I was thinking about writing something political today. The problem is, I can’t choose what to write about. I’ve spent all day trying to decide which enrages me more: the fact that, here in the Uk, we have a government which is apparently more than willing to accept donations from blatant racists, and doesn’t have the honour to give the money back when that bigotry becomes clear for all to see. On the other hand, in America the republicans have selected a known conman and convicted rapist as their candidate. A man obviously totally unfit to hold any form of political office; someone so divisive that the country would be lucky to survive if he is elected. How our American friends can even contemplate allowing Trump anywhere near the White House again is beyond me.

I find both issues equally frustrating, and equally ridiculous. I genuinely don’t understand how people on either side of the Atlantic can knowingly support and vote for the charlatans at the centre of both. But then, I suppose that’s just a sign of how fragmented and polarised the whole world has become.

I just got back from a quick trip to my local B and Q store in Greenwich. It was nothing special, but Serkan had asked me to buy a specific type of kitchen sponge, and I thought B and Q might be the best place to look. A totally unnoteworthy trip, only when I came to pay, the young man helping me was so bad tempered that I had to note it here. He was muttering all kinds of nastiness under his breath about it not being in his job description as he got my cash out of my wallet, obviously assuming I couldn’t hear or understand him. It made me feel incredibly awkward and unwelcome. I really think some kind of short course in disability awareness should be mandatory for anyone applying for such jobs.

I wish that I was physically able to take photos with my iPad camera sometimes.

It was quite a grey, dank day here in east London. Luckily this afternoon the rain stopped enough for me to go out on my daily trundle. Today I decided to head to Charlton, before probably going on to Woolwich and along the Thames. Probably due to the overcast sky my thoughts were rather dark and gloomy.

About half way through my walk through, I headed into Maryon Wilson park, a beautiful little park in Charlton. It was the first park I came across when I moved to Charlton: I still have very fond memories of going through it fairly regularly, many happy and cheerful, yet now inevitably tinged with a certain melancholy. There is a tiny brook which winds it’s way next to the footpath there, and I was curious to see whether it had swelled much due to the recent rain.

Going through the wooded park this afternoon, I came across the stream in a quiet corner of it. The water, just a few centimetres wide, was bubbling over a few rocks, sparkling in what little sunlight there was. It was a stunning, peaceful sight, as if I had been suddenly transported a thousand miles away from the bustling city about me, to some wooded glade in the Scottish highlands or even the American Rockies. In that moment I wished with all my heart that I could take a picture of the happy little sight before me. I automatically felt my mood lift: such tiny pockets of heartwarming beauty, it seems, can be found anywhere – you just need to look.

I just saw on the lunchtime news that Lee Anderson has defected from the Tory party to Reform, giving them their first MP. I know that MPs don’t legally have to resign when they switch parties of course, but this nonetheless makes me very uncomfortable. Reform is nothing but a bunch of knuckle-dragging xenophobes, on a par with the MAGA fuckwits in America; it shouldn’t be anywhere near the UK parliament. After all, Anderson was elected as a Tory, and the people who voted for him did so to elect the Tory party. They did not vote for Reform, and I sincerely hope wouldn’t be foolish enough to ever do so. Thus I think we need to see an urgent bi-election in the constituency of Ashfield, as well as Anderson’s immediate resignation.

I’m sure we all remember what films from the 1970s look like, even if, like me, you weren’t born then: they have a pretty specific, pre-digital aesthetic. That’s why, when John suggested going to watch The Holdovers yesterday, showing me the trailer, I wondered why my friend wanted to watch such an old film. I also wondered why a cinema in Peckham would be screening a film which looked like it was at least forty. I was, however, wrong about the age, and when John told me it was a recent release, it instantly aroused my curiosity.

Indeed, The Holdovers is an extremely curious film. Set in a big boarding school in New England, it’s about a teacher and a student growing to know and respect one another when they’re forced to stay at school over Christmas. It is often profoundly touching, and very funny. What caught my eye most, though, was the aged, 70s aesthetic: the entire mis-en-scene, down to the choice of camera lens and aspect ratio, looks like it is from the seventies. It was so convincing that I half expected a young John Cleese to turn up as a teacher. I’m not sure why the director, Alexander Payne, chose to go down that route rather than setting the film in contemporary times, but it works perfectly. There’s a real sense of pre-digital isolation in the film, stemming from both the era and the cold, snowy New England geography the characters inhabit. This helps their reconciliation towards the end of the film all the more warming.

The Holdovers is a real treat, well worth the trip to Peckham to watch it. Part of me is still surprised that it was only released a few months ago, but good cinema should always be surprising. This is a lovely, heartwarming film, transporting us back to arguably simpler times, and reminding us what films used to be like.

