Blair lead the country into a deeply unpopular and barely legal war, can he be allowed to escape? When labour’s popularity should be at an all-time low, the opposition leader insists on making ludicrous comments along the lines of “if I knew then what I know now, then I wouldn’t have supported the war”, and then going on to say that he still supports the war. Eh? How can anyone make such a stupid comment, and expect to win the confidence of voters? Its quite funny, really.

Also, I heard quite an alarming report this morning on the BBC which stated that global warming posed ore of a threat to us than terrorism. This I do not doubt, and, like many people I find it worrying. We need to do something about global climate change. Why, then, do conservatives, and particularly conservative Americans, ridicule those people who care about the environment as hippies? They seem to thing their right to drive hugely polluting vehicles outweighs their duty to the environment. They care ,=more about the war on terror because they get to shoot things.

There are many more things I could rant about here, like affairs in Israel and Africa, and peter mandleson, but as I said, it’s a lovely day, and I’m off to watch the cricket!

mums away on busness, and mme and luke were instructed to finnish off some bacoon and egs in mum’s filthfydirty fridge. ok, so .it eemerges that: a. luke is, gor some odd reason, watching his weight, and only i will be eating the fry up. 2 luke has never made a fry up before

INGREDIENTS

eggs – 2.

bacon – 2 rashers button mushrooms – lots butter – 1 shitload milk

I ate this in about 15 minites, and guess what! I wont get fat! I wobble so much due to my cp that i don’t ever put on weight! hahahaa! jealous yet?

🙂

I’ve been looking at the types of film in production recently, and there seems to be a distinct trend towards the fantasy and superhero genres. This interests me, as it may reveal things about the collective western mindset.

The two most obvious examples of recent fantasy films are the Harry Potter (HP) Series and the Lord of the rings (LOTR) trilogy. Both have strong central characters trying to save the world from a force of evil, but in this there is nothing special – the good versus evil theme is centuries old. What is interesting to me, however, is that they reveal a desire to break into a fantasy world where things like good and evil are well defined, and can be fought for or against. The division is Nott so clear cut here, and, as SLS points out, the lines between good and evil are blurred; a man seen as evil can be a force for good.

As the books upon which they are based, and the films themselves, were created and were in creation before 9/11, I doubt that HP and LOTR can be seen as truly reflecting of the current social mood. However, the current wave of ‘superhero’ films can be seen as reflecting of the status quo as they were created after 9/11. they too paint a world where there is a battle between good and evil, but unlike Frodo and Harry, their main protagonists have overt superhuman powers, or at least powers which excel their peers’.

The recent superhero films such as Spiderman are all about people with extra powers coming to vanquish the force of evil. We can read into this a desperate need in popular culture for such people, which reflects a certain nervousness about ourselves. Yet, in post-9/11 culture, if we read the forces of evil to be terrorists, we can see almost the exact opposite: we, or rather America, now sees itself as a force of good, and one with superhuman powers at that. Moreover, it now sees good and evil as two absolute extremes, rather than taking the more liberal stance that they are blurred, and this I find disturbing.

We have already heard bush refer to ‘’Evil’ in his speeches. This is juvenile: while someone may be misguided, he or she will always act for what they see as good. Hence, outside of fiction, the idea of evil is subjective. But bush is fuelling the idea by using such language that America is a force of innate good fighting the evildoers.

We’re living in an action movie! Aaaaaaargh!

It has been quite some time since I had a political rant, and, like the London busses of cliché fame, two subjects arrive for me to discuss. The first is obvious: The Butler Report.

‘Rant’ might be too strong a word for me to use here, as, unlike Hutton, which was so blatantly one-sided that one couldn’t help but cry “whitewash!”, Butler seems more balanced. Granted, it did not openly blame Blair, or any cabinet or intelligence official, as many expected, but nor did it exonerate them. Blair will receive much flack over this, especially from the conservatives (who, as any fool can point out, supported the war in the first place) but he will not loose his premiership over this. At least, not just yet, anyway.

The question, therefore, is “How?” Yesterday in parliament, when I half expected him to announce his resignation, he came out fighting: he eloquently accepted the findings of the report but strongly justified the war. Indeed, his prohibition could now be stronger, as Butler accounted for the lack of WMD in Iraq by citing muddled intelligence, not a lie on the part of the prime minister. Butler also dismissed claims that this war was all about oil. Thus, because this is a document that we all can respect due to it’s balance, Blair can stay to fight on. While he has certainly lost respect in some quarters, he may yesterday have gained some in others.

