I was just watching the BBC evening news, and it would seem a massive political can of worms has just been opened, one which covers two issues I feel very strongly about. The UK government has this evening acted to block the Scottish gender bill. Of course, the Scottish parliament wanted to make the laws around transitioning between genders more lenient: they wanted to lower the age at which one can transition from eighteen to sixteen, and make it so you no longer need a diagnosis of gender dysphoria to transition.

This is a very complex, thorny issue; one which I don’t feel like going into fully tonight. Of course, I wholeheartedly support trans rights. Surely everyone has a right to live however they wish. Yet as I explain here, I think that must come with a few caveats, especially when it comes to concepts like gender. Gender Dysphoria is a real condition and nobody has a right to cast doubt on that. But the key term there is ‘condition’, one which should require a proper medical or psychological diagnosis. If one is no longer necessary, I worry that people will begin to treat gender, being transgender and transitioning much more flippantly, as if it was something one could choose more or less to do on a whim, rather than the intensely uncomfortable often traumatic experience many transgender people currently go through. To a certain extent I think loosening the rules like the Scottish government proposes actually insults transgender people, as it makes transitioning a far less fundamental, life-changing decision, and treats what trans people go through far more flippantly than it deserves.

Thus, as much as it pains me to admit it, I actually side with the UK government (Tories) on this; they were right to block the Scots on this. This is something we need to be very cautious about and to treat with the upmost respect. It would also have opened up a minefield when it came to questions over who is which gender on which side of the border. But did Sturgeon and the SNP know that though, and is it what they were planning? Did they know this change in the law would cause so much trouble? Were they planning on it being blocked in Westminster? They obviously know how socially cautious the Tories usually are upon such matters; they also knew what a minefield it would open up. If that is true, then this bill had nothing to do with transgender rights or liberalising rules, and everything to do with fermenting division between Scotland and the rest of the UK. Now Sturgeon can turn to the Scottish people and say “They blocked our laws! Independence now!” She is effectively using the lives and rights of transgender people to achieve her own nationalist goals, something which I find utterly, utterly disgusting.

I defy any thinking, politically conscious person to watch this Owen Jones video bringing to light just how despicable and heartless the Home Secretary Suella Braverman is, and not think the bitch should be instantly removed from office. I know I shouldn’t just flag Youtube videos up like this, but I think what Jones says is very, very important. Braverman and the Tories have began to deliberately dehumanise migrants: They are trying to set up a narrative that there is some kind of army of illegal immigrants coming to invade the country. To hear Braverman’s comments as she responds to a holocaust survivor who points out that they too would have been sent back to the Nazis under the new rules is utterly chilling. What they are doing in their ‘war or immigration’ is no less cruel and inhumane than what fascists, imperialists and autocrats have done for centuries. For anyone interested in UK politics who wants to see the Tories for who they really are, watching this video is essential.

I didn’t think I would post an entry today, but I just watched the first fifteen minutes of Michael McIntyre’s Big Show and suddenly felt compelled to say something. I had seen it advertised a few days ago and thought it looked interesting. Would somebody please explain to me why something so awful, so childish, so base is doing on British television, much less being screened as the highlight of bbc one’s Saturday evening schedule. In the quarter of an hour I saw, McIntyre had ‘borrowed’ some dude’s mobile phone and was going through it, embarrassing him in front of the entire nation. It was somehow supposed to be funny – McIntyre and his audience seemed to find it hilarious – but all I could do was cringe, before getting up out of my chair and turning the shit off. If this is the height of mainstream mass entertainment in the UK, then surely we have reached a new low.

I just got some good news and some rather disappointing news. I now live in a set of three rows of freshly built flats, with two short roads separating each row. It is the type of residential construction which is now appearing all over London: compact, yet pleasantly communal. Each row has about sixteen flats, eight side by side and on two floors. At the end of one row, in the corner opposite to my flat, a space was left for a shop: rather than putting another flat there, the guys in charge decided to use it as a commercial space. It has never been used since I moved here though, and has been empty for months.

However, it now looks like the shop is finally about to open. People have been working on it for weeks, and each time I have rolled past it has looked more and more shop-like. This afternoon, coming back from a trundle, I noticed new signs had been put up saying that the store will open soon, and will sell groceries and basic products, including beer and wine. When I read that I automatically became more enthusiastic – it would make getting hold of my evening libations much easier. I then decided to take a closer look, and for the first time was able to look into the forthcoming shop.

To my total disappointment, I saw that, not only was the place tiny, but there were small flights of steps everywhere. It was only a quick glance, but from the looks of it, there’s no way I’ll be able to get in there. It’s a shame because I thought all new retail outlets were supposed to be wheelchair accessible. I found that very disheartening, and would have hoped that the people behind a new build like this, especially Greenwich council, would have been more thoughtful.

If working people, particularly in the public sector, do not have the right to strike, or if their strikes are rendered effectively moot by the need to carry on working anyway through ‘minimum service’ obligations, then they are rendered voiceless. Surely workers have rights which need to be defended. If we don’t, then what rights could the Tories take from us next?

Needless to say I’m still incandescent with rage over Brexit and all the barely literate halfwits who still support it. It is now putting peace in Northern Ireland at risk, something thousands of people had to negotiate for years for, ending a conflict which had cost thousands of lives. That fact alone should be enough to make any sensible person realise that leaving the EU was a total mistake, but to hear the Outist Imbeciles talk, it’s all the European Union’s fault for being belligerent and not letting them have their cake and eat it. When the issue was being discussed on Newsnight last night, I was literally shaking with fury: ‘Baroness’ Kate Hoey was trying to pin the problems on the EU, trying to con the public into directing our anger at Europe when it should be directed wholly and only at Brexiteers like her. We all knew that this would be a problem; we were warned that we would have to make peace in Northern Ireland all over again if the UK voted to Leave; so to hear those moronic enough to still support Brexit try to argue that this isn’t their fault really, really takes the piss.

