Just for the record, I have never watched I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here, and have no intention whatsoever of ever doing so. I think I’ve articulated my objections to reality TV here before, albeit a while ago, but any program which would platform failed politicians who knowingly deceived the country into voting for something manifestly against it’s best interests, isn’t worth watching. Like any art form, television is capable of showing us wonderful things, bringing the world into our living rooms: I love watching Sir David Attenborough’s natural history documentaries, or the travelogues of Sir Michael Palin. I love programs like Red Dwarf, Star Trek, as well as classics like Yes Minister and Monty Python. To see TV used for this shit, in which so-called celebrities are flown across the world to some Australian rain forrest, to be filmed eating zark-knows-what for our entertainment, seems an utter, utter waste. I see it as nothing more than is an insult to our collective intelligence.

The fact that certain charlatans now seem to be trying to use it to boost their profiles only adds to my distain. No doubt he’ll attempt to use the show as a way to address the public, justify himself and boost his public image and reputation. Any television channel which would allow itself to be used like that isn’t worth wasting our time viewing. Thus not only will I not be watching the program, I’ll be boycotting ITV entirely, and would ask anyone reading this to do the same.

There was an item on breakfast TV a few minutes ago about how lots of families are now trying to sue big technology and social media companies like Facebook for being ‘harmful’ and subjecting them to too many negative images etc. This isn’t my area of expertise of course, but as someone who has been using the web now for most of my life, I feel compelled to say something. The internet is a wonderful tool, but like any tool it is up to us what we use it for: We choose what we look for, read and watch on the web, just as we choose which books to read or which films to watch. Thus for these people to try to blame social media companies for exposing them to harmful content is utterly absurd. I have never come across anything as dark as they are describing, or anything encouraging me to commit suicide, despite the fact that I use the web, including sites like Facebook and Youtube, for hours each day.

I must add too that it irritates me how several of these people are attempting to blame social media for the fact they attempted to kill their selves. They seem to think these websites deliberately infected them with some kind of psychological virus or disease, from which they could not escape. Again this strikes me as absurd. The fact these melodramatic, attention-seeking kids may have made half-assed attempts to top themselves is not the responsibility of any social media website. Such sites are used by billions of people each day, uploading terabytes of information – how could any company control such a forum?

I must admit these people suing these companies irk me. They seem very eager to play the victim and blame others for how they have chosen to act. Life is extremely precious, and to try to end it is a stupid decision to make; but it is a decision which can’t be blamed on anyone else once someone realise how stupid they were to make it. At the end of the day, people intent on killing theirselves do so, and it’s an utter waste. Yet I strongly suspect those who ‘attempt’ suicide but fail merely do so to get attention and pity. Many then try to blame others for their stupidity, as is the case here. I seriously doubt they actually feel the kind of despair they claim, but are just caught up in the fashion for self-pitying, ‘goth’ teenagers who think the world, which somehow revolves around them, is about to end. Having grown up alongside kids who had to overcome horrific physical challenges yet who never complained about their situations, to see these perfectly fine, able-bodied young people claim such victimhood, simply for being exposed to websites they chose to go to, is perverse.

The bigger problem, however, is the implications these court cases might have for social media companies, if they succeed. Part of what makes the internet so great is that you can find absolutely anything on it: here on my blog, on Facebook or Youtube, I can post whatever I want. Some of it might come under criticism from my fellow internet users, but that’s natural in any public forum. The moment sites like Facebook start to have to regulate what is posted onto it, things change: it would become far less free and open; we would all have to be extra cautious about what we post on it. I might even have to watch what I say here. The liberal, tolerant exchange of ideas on the web will be lost, simply because some lachrymose, melodramatic kids want to blame big tech firms for the things they chose to look at.

Next on my ‘to watch’ list, and probably the reason I’ll next go to the cinema, is to watch Napoleon. I could have gone today, but to be honest I’m eager to go with John: cinema is always better with mates. Ridley Scott is one of the great contemporary directors. I really enjoy his work, and want to see what he has to say about such a great historic figure. I hear the film has displeased a lot of french people – they don’t seem to like ‘outsiders’ telling what they consider ‘their’ history. I want to see how Scott handles the Napoleonic era: going by what he did with Gladiator, it’s bound to be very interesting. Mind you, as far as I’m concerned, any film about the Napoleonic wars needs to have Sean Bean as Sharpe in it.

I just have a quick question to post here this evening. It’s slightly quirky, but it was on my mind as I trundled around East London this afternoon. Are DLR stations included in the game Mornington Crescent?

I just got back from a nice long trundle around Canary Wharf. It was nothing too unusual. However, I noticed two things that I think I ought to note. First of all, going through the mall, I came across a small Greek restaurant called Smashing Plates. That must surely be the wittiest name for a restaurant ever. It made me chuckle out loud when I saw it.