Nevertheless, I still do not trust him: the fact remains that, as Lord Butler noted yesterday, the September Dossier missed out several qualifying phrases from the intelligence it was based upon, and we would therefore lied to by omission. Blair’s forward was also disproportionately strong. I would feel very uneasy about voting for a man who would go to war on such loose ground, and, what’s more, one that would follow a blatant homophobic bigot so loyally. Butler dismissed the supposed links between Hussein and Al Qa’ida, making bush’s position barely tenable too, especially after Ashcroft.

However, although one can sigh at Blair (to say the least) and scream one’s head off at bush, both have a modicum of respectability. Neither, for example, denounce whole swathes of people. Bush may be a red-neck, but he is not a fascist.

In other words, there a set of people, here in Britain, who worry me more than Bush. People who I have no respect for, yet pretend to be a political party: the BNP. There is a documentary due out tonight about these people. To be fair, one must question, as an impartial viewer, whether the BBC is biased on this front: it has a somewhat leftist-liberal stance, but as all major political parties of both sides of the spectrum dismiss the BNP as little more as a pack of barely potty-trained hooligans, we can accept the BBC’s judgement. Indeed, I might point out, as an aside, that Butler seemed to confirm the BBC’s pre-Hutton claim that the government did indeed ‘sex up’ the dossier, if just by omission.

Thus, if we can take the bbc as not having any innate bias on this – and I believe we can – then, small as they may be, I am very worried about the BNP. They espouse the most abhorrent of views, it’s leader, Nick Griffin, denouncing Islam as a “vicious wicked faith”, while trying – and failing – to project a veneer of respectability.

Thus, just as I hold Butler to be the pinnacle of political refinement – the hefty report presenting both sides of the argument, before coming to a well-rounded conclusion, I hold the BNP to be the antithesis of this: neither balanced or respectable. I find it interesting that we are to see these two faces of politics within 48 hours.

apparrently, my website was down yesterday and today. according to kyle, its now fixed. I simply gad to go grunt at my bro, and wave my arms at my pc. Luke thereafter made a loud, high pitched exclamation which sounded likee YOU MORON, and fixed the problem. so, if your reading this, well done.

also, i’ve began to experiment with a little art. Using my pc to merge 2 pictures together. this was inspired by reading “the art of the fellowship of the ring”, a very interesting book about the design process behind the films. maybe i can put some art up here eventually.

[quote]’Frasier’ Star Lands Monty Python Role

Former Frasier star David Hyde Pierce and Rocky Horror Picture Show actor Tim Curry have been named among the cast of Eric Idle’s new Monty Python musical.

The acting pair and funnyman Hank Azaria will take the leads in the Broadway-bound production of Spamalot. The King Arthur legend spoof, which became cult Monty Python film Monty Python & The Holy Grail, will be directed by Oscar winner Mike Nichols. Pierce, who played Frasier’s brother Niles Crane in the hit sitcom, will play Sir Robin and Curry will play King Arthur. Azaria will take on the role of Sir Lancelot. The show is set to debut in Chicago, Illinois, in December, before beginning a Broadway run in February. [/quote] ni!

sttolen from imdb

I just read this bbc neews report. apparently,blair has been urged not to resign by ministers after being on the brink of doing so. with leaks of the butler report not sounding favourable, and the ennet report devistating the CIA inteligence over iraq, is this blairs last week at no. 10?

ccould welll be, but leaving office in the middle of the pre-election run-up, with debtes welling over education and the NHS would leave the famous black door open for michael howard. then we’d really be screwwed!

On this site, I have discussed many themes surrounding disability. In my essay on Harry Potter and disability, I discussed how inclusion 9of disabled characters in literature can help overcome many of the boundaries disabled people face, such as prejudice. In my short story “bionic matt”, I explored the possibility of finding a ‘cure’ for CP. However, both of these pieces rely heavily on the medical model of disability, which holds that a disability should be seen as a medical condition, and disabled people should be treated as patients. Many people hold that it is, in fact, society, rather than biology, that disables a person: it is society that refuses to install ramps in buildings; it is society which refuses to employ us so we have to rely on benefit; and it is society that sends us to separate schools.