The solution to the Northern Ireland issue is obvious. Leaving the EU means a trade border either in the Irish sea or on the island of Ireland. Neither is acceptable. The most logical thing to do is to abandon Brexit altogether, rejoin our neighbours and forget the stupidity ever happened. That’s the only way peace can be saved, and peace must surely come first. Of course, Outists like Hoey will never accept that because now they have their narrow-minded nationalistic way, their freedom to persecute and dominate those less privileged than they are, they won’t give it up. But if you ask me such people are fit only to be put into asylums and told to draw pictures; they shouldn’t be anywhere near the government of this country. Through their arrogance and stupidity, they have put the peace process under threat, and are now trying to blame someone else for it. That’s what makes me angry. It’s time to get a grip, ignore idiots like Hoey, and reversed Brexit.

I know I’m not anyone’s primary source of news, so by the time you read this, you’ll know what happened with last night’s launch. I just want to say how disappointed I am, and to commiserate everyone involved. However, this obviously isn’t the end of the story, but the beginning of it. Last night’s launch may have been a failure, but as people are already saying, there are many more such launches yet to come, not only from Cornwall but from other new space ports around the country. That’s what is so exciting: we are seeing the birth of UK space exploration; the first small steps into the final frontier. We are joining America, Europe, Russia and China in the exploration of space, and I can’t wait to see what happens next.

I can’t help finding this news very, very exciting. “The first ever orbital space launch from British soil is getting ready to blast off. Monday’s mission will see a repurposed 747 jumbo jet release a rocket over the Atlantic to take nine satellites high above the Earth…. If it succeeds, it will be a major milestone for UK space, marking the birth of a home-grown launch industry.” While it is being done by Virgin – say what you will about Richard Branson and his cunning stunts – if this works it will surely open a new chapter in space exploration, not just for the UK but also in terms of ways to launch rockets and satellites.

Video of the launch will hopefully be online by tomorrow morning – it should be quite spectacular.

I just got back from the second part of a very interesting weekend- from an event where, for once, I wasn’t the strangest looking person in the building. I heard of RuPaul’s Drag Con 2023 a couple of days ago, and it seemed like it was worth a look. It was in the Excel Centre, meaning it was easy to get to, but it wasn’t something I would be disappointed about missing. However, when I headed over there early yesterday afternoon, I was instantly intrigued.

You might remember that I used to like to dress up in dresses and leotards: I suppose it was a form of escape or sexual exploration. I grew out of it though, and I haven’t dressed up in years. Boys clothes just seem so much more practical. However, I haven’t lost my interest in the cultural aspect of cross dressing, and that seems to have exploded: what was once my dirty little secret has now become it’s own subculture. The excel centre was filled to capacity with men in dresses and all kinds of exotic costumes, enough to make me wish I had made the effort and dressed up too. Of course this is probably due to the popularity of television programmes like RuPaul’s Drag Race, but I also think that the desire to be other, which I have written about here before, plays a part too.

People are becoming more sexually liberal, expressive and tolerant than they have been, which is obviously a good thing. Yet I think the desire to escape being perceived as normal also plays a role: being straight, white and able bodied is no longer politically fashionable, so people are now playing with aspects of their personalities which may have previously been hidden. Thus this weekend I saw all kinds of people, male, female, black, white, able bodied and disabled, wearing all kinds of costumes. It was quite fascinating.

While the event was largely about selling merchandise, there was a great atmosphere of camaraderie in the air, with people all over the place playing and joking with each other. I am in no position to judge, but I daresay that, while there were no doubt quite a few long term crossdressers and transpeople there, there were also quite a few people for whom this weekend was their first time expressing that aspect of their personalities. There was thus a sense of freedom in the air, as if events like this allow people to let them selves loose. The result is a new and growing culture, which allows people to explore and express desires which they have previously had to keep hidden. Where for me it was going to university which allowed me to experience the tug of tights, at a time when crossing gender lines was still rather taboo, events like Drag Con allow people to open up and play around, generating a new open, tolerant, welcoming subculture. Surely that can only be a good thing.

I know I don’t often comment on things like this, but when I heard about this news on the bulletin earlier, I let out a cry of absolute incredulity and astonishment. ” A six-year-old boy has been detained by police after shooting a teacher in the US state of Virginia, officers say….It is unclear how the child obtained the gun, but [local police chief Steve] Drew said the incident was not “an accidental shooting”.” I would defy anyone to hear that and not be utterly bewildered: How perverse does a country need to get were guns are so readily available that a six year old can get hold of one, let alone then shoot his teacher with it? How many tragedies like this have to happen before America wakes up and gets a grip of it’s gun laws?

I used to think Manchester was big. When I was growing up in a sleepy little Cheshire town, I used to think of Manchester as a vast urban metropolis to the north. After all, it even has an international airport. It amuses me how much that perception has changed. Now, after thirteen years living in London, my mind’s eye rather pompously casts Manchester as a sleepy little place up north, hardly deserving to be called a city. After all, London is where all the cool stuff happens; it is where all the arenas, museums and tube lines are.

I know I shouldn’t feel like this. It’s probably just an inevitable result of having lived here for so long and now having so many awesome memories and emotions to associate with the city. Trips like the one I took yesterday serve to remind me how vast and labrynthine London is, intriguing me even more. It has now reached the point where I can’t help finding it funny when people refer to Manchester as “Manchattan”, as if having four or five medium-sized skyscrapers mean that it ranks alongside one of the world’s great metropolises. Such people should come and see what’s happening in Canary Wharf, or even Lewisham!