Secondly, I was even more astonished to find a wine shop selling alcohol free Leffe. My jaw dropped when I saw it. The whole point of Leffe is that it is strong, rich and potent: an alcohol free version is like crisps without salt, cannabis without THC or the Tories without greed, entitlement and arrogance.

On the local London news a few minutes ago, there was a short item about four religious leaders “coming together in solidarity” to show their resistance to the trouble in the Middle East. Of course, it was supposed to be a show of unity, about people coming together in spite of their faith. Yet I feel compelled to come back to my blog to point out the perverse, even sickening irony of such ‘gestures’. It is faith/religion which caused the horrific conflict we’re currently witnessing in the first place. Religion divides humanity; it splits us into one group or another, depending on which set of myths people are convinced to believe. These groups are lead by people who insist we believe such stories without question, using them as sources of baseless authority so that they can tell us what to think and how to act. If nobody believed such stories, if nobody listened to such preachers, the groups and the divisions between them would not exist.

Thus for these religious leaders – an imam, priest and rabbi – to come on the evening news and try to preach to us about unity is not only ironic but profoundly hypocritical: such people maintain our divisions; they need such splits in humanity in order to keep controlling us. Moreover, by arguing that faith offers any form of solution to the current conflict, they are using, even usurping, it to reinforce their authority as religious leaders, something I find utterly cynical, even perverse. They said they wanted peace, but rather than offering any solution, they are the very problem.

You might have noticed that I have posted quite a few “What I did yesterday” entries. Alongside commenting on film, politics and various other subjects, I think it’s important for me to use my blog to give an account of my life as a disabled man. I was wondering recently though, what would be the best term for such entries?  Simply calling them “Diary entries” or “Diary-type entries” seems rather dull and obvious. I came up with two alternatives: I think I can either call them diatribes, due to the way they often ramble on and on without getting anywhere; or I can call them diuretics, due to how they often just seem to flow.

(Well, it made me laugh, at least…)

John and I went to watch Anatomy Of A Fall at The Barbican yesterday afternoon. A highly ambiguous, perplexing courtroom drama, it was the most interesting film I have seen in a long, long time. For starters, I have never seen a film switch so effortlessly, seamlessly and regularly between languages. It was done so well that for once I didn’t have trouble keeping up with the subtitles. However, at this point, I think the best thing I can do is to direct everyone here, to Mark Kermode’s review of it. I had thought I would write a fulsome review here today, but when it comes down to it, I honestly don’t think a mere blog entry would even come close to doing it justice. Where would I even begin? I realise that that will sound like quite a cop-out, but films as complex as this deserve to be engaged with properly: it would require an entire thesis at least to start to explore such a nuanced, thought-provoking film.

I certainly intend to come back to Anatomy Of A Fall, possibly after several more viewings, but for now the best thing I can do is to suggest everyone goes and watches it. If it isn’t the film of the year, I would be staggered. It is film at it’s most intriguing and nuanced.

Mind you, for what it’s worth, I reckon the pretentious twat topped himself.

Yesterday turned out to be far more interesting than I expected it to be, or rather, more interesting than my Sundays usually are. After the sound and fury of Saturday, I thought I would just go up to Stratford for a nice, quiet walk around the Olympic Park. As I got off the tube train though, I noticed a lot of West Ham supporters heading that way too: there was obviously a match on at the London Stadium. To begin with, I just continued with my plan, following the growing crowd heading for the park. As I got closer to the stadium though, I had an idea: how cool would  it be to watch a football match at London Stadium? I hadn’t actually been inside the stadium since 2012, and to be honest I was curious to see how it was doing. It would be even more awesome to watch an event there.

With that in mind, I asked one of the attendants how I could get a ticket. They took me to the ticket office, but there things grew a little complex. I was told that disabled fans could only get tickets if they booked them online in advance. I replied that that was a bit discriminatory, as able bodied people could obviously just walk up and get tickets on match day. The growing number of attendants around me agreed, and told me that they would see what they could do.

Long story short, about twenty minutes later I was being shown into the stadium and up to the wheelchair viewing area. The biggest surprise, however, had been the price: seventy quid! I was only told what it would cost after it was decided I could get a ticket, but by then having caused such an issue, it would have been utterly ungrateful for me to roll away. That’s how, yesterday afternoon, I came to be watching West Ham vs. Nottingham Forrest at London Stadium.

We all know how so much infrastructure built for events like the Olympics by various cities around the world has later been allowed to fall out of use and rot. It’s one of the biggest problems with such mega-events. I’m very glad to say, however, that that hasn’t been an issue in London. Not just the stadium, but all the other venues built for 2012 are still in regular use. As I went into the stadium yesterday, though, I was filled with awe and joy: thousands of people packed the seats, shouting and singing. The noise was incredible. London has surely lead the way in using it’s olympic infrastructure.

