I decided to do a bit of an experiment yesterday, just to see what would happen. I’m still relishing having my blog archive restored, so on facebook I asked my friends to choose random dates over the last decade. I would then see if I could find the blog entry I posted on that date, and pop the link under my friend’s reply on facebook.

I was thrilled to see that it went rather well: I got seven or eight responses, and in all but two I was able to find a corresponding entry. For those I didn’t – well, I have to have some days off – I posted the link to the entry I’d written the day before or after the requested date. I think that’s quite an achievement. After all, there can’t be many other personal blogs which have been updated so regularly for so long (I know other people have more important things to do, such as jobs, but let’s leave that aside for now). Also, in the entries I found, I made the effort to restore any links and pictures which were missing, so it was a way to help with my ongoing archive restoration project.

I take a lot of pride in my blog and keeping it up; I see it as my primary output as a writer. The fact that my experiment went so well thrills me, as it demonstrates that I can keep something up if I put my mind to it. But I’d like to keep it going, just as a way of going back and restoring missing links etc. So, dates please?

I’ve never had much of a liking for golf. If you ask me, it ruins a perfectly good landscape by drilling holes into it and letting men with nothing better to do walk around trying to hit balls into them. Golf balls, on the other hand, can have far better uses. Back at school, my classmates who used powerchairs used to replace the nub of their controllers with a golf ball with a hole drilled into it. This used to make them easier and more comfortable to control. I think Alan, the guy who looked after the chairs at my special school, did the drilling.

Since I started to regularly use powerchairs to get around, of course, I’ve done the same. It certainly feels better on your hand when you’re getting around. The only problem is, the golf ball doesn’t always stay stuck to the bar attaching it to the chair. Mine have a nasty tendency to come loose and fly off. Yesterday, for instance, I was trundling down a nearby hill when my golf ball did just that, and I didn’t see where the bloody thing rolled. I was left to wheel home with a naked control bar – not very comfortable.

Now, the issue is not getting another golf ball – I already have a box full, bought from a local sports store. The problem I now have is finding someone with the right drill to make the right sized hole.

Everyone is probably expecting me a say what I thought of the closing ceremony in Tokyo today, given my fixation with such events. To be honest though, I don’t have much to say about it. It was pretty dul, with no stand out moments or anything to get my juices going. I was so underwhelmed by it that I decided to go for a walk after it, to see whether I could think of something to write about it. I went on one of my favourite routes, into Greenwich Park. There, though, I happened upon something rather cool: a band was playing on the old bandstand, and a rock band at that. They were bashing out the kind of classic rock themes which I sort of have a soft spot for, so I changed course to take a look.

I got there to find about five fairly aged men playing to a small yet growing audience. They weren’t that bad. The only problem was, it was about to chuck it down. After I had heard one song, it began to rain so heavily that I was forced to find shelter. Luckily the event organisers tent was nearby, and they kindly invited me to take cover with them. There, I was able to listen to the band play: while I can’t say they were perfect, it was still a pretty cool thing to find. In a way they reminded me of Lyn, and the kind of music she sometimes used to play. I found myself wondering what she would have said, had she been there. It was the kind of spontaneous musical happening which seemed to happen fairly regularly with L; I couldn’t help imagining her dancing in her powerchair alongside me.

Once the torrent had stopped, I went back out to the front so I could listen to and watch the group properly. I soon found myself in for a bit of a treat: they were skilfully playing the kind of rock classics i love, including Sweet Home Alabama about midway through their set – a song which never fails to get me dancing.

I stayed till the end of the show, the rain luckily not returning, before getting the bus back, classic rock anthems by the likes of Deep Purple thumping through my head. London had done it again: Tokyo may have been slightly underwhelming, but I was still glad to see London still has it’s surprises.

I have fallen into the habit of wearing my Charlton Athletic Football shirt every Saturday. I bought it a few years ago when my cricketing friend James and I were going to a match, and I suppose it helps me blend in to the local community. The thing is, I often forget I’m wearing it, and it has a tendency to cause some reactions – both positive and negative – from people I pass in the street. Today, for instance, I was over in Charlton to buy a couple of things from the chemist there, and random people kept cheering and whooping me. Despite the shirt, I don’t pay much attention to football, so I couldn’t tell you who Charlton are playing, how they are doing or whatever; yet people seem to assume I know, as if I’m a member of a club. Once or twice in the past I’ve been shouted at just for wearing the shirt, and it has taken me a few moments to work out why I’m receiving random abuse: Charlton must have beaten whatever team they supported. On the whole, though, the shirt helps me feel like a real south Londoner, although I have to be careful when I go close to Millwall fans.