Yet I don’t think this London-centrism is just confined to me, and that makes it a much bigger problem. It seems to be a cultural issue: people in London tend to look down on everywhere else, as if all other UK towns and cities are just tiny places which don’t really matter. We see it reflected in the investment being ploughed into London compared with everywhere else. I’ve become used to trundling around the capital on especially adapted busses and trains, forgetting that the infrastructure everywhere else is nowhere near the standard it is here. It’s easy enough to joke and dismiss places like Manchester as quiet villages, but the fact remains that the imbalance between London and the rest of the country is getting worrying.

Navigating around London can be quite confusing sometimes. As I wrote a few days ago, I spent a lovely Christmas with my parents at our family house up in Harlesden. Getting there isn’t a problem: I just have to get the jubilee line to Wembley, and a bus from there. I have to go all the way to Wembley, of course, because that is the only wheelchair accessible station at that end of the line.

However, glancing at the bus timetables on my way home last week, I noticed that the bus I had to take from Wembley, the 206, purportedly terminated at Kilburn station. If that was true, then it could have been very useful, as Kilburn is also a station on the Jubilee Line, but a few stops before Wembley. I know I went that way on a similar expedition back in October, but I now really want to get to know that area.

That, then, is what I decided to investigate today. My parents are currently up in Cheshire, so the house in Harlesden is empty; today was just about seeing whether I could get there any quicker and more easily. I got the bus to North Greenwich station, where I told the staff that I wanted to go to Kilburn. I was then escorted to the westbound platform and put on a train. No problem so far.

It took about half an hour to get to Kilburn, where a very helpful man was waiting for me with a ramp. (Using other similar stations in the future clearly won’t be a problem)  I got off the train and exited the station onto Kilburn high street. It was there, however, that things got silly.

I assumed that it would just be a case of looking for the right bus stop. I knew which bus I needed, but for the life of me couldn’t remember where the stop was: I don’t know that part is London very well, but I took it from the bus timetable I had seen that the stop would be just outside the station. I knew I’d been there once or twice before, yet I couldn’t find it anywhere, and my search gradually getting wider and wider.

To cut a long story short, I eventually found myself lost somewhere in Brent. My grandparents old place isn’t that far from Kilburn, but I couldn’t find it. I spent two hours wandering around, and was beginning to get slightly worried, when I suddenly came upon Kilburn Park Station and realised that the station the tube went through and the one where the bus terminated were two entirely different places. Things had suddenly become rather irritating, and I told myself I should have checked before leaving home.

On the other hand it was there that I finally found the bus stop that I had been looking for for the last two hours. I caught the 206 to Wembley, regretting having wasted so much time. However, rather than coming straight home, I got off the bus briefly to check on the family house, simply to make sure it was safe and secure. Although I hadn’t found the shortcut I was looking for, getting around the city is  becoming easier and easier for me: days like today show me that, no matter how lost I get, I can always get myself home. Thus I don’t think the trip was a complete waste of time.

Rather than taking the Jubilee Line all the way back, to round the day off I decided to change at Bond Street for the Elizabeth Line. I thought it would be quicker and quieter. It might have to simpler to go back the way I had come, but today was all about exploring and getting to know London a bit more. Today may have been a bit of a waste of time which took far longer than I thought it would, and I should have double checked where I was going before I left.. But days like this help me really get to know London; and at least  I now know that there might be more than one station with the same name.

I think I’ve mentioned on here once or twice the affection and respect I had for the late Queen. I am, of course, a firm believer in democracy, and hold that political and social authority should always be granted by a community. The notion of monarchy, where authority is inherited, obviously contradicts that. Yet it seems to me that the late Queen Elisabeth wasn’t so much a monarch as a maternal figure: she had always been there in the background, having become queen before either of my parents were born. She was benign and unobtrusive: she didn’t get involved in the day-to-day politics of the country, but we could always count on her to appear at major state occasions, or at Christmas to do her speech. A bit like David Attenborough or James Bond, she was one of those nice, inoffensive constants who had just always seemed to be there.

However, the same cannot be said of the rest of the Royal Family. Unlike the late Queen, Charles and his sons seem to appear regularly in the daily press: they more or less perform a royal national soap opera which was started by princess Dianna and has been going on ever since. To her great credit, the Queen always seemed to be above the farce, but now that she is gone all that we are left with is the daily trivia of an over-privileged, self-important family too used to airing their infantile bickering in the daily press. The way they are now giving interviews and counter-interviews against one another, and expecting them to appear on the evening news as if their petty family politics is of national importance, really is getting too much.

The question now is, do we really still want to put up with this bollocks? As a modern, educated democracy, is there really still a place for this anachronism? If we are a country of equals, why do we have to revere this family so much, paying so much attention to who says what about whom? Of course, the case has been made that the royal family acts as a type of limiting body for parliament: should a government ever go too far and become too extreme, the theory goes that the royal family, alongside the House of Lords, would hold it in check. Yet there are plenty of other, more democratic ways to do that, not least an elected second chamber.

I’m thus starting to think that it’s time to give the monarchy a serious reevaluation. To be honest, I had been thinking about this for quite some time: the Queen was cool, but once she went I knew my stance would change. I don’t think I’m alone in this: the great Ian Hislop articulated similar ideas recently, although I can’t seem to find the right video. Now we no longer have the great maternal constant which had been in our cultural background for seventy years, more and more people will start seeing the monarchy for what it is: a family of spoiled, arrogant snobs too used to being allowed to get away with anything they want, which we could easily do without. While I would be cautious about calling myself a Republican, especially not in the American sense, I suspect we’ll soon see a resurgence of republicanism in the UK.