The match itself was a lot of fun. As I explained once, I am a de facto West Ham supporter, despite knowing virtually nothing about the club. It was a close thing, and the referee made some very dubious decisions, but West Ham eventually won 3-2. After that, I was left to make my way home having had such an incredible afternoon. Whether I’ll go again remains to be seen due to the price, but it was great to see the stadium in such fine form.

I better start this entry by saying that I haven’t been hospitalised or arrested, and that I’m perfectly fine at home. Yesterday was, however, quite an interesting day to say the least. You know me: the temptation to go up and see what was happening in Westminster was just too much, so slightly after noon I thought I would get the Jubilee Line into Central London. When I got to North Greenwich though, I found the Line closed for maintenance. That didn’t matter though, because I could simply hop onto the cable car and get the Elisabeth Line from Custom House.

That meant that I had to go to Bond Street instead of Westminster, and walk from there. It was a pleasant trundle, but London was teaming with people yesterday afternoon. When I eventually got to Parliament Square, however, I was about two hours too late for the main pro-Palestinian march. I found the place riddled with right-wing thugs shouting all kinds of reactionary nationalist crap. You could almost smell their stupidity in the air. I’m sorry to say the sight wound me up: London is a diverse, open, tolerant metropolis – such barely literate neanderthals have no place here.

The rest of my afternoon was spent in Parliament Square, trying to talk sense into the scum. My initial intention had been to press on to join the anti-war march, but I got so worked up by the shouts of the barbarous, intolerant disgraces to human civilisation that I chose to remain there. At about six I decided to head to Westminster Station in order to get home, only to find it shut. That meant I had to head all the way back to Bond Street. I got home about eight, rather tired and hungry, still furious at what I’d seen earlier. I love London for it’s vibrancy and openness. To see it riddled with racist morons whose only sense of identity stems from a flag was utterly sickening.

Just to follow up the entry I posted an hour or so ago, I think I better make something absolutely clear: I am extremely grateful to those who helped me out of the muddle I found myself in over the last two days, and who helped me get back online. A lot of people put in a lot of work, not least my Parents, as well as Gary the BT technician who brought me a router all the way from Thamesmead. I wrote my entry earlier to try to explain how important access to the web is to me. Now that I’m back online it feels like such a relief: the hideous prospect of a weekend isolated from almost all my family and friends has been lifted. More importantly though, it is truly humbling to hear that so many people are willing to do so much for me.

You wouldn’t think not having an internet connection at home would be that big a deal, would you? For most people these days, the ‘net is a very useful tool, but it’s hardly the be-all and end all of existence. After all, for your average able-bodied person, there are other ways of keeping in contact with your friends and family, checking the news, and of watching television and staying entertained. Most people can use phones, read newspapers or just pop on the telly. For me, though, with the way I currently have things set up in my flat, things are different: I use my computer and internet connection for everything, from chatting to my friends to relaxing in the evening to getting berated by my parents. I chose not to set up a TV in my new flat because I found it simpler just to watch the box via websites like Iplayer, 4OD and netflix.

The last 48 hours or so have really put just how much I need an internet connection into perspective. It’s difficult to explain how powerless I have felt: whenever I have needed to check my emails or messages, or send a message to anyone, I’ve had to go through the complex process of leaving my flat to find a Wifi network I can access with my ipad. I haven’t been able to access Facebook, Youtube, or do any of the things I fill my online life with. It has been oddly depressing and alienating, like an addict forced to come off some potent drug, or as if all contact with the outside world has become a hundred times harder. Even worse was not knowing when someone would be able to come to repair it; being afraid to venture out on my usual rolls in case someone turned up and I was not here.

Yet I must keep reminding myself that there are far worse predicaments to be in than not having access to the internet. I have a warm flat, full stomach and loaded fridge. All problems eventually get put right, sooner or later. I cannot moan. As you can see, the technicians came and got me back online eventually. Reading them back, the above two paragraphs seem a bit silly. Even so, the last couple of days have really made it clear what a big part of my life the internet now is, both as a disabled man and more generally.

It has been a long, hard day to be honest. Without wanting to go into too much detail or apportion too much blame, my flat has been offline since yesterday afternoon. I use the internet for just about everything, including watching tv,  so I have been rather stuck. To cheer myself up and pass a bit of time, I just rewatched the documentary about the Paraorchestra,  which I had stored on my hand drive. I can’t believe it has been eleven years since it was made. However, the biggest shock of all, which I simply had to note here,  came when I noticed that I am wearing exactly the same jumper and trousers today  that I was wearing when I appeared in the documentary with Lyn all that time ago.

I must say I love this image. I don’t know where it is, who did it, or over what sort of timeline this happened, but it is a great reminder that multiculturalism and diversity will always win out against nationalism and intolerance.

Mind you, they forgot that some of us also speak Klingon.

Qa’pla!

