Today I think I ought to wish a happy birthday to two men who are, in very different ways, extremely dear to me. Firstly, when I got in this evening the internet reminded me that today is Sir David Attenborough’s 98th birthday. I think I’ve said here before that, as far as I’m concerned, Sir David is hands down the greatest broadcaster ever. There can’t be a single person in the UK who didn’t grow up watching the great man’s fascinating natural history documentaries, or hasn’t been utterly intrigued by the plethora of natural wonders he has revealed to us. We are all extremely lucky to have Attenborough as part of our mediascape, and should find the sheer body of work he has brought us over seventy years truly remarkable.

More personally but no less importantly, today is also Serkan’s birthday. Serkan is officially my Personal Assistant, but he is much more akin to a friend or even brother. Over the last four years he has come to my flat twice a day and washed, dressed and fed me; he has stood by me through thick and thin, including the darkness of the pandemic. I owe him a great, great deal, and hope he has the best of days.

Coming by from my trundle today, I had one another of those ideas which I think needs noting. I have been wearing a baseball cap whenever I go out for years: whenever I’m heading out, it’s now just a force of habit to just pull my cap on. The thing is, they tend to wear out or get lost fairly often, so over the years I’ve got through quite a few. I used to simply buy them off the shelf, but a month or two ago I found a store at the O2 where they would write any message I requested on to the front of a cap. It was a little expensive, but I liked the idea.

The first cap I bought from that shop was a black one with the words “Get out of my way or I’ll eat you.” I thought it would be cool to tell people that I was coming through and I needed them to stand aside, albeit in a humorous way and without actually needing to say anything.

After a while of wearing that cap when I was out and about though, I had another, rather more satirical idea. Taking a cue from all the idiotic Trump supporters I see on TV, I decided to go back to the shop at the O2 and this time bought a red cap with the words “Don’t let America elect that idiot again!” (The guys at the shop wouldn’t let me go with anything stronger than ‘idiot’.) At first I assumed it would just be my joke and wondered whether anyone would actually see or get it, although strangers have come up to me a couple of times and complemented me on it.

This afternoon, however, an idea for a third cap hit me: I was once again on the tube, having to wait for lifts being used by people perfectly able to use the stairs. All of a sudden I found myself absolutely itching to get a cap with the words “Use the frikkin’ stairs you lazy sods!” Then again, if I had such a hat I’d only be able to put it on when I want to use a lift, which could certainly make things complicated.

A cap where I could change the words using my Ipad? Now there’s an Idea.

While I don’t really feel like writing any kind of fulsome review of it right now, if you’re interested in watching films with interesting, innovative camera styles, go and watch Challengers. Essentially a romance about two guys and a woman who play tennis, what struck me the most when I was watching it in the cinema this afternoon was the way the film played around with conventional mainstream film: there were jump cuts, dolly zooms and shooting techniques I had never seen before. It really felt quite refreshing to see so many norms being broken, and mainstream film starting to adopt styles which it may once have regarded as too avante guarde.

I realise I don’t often mention it compared to the regularity with which I enthuse about James Bond or Star Trek, but I’m still a huge Lord of The Rings fan, so I was very sad to hear about the death of Bernard Hill yesterday. His performance as King Theoden in Peter Jackson’s epic adaptations of Tolkien’s novels was arguably one of the highlights of the film: I really think Hill captured the character of the chief of the Rohirrim – this mighty, noble, brave warrior king who could have stemmed from a Shakespearean tragedy or Norwegian epic saga – quite perfectly. More to the point, he was one of the great British actors, capable of delivering a hell of a lot of content with the slightest glance.

“I go to my fathers. And even in their mighty company I shall not now be ashamed.”

This was just too amusing for me not to nick!

I know I have only myself to blame for this, but a few months ago I asked my Australian friend Darryl to help me upload all the archived entries from my old blog to my new one. It annoyed me to have almost twenty years of writing no longer online. I didn’t know how to do it but Darryl did. Fool that I am, though, I sent him a pdf file rather than the html file I had, so none of the entries Darryl so kindly uploaded had any of their original links. This has recently started to annoy me, and I’ve been spending quite a bit of time trying to restore the links entry by entry (checking that they still actually lead somewhere first). The problem is, there are probably about two or three thousand entries, so it will take me an absolute age. If anyone reading this can think of a solution, I would be eager to hear it.