In the piece on Harry Potter, I assert that there is a need for thee segregated schooling of students with special needs. This is not exactly true, and this is the issue I want to deal with in this entry. Indeed, the story on which that essay was based concerns a disabled student going into mainstream entry, and the protagonist’s disability is used largely as a dramatic tool (to counterbalance Snape), and not as the central theme. The point is, there is a huge benefit to be gained from inclusive education, and the risks of not implementing it are truly dire.

Indeed, I am not a fan of the special school system. I left my school with a handful of GCSEs and one A-level, to my knowledge the only student who did A-Levels at all. When I visited my old school this Easter, the news that I was going to university was greeted as if it were something truly rare. Special schools, it must be said, are not places where academic achievement is encouraged: with some notable exceptions, most of the examination reports from special schools are abysmal. For example, most people in my GCSE year did not achieve above grade D.

The case for inclusive schooling is therefore very strong indeed. It is not only beneficial for the disabled student but for other students too, as it helps to break down prejudice. Any barriers soon begin to break down when this segregation is halted. In Berlin, I flourished: all those around me accepted me for who I was, and exactly the same thing will happen when all children are taught together.

However, there will, of course, be problems in achieving this. Nature has not made the playing-field level, and disabled students will always need help. One way of doing this is providing them with Learning support assistants (LSAs), who will help a student do a thing he or she cannot, such as taking notes. However, LSAs are only useful up to a limit – they cannot, for example, make a child friends – and nobody wants to be shadowed continuously throughout the school day. Disabled students should be encouraged to be as independent as possible.

There is a conflict,, therefore, between a need for help and the need for independence, and this is solved through technology. Mobility problems are solved through the use of wheelchairs, communication problems are solved –although addressed would be a better adjective – through the use of communication aids.

While mobility has a bearing on education – after all, one needs to get to class – it is the latter field that interests me the most, and has the most bearing on education.

If one cannot communicate, there is no way to assess one’s ability, which causes the education of many disabled students to suffer greatly. For example, getting my Lightwriter when I was 11 meant I could communicate more fluently, meaning I could do GCSE English and A-Level English at the comprehensive near my special school. Yet I was lucky: to my knowledge, I have no learning disabilities (save for the one that prevents me learning that beer is bad), and I was reading and writing by the time I was 5 or 6. Hence I can access a communication aid with a qwerty keyboard, and can thus use the full English lexicon. What places students at a severe disadvantage is when they are not literate enough to access the normal writing system, so a series of alternative writing systems has been invented.

As a philologist and communication aid user, these systems interest me immensely. It must be said that they strike me as very limited as an alternative to normal writing, but that does not necessarily matter. Bliss, for example, is made up of 2000 symbols, each representing a word. Although the combinations of symbols one can use means ones vocabulary is virtually infinite, this still compares starkly with the 500,000 words of the Oxford English Dictionary. How can a student be expected to learn efficiently, or respond articulately to media if he or she only has access to 2000 words? Where at all possible, literacy must be a priority. Yet here again we see a failure in special schools, because they teach kids with learning disabilities to use systems like bliss. It would be, thereafter, harder to teach a child the normal alphabet because he or she has grown up using symbols.

Writing systems aside, how a child actually communicates with his teachers or classmates is another problem. My Lightwriter – in my opinion, the ideal device – is simply a qwerty keyboard, 2 liquid crystal displays, and a voice output system. Using this, I can say anything, from ordering German food to discussing the work of Tolkien. Yet the communication aids other children are given are not as versatile because they lack the physical or cognitive ability – special schools claim – to use things like a Lightwriter. Thus such children are ‘fobbed off’ with the simplest of communication aids, some containing no more than six words (unless more options are offered by an LSA). How can one expect a child to show the full range of his knowledge with only six words in front of him? On the other hand, some Voice output Communication aids (VOCAs) can store enormous vocabularies of up to 10,000 words, which, together with the use of a keyboard, mean a user can swiftly access the full English vocabulary.

There is a case, therefore, for teaching kids together, and with as little human assistance as possible. Disabled children are being failed by a special school system which does not allow them to access the curriculum properly. Many students with communication problems are dismissed as having learning difficulties, and so are not taught to their full potential. I find this state of affairs quite sickening, and I have decided that it is my duty to try to help.

just read this.

this professor-fellow is scary.

ok, we were sitting at dinner lst night, tallking about schools, when it emerged that tthe king’s school in macc – a public schoolwhich both mmy brothers attended had spent a whopping one million quid on…wait for it…a pipe organ! HAHAHAHAHA! stupid toffs! they could havev bought phek knows how many books, computers, even a pacific island, but no, they bought a pipe organ – a maachine capablle of giving the entire staff faculty simultanious bblowjobs, probably because tighter paedophile laws mean they can’t get them from the students!