One of the right-wing tabloid rags, which I won’t name let alone link to, is apparently reporting that Michael Palin has said that a lot of what was created in Monty Python would not be tolerated today. The rag complains that characters like Gumby could not be tolerated today due to cancel culture, and seems to claim that Palin agrees with them. I find that very ironic, I must say. Of course, social attitudes have come a long way since Monty Python’s Flying Circus first aired, and things like overt discrimination and the stereotyping of minorities are frowned on a lot more. However, surely that is to be welcomed because it shows that society is becoming much more tolerant and understanding of previously unrepresented and mocked people. Perhaps a character like Mr. Gumby, a stereotype of a person with learning difficulties if ever there was one, would indeed be frowned upon today, but that is because we have much more understanding of learning difficulties, and know they are nothing to be laughed at.

What I find perverse, though, is the way the tabloid rag in question tried to use this story to feed it’s right-wing agenda: to them, this was yet another example of contemporary ‘woke’ cancel culture trying to prevent people from laughing. The irony is, such right-wing idiocy was the very thing Python set out to mock in the first place. The political right seems to want to claim classic comedy like Python as it’s own, moaning that it wouldn’t be permitted any more, when in fact it was inherently progressive and leftist: Python was all about making fun of things like class, tradition and religion, things which the rag in question vehemently defends. Thus the political right is trying to usurp Python, claiming it for itself, twisting it so that it seems to fit their reactionary, intolerant agenda, but that is completely misrepresenting what Python was all about.

While it is true that some of what we saw in python is a little dated and might rightly be frowned upon if it was produced these days, that does not mean it was in any way right wing. It should not be hijacked by the very people Monty Python took the piss out of, to boost their reactionary agenda.

If I’m completely honest, I’m not entirely sure what I think about this. “The home secretary is proposing new laws to restrict the use of tents by homeless people, arguing that many of them see it as a ‘lifestyle choice’.” On the face of it, of course that is an abhorrent, sickening thing to think: nobody chooses to live on the streets, and the evil Tory bitch Braverman obviously just wants to stop people living in tents to make the UK look more prosperous than it is. Homelessness is a clear sign of government failure, which is why the Tories want to hide it.

At the same time, the fact remains that the country has quite a robust welfare system. It’s far from perfect, but it functions. Anyone in need of a home will get one, so in a way you could argue that people – at least some people – do indeed choose to be homeless. Of course I know it’s far more complicated than that, and varies from situation to situation. I’m in no way trying to excuse Braverman, let alone side with her; there are many ways in which destitution cannot be avoided. Yet you can indeed argue that, in choosing not to go through the system others do in order to get housed, sometimes homelessness becomes a choice. I know from my own experiences how much support is available from the state/social services, so it seems odd to me that some people still live on the streets, if not by choice.

Bletchley Park was in the news this week.

I have to say, I find what was achieved there truly, truly remarkable.

To tell the truth, the problem I found at Green Park yesterday was kind of bugging me, so today I thought I would pop back up there and see whether the station is in fact accessible. I got a bus to North Greenwich and hopped on the Jubilee Line, after consulting the staff . In the end it wasn’t a problem: I simply needed to sit in the right train carriage.

Once up in central London though, I decided to have a look around. Green Park itself looked very pretty in the autumn, but what struck me the most was how expensive and gentrified that area is. I seldom head that way, but the amount of posh, expensive shops made my jaw drop. Bentleys probably worth millions were parked in the streets; doormen in top hats stood at the entrances shops like fortnum and Mason. You could almost smell the combination of wealth and entitlement in the air.

Following my nose as I usually do, I checked out the arcades of Mayfair before heading to Oxford street and then Bond Street station. It was very busy and crowded, but fortunately today the rain held off. Needless to say I didn’t buy anything, but was happy just to take in some of central London.

Before long I reached Bond Street and got the Elizabeth Line back to Woolwich. The train was crowded but fast, and I was back on familiar ground within minutes. However, I think the swiftness of the journey kind of made the contrast between the two regions of London more striking than ever. Woolwich market on a Saturday afternoon is very rough and ready: working class and noisy, stall holders shout out what they are selling while Caribbean music blasts from loudspeakers. I could barely make it across General Gordon Square, winding between the stalls and various funfair attractions.

Geographically of course, I had only travelled a few kilometres, but the difference in the culture and atmosphere between the two areas was so stark that it was difficult to believe that I was still in the same city. London at its most bourgeois had become London at perhaps its most proletarian. The change was too striking for me not to notice, and could even be heard in people’s accents. High speed transport projects like The Elisabeth Line may effectively shrink the city, but in doing so they make the contrasts between North, South, East and West more obvious and pronounced. Yet that is part of why I love this metropolis: it’s like the world in one spot, infinitely varied and full of diversity. A twenty minute train ride can take you to another planet. A city so full of life that you can’t help being sucked into it; so fascinating that you never want to leave.