I was just browsing Facebook when I came across some news which made my jaw drop: Ben Elton has recently been hinting that we could see the return of Blackadder. When I read that headline, I was stunned. The final scene of Blackadder the Fourth is one of the most famous and moving in British comedy history – how could those characters be brought back, particularly after such a long time? But of course, reading a bit more, you learn that Elton is talking about doing a stage show rather than fifth TV program, rather like how John Cleese adapted Fawlty Towers for the stage. To be honest that makes much more sense, and I think such a show could work well, although it would be very strange indeed to see the great Blackadder being played by anyone other than Rowan Atkinson, or someone other than Sir Tony Robinson playing Baldrick.

Not that this will particularly interest anyone expect perhaps for my immediate family, but today I came across a little path with a very familiar name. I was out on my trundle in Woolwich, exploring back streets I had never been down, when suddenly to my right I caught sight of a narrow footpath called Swettenham Walk. I realise that that won’t mean much to most people reading this, but Swettenham is the name of a tiny little village up in Cheshire, just to the north of Congleton, where I grew up.  It’s barely more than a few houses, a church and a lovely old pub where I first worked out that ordering beer wouldn’t be such a problem after all. To suddenly come across it’s name amid the sprawling metropolis came as such a surprise that I instantly thought it worth noting here. I mean, hardly anyone has heard of Swettenham, so I’m very curious how  that little path got it’s name especially given, if memory serves, there’s also a Congleton Grove somewhere in that area too?

ADDENDUM: you can see the walk here, if you’re interested.

Breakfast today was a bit of an ordeal – things often are when I need to go somewhere new – but things ultimately ended well. I think I’ve mentioned here before that I currently don’t have a PA on Wednesday mornings, so I have to get myself dressed and breakfasted. It isn’t such a big deal: after a few minutes of struggling to get my shoes and socks on, I usually just pop to a local coffee shop.

Until recently, I used to go to costa up in Eltham. A couple of weeks ago, though, I was there with John when, towards the end of our visit, one of the staff members pulled him aside and told him that they didn’t like me coming there alone because of the way I sometimes choked slightly on my food. The way in which the lady spoke to John rather than directly to me, together with the implication that I am too messy or repugnant to not have someone looking after me, pissed me off to be honest, and I resolved not to go there again.

Fortunately this morning I remembered there is a Starbucks in Kidbrooke, just a few minutes’ trundle from my flat, so I set off there instead. Kidbrooke is one of those newly gentrified, stylish areas which seem to be springing up all over London. I had never been there before, but there was always the alternative of just buying some doughnuts from the Sainsbury’s next door. Going in, I felt strangely apprehensive and a little self-conscious: getting people whom I’ve never met before to understand what I need and want can be a bit difficult; even getting them to twig that I communicate by typing into my Ipad can take a few minutes. Today, though, hungry as I was, I persevered, selecting the toastie I wanted for breakfast and giving it to the guy at the check-out. I thought it was important that I didn’t make a mess or anything, and to give the right impression, given that I would probably want to go back there.

It was only after I’d found a table and got out of my powerchair that I started to relax a bit. The only problem was, when it came, the toastie was baking hot, dripping in melted cheese, and not easy for me to pick up: I could see it going everywhere, and getting a repeat of what happened in Costa. Whenever I need to feed myself in public I start to feel self-conscious, as though everyone is looking at me like some disgusting monster.

Today, however, that turned out to be entirely paranoia. In the end, I managed to eat my breakfast without a problem. After the usual initial hesitation, the staff turned out to be friendly and helpful. The coffee may have tasted a little different to the stuff I’m used to, but that was probably just down to the beans they use. Thus, given it’s so close, it now looks like I have a new place for breakfast.

I just came across something pretty zarking awesome. I was watching Steve Shives’ latest video on how he prefers to play games on the easiest mode: to tell the truth I wasn’t that interested, but about halfway through he mentioned how, when he was growing up, one of his favourite games was Doom 2. That rang a bell, as it was a game me and my brothers used to play too (remember those deathmatches, guys?) But then came the cool part: he went on to say that he still plays Doom, and that you can now play it online on an internet game archive. Naturally that got me interested, and after a bit of googling I found This bit of epicness. The entire game, just as I remember it from my childhood, is there, to be played online for free! I instantly felt like I was twelve again.

(The only slight problem is, I now use sticky keys on my mac, which interferes with my need to press ‘control’ to shoot in the game, but I’m sure I can find a way around that…)