seriously, though, contrast this with the state sector, many of whose schools strugggle tto find funds for books, and one starts to feel quite sick. why should the public sector be at lliberty to waastte such huge suums?

also, i justt checked back at kittyradio .com, whhere I postted quite rregularly aat one stage, only to ssee that it was down and needed to raise $5000 for a new server. too many ranndom people talking drivvel. HAHA

Why is It that I get so inflamed each time I open the sunday times? this week, the news review supllement had an article on aborion. the odd thing is – and it drives me nuts to admit it – I find myself siding mostly with the anti-abortion Right in this debate. There are times when abortion is needed, no doubt aabout it, and a woman has an innate right to control her body, but what I object to most severely iss when kids are aborted because they have svere medical contions. some people have argued that it is “more humane” to abort such children rather than making them live life in a faultty body.

WTF? firstly, there is a very small gap between this and killing kids after birth, for ‘euthinasia’. this may have meant my own death, and that of those of my friends. sometimes,, in the evening especially, I get very tense and my body is almost uncontrollable. Objectively, this could be seen as ‘suffering’ (although the best cure is a trip to the beer cabinet). would the pro-choicers argue that it is more humane to lett me die? and what of my terminally ill friends, or those like Kirsty (see below). these people live good, happy lives, and are no less deserving of life than anyone else. I have written extensively on the fact that I hold these people in the hightest esteem. Thus, to say that it might be more humane to abort kids with medical conditions is utter bullshit.

Secondly, where does one draw the line. Some women chose to abort kids because they have things like cleft pallets. this is curable for crissake! just because a kid might be a little uglee doesnt mean it isnt a good kid! then what? aborrting al kids with anythhing other than blonde hair and blue eyes? thirdly, who the smeg are we to decide who lives and who dies? babies all grow into kids with the ability to chose, and they, I suspect, would chose to live.

there are, however, prooblems with tthe above. forcing a mother to carry a kid to term if she doesn’t want to would breach her human rights: the final say must lie with the mother. moreover, if a child, oncee born will live in an unnstable environment, e.g a broken home or with abusive parents, then abortion might be the best option.

so, which is it: a babies right to live or a womans right to chose. I want to side with the first, as I feel most strongly that aborting kids because they have disabilities is wrong. but then…….aaaaaarrgh! i give up.

How does one sum up the best week of my life? Let me begin by saying that it was probably very bad for me: I sat in my chair and got pushed everywhere; I was fed everything; I did absolutely no exercise or physio…

So, Berlin ruled! I’m not sure where to start. Firstly, I should say the staff from college were fantastic. I was very impressed with my PA, John White, who managed to cope with me very well, although perhaps his feeding technique was perhaps a little too slow for my liking, and sometimes he seemed to forget he needed to put food in my mouth too! He coped with the usual footwear, bedtime and toilet problems very well. Also, I like the fact that the other staff sometimes chipped in to help – I dined with the staff 2 or 3 times, as me and john often seemed to stick with them, and they all seemed to chip in, shoving the odd spoonful into my mouth and wiping my face etc. I especially liked the fine meal we had on Sunday evening of three courses with spirits afterwards.

Fine meals with the staff aside, the major fun was had with my fellow students. While John is a top bloke, I felt it wise for us to spend some time away from each other for both our sakes. I really enjoyed sitting in the bar with the guys, buying and being bought countless drinks. Usually in such situations, I like to sit back and just observe, but this time I really felt part of the action – watching thee pool, talking, laughing. Often people who I hadn’t spoken to came up and steadied my drink so I could sip from it. There was a huge Cuban cigar being passed about at one stage, and I was offered a try. Although people still made allowances for me, it was like my CP didn’t matter: I was one of the guys, and I felt totally free.

One night, having spent the day with john and the staff at checkpoint Charlie, we arrived back at the Generator, the hostel where we were staying. One of the guys approached me:

“hey, matt. A whole load of us are going out. Wanna come?”

“Sure.” I went upstairs where john changed me into my good button-up shirt (I can never do buttons) and sprayed some lynx over me. Within 30 minutes, there were about 40 or 50 of us, going along the streets of Berlin to a night club. No “adults”, no restrictions: even stairs weren’t an obstacle as about 5 of the lads would simply pick my chair up, me inside, and carry it down. No problem! With surprising organisation, we all made it to the club, where I danced my head off. People seemed quite happy to steer me along the dance floor like a maniac, stopping now and then to feed me a swig of beer. I felt absolutely elated.