I now think I know east London pretty well, having been living here for almost twelve years. I i trundle around areas like Greenwich, Canary Wharf and Stratford fairly regularly. Yet it occurred to me recently that I know virtually nothing of the west of the metropolis. North of the Thames and beyond, say, Baker Street is almost a total blank on my mental map.

Today, then, I decided to start to put that right. My initial plan upon setting out had been to just pop up to the Olympic park again; but at the last minute I decided to head west instead of east – it was time for some exploration. At first I thought I would get off the tube at green park and take the bus from there, but rather foolishly forgot that it was only wheelchair accessible if you ride in certain coaches. I then realised that I was stuck on the train until we got to Wembley.

I must admit that I was rather annoyed by this at first. I still think that, before it starts any more big projects, TFL should concentrate on making all its tube stations accessible. It seems highly unfair that Londoners like myself can only use certain stations, far fewer than other people, and that we have to be extra careful about where we can and cannot go.

Once at Wembley, though, I put my grumble aside and set about looking around. It is another absurdity gentrified area of London, crammed with shining new buildings. I don’t think I had ever been up there before, but it was quite spectacular. I could tell that it had been redeveloped quite recently, and parts were still being worked on. The half baked idea I’d had of getting a bus from there and dropping in on my parents quickly faded as I soon became rather lost exploring the streets in between trying to dodge the showers.

I didn’t stay in Wembley very long. It was getting wetter and wetter, so much so that returning home became something of a priority. Needless to say I’ll probably head that way again soon, weather permitting. It still staggers me how much money is being ploughed into areas like that. Wembley is quite a historic area, of course synonymous with football; yet today it shines like New York, Los Angeles, or any other newly established centre of capitalism. It makes me wonder once again: are any other parts of the country receiving this breathtaking investment, or is London being singled out for special treatment?

Having said that, I still wish this metropolis would spend some of the money it obviously has on updating the remainder of its tube stations.

The classic comedy series Yes, Minister is currently being repeated on BBC4. It is, of course, a timeless political satire, as stinging and acerbic today as it was when it first aired forty years ago. Watching an episode the other night, though, I was struck by a fairly interesting question: could you remake or reboot Yes Minister? What would it look like if it was set in this chaotic contemporary era? I doubt the relationship between ministers and the civil service will have changed that much, so that aspect of the program will still be pretty pertinent. Yet what might such a remake tell us about British politics as it currently stands? I don’t know the answer to that of course, but surely it would be intriguing to find out.

I think it was yesterday or the day before that Sadiq Kahn made a speech about how religion is an aspect of human diversity to be respected and cherished like any other, and about how we must all live beside people who might hold different beliefs to us. To be honest, when I heard his speech, I was torn in two, both agreeing and vehemently disagreeing with it at the same time. On the one hand, of course I think any aspect of human diversity has to be cherished: social and cultural differences are what make humanity so great and so fascinating. We must accept other people’s beliefs, no matter what they may be or how bizarre we may find them, lest we risk repeating the most hideous mistakes of history.

On the other hand and at the same time, there’s no escaping the fact that religion – all religion – is an inherently oppressive form of social control. I have written on here several times how I think religion boils down to using a set of outdated, baseless myths to tell others what to think and how to behave; it should therefore be opposed or spoken against. In the case of Christianity, priests, preachers or whatever invoke the authority of an all-powerful, all-seeing creator-being, as well as stories about a social leader living in Palestine around 2000 years ago, to tell others how to live their lives. They often use such authority to justify things now rightly rejected in mainstream society, such as homophobia, transphobia and racism.

The authority of such preachers demands absolute, unquestioning belief in such myths. Religion is therefore inherently oppressive because it cannot allow followers to question or look beyond what they are told, which is why I think it is essential that humanity outgrows it. You only have to look at what is going on in Israel to see the problems and divisions religion causes. Surely it has held humanity back for too long and needs to be spoken out against.

That’s why I call religion out as the baseless, anachronistic bullshit it is whenever I can. Yet I cannot deny that causes a contradiction: the need to respect the diversity of human belief versus my desire to get people free from this kind of social control. To be honest I can’t see a way out of this paradox. Of course one must oppose all religions with equal vigour, but that still leaves you open to accusations of persecution, bigotry and intolerance, the likes of which you have always fought against.

I know I can get quite worked up about politics sometimes, but I write the following with total conviction and seriousness: Suella Braverman is unfit for office and needs to be forced to resign immediately. The media is rightly focussing on events in Israel and Gaza, but it’s frankly staggering that more isn’t being said about Braverman’s abhorrent, authoritarian comments about the right to protest. She branded everyone protesting in support of Palestine as criminals and antisemites, calling the recent rallies in several UK cities ”hate marches”. Femi explains things a lot better here, but as a country we should not have such vile, ignorant, arrogant people, who refuse to see a situation from any other perspective than their own, anywhere near our government.