I have not seen a South Park episode in ages, but used to be into it when it first hit the air. It seemed to push the boundaries of what is acceptable on tv more than any other program. I had assumed it had run it’s course. However, I just came across this on the beeb’s website. It would seem that Kenny, Cartman et al are making quite a comeback. “The creators of the South Park cartoons have signed a $900m (£646m) deal with US media giant ViacomCBS. The agreement will see Trey Parker and Matt Stone make new South Park episodes for the Comedy Central network.” It remains to be seen, of course, whether the new episodes are worth watching, especially since it just became pointlessly crass towards the end of it’s original run. But with six new seasons and fourteen films in the works, this must be something to look forward to, particularly given the amount of money going into it. Besides, I think we could all do with some juvenile obscenity these days.

Today was one of those awful, farcical days which part of me just wants to forget, but is probably worth blogging about. I think I’ve mentioned here before that I use my iPad as my communication aid. As such I have turned the passcode off, just to speed up access. This morning, though, for some reason my iPad kept asking me to set up a new access code, which required me to input a phone number. I don’t have a phone, so I asked Serkan if I could use his.  He kindly said yes, so I tapped it in.

We waited a bit, but no code came. I tried a couple of times without luck. The time came for Serkan to go, I still couldn’t access my iPad. By then I was becoming a combination of annoyed and worried: without access to my iPad I wouldn’t be able to communicate with anyone outside, and I had one or two chores I needed to do. Like any communication aid user, I need my Ipad to function as a normal citizen.

For the time being, though, I left it and got on with other things – such issues always sorted themselves out in the end. But as the day went on I began to fret: I needed my Ipad to function in order to live properly. I tried to fix it over Facebook messenger with Serkan using my desktop with no luck. By around mid afternoon I was getting very annoyed – nothing I had tried had worked – so I decided to head up to the Apple store in Stratford to see if the guys there could help.

Needless to say, by the time I got there I wasn’t in the best of moods: On the way some teenage girls had thought it funny to try to wind me up. And then there was the question of how I was going to explain my issue to the people in the apple store if I couldn’t communicate. Yet if my friendships with people like Lyn have taught me anything, it is that perseverance and patience is key.

I now know the Westfield centre quite well, so I was able to make straight for the apple store. There, I was assigned a friendly young guy to help me. Using short words and gestures, I managed to show him what the problem was. At first, however, we got nowhere: we needed a phone number which I couldn’t remember, but which I knew was listed on my ipad – which I couldn’t access. We were going in circles and I was beginning to despair; the guy told me there was nothing he could do.

Suddenly, though, he had an idea. Asking my permission to touch my Ipad, he began to press ‘back’ on the screen to the point where I had apparently opted to update my security settings, although I don’t remember doing so. He then told the Ipad not to update, and it was at once back to how it was and fully accessible.

I was so happy I could have hugged the fellow, and told him so using my newly restored speech app. It was such a relief! Mind you, I was slightly embarrassed not to have thought of it myself – so much fretting over something so simple in the end. Nonetheless, I boarded the tube home very happy and relieved indeed, in stark contrast to the dire mood I had been in just half an hour before. Once again I had encountered a problem and managed to get it sorted. I suppose the key is not to lose patience, and always pay attention to which buttons I’m pressing on my Ipad.

I just came across this short but very interesting video arguing that the 2036 Olympic games should be held somewhere in Africa. Now that the world’s biggest sporting (and cultural) event has been held on every other continent at least once, with Europe and North America dominating, it’s time for a city in Africa to have it’s turn in the global spotlight. I must say I wholeheartedly agree: more than anything to do with sport, for me, the olympics are about bringing the world together in one big party every four years. It’s like a huge party which travels the world, allowing humanity to show itself off, city by city. If that is true, then surely it’s time that somewhere in Africa hosted the games.