Since I blogged about it at about this point a couple of years ago, I might as well note that 2022, like 2020 and 2021, was a good year for my absences. I still had a few of course, including one or two quite nasty ones, but they were few and far between. On the whole I feel quite positive about them and my health in general; it’s probably just a matter of maintaining a healthy, regular diet. Having said that, I must admit that my belly seems to have developed quite a bulge which I never thought it would.

This is a bit mean, but well put…

To be honest, I’m struggling to come up with a way to summarise this year. Unless I have somehow forgotten something, it was a year in which nothing particularly interesting happened for me personally: I didn’t go on any amazing trips or to any fantastic concerts or shows. Having said that, going to see To Kill A Mockingbird a few weeks ago with John was surely a highlight of the year: it was an amazing production which left me dying for more.

2022 will obviously be remembered as the year queen Elisabeth died; on the other hand, it will also be remembered as the year we more or less got over COVID. It has been a rather turbulent year, and what 2023 will bring very much remains to be seen. To a certain extent this year saw quite a paradigm shift in more ways than one. I can therefore just wish everyone luck and happiness in the coming 2023.

I realise that this is a bit of a wierd topic to blog about today, but I still have an odd interest in Olympic bids. It seems to me that sports events like the Olympics and World Cup are the primary ways cities or countries get to show off to one another. Thus, I’m not so interested in who wins what sporting competition, rather how cities and countries vie between each other for the right to host events. It strikes me that there are a hell of a lot of politics involved in such decisions.

Earlier today I came across this entry on the Gamesbids blog. It’s just a summary of the ten main events in that area this year. Reading it, something struck me as potentially very interesting: both London and Doha, Qatar are contemplating bidding to host the 2036 Olympic Games. If true, then it could be something worth keeping an eye on.

Of course, it has only been just over ten years since London hosted the 2012 games, and another successful bid would make it the only city to host the games four times. The Olympic park up in Stratford will presumably still be there, so this time we would just need to dust everything off. To be honest, the vibe I get from what I read concerning the idea of another London Olympics is kind of half-hearted: Been there, done that. (Indeed, as I wrote here, I personally think a joint bid from Manchester, Liverpool and Leeds might be even cooler). It’s the fact that we would be bidding against Doha which interests me though.

On the other hand, Qatar seems rather desperate for a chance to host an Olympic games for the first time. They controversially put on the World Cup this year of course, and there are many who still think it should never have done so given it’s stance on women’s and LGBTQ rights. The country seems to crave the kind of international validation that hosting such events earns it, as if holding an Olympic Games would mean Doha is a big player on the world stage, alongside the likes of London, Paris, LA and Tokyo. Perhaps I’m overreading things, but I think in such bidding processes we can discern quite a bit about a city or country, about it’s ambitions, how it sees itself and how it wants to be seen. Qatar currently seems desperate for the recognition of hosting such events, as if doing so gives the dictators who rule it some kind of validity. We all saw how overboard they went hosting the world cup this year; just think how pumped up their egos would be should their capital win the right to put on the world’s most prestigious sporting and cultural event.

All the more reason to back another London bid.

I came across this Star Trek-related article earlier, and I must say it has me rather excited. It seems that the upcoming third season of Picard will give the Next Generation crew the grand send-off it never really had. The entire cast, including Brent Spiner, are getting back together one last time to save the galaxy. It will be wonderful to see: I think I’ve written on here before about what a big role Star Trek, especially TNG played in my childhood and adolescence. It really captured my imagination and sense of wonder, and it has been one of my major obsessions ever since. Given how lacklustre the final two TNG films, Insurrection (1999) and Nemesis (2002) were, to see my favourite crew at last get the send-off they always deserved but never really had will be awesome. To see those characters reunited after 21 years is something I’m really looking forward to. Mind you, I just have to raise an eyebrow slightly at the fact that this will be achieved through a streamed TV series rather than a cinematically released film. If you ask me, Star Trek is always better on the big screen – where else can you really experience scenes like this and this? Having to sign up to yet another streaming service, and watching it in episodes on your computer just doesn’t give you the same effect. This crew’s send off should have been cinematic.

I’m up slightly early today. I just turned on my computer, and Facebook reminded me that it’s Paul Levett’s birthday. It has been absolutely ages since I heard from him: I just checked his Facebook page, and it seems very stagnant. In fact, one of the items nearest the top of his page was a link to this entry, which I put there a year ago. I’m now extremely concerned about Lyn’s brother. He was supposed to be organising Lyn’s memorial event, but I have heard nothing about it. To my knowledge, her ashes are still in Eltham cemetery. I’ll probably go and double check that later. In the meantime, if anyone can help me with this or has any information, please contact me.

I think it’s rather odd that, when I was growing up, there was so much talk in the media about the construction of what was then called The Millennium Dome. In my early teens, I remember they decided to build a wonderful new building down in London to celebrate the coming year 2000. At the time, I wasn’t that interested: it was a long way away, and I didn’t think I would ever see the place. Why would teenage me give a rat’s ass about a strange new building in London? Frankly it seemed like a huge waste of money.

The odd thing is, how much that building is now a part of my life, playing a huge role in my local geography. Of course, North Greenwich tube station is just outside the Dome, so I go up there quite frequently. I came back that way on my way home yesterday, and was up there again today for a stroll. It was heaving with people shopping this afternoon; you have to wonder whether the guys who originally designed the building could ever have seen it becoming the cultural and retail hub that it is today. Then, of course, there are all the amazing events that I have attended there over the last thirteen years, not least watching Monty Python Live. Whenever I go, though, I still think of the news reports I saw growing up: of the controversy, of the stupid amounts of money going into building the place. I find it strange how something once so distant, unnecessary and weird, yet which played such a role in the national discourse of my formative years, has now become such a part of my almost daily life.