I was on a bus heading to Woolwich earlier when a group of teenagers also got on. I would guess they were fifteen or sixteen, and were all wearing student lanyards. Of course they started chatting to one another, but I was struck by how bold and brash they sounded: they spoke as if they knew everything, and were fully grown, worldly-wise, mature adults. I was then highly amused by the thought that they would only have been five or six – barely more than infants – when London hosted the Olympics, or when Monty Python performed their last shows. I was then even more amused to think that, in all likelihood, I could show them the blog entry I wrote the day each of them were born. Perhaps they wouldn’t sound so headstrong and cocky then!

And then I suddenly began to feel very, very old.

Just for the record I’m at home and perfectly ok this evening. I thought I’d better dash off a quick blog entry, in case you assumed I had done something stupid and ended up in hospital for the second Saturday running. Instead, today was a nice, quiet day trundling up to Stratford and then heading into central london on the Elisabeth Line. I was curious to see how easy it was to get from the Olympic Park into town, and while I needed to ask for a ramp to get onto the train at Stratford, the journey took less than ten minutes. When you remember that Stratford was once such a remote, neglected area of the city, it really is staggering. The same can be said for Woolwich. The metropolis really is shrinking as the incredible labyrinth of tunnels beneath it grows. Not only that, but even it’s most downtrodden corners are undergoing massive regeneration projects. To be honest, it makes me worry that other parts of the country outside the capital aren’t getting the same investment.

I’m starting to really like The Barbican. I’ve been up there two or three times recently, mainly to watch films. Thanks to the Elizabeth Line, getting there is now easier than ever, and only takes a few minutes. I never realised what a fascinating area of London that was, near Liverpool Street Station. It’s full of cinemas, galleries and theatres, so much so that it reminds me of my old university campus. John and I went there again today to see Smoke Sauna Sisterhood, but now I want to go there under my own steam sometime, just for a trundle. I’m still amazed at how much of central London I have yet to explore. More to the point, it would be awesome if I could get involved in something artistic or creative there.

Now that I come to think about it, I don’t think my head was in quite the right place yesterday afternoon. When my friends and I went to the cinema, I was expecting to watch a film, albeit a lengthy one. That is, I thought we were going to see a fairly standard piece of cinema, more or less conforming to the conventions of post-classical Hollywood entertainment. What we actually watched (although ‘witnessed’ might be a more apt term) was closer to a spectacle. As many others are pointing out, Killers Of The Flower Moon is not a film or movie in the conventional sense, but ought better to be seen as a work of art: It is a long, reflexive treatise on a horrific episode of American history – one which most people probably know very little about, but which it was essential to bring to light.

Thinking about it out on my trundle just now, to try to tell such a story in a standard two hour Hollywood text would not have done it justice. Martin Scorsese clearly wanted to create something more, something substantial, because that is what the subject deserved. After all, Killers Of The Flower Moon tells of the systematic murder of an entire group of indigenous American people: to try to confine such genocides to mere pieces of entertainment, at the end of which viewers can go home and forget about it as they would any other piece of mainstream franchise drivel, would have been utterly disrespectful. This needed to be something more than a film, and I think that is what we got.

To be honest, when I wrote my short, sketchy review yesterday, we had just got back to my flat and I was eager to get something online. Chicken was frying and beers were being opened. Yet, thinking about it, writing that review missed the point. Scorsese did not film Killers Of The Flower Moon so it could be reacted to or even dismissed in the usual sense; he wants us to think about what he showed us, and look deeper into the history. The film is a shocking revelation of the inhumanities of American capitalism – one which must not be forgotten about like we often forget other films. The director obviously wants us to become involved in what we are being shown; he wants us to go on and do our own research, to look more deeply into the episode. Scorsese could have shown such discrimination to us in much simpler, conventional ways; yet he illustrates the murders of the Osage People slowly and methodically in order to emphasise the inhumanity and horror of what happened.

Killers Of The Flower Moon is a clear departure from standard hollywood fare. It requires a substantial effort to watch, not simply because of it’s length but because it is a sprawling account of the oppression of the Osage Nation over many, many years. I must admit that this break away from conventional storytelling made the plot rather difficult for me to follow, which probably gave rise to my negativity yesterday. Nonetheless, we as viewers cannot allow ourselves to dismiss this text because we cannot dismiss the history it informs us of.

To a certain extent, it reminds me of Peter Jackson’s three volume adaptation of Lord Of The Rings: that too was a lengthy story which you might argue could have been cut down into one standard two hour film. Yet to do so would have missed the point because the books the film was based on demanded too much respect. The result is a ten hour epic which stands very much apart from other mainstream films. In the case of Killers Of The Flower Moon too we see a story far too weighty to be adapted as we would any other, the difference being the events it tells us of are very, very real. I now realise I was far too dismissive yesterday. I expected to be entertained, but instead was informed. I think a second viewing is certainly in order, as well as a bit more research. After all, the attempted annihilation of an entire community for the sake of the oil on their land is nothing to take lightly.