The obvious question is, where? I’m no geographer, and can’t possibly say which city in Africa would be best placed to host the games. Perhaps I’m resorting to stereotype, but I kind of assume many places there aren’t as well off as cities in Europe (a consequence of colonialism). Nonetheless, it would still be wonderful to see an olympics in Africa (the opening and closing ceremonies would probably be fascinating) and they could give the selected city and country a boost. Thus I think this is a great idea. While I still hope to see an olympics up in Manchester one day, I think raising cities and states on africa to the level of any other continent, so that they are just as capable of hosting events like the olympics, is a goal we should be working towards.

Today I decided to carry out a bit of an experiment which I had been mulling over for a few days: given that I have now been blogging for so long, could I find out my average wordcount per entry? If I took a set of entries made on a given date, would it tell me roughly how much I write on average per entry? I know my blog entries aren’t that long, but I take pride in the fact that I’ve now kept my blog updated so regularly for almost two decades.

With that in mind then, I took today’s date (as good as any) and copied all the entries I had made on that date between 2010 and 2020 into a Word document. I then did a wordcount and divided it by ten. There were only nine entries, though, as I didn’t post an entry on 3 august 2012. Also, the entry for 2020 was a picture, with only a few words. Nonetheless, I got a grand total of 1666 words, giving an average per entry of 166.6. I’m quite pleased with that: although my entries are often fairly brief, I always try to write more than a hundred words, just to keep things moderately healthy. Now I have confirmed that I do, I think I can go on taking pride in my blog. After all, there can’t be many other personal blogs which are long enough lived that you can conduct such experiments on.

I’ve written on here many times about the profound effect university had on me. At uni, I was able to gain the confidence, both academically and personally, to eventually move down to Live in London with Lyn and then live here on my own. As with so many people, uni made me who I am. Of course, I needed a lot of support to go to uni, support which basically stemmed from Tony Blair’s push in the mid noughties to get half of young people to go to university. A lot of resources went into that push; resources which are now drying up very quickly under the Tories. I wrote a few months ago about how I doubt I could have gone to university these days.

I read earlier that Tory MP Andrew Bridgen is now claiming that the push for so many people to go to university fifteen years or so ago has caused the HGV Driver shortage we are now seeing. He claims that, now so many people have degrees, there aren’t enough people left to drive lorries. I have never heard anything more sickeningly stupid in my life. Of course, everyone knows that the real reason for the shortage is partly the pandemic, but mostly Brexit. Yet it’s obvious that Bridgen is making these obnoxious claims in order to justify Tory cuts to higher education: they have always hated the idea of so many people going to university, preferring for it to be the reserve of rich people, like them. That way, poor people can be kept ignorant and in their place, and their authority would be left unchallenged.

The fact that Bridgen is trying to blame the shortages we are now seeing on something Labour instigated twenty years ago, at the same time as trying to justify depriving so many people of the access to higher education they otherwise might have had, tells us all we need to know about the bunch of lying toffs now running the country.

I think I had been needing something like yesterday to happen for quite some time. A week or so ago, my old university friend Charlotte invited me to join her and her family in Crystal Palace Park to celebrate her sister Poppy’s thirtieth birthday. Crystal Palace is only a short bus ride away, so naturally I jumped at the idea; it had been far, far too long since I had seen any of those guys. After such a bleak year and a half, a bit of socialising was just what I needed.

Yesterday, then, after stopping to buy a present and card, Serkan and I set off on the 122 to Crystal Palace. It’s quite a large park, and the paths aren’t very well maintained, so it was a bit of a job to find them. C had told me exactly where they would be, but nonetheless I was just beginning to fret when I suddenly heard a familiar voice cry out ”Matt!” I looked around to see Poppy beckoning me over to a large gathering of people, and then I knew I was among friends.

What followed was a lovely afternoon of music, dancing and chatting. Serkan stayed for a bit, helping me pop to a nearby Tesco to buy some beer and then taking the obligatory group photo, before taking his leave. I was then left to catch up with old, dear friends: Charlie is still the dizzyingly exuberant person I remember from uni; Hugh and Jodie were there, caring for their young son, Jodie still being wonderfully colourful and sporting an exotic head dress; Mr. and Mrs. J were there, looking well. Poppy herself apparently no longer works in Kidbrooke, but had found a teaching job elsewhere. It felt fantastic to see them all, even if we needed to dodge the occasional shower.