I’m happy to report that I spent a nice, quiet Christmas Day with my parents at the old family house on the other side of London. I think I’ve described here before how my grandparents house is one I have visited since childhood:  my grandparents are no longer with us sadly, but their house has now become a sort of family hub. Basically I went up there on Christmas Eve,  and spent a quiet two days with mum and dad, enjoying one of mum’s incredible Christmas dinners. Up there, though, I watched a bit of tv I don’t usually watch.

One particularly odd program was Doc Martin, with Martin Clunes. I really must say that, watching it last night just before bed, I was genuinely perplexed to see anything so nonsensical on uk television. It was not clear whether it wanted to be laughed at or taken seriously. In the program I saw, a doctor was driving to the aid of a patient hospital had badly injured his leg; but the doctor was driving through a snow storm and crashed his car into a tree. The doc survived the crash but apparently then caught hypothermia, the symptoms of which he describes to this audience in great  detail. However, although he was about to die, he nonetheless was able to still go and help his patient, dressing his severely injured leg for them to both go and attend a Christmas Day parade at the end of the program.

I had never seen Doc Martin before, and I didn’t know anything about it. At first glance it appeared to take itself seriously, and I assumed it was a standard drama about a rural doctor; but as I watched it, it became more and more ridiculous. On the other hand, if it was supposed to be humorous, then viewers would certainly be given the slip by the amount of medical detail, as well as the fact the character was in a car crash and was potentially about to die of hypothermia. These days we all watch more and more stuff on streaming services (on that note I also managed to watch the superbly fascinating Glass Onion). I don’t watch that much old fashioned terrestrial tv drama, and judging from the bit of it I glimpsed last night, I have to be concerned about what a state it’s in. Was that really the type of ridiculous nonsense people are watching these days ? Is this how companies like ITV are trying to take on the likes of Netflix?

And what a way to end Christmas Day!

When I was little, I used to love watching The Snowman. Along with Rupert and the Frog Song, it was one of those short, music-based children’s films that I wanted to watch again and again, bursting into tears every time it ended until dad or mum rewound the video. As you can read here, it is now forty years old, and its creation is being celebrated with a new version. The new version is played on a violin rather than sung. While it’s good to see an old Christmas classic being kept alive, if you ask me it doesn’t come close to the original, and I certainly can’t see myself wanting to listen to it over and over again.

This seems very topical.

I probably jumped the gun slightly when I blogged about how cold it was last week, particularly given how mild it has been since. Earlier I saw the jaw-dropping news that temperatures in North America could soon reach as low as -45C. I must say I find that astonishing: I had no idea that temperatures on Earth, outside the Arctic or Antarctic, could get so low. Last week was cold enough, but how could anyone survive such freezing weather? I certainly couldn’t: my powerchair would probably just cease up as soon as I went outside, so my heart goes out to any fellow disabled people who have to cope in such scary conditions. I also worry about what this weather implies regarding climate change.

As I wrote a few days ago, I totally support the NHS strikes. What the Tories have forced nurses and their colleagues to do is disgraceful. The government bears complete responsibility for any deaths which might occur as a result of these strikes, and the fact that they are trying to pin the blame on the nurses is even more sickening. With that in mind, this afternoon I decided to check things out for myself by trundling over to my local hospital to see what was going on. It isn’t far, and I was in the mood for some political activism. I wanted to show any strikers I found my support. Getting there, however, I was disappointed: the Queen Elizabeth hospital was quiet and normal, with no sign of any strikes. My hopes of an exciting, political afternoon sticking it up the Tory scumbags suddenly disappeared, and I trundled on.

It’s strange, but these days I rarely have any real physical contact with friends. Apart from Serkan and John, I rarely actually interact with anyone I consider a friend. These days all my friends are online, and whereas when I was living in Charlton I used to go to the park café to talk to people, I don’t have anywhere I go like that any more. I suppose I fell out of the habit during the pandemic, and I rather miss it.

This afternoon, though, a strange, fleeting thing happened. I was coming back from the South Bank: it had been absolutely ages since I had been there, and I wanted to go somewhere other than Stratford. I also wanted to see the Globe and BFI again, just to see what, if anything, was on. On my way home I was trundling through North Greenwich station, when I saw another powerchair user getting off the same train I was. We both then headed towards the lift.

When I caught up with her, I noticed she had a PA with her. She had CP too, so I started to try to chat to them both, first making a silly joke and then introducing myself. Funnily enough it turned out that her name was Charlottte.

It was only the briefest interaction. We walked from the lift to the bus stops together, talking a bit, and then parted ways. I didn’t even get her surname or contact details. Yet, strangely, it felt so good to be talking to someone new, making a new friend. I can’t remember the last time I had spoken to anyone like that though, and who knows whether I’ll ever meet either Charlotte or her personal assistant again. It appears that the last three years have socially distanced everyone in more ways than one.

What could have caused the current rise in outspoken, vitriolic journalism? People like Jeremy Clarkson have publishing articles in the tabloid press which are becoming increasingly hate filled and crass. Thousands of people have now complained about an article Clarkson published a couple of days ago, in which he mouthed off about Princess Meghan. Yet this is typical of such so-called journalists. They obviously do it to get attention: they want to appeal to people who think that reading such shyte somehow renders them independent, free thinkers, rebelling against the so-called snowflake mainstream. Thus they print any baseless absurdity which comes to mind, deliberately trying to antagonise and insult, not caring who they insult. In fact,  the more insulting they become the better, as it gives their core readership a false sense of superiority. The result, ultimately, is the total degradation of journalism.