John, Mitchell and I went to watch Killers Of The Flower Moon this afternoon. After watching Mark Kermode’s review a few days ago, I was eager to see it. Now that I have, I’m struggling to remember watching a more drawn out, laboured film. The story it tells about the persecution and systematic murder of Native Americans in the 1920s is certainly one that needs telling; but it is told so slowly and is so drawn out that I found it hard to pay attention. It’s 180 minutes could easily have been cut down into 120 or even 90. While there were some great performances – it was one of the best roles I’ve seen from Leonardo DeCaprio – I’m afraid that, by the end, the film had lost my attention and interest. I can’t help suspecting that the story may have been better as a TV series, after all.

After writing my entry earlier I was really in the mood for a good long trundle, so I decided to take one of my favourite routes along the Jubilee Greenway towards Stratford. This is a lovely path through east London. However, I noticed something which I think is worth noting here: there seems to have been a surge in political, pro Palestinian graffiti. I kept seeing things like “Free Palestine” and “Free Gaza” daubed everywhere. Of course, I’m not sure how significant this is, and it could just be the work of some local youths trying to stir up trouble; yet it could equally be a sign that animosity towards Israel, and in turn antisemitism, is rising. If so, then things may be heading in a very worrying direction.

Over the years I’ve recorded many awesome things here on my blog: truly incredible events, from concerts to graduations, which I never want to forget. From time to time though, I do things which I’m far less proud of. I suppose such events nonetheless need recording here if I intend to use my blog to give an account of my life as a disabled man living independently in East London.

On Saturday afternoon I went for a walk towards Woolwich. It started to rain heavily, so I popped into a pub. I didn’t intend to drink at first as it was only just turning midday, but one thing lead to another, and I eventually had four or five Leffes. At about four pm I was getting tired, so I asked for a lift home. The staff in the pub thought this meant I needed an ambulance, so they called one. Instead of home, the ambulance took me to hospital. I couldn’t argue due to the beer: using my communication aid had become rather difficult. I was put in a bed, and after a check up and a short rest spent the next six hours begging to be taken home. My powerchair was left in the pub; I went back and collected it on Sunday with the help of my neighbours.

Needless to say I feel very very embarrassed about this entire episode. I didn’t get home until 2am, by then utterly drained. It should never have happened, and to a certain extent puts my ability to live independently at risk. On the other hand, the fact remains that I eventually got home, demonstrating that I can handle such situations to a certain extent. I just wish that I had communicated more clearly, kept my head, and made sure that I was taken home. Above all, I must make sure something like this never happens again.

Needless to say I’m looking forward to a quiet night in this evening. Tonight sees the great Sir David Attenborough return to our screens to present Planet Earth Three. As I wrote here a few weeks ago, I find it utterly phenomenal that he hasn’t retired, and is still presenting programs after seventy years. Not only that, but the programs Sir David brings us are some of the greatest on television, opening our eyes to the beauty and wonder of the natural world. He must surely be the greatest broadcaster ever, not just for Britain but across the world. I daresay pretty much the entire country will be tuned in this evening to watch the latest gift from a man we all grew up with, and who has done far more than anyone to educate us about nature.

When John and I went to see Twenty Days in Mariupol a few days ago, one of the trailers preceding it was for Killers Of The Flower Moon, and I instantly decided it would be next on my ‘to watch’ list. It looked like an intriguing film about the treatment of Native Americans at the beginning of the Twentieth Century. Having just watched Mark Kermode’s review of it, I’m now certain that I need to see it soon. I don’t want to paraphrase Dr. K, but the film seems to have a lot to say about contemporary America, and the place of indigenous communities within it. The review also touches upon current debates around theatrical releases vs. streaming, which is another reason I wanted to link to it: the film will be released simultaneously in cinemas and on Paramount’s streaming service. At four hours long, you can see why some may prefer to watch this film at home. Yet that brings up questions about the role of cinema. Can Cinephilia survive? And are films now being made with streaming rather than the cinema in mind?

I realise that Owen Jones might not be everyone’s cup of tea. I also realise that a few days ago I said I would try to avoid the subject of what is currently happening in Israel. But if you want to hear a frank, quite shocking analysis of what is going on, I would highly recommend watching this. Jones clearly knows far more about current events in the Middle East than I do, and I find a lot of what he reveals quite horrifying. Of course, I’m sure some will accuse him of being biased against Israel, and of exaggerating the extent to which the Israelis are culpable. Yet, to be honest, the vast majority of what he says seems legitimate and backed up with evidence. He makes the effort to dig through the spin we usually see to get to what is really happening, which is why I think he’s worth listening to.