However, when we tried a similar thing the following evening, it didn’t go as well. I was being pushed along by Hayley and Janine and the girls, and suddenly most of the boys deserted us. We got to the bar, where we waited, and waited, but the boys didn’t show. There was no way of those with me being able to get me home via the tube, so we rang a taxi – john had lent me about 20 Euro for just such an occasion. Thus about 4 of us (me and 3 girls – hehe) took the taxi home, leaving Hayley and the others to walk back (should I tell Kyle what happened then, hayley?). once home, I was able to extract a reasonable apology from rich and the guys who deserted us.

For any wheeled readers I might have, I should point out that Berlin is a nightmare to get round: most tube and train stations have lifts, but many older ones do not. It was often simpler and easier for me to get out and walk up the stairs. One evening, when me and John were making our way home, we found the lift we needed was totally broken. After about half an hour of head scratching, we decided to get a taxi home: there was no way John could handle me and a heavy wheelchair alone up several flights, especially as I was rather tired.

The trip itself went well. Most museums, bar the one at checkpoint Charlie, were fully accessible, and I could manage the stairs at the checkpoint. Although there was rough ground to walk over, I enjoyed the trip to the beach, which was rather like a certain scene from James bond….ahem.

Oddly, though, our trip to the concentration camp was not as moving as I thought it would be: one couldn’t see the physical evidence of death – the gallows, gas chamber etc had been destroyed by the invading Soviet army in 1945, and all that remained were a few huts and exhibitions. At one point, however, when I saw the archetypical Auchvitsian gatehouse with its clock tower, it hit me that below those gates had passed 200,000 people never to return. All I felt was numb.

So, save for the concentration camp, trouble with trains and John’s bad jokes, it’s been quite a week. No doubt I have left details out, due to too much brain-pickling, but I assure you I lived every moment of it. It is sad to think that, because of university next year, I probably will never see the students who came with me again

As part of my debate with the folks from http://www.grouchyoldcripple.com this morning, I needed to find the proper usage of the term ‘atrophy. Remembering the term had something to do with Muscular Dystrophy (MD), I plugged the term into google, and came across this Reuters report. It’s about a poet, Mattie Stepanek, who died earlier today of an MD-related condition, age 13.

This boy – although he was indeed a man – apparently inspired America: he appeared on Operah, and spoke to Jimmy Carter. Reports say he had wisdom beyond his years, and this I can believe. Although we didn’t always get on, I felt my classmates back at school had a kind of wisdom: they saw their fate, accepted it, and simply got on with life. They are indeed braver than any soldier of Agincourt, the Somme, Ypres, or any battle. Reading the article, I thought of Andy Fox, as my mind frequently does, and how he could see any situation as it truly was. A man who did not deserve his fate, but bore it as if it was weightless.

‘he ain’ heavy, father, he’s my Brother.’

So, now Reuters has reported on something I thought was confined to the deceptively cheerful walls of Hebden Green School, or the writings of La Guerra: the dark side of disability; of grieving parents; of kids who deserve more. This subject used to make me angry – the day Foxy died, I came home and smashed up my room/ but there’s no point. Like Andrew Wheetly, Lee Donnelly, Phillip Littlewood, Dave Giles, Andy Fox and Mattie Stepanek, one just has to accept fate, which is even more sad.

The week after Foxy died, I had a speech therapy lesson. The speech therapist, Ms Hickson, whom I had known since I was six, often decided to forgo any structured therapy and just let me talk. This time, we discussed foxy.

”They’re all going to go, aren’t they?” I said. It was true – most of my classmates had some form of MD, and would sooner or later die.

”Yes” Mrs Hickson said. Then she did something unique: she broke with the school’s optimistic air and spoke with realism. ”Which would you prefer, Matt: to die young like Andy, or to live a long life in a body like Kirsty’s?” Kirsty had a very severe condition where she couldn’t walk, talk or move properly although her mind seemed to be fully functional. She would probably be placed in an institution after leaving school, and live a long life. Clearly, there were fates worse than Andy’s.

This is the darkness that pervades what I consider ‘my world’ – the world of disability. Yet within darkness there is always light. My friends always had a boundless kind of optimism. We would all do well to learn from them.

This is a story inspired by a article I read this morning.