I can’t help wondering, though, whether this trend started online. The internet is now a Wild West of heresy and speculation, claim and counterclaim. Bloggers and YouTubers constantly compete for an audience, making all sorts of claims in order to get hits, struggling to stand out. The result of this free for all is the rise of conspiracy theories and quackery, as every self-ordained influencer vies for attention by attempting to appear more and more outspoken. Online discourse is thus slowly reduced to a hodgepodge of reactionary nonsense as people begin making claims which are less and less qualified. Unfortunately this trend is now being echoed in the print media, especially the tabloid press,  so it has reached the point where I would not insult my shit by wiping my arse with rags like the Sun, Mail or Express. Like online influencers, journalists are under more and more pressure to stand out, to appear to be breaking the mould. The things they print therefore become more and more crass and unjustified. This is one of the nastier effects that the online world has had on the physical one, and I dread to think where it will end.

Last night was very, very special indeed. In fact it was quite incredible. I don’t read much these days, and know I should read much more. I used to really like reading, and as a teenager and young adult I was really into books. One of my all-time favourites was/is Harper Lee’s To Kill A Mockingbird. It was one of the books I studied for GCSE English Literature, and is the kind of book which stays with you: the characters Lee created are so vivid, the lessons she teaches are so strong, that a reader can’t help falling in love with the text. I, like many others, see To Kill A Mockingbird as an all-time classic, and one of the great works of twentieth century literature.

A couple of days ago, John messaged me over Facebook, suggesting that we go and watch the stage adaptation up in Soho. At first I was in two minds about it: it would mean re-arranging my Saturday night routine. Yet, after a bit of thought, it soon struck me as a good idea. After all, I can’t remember the last time I went to the theatre, and would make a nice change from my usual Saturday night in front of the TV. John also mentioned a scheme where Personal Assistants get cheaper tickets, which made it even more appealing.

Thanks to the Elisabeth Line, getting up into central London is now easier than ever: a short bus ride takes us to Woolwich, and within half an hour we were in the midst of a bustling metropolis on a Saturday night. I had forgotten how thrilling it was to be up there, with all the lights, noise and people. Yet the greatest moments were yet to come.

The Gielgud Theatre is just a short, easy walk from Tottenham Court Road Station. Getting there I was a bit worried about accessibility, but as usual we were shown in to the theatre through a side door. The theatre was grand and palatial, with three tiers of seats overlooking the stage. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I had been in such a space. I got out of my powerchair, took my seat, and the play soon began.

Quite a lot has been written about adapting books into plays. As with film adaptations, it isn’t straightforward: you are essentially translating a narrative from one artistic language into another, and there are many creative choices writers and directors have to make – choices which an audience may disagree with. Yet as soon as the performance began last night, I was transported back twenty-five years to Mr Dale’s English class at Woodford Lodge High School; as well as to Maycomb Alabama, around seventy years before that. It was truly, truly incredible: as soon as the character Scout, played by Anna Munden, appeared on stage, it felt like I had been reunited with a long lost friend who I hadn’t spoken to in many decades, but whose voice I remembered as vividly as the sound of birdsong.

The performance itself was incredible. After only one viewing, I don’t feel I can give a proper review, but I must say the direction, production and set design were immaculate. The theatre has quite a sophisticated stage which moves, which made scene changes almost seamless. More than that though, the performances the actors gave were jaw dropping. I have always sort of associated the figure of Atticus Finch with Gregory Peck, who famously played him in the 1962 film adaptation; yet to see Matthew Modine play him last night blew me and the rest of the audience away. Modine brought Atticus to life so that Maycomb’s only honourable man really felt like he was there, on the stage in central london. His performance was touching and nuanced, yet ultimately tragic: as good and noble a man as atticus was, as much as he saw the folly of prejudice, he didn’t understand how deeply those prejudices ran or how unshakable they were. That really came across in Modine’s performance last night, so that you really felt for this man, battling in vain against utterly repugnant forces.

Of course, similar plaudits could be awarded to the rest of the cast. I won’t go through their performances one by one, but as an ensemble they were magnificent, playing off one another as if they were family. A hell of a lot of effort had clearly been put into producing this show, and that dedication to performing a truly great, noble story – one which seeks to right the wrongs of an unjust world – really came across last night. It had been well over twenty years since I last read Lee’s book, but last night it came flooding back, reminding me why it was so special: Lee’s first person prose is so evocative of a time and place I had no experience of, that it made me half believe that I was actually there. To see that translated onto the stage, so that a theatre in Soho was actually transported to the American deep south for three hours on a Saturday evening, was truly remarkable.

My appetite for theatre has now been reignited. If I can just pop up into central London to watch a play like John and I did last night, what else can I do. And if they are that jaw-droppingly good, then surely I need to see more. Yet more than that, last night I watched the stage adaptation of a text which still means so much to me; characters I knew from my childhood brought vividly to life. Evenings like that really stick with you, and give joy and meaning to life.

I was in two minds about posting my entry yesterday. It is a piece of writing I had been working on for three or four days, and part of me thought I should save it to develop further, and blog about something else. I’m aware that, if I start ranting about religion too much, it will just get repetitive and people will stop reading my ramblings. I also know that there are plenty of other things I can write about here, not least the current strikes. Yet the problem with that is, where on Earth do I begin, and what can I possibly contribute? I therefore felt a bit apprehensive about blogging about it, so I wrote about something else entirely.

Of course I support the strikes, especially the nurses strike. We all now owe so much to the NHS; what NHS did for this country during the pandemic put it’s value beyond doubt. Of course it’s nurses deserve to be payed properly. Yet I’m quite sure anyone reading this will know that already: it’s blindingly obvious to anyone who looks at the situation that the Tories are slowly trying to run the health service into the ground so that they can eventually privatise it. The way in which they have been trying to turn public opinion away from it by demonising the nasty evil striking nurses should make that all the more apparent. Thus while I thoroughly support the nurses in their struggle for fair pay, I’m not sure there is anything I can say on here which would help their cause, which hasn’t already been expressed far more eloquently elsewhere. All I can really say is that the nurses have my unwavering support, and that I really hope they get the pay they deserve.