Sometimes, blogging isn’t as straightforward as you might think: from time to time, you come across obvious subjects for blog entries, things you’re itching to write about, but you have no idea what to say about them. This morning on breakfast TV, I saw an item on this fascinating new stage production. The great Danny Boyle has directed a musical adaptation of The Matrix for the inauguration of a new theatre and cultural venue in Manchester. Called Free Your Mind, “The Matrix has been reimagined as a live show directed by Danny Boyle to officially open the UK’s biggest new cultural venue for years…This adaptation is the official launch show for the £240m Aviva Studios.”

Thus this story unites so much which interests me: one of my personal heroes; one of the greatest, most cerebral films of recent times; new arts venues; and the regeneration and cultural enrichment of North-West England. I’m obviously very keen to find out more, as well as to write about it here. The problem is, as enthusiastic as I am, there isn’t much I can say about it at this point. For instance, I find it intriguing that such a philosophical, thought provoking film, as well as one so reliant on CGI, could be adapted into a stage musical: How will it work, and how would it look? I’m also interested in the fact that Boyle, who is principally known as a film director, is now branching out into stage production. Of course he directed the London 2012 opening ceremony, but first and foremost he is synonymous with hard and heavy films like Trainspotting and Slumdog Millionaire. Thus this seems a complete change of direction for him.

However, at this point I don’t think I can comment much. I only got wind of this new production earlier today. As intrigued as I am, without having seen it, there isn’t much I feel I can say. Hence I think my next step must be to find out a bit more, as well as of course to try to get tickets to see it.

I wrote the entry before this one on the tube up to Stratford. These days, I often find it useful to write blog entries on my Ipad when I’m out and about, and then upload them either when I next get a wifi connection or when I get home. On my way back from my trundle though, I saw something which triggered quite a few memories: one of my wheelchair-using neighbours was being dropped off home, probably from school. The minivan she was wheeling out of the back of looked almost exactly like the vans I used to be driven to and from school in. Every day, my fellow students and I were driven twice a day across Cheshire in vehicles like that, so the sight earlier took me right back to my school days. It’s hard to believe that they are now over twenty years ago, but sights like that trigger so many memories, particularly when happened upon all of a sudden. It was a sight I once saw regularly, so after not seeing it for such a long time, it gave me a strange, warm, nostalgic feeling.

I just have a short note to put here today- even shorter than usual. You might remember that, a few weeks ago , I resolved that I had to get a freedom pass to get onto public transport. Well, I did, but I’d just like to note that, since then, it has been resting in my bumbag: I haven’t needed to get it out, use it or show it to anyone once. I have just been let into tube stations and onto busses as usual, including at Woolwich DLR station. It is fast proving to be, as my dad put it, as useful as a complete chocolate teapot.

John and I went up to The Barbican yesterday to watch Twenty Days In Mariupol. To be honest I hadn’t heard of it, but John seemed keen to watch it, and thought that I would get something out of it. Having seen it now, I really think it was the toughest viewing experience I have had in a long, long time: it’s a nonfiction film about Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. It mostly uses raw, often very graphic footage to reveal the appalling things russia is doing there, juxtaposed with the cut down, edited images we see on news bulletins. We as viewers thus get a sense of the context of what we see most of the time, as well as the sheer brutality of what Russia is doing in Ukraine.

In fact at points it was so horrific that I seriously considered asking to leave the screening. I’m glad I didn’t act on that urge though: films like Twenty Days in Mariupol need to be watched, just as they need to be made. The world must see what Russia, under Vladimir Putin, is doing in Ukraine, as well as the amount of audacious bull it tries to spin in the media to try to justify it’s essentially criminal actions. The Russians would have us believe that it had no choice and invading Ukraine was an act of self defence; the film John and I saw yesterday was testimony to precisely the opposite. Thus, as horrific as it was, I would call Twenty Days In Mariupol essential viewing for anyone who wants to be aware of what is currently going on in the world. Above all, you leave the screening aghast that things like the horrors you just saw can still be allowed to happen.

Just to put my James Bond fan hat on, I just came across this article arguing that the next actor to play 007 could be black, or even a woman. Of course, there has been a lot of speculation about who could next play Bond, but the argument goes that the films would be more reflective of contemporary intelligence work if someone other than a white man could step into the famous suit. While I think they have a point, I feel Bond is a manifestly male character and should be played by a man: he is, after all, a cold, brutal government assassin and a disgusting misogynist. As I wrote here some time ago, I have no issue with a black man playing 007 – I can think of plenty of black male actors who would make fantastic Bonds – yet, as a character created by Ian Fleming, Bond is fundamentally male. Changing his gender would spoil the entire dynamic.

On the other hand, there is also talk of spin-offs from the James Bond franchise which could be about different, female characters. That would obviously be less problematic, although whether such spin off films ever get off the ground, or are any good if they do, remains very much to be seen.