As a blogger, you know you’re in quite a predicament when one of the issues you want to blog about most is the issue you’re most afraid to for fear of offending someone. More to the point, you can tell that something is gravely amiss when people start hesitating about speaking out against obvious injustices, for fear that they might be accused of discriminating against a certain group of people. It’s one of the most pressing current issues, of a kind which wouldn’t ordinarily be tolerated; yet because the powers behind it are nominally linked to one of the most oppressed social groups in human history, we feel we cannot speak out against what is obviously wrong.

I realise that this might be slightly lazy blogging on my part, but one of the first things I came across on Youtube this morning was this intriguing video about the history behind the Dune books and films. As you might be able to tell from my last few entries, it’s a series I’m now really getting into. This twenty-five minute History Hit video starts to put Dune into context, laying out where Frank Herbert probably got many of his ideas: perhaps most obviously, much of the Dune saga is based upon the politics and history of the middle east at the beginning of the last century, with Spice being an allegory for oil. I found it captivating, and strongly suggest anyone interested in what is fast becoming cinema’s current foremost franchise gives it a watch.

I am only just starting to get into Herbert and Dune. What I saw at the cinema on Sunday gave me a glimpse of an intriguing, complex fiction which at the moment I know next to nothing about. Videos like this whet my interest even further. The new adaptations really have opened up a completely new fictional world for me, every bit as interesting as my favourites, Star Trek and Lord Of The Rings. I now can’t wait to find out more.

This seemed so apt, I just had to nick it!

I think I’ve mentioned on here before how Stratford has become sort of my default destination for my daily trundles. Instead of going to the trouble of deciding where to head for an afternoon, I just catch the jubilee line up to the Olympic park and spend a couple of hours up there. I enjoy looking at all the building projects in that area, and watching it change over time. 

Today, though, I felt like I needed a change. I swapped platforms at North Greenwich and headed west to the south bank. To be honest it had been ages since I last went that way, and I was keen to see if much had changed. I remember going there quite a bit when I first moved to London with Lyn: it struck me as a vibrant, amazing area of the city which I had known nothing about previously. I will never forget going to the globe the first time with Lyn. As someone who had grown up loving Shakespeare, watching him performed like that, in that incredible theatre by the Thames, was beyond amazing.

I just got home from a lovely long stroll. Getting off the jubilee line at London Bridge I headed along the south bank of the Thames. One of my aims for the trip was to check in at the Globe theatre to see what they had on at the moment. After I had done so, I carried on along the river to Westminster, crossing it to check out parliament square before heading towards Buckingham palace and then eventually Bond Street. From there I got the Elizabeth line home, typing this very blog entry into my iPad as we went.

London never stops amazing me. It intrigues me, and I will never tire of exploring it: It’s tube stations and shops, it’s cafes and pubs; it’s winding warren of roads and wide, stately river. A metropolis which once seemed so vast, hostile and alien now feels more and more homelike. Areas like the south bank and Westminster now carry a plethora of memories for me, built up over the last fourteen years. Every time I go into it, I get to know it just a bit more, to the extent that I can’t wait to see what I’ll find in this amazing microcosm next.

Yesterday evening, I think it’s fair to say that I was reminded why I love the cinema and think that film is best viewed on the big screen. Watching Dune Part Two last night with John blew my mind: I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a more visually stunning film. As Mark Kermode says in his review, the cinematography is magnificent and really stands out. Notably for a science fiction epic set in space, this film takes place entirely on the planet Arakis. Unlike in the previous instalment, there aren’t any sweeping shots of stars, planets or space ships. Instead, we are treated to magnificent views of deserts, dunes, and people surfing on huge worms burrowing through the sand.

In terms of narrative, I have to say that it struck me as rather complex and hard to keep up with. To be honest I wish I had rewatched the first part before going to the cinema yesterday: this is a highly political text with a lot to say about religion, culture and power; it demands a lot of concentration and engagement. On the other hand it draws viewers in so that we become engrossed even if we can’t quite keep up with what’s going on: we are presented with cultures, characters and languages which seem to beg to be explored. Largely through the intriguing references the characters make to all kinds of fascinating places and concepts, you get the sense that there is much more to this narrative than what you have seen; an affect which George Lucas tried to emulate in Star Wars, but failed miserably.

You can probably say that Dune is to Science fiction what Lord Of The Rings is to fantasy. It is genre fiction at it’s best. I now can’t wait for the next instalment, of course, but I also think I need to rewatch the first two films plenty of times to make sure I get my head around what I’m being shown.

I didn’t think I’d blog today, but I just came across something so awesome that it just had to be recorded. John and I just got home from watching the second part of Dune. It’s a spectacularly good film every bit as great as the first part. Once again I left the cinema dying to explore the fictional world I’d just glimpsed. I was intending to write a full review of it on here in the morning, but there is a small detail which I simply have to note. Watching the film earlier, I noticed that the actor playing the Emperor looked familiar: he looked like Cristopher Walken, who also once appeared in the video to Fatboy Slim’s Weapon Of Choice. The reason that strikes me as so cool is because that song contain’s the lyrics “If you walk without rhythm, you won’t attract the worm”, a direct reference to Dune. I don’t know how deliberate this bit of casting was, but it just struck me as such a neat link that it begged to bee noted. I love how the film nodded to a music video twenty years before it.