When it is confined to churches and mosques, I can just about abide religion. At least people have a choice whether to go to church to listen to the bullshit or not. When it comes to preaching in the street, though, I have a real and growing problem. Surely people have a right to go about their business in peace, and not to have religious dogma forced upon them by preachers yelling through microphones, demanding we all start to believe their set of myths and submit to their authority. To do that seems to me the height of arrogance; to force their views onto everyone else , shouting that we will all burn in hell if we don’t believe their baseless crap, seems utterly perverse. Such dogma has been used to trap and control people for aeons, and I find seeing it being imposed on the public in high streets and public places quite sickening.

I now think street preaching ought to be banned, especially in multicultural, multi-ethnic cities such as London. Of course, those who defend it will do so by saying they have the Freedom of speech; yet people also have a right to go shopping without being forcibly indoctrinated. What such preachers are doing is aggressive and repressive: It usurps people’s fear of death to sucker them in, so that they can be controlled and manipulated, often bribed into ‘donating’ huge sums of money. Surely this has no place in any modern society, and should be seen as the scam it is. For this to be happening on the high street, where people are forced to listen to this arrogant indoctrination, is surely sickening.

I was up in stratford recently, just for a walk. There is a huge shopping complex there, next to the olympic park. Just outside the tube station is a public square. There was quite a large group of religious zealots, all gathered around a man who was mouthing his head off about how ‘Jesus was the only way to be saved’. He was shouting very loudly indeed, so that there was no way to ignore him; he was forcing his views and beliefs onto everyone in the area. If he had been shouting about anything else, I have no doubt he would have been arrested for disturbing the peace; or even sectioned as mentally ill, given the baseless, absurd gibberish he was spouting. Yet because it was based upon Christianity, he was allowed to keep shouting, demanding that everyone believes what he did; insisting that what he said was the only ‘truth’ and that all other views were invalid; and that anyone who did not listen to him was going to suffer for eternity after they die.

As much as I believe that all views can and must be tolerated, I have a real problem with this. Religion is nothing but a scam: a trap which has held people back for centuries. While it claims to give people hope and a sense of belonging, that hope is based upon nothing but a delusion, one which ensnares people, bringing them under the control of preachers so that they can be exploited. Such preachers use the fear of death, among other things, to entice people, trapping them into a baseless delusion they are never allowed to escape from; such delusions are reinforced over and over again in the name of ‘peace’ or ‘hope’, but simply act to maintain the authority of religious leaders. They cannot allow anyone to question the validity of the myths they derive their authority from, lest such authority evaporate. We see conspiracy theorists doing exactly the same things: using people’s fears to control them, entrapping them with proven falsehoods and outright lies, offering people secret knowledge which only they have access to. Why, then, is one shunned while the other is revered? If we saw someone in the high street shouting that the moon is made of cheese, 9/11 didn’t happen and that wanking makes you go blind, passers by would either ignore them or call the police.

After all, the idea that the world was created in six days by an omnipotent, omnipresent creator-being about seven thousand years ago is surely as ridiculous as the notion that the Earth is flat rather than spherical, and the idea that it is a globe is a huge hoax spun by NASA, or other inane conspiracy ‘theories’. Yet where conspiracy theorists are, these days, mostly confined to spouting utter tripe on Youtube in their increasingly desperate and laughable efforts to attract viewers, we award religious preachers the authority of teachers, doctors or politicians, despite having never been elected by anyone, or never having gone through the rigorous academic training doctors or teachers have. Just like conspiracy-spouting idiots talking bollocks about things they barely understand to people even more ignorant than they are, all preachers do is invoke a book of two-thousand year old myths which have now been widely and thoroughly discredited. Yet rather than being treated as the snakeoil-selling nutcases they so obviously are, they are addressed with titles like ‘Reverend’ or ‘Father’, and considered to be social leaders and authority figures. I’m sorry but I have a very real problem with this.

I have written about my problems with organised religion before, although I suppose I could live with it if such deceptions and delusions were kept in churches. At least then people could choose whether to go in to be indoctrinated or not, just as we can choose whether to watch Youtube videos or not. Yet I cannot accept having such nonsensical bullshit hurled at me and others in the street; being told what to think and how to behave by people speaking with such arrogance and superiority, but whose authority is derived from baseless myths. It offends me deeply: I find it aggressive and arrogant, to the extent that I cannot ignore it. Obviously there will be those who will seek to defend such activity, but they merely want to maintain their ability to indoctrinate and ensnare: to dupe others into going to church so they can be brainwashed and used, just as they have been.

I therefore want to campaign to get street preaching banned. This would outlaw everything from handing out leaflets to standing by tables offering people books to shouting at people through speakers. Anything designed to religiously indoctrinate people, to fool them into going to a particular church so that they can be brainwashed and exploited, should be against the law. Freedom of speech, thought and belief are one thing, but such activity extends far beyond that into scaring people into submitting to the control and authority of others. It is a form of attempted oppression, and must be spoken against. It’s time for this con-trick, founded upon the perpetuation of ignorance in order to maintain the authority of people who have not earned it, to end.