—

I opened my eyes. The first thing I noticed, apart from a queasy feeling in my stomach, were the irregularities in the plaster on the ceiling. They were perfectly clear, like a perfectly white sea, turned upside down and frozen in time.

“Well I’ll be. It worked!” I said, to myself.

“Clear as crystal.” My father’s voice was a mixture of wonder and euphoria. He was not speaking to me, but someone else in the room. “Told you I could do it.” I heard Luke say. “all it took was a thousand lines of Perl and a few microprocessors.”

“and who designed those processors,, eh?” this was mark.

“Oh shut up you two!” said mum. I smiled at the realisation that I was taking my traditional role as spectator in my brother’s arguments. Old habits die hard.

“Quite.” I said “it just occurred to me that I can move my legs with greater precision than ever before, and unless you want me to kick both your arses, I suggest you shut up.”

There was total silence in the room. As usual, I was unsure that anyone had understood even a word I was saying/ I began again “I said…”

“we understood you matt.” Mark said. I heard mum start to weep. I smiled, and decided to try out a few things. Under the hospital coverlet, I touched my index finger with my thumb. “So far so good” I thought ”now for the others. One, two, three, four. Good. Now for the left. One two, three four. Excellent.” I lifted my head, and saw my family at the foot of my bed. They were standing there in silent awe, tears of joy rolling down mum’s face. “now this is rather cool”, thought.

I turned my head to look at the bedside table, upon which sat a glass of water with a straw in it, which I had drank front to swallow the anaesthetic roughly five hours before. A idea occurred to me, both mischievous and poignant. I lifted my hand from beneath the cover, and slowly it glided towards the glass, reaching up and behind me. I must admit it felt odd doing this: there were none of the usual tugs of tension, my arms did not feel as if they wanted to suddenly jerk back into the Moro position; all I felt was freedom.

The processors in my cerebellum were working. They had been implanted by Professor Tipu Aziz, whose pioneering work using computers to replace misfiring neurons successfully treated conditions like Parkinson’s and motor-neurone disease. Similar work had been done by Ed Tarte, of Cambridge, in the area f spinal chord injury. It was, however, my brothers who had posited, after I had made a particularly large mess one mealtime, that similar technology could be used to bypass damaged neurons responsible fore movement.

When quite large amounts of the brain have been damaged, for example, through oxygen deprivation at birth, surrounding brain tissue is gradually trained to replace the function of that which is lost. Such training is never perfect, and thus we get the decreases body co-ordination we see with cerebral palsy sufferers, for example. However, if neural implants could be used to replace damaged tissue, .recovery would be much better because, my boffin brothers suggested, the computer programming would be much more efficient than the tissue the brain uses to compensate with.

Of course, there had been some debate over the possible abuse of this technology. It had been argued that it could lead to a ‘bionic man’ being made. Others had argued that it could lead to a form of mind control, and I had been quite amused that bioengineers at the State university of New York had given one lab rat implants which effectively turned it into a remote controlled toy. Nevertheless, my family had felt, like the majority of the scientific community, that the benefits of this technology by far outweighed the dangers.

Thus these computers, tiny as a grain of sand, were calculating the trajectory of my right arm as I reached for the glass. I suddenly felt he cool container between my fingers and thumb, and knew, in an instant, how much pressure to apply. And then, in a moment that I had waited twenty-five years for, I picked the glass up, put it’s rim gently to my lips, and drank from it.

See Sunday Times magazine, 20th June 2004, p45

I was watching the news last night. Arab terrorists beheaded a man in Saudi Arabia simply because he was an American. I know I’ve been known to criticise the yanks here, but this man didn’t deserve to die. by doing this, the terrorists have shown they do not discriminate between combatants and non-combatants, thereby losing any scrap of moral superiority they ever had.

I refuse to believe in ‘barbarians’: no person can be innately violent, so any violent act must have a motive. Yet this rule has been breached by Hitler, Stalin and countless others. If man can be violent for violence’ sake, then these terrorists are indeed barbarians, as were the Abu Grahib guards.

What a disgusting war this truly is?!

I got an email from palinstravels.co.uk, which – as a Palin fan – is enough to make me smile for days!

[quote=”Michael Palin”]Dear all,

I apologise, grovellingly, for not having reported back to you for so long. I thought of making excuse like a severe case of YRMLS (Yak-Butter Related Memory Loss Syndrome) or simply that I’d fallen off a mountain onto my writing hand. The reality is much less interesting as it involves very boring things like writing deadlines and delivery dates.