Charlotte and I had a brief walk around the park, by which time it was almost time to head home. The day ended all too soon. As I said, it had been far too long since I had seen those guys. Nonetheless, we resolved to meet up again before long, and C and I began to make a few hazy, long-term plans. At that I made my way back up the hill to the bus stop, feeling like the light at the end of a long, dark tunnel had just come a bit closer.

This morning in the shower I was struck by an interesting question which I think is worth exploring: could I trundle around Tokyo as I trundle around London? To answer that, I need to first explain what I mean by ‘trundle’. Here in London, I often go out in my powerchair, usually in the afternoon, on fairly long, leisurely walks. I basically follow my nose. If I have somewhere specific I want or need to go, of course I’ll head there, but if not I try to explore the city, following roads and paths I haven’t been down before.

I can do this because London is fairly open and accessible, or at least the borough of Greenwich is: it’s low-rise and not very dense, with wide, well maintained streets and lots of green, pleasant parks. I find I can go around in my chair fairly easily. I can’t help but wonder, though, could I do the same in Tokyo? If I was living there rather than London, could I have the same leisurely, exploratory trundles? What are the paths and pavements like, and how accessible is it? Judging from the images coming from the olympics, Tokyo is a far denser, more compact city than London: what does that mean for accessibility? Would I be able to get around? Would I find as many parks and open spaces as I do here in London? I do not know, but I’d be fascinated to go there to find out.

I’m still pretty thrilled to have my archive back, especially as I can now direct everyone back to entries like this, this and this. The only problem is, the newly-returned entries don’t have the original links, so when I wrote an entry directing everyone to an article or video I wanted them to see, the link has been lost. I’ve started to go back and reinsert the links where I can, but with over 4,000 entries, that’s a big task, and in a lot of cases I’ve forgotten where the link went. It’s a bit of a pity, but on the whole I’m glad to have all those entries online again.

This time last week we were all wearing shorts and complaining about the extreme heat. This afternoon I was caught in a sudden torrential downpour the like of which I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. It’s becoming more and more obvious that something is happening to our weather systems, and I think we should all be very concerned indeed.

Earlier I had an idea for a piece of writing which I think I need to leave to brew a bit, but which I think it’s worth jotting down here. I grew up in a special school. Of course, a lot has been said for the case for inclusion: educating all children together, regardless of ability, has massive social and educational benefits. I’m not questioning that; yet it occurs to me that, had I not gone to the school I did, had I not been educated alongside my disabled classmates, would I be the person I am today? To put that another way, if I had been mainstreamed and kept separate from other disabled children, would I be as open to other people with disabilities as I am now? Would I still have had so many disabled friends, or would I have tended to shun other disabled people? Indeed, would I ever have gone out with Lyn, had I not had the experiences I acquired through school? I’m not sure I would have, so perhaps the case could be made that special school, academically flawed though it may have been, made me who I am. I cherish my friendships with my school mates, and especially with Lyn; I feel extremely fortunate to have known them all. In a way you could say that going to a special school forged my identity, my worldview, as a disabled man. Where, however, does that put the case for inclusion?

I think these questions are worth exploring at some length.

Today was one of those days when curiosity got the better of me. You may have heard on last nights news that the Stratford Shopping Centre was flooded yesterday. The thing is, there are two shopping centre in Stratford: the older, smaller Stratford Centre, and the Westfield centre, one of the biggest shopping malls in Europe. (Reference for northerners: it’s like having the Trafford Centre and the Potteries Centre in Stoke just across the road from each other.) The thing was, it wasn’t clear from the news report which had been flooded, and, being rather fond of Stratford, I wanted to find out.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: I could just have googled it. Yet I suspect that would have just been ambiguous. Far better (and more fun) to hop onto the tube and head the three stops up the Jubilee Line to see for myself.

That, then, is exactly what I did. It took less than forty minutes to get there. First I headed for Westfield, only to find it functioning normally, and as insanely busy as ever. Then, after a quick shop for the sausages I knew I needed for dinner tonight, I went in search of the Stratford Shopping Centre. Despite the two being so close, it took me a while to navigate the streets of Stratford, now highly developed save for the occasional old, derelict pub, left standing as if to remind you what that area of London used to be like not that long ago. There is an easy, direct route between the two, but I chose not to take it, preferring to explore instead. Yet, when I got there, I found the Stratford Centre perfectly fine too, with no sign of any flood. There were a few signs of damage, but the clean up must have been really fast. I was impressed: I’d expected at least one mall to be closed.