I definitely want and need to get out and about today. For the last couple of days I’ve been stuck at home. The snow was so thick and the air so cold that I didn’t want to risk going out in my powerchair. Apart from the obvious risk of slipping and skidding on ice, if I allow the controller to get damp it completely screws the controller. That, as well as the fact that I really don’t like getting cold, meant that I’ve spent the last two days entirely in my flat. I suppose it wasn’t that bad: I caught up with a lot of Netflix and Youtube, as well as beginning a piece of writing which may become a blog entry, but could develop into something longer. Yet there’s only so much you can do in an eight by twenty metre flat; and, you know me, I like to get out and about. Today, then, a trundle, albeit probably a short one, is definitely on the agenda.

I can’t help thinking about the history of disability though. After all, this was only two days stuck at home, during which time I had full access to the Internet, Youtube, streaming services etc. as well as to Facebook, through which I could contact my PAs, parents or anyone I wanted. The history of disability is replete with stories of people who were not so fortunate: of people who were locked away for years in institutions, being treated as infants, having absolutely no independence or freedom. While I got slightly bored these last couple of days, I knew full well that if I really, really wanted to, I could risk the weather and go for a walk, so it’s just a matter of keeping things in perspective.

All being well then, today I’ll almost certainly be going out. It might be bloody cold, and driving my powerchair might be interesting, but there are far worse things to deal with. In a way, I must go out because others could not. And besides, I really need some shopping.

This is another reason why I haven’t been to the barbers in about eight months.

Just to follow up on this entry, the good news is that NASA’s Orion capsule splashed down safely in the Pacific a few minutes ago. “The American space agency Nasa has brought home its next-generation astronaut ship after a near-26-day mission to orbit the Moon.The Orion capsule splashed down in the Pacific Ocean after a fiery re-entry into Earth’s atmosphere and a descent that was further slowed by parachutes.” As I said a few weeks ago, this is something I’ll be keeping a very close eye on: I find the prospect of humanity returning to the moon hugely exciting, so you can expect plenty more entries like this to come. It’s far more interesting than football, anyway.

I realise that I said yesterday that I would probably blog about my reaction to last night’s match today, but I don’t think there’s much I can say. Like most English people who watched the match, it’s fair to say I’m pretty miffed about the result. As usual I got rather worked up last night: there were at least two or three dodgy referee decisions which didn’t go England’s way, prompting me to accuse the ‘cheese-eating surrender-monkeys‘ of cheating on Facebook. But at the end of the day it’s only a game, and we’ll have another chance in four years or so.

I suppose it’s fair to say that I’m not that much of a football guy. I think I’ve written on here before about how I’m more into cricket, and watching long, slow matches on warm summer afternoons. However, I defy anyone not to be caught up in the current excitement of the world cup. I have, of course, been watching England’s matches in Qatar, and although I’m no pundit, it actually looks like they’re in quite good form: a lot of people are saying, albeit slightly cautiously, that this could be the year that England’s mens football team actually win something. I’m thus as excited as anyone about tonight’s game against France. No doubt it’ll be tight and nail-biting, but we might just do it. I better not go so far as to predict a score, but you’ll probably be reading my reaction to the result – euphoria or fury – here tomorrow. Come on England!

It’s slightly on the long side, but if you want to see Ian Hislop sum up and analyse what has been an utterly chaotic year in politics, I certainly think this is worth watching. While Hislop plays it for laughs to a certain extent, I think what he has to say about things like the monarchy and Russia is increasingly salient.

I was just thinking about my debacle at Goodge Street last week, and had a crazy idea which may in fact be brilliant. The problem last week was that I got off the train at the wrong tube station, and was completely stuck on the platform. (I don’t know how those guys managed to lift my powerchair off the train, but anyway.) My idea now is to repeat that experience, and turn it into some kind of protest. Far too few of London’s tube stations are, like Goodge Street, totally inaccessible: no doubt the appearance of wheelchair and powerchair users on the platforms of such stations would really hammer that home to TFL. If I got off at such stations, accidentally on purpose, stranding myself and giving TFL problems to sort out, perhaps they would at last get their fingers out of their arses and do something about the inaccessibility issue. No doubt I would have a few dramatic afternoons and late evenings, but I think it would be worth it.

I’m sure we can all remember when Daniel Craig was introduced as the new James Bond: EON obviously tried to pull off a bit of a stunt by having Craig boated up the Thames by marines, but it didn’t really achieve the iconic look they were after. It struck everyone as rather lame, although it was forgotten about as soon as Craig started to play Bond properly. The question now, however, is how might the next 007 actor be introduced to us? Could the producers attempt a similar headline-grabbing stunt, and if they do, what might it look like?

I began to wonder about this earlier: ten years ago we saw Craig as Bond escort the then queen to the Olympic opening ceremony; could it be time for a sequel to that? Wouldn’t it be cool if we were all introduced to the new Bond actor as Bond is introduced to the new king? Of course, it could be naff again, but it could also be quite awesome.

It could be said that Happy And Glorious set all of this in motion. By having Queen Elizabeth interact with one fictional character, the door was opened to the possibility of any member of the royal family being depicted as interacting with any other fictional character. After all, I would certainly argue that we would never have seen the queen sharing marmalade sandwiches with Paddington Bear if she hadn’t first parachuted out of a helicopter with James Bond.

As far fetched as this idea of mine may seem, I nonetheless think it is a possibility; the barriers between fiction and reality are becoming ever more blurred, especially when it comes to concepts like royalty. How incredible would it be to see the new King meet the new Bond? Just imagine the scene: King Charles is, say, eating his dinner. He asks a waiter to come over and asks for a drink. Asked what he would like, he thinks for a moment, and then says that he fancies some kind of cocktail. The man serving the king replies that he would recommend a martini. Charles replies “Excellent idea, how do you like yours?” Only for the sharply suited man to reply, “Well sir, I prefer mine shaken, but not stirred.” Cue the music.

How about this for a timeline of Brexit?

Seems fairly accurate to me.