Our last day of filming in the Himalaya was in early April this year, and as I have had to write the book in breaks between filming trips, over half remained un-written when I got back to London. With the help of my wife, who is getting better and better at ignoring me, and our three cats who say and do very little during the daytime, I was able to sit undisturbed in my room, watching spring turn to summer in the gardens of Gospel Oak and tap out a rough and ready account of 3,000 miles of astonishing travel.

Over in Washington, Basil Pao was working equally frantically, looking through his nine million photos for 300 which would be good enough for my book and a further 300 even better ones that would be good for his book.

Anyway, it looks as if the seven day a week, no alcohol before 7 p.m. regime has worked. Both books – Himalaya and Inside Himalaya by Basil Pao – are just about ready to go to the printers in north Italy, and we’re looking at publication in late September. I would love to go to north Italy and keep the words and pictures company as they churn through the presses in the shadow of the Dolomites, but after a short pause for breath I have to start work writing and recording the commentary for our six episodes. So that’s another summer devoted to the Himalaya!

What makes it all worthwhile is that we have some fantastic material, both written and visual, to work with, and as everywhere we went through was pretty difficult to get to, as well as new and strange to me, there is a real sense of adventure in the project.

The highest point of the journey was just over 18,000 feet (5,500 metres) and the lowest was on the very last shot of the series, floating out into the sunset on the Bay of Bengal. The mountains take no hostages. Conditions above 15,000 feet were always difficult, with lower oxygen levels making moving, breathing and sleeping more difficult. As we had once again set ourselves a lot of ground to cover we had very little recovery or acclimatization time and our ace BAFTA award-winning sound recordist John Pritchard, suffered a bad dose of altitude sickness and was hospitalized in Lhasa, Tibet. He’s now made a full recovery I’m glad to say. Both myself and Basil were struck down by a nasty virus that reduced us too coughing wrecks on one part of the climb. You’ll be glad to hear that all my misery was faithfully and unblinkingly recorded on film by our ace BAFTA award-winning cameraman Nigel Meakin.

All six programmes have now been edited down and I’m very pleased that each one has a distinct and different feel to it. Pakistan starts the series, and that’s very different from India, and Nepal and Tibet are both different again. Yunnan in China, at the far eastern end of the Himalaya is an eye-opener, and very beautiful, and Nagaland and Assam in north-east India are strange and lovely. To round off the trip, we have the high and the lows in Bhutan and Bangladesh, both fascinating places, but as different as chalk from cheese. Though the scenery is breathtaking, it’s the people we meet who, as usual, make the programmes work.

So that’s where it’s at the moment. Can’t give much more detail because we’re still fine tuning everything, but I am quietly excited and looking forward to the first transmission, which we hope will be in early October, on BBC 1.

I shall be doing a book signing tour here in October and hopefully visiting Australia and New Zealand in November and Holland in December. Travel begets travel, but at least I can leave my sleeping bag behind!

Soon we’ll be able to have more material about Himalaya on the site, and we’ll be keeping you updated about where and when you can catch the series. Meanwhile watch the old ones on UK TV Documentary channel!

Thank you for being patient during my absence. Talk soon, as they say.

Michael[/quote]

[img align=”centre”]/images/me-04-06-18.jpg[/img]

This is what happens when you tell a wizard his pointy hat looks gay.

It’s just under 2 weeks till i go to berlin with college, and i cant wait. There are times when i feel i just have to travel, anywhere. of course, watching michael palin DVDs only makes this feeling worse.

I love the feelling of waking up, at maybe 4 or 5 in the morning, and thinking “today, an adventure will begin. tonight i will sleep in a bed 1000 miles from here”. i adore the feelinng of actually moving: watching lanscape go by, perhaps changing gradually. i love new foods, new drink, new people. oh i just cannt wait!

In it’s brief evaluation of Fanfic, the bbc Ouch! website quotes professor Henry Jenkins as saying fan fiction is “born out of a mixture of fascination and frustration”, as the original material captures the imagination but fails to satisfy. Writers placing “marginalized peoples” at the centre of their stories, “play out a drama about acceptance, tolerance, even an embrace of their difference.”

In saying this, Jenkins has seemingly captured the raisin d’etre of Fanfic perfectly. It is a medium where fans can take the components of established, published works and examine them through their own writing. This essay will examine fan fiction as a mode, reflecting upon points for and against it.