The USA is genuinely starting to worry me. On facebook yesterday, I asked one of the anti-religion pages I’m on a question about how religious America was becoming, and one respondent kindly recommended that I checked out a Youtube channel by someone called Owen Morgan, aka Telltale. He is a former Jahovah’s Witness who is now making videos about his former church, religion and american politics. Naturally I did so, and what he has already revealed to me is as fascinating as it is insane. Morgan is clearly an intelligent, coherent young man, but what I’ve already learned from him about the religious fundamentalist component of American culture defies belief, if you’ll forgive the pun. Some of these so-called preachers or pastors, for example, seem to genuinely believe that Donald Trump is some sort of messiah – it would be hilarious if it wasn’t so fucked up. You can check out Morgan’s Youtube channel here; I highly recommend doing so if, like me, you’re becoming increasingly concerned about religious zealotry in thee US..

To be honest the phenomenon of Whatsapp and QR Codes is really starting to bother me. I know I have blogged about this before, but only in a passing, unconcerned way. It is a technology I can’t access, but I just let it slide. These days, however, the codes are becoming so ubiquitous that it’s really starting to get to me. Because I can’t hold my Ipad camera up to scan the codes, I have no way of accessing them. Of course, I still have alternatives like Facebook, but frankly it’s really starting to get to me. Up until now, I’ve tried to be an up-to-date kind of guy, embracing new technology and social phenomena where I can. Yet Whatsapp has excluded me completely because accessing it requires physical abilities which I as a disabled man do not have. This would be fine as there are other, more accessible alternatives. Yet this is becoming so ubiquitous, with QR codes appearing everywhere from bus stop signs to the big screen outside London Stadium, that I can’t help starting to feel a little excluded and discriminated against.

A local police officer got quite a surprise this morning. Mind you, I was surprised too. I was trundling around the Olympic park a few days ago when two boys decided it would be funny to try to wind me up by calling me all kinds of insulting things. I get it quite regularly, of course, but nonetheless I don’t see why I should put up with it. I took umbrage, and headed for the park security office to ask if they could do anything about it. They took my details, including my address, and it was left at that: grievance registered, I assumed I would hear nothing more about it.

This morning, however, I was watching breakfast tv waiting for Serkan to arrive when I heard my doorbell ring. I was surprised- who would be calling on me at that time? I went and opened my front door to see a police man there, asking to talk to me. I doubt he was prepared for the sight of a cripple in only his underwear, but I invited him in anyway. The Olympic park security staff had apparently reported the incident last week to the police, and the officer had come to ask me about it. I told him what I could remember, of course, but the episode had been so fleeting that I couldn’t give him much detail.

This might well have been an issue of box ticking and going through the correct motions, but all the same I’m glad to see that the park staff had taken what I told them seriously. Trouble making, bullying kids are all too easy to ignore. I don’t see why I should have to take the shit they give me, and I’m glad to see someone agrees.

I was in two minds about blogging about this because it is a personal matter for someone still very dear to me, yet I think it is the best way for me to show my sorrow. I have written here before about the special school I went to: it was for fairly severely disabled children aged between two and eighteen. When I was in the first year of the middle school, aged about six or seven, I had a teacher called Mrs Pilkington, a very warm, kindly lady who did her best to teach me how to spell. I’ll always remember that school year as the one my Dad read The Hobbit to me and my brothers, and I became so obsessed with it that I spent most of my free time at school trying to rewrite it on an old BBC computer. To her great credit, Mrs. P saw the benefit of this and encouraged me, correcting my spelling as I went.

Mrs. Pilkington had a son, Stuart, who at the time was in his twenties, I think. For reasons I’m not sure of, Mrs. P invited Stuart into the class to help support me and my classmates. He was a great guy: warm, caring, and someone I grew to look up to. He became something of a brotherly figure, encouraging me in my work but not afraid to have fun. I remember Stuart once pretending to tear up the print out of the story I had been working on for so long.

I hadn’t seen Stuart or his mum in years, of course – not since school. I’m in contact with Mrs Pilkington on facebook, however, and we often exchange messages and comments. Very sadly, that is where Mrs Pilkington announced the death of her son last week. There wasn’t much detail, yet I know how close she was to her son, and my heart goes out to her. I’m writing this to convey my deep, deep sorrow: Linda Pilkington played an enormous part in my childhood and education; she did not deserve this news in any way. I’ll always remember her classes as places of warmth, support and encouragement, and her son as someone I had a lot of respect for. I know how much he will be missed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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