Fanfic can be criticised on the basis that it is not original. It is an embellishment upon another artist’s work, and some hold that this makes it less artistically valid. Many philosophers hold that one of the main aspects of all art is originality: Bizet did not copy themes from Mozart, nor Tolkien from Tolstoy. Every art work should be utterly unique. It follows, then, that as pieces of fan fiction have as their basis other works, they are less valid.

Indeed, the ouch article points out, “[i][Fanfic exists][/i] in the grey areas of copyright”, meaning that it is not fully recognised under law. It can be seen as immoral in that writers steal ideas from others. This is certainly true, but writing, I would argue, has no formal rules on this subject: it, like all art forms, is forever evolving and changing in a way similar to genres.

Toderov proposed that genres are in a constant state of flux – elements of one genre move into another, then another. For example, in the Harry potter novels we see elements of fantasy, adventure, melodrama, and so on. Writing is similarly fluid: it comes off the page and forms a life in the readers mind. In this sense, it no longer belongs to the writer but is the reader’s property. By it’s very nature, writing invites interpretation by readers.

There are many ways this can be achieved. Usually, a person will read a book, think about its themes, perhaps incorporate them into his or her world view, then move on to another book. Yet if he or she has the power, money and inclination, a person might chose to make a film out of a book. This is similar to the generation of Fanfic, as a director will ultimately have to interpret the text to make the film. It is unlikely that the text’s original author and the director would have the same vision, so the film can be seen as merely taking the original as its basis.

This is exactly what Fanfic seeks to do. Another form of reflection upon an original texts, it gives the writer the ability to explore certain elements, characters and themes. They are indeed valid forms of writing in their own right, merely having used another piece of writing as a reference point, just as film adaptations ultimately do. They are thus paying tribute to the original text for being versatile enough to allow such exploration. To dismiss Fanfic as somehow less worthy than other art forms is therefore folly, and would, in my view, betray one as ignorant and snobbish.

Worth a look: http://www.fictionalley.org – “FanFic in All Shapes, Sizes & SHIPs!”

I should pooint outt that last night, having watched england lose sso dramatically at football, and having drank one too many beers [stella through a straw is damn daangerous] I made some quite xenophobic comments here. The french are nice people, who make good wine, and i just want to point out that what i said last night did not reflect my world view.

but they’re still lucky!

trafalgar meann anything? we beat hat little arse napolion. and you wwere somewhat quick to surrender to mr hitler, ehh? you got blloody lucky toniight!

We just got back from the cinema, where i saw the new harry potter film. i was glad to see that the film, like the books, are becoming more adult as they progress, and the prisoner of azkaban is thus a much more sophisticated film. This may, of course, have been connected with th change in drector – if ever one needed proofe of “auteur theory”, here it is.

indeed, the differences between chris columbus and Alfonso Cuaron are remarkable: Cuaron employs a far darker, more aatmospheric style; there is mmuch more emotion in the new film; the mise-en-scene is much more textured and is almost painterly – certain shots reminded me of the paintings of John Howe. compare for example the shots of hogwarts in the rain to very similar paintings of middle earth by howe and alan lee.

Thus this is a far more adul film – the ever-present quidditch scene is done in the rain. while alan rickmaans snape is as always broodingly excellent – i’m afraid la guerras unnatural liking for him seems to have rubbed off on me – the other characters, lupin and cirrius black are also highly impressive. They seem to have real emotion and depth. the acting, needless to say, has also improved, although there is hardly a scene without potter, granger and weasly in and i’m a little unsure about the new dumbledore.

while i still think that this series could do with a disabled charachteer, an that miss stanhope runs mr potter into the ground in terms of depth etc (see samples of my work), this is a vast improvement over the last two films, which look like kiddies cartoons in comparrison. I cant wait to see what Cuaron does with goblet of fire.

Contrary to my brother’s beliefs, the pikelet and outcake shop in Congleton can go on hoiliday:

[img align=”centre”]/images/shop-on-holiday.jpg[/img]

twilight is the period between the end of ones exams and results day. its a period when one is suddenly free from all work. theres little point to worrying about exam results. in short, twighlight is bliss, and i look forwward to it all year. I have no work, no revision to do; no exams to worry about; I can just sit and chill: maybe read a bit, maybe do some writing, maybe get out my python DVDs.

ahh…twighlight is good. and in 2 or 3 weeks, i’m off to berllin for 10 days, which is gonna rule!