That, then, answered my question, and I decided to head home. It may have been a bit of a pointless exercise, but having got to see a bit of Stratford other than the Westfield Centre and Olympic park, I think that area is ripe for exploration. And at least I got my sausages.

I just had my second COVID vaccination. There isn’t much to report really. As I did the first time, I asked Serkan to come with me, just for efficiency: he can give my details much more quickly than I can through my Ipad. Hence it was just a case of rolling up, checking in with the school boys at the door (seriously, they were chatting about expecting their A-Level results), putting on a mask, rolling through the door and up to the right lady, and getting vaccinated. It only took twenty minutes or so, but I’m pleased to have done my bit to get the pandemic over.

I suppose I have a bit of a tradition on my website now of reviewing olympic opening ceremonies, and having just watched the Tokyo opening ceremony, part of me wants to say something about it; but what can I say? I think most of all, I am left with a sense of curiosity at what could have been. It was obviously a very paired down ceremony due to the pandemic, and much of it’s content focussed on the pandemic and it’s effects. Don’t get me wrong, there were parts which genuinely amazed me, such as the drones which lit up to form a globe, and I felt the speeches about global unity and cooperation really resonated. Yet, as many others are noting, it was much more low key than your usual olympic opening ceremony. You have to wonder what the Japanese could have shown us, had they had the chance: what spectaculars did they originally have in mind? Just imagine that the pandemic bomb had exploded in 2012, and this had happened to London. So much preparation, excitement and build-up, all to come to nothing and get replaced with a respectful, far more sombre ceremony performed to an empty stadium. In 2012, Danny Boyle used London’s opening ceremony to show the world a wonderful, vibrant collage of British culture. What could we have seen of Japanese culture, apart from the glimpses we got? I suspect they would have taken the world’s breath away given the chance, but Japan’s moment in the spotlight was dimmed by a virus. You really have to feel sorry for them.

I know I’ve blogged about this before, albeit not for a while, but I’m still curious to know whether other towns and cities in the UK are seeing the same level of redevelopment London now is. I was just down in Greenwich for my daily wander, and you should see the amount of building going on: swanky, modern buildings and complexes of buildings are going up everywhere. Not far from my house is Kidbrooke, which in the last few years has been completely transformed into a very well-to-do, gentrified area of blocks of flats, plazas and parks. What I’m now wondering is, is this just happening in London or is it the same case across the country. I haven’t been out of the capital for a while: what are the places I used to know, like Crewe, Stoke or Macclesfield like these days? Are they developing at the same rate London is, or is all the money being ploughed into the capital while the rest of the country gets left behind?

At about half past nine last night, I was just settling down to watch some TV: Ken Burns’ Hemingway was on, Serkan had gone home, and I was starting to look forward to bed. A few minutes before I had heard the familiar ‘ping’ of someone sending me a message over Facebook, but I’d chosen to ignore it until after the program. Suddenly, though, my doorbell rang – something very unusual at that time of night. I got up to answer it, and saw my neighbour Bilal in his wheelchair carrying a large tray of food. He said ‘Hi’ and asked if I wanted some.

I was slightly confused – I had had my dinner, and hadn’t asked for any help. I invited him in, still in two minds about quite what to do: this was obviously a generous gesture, but accepting that generosity would mean telling him how to set up my Neater Eater. Yet I needn’t have worried, as, following my instructions, he soon had me ready to eat, dishing out some delicious-looking chicken and cheese macaroni onto my dish. And then the obvious hit me: it was Eid, and my neighbours were probably celebrating. In that moment I wished I knew the appropriate expression of thanks.

Needless to say, the food was lovely. After I had finished it, I thanked my neighbour, Shazil, over Facebook, noticing that she had, of course, messaged me about an hour before to ask if I wanted any. It felt great to know I have neighbours like that, and now live in a lovely little community where everyone looks after everyone else.

When humanity has reached the point at which two men have become so obscenely rich that they can build their own rockets and launch their selves into space, while millions of other people around the world are dying of starvation, desperately in need of medical aid or otherwise struggling to live, surely it is obvious that something is seriously wrong. While I’m all for the exploration of space and scientific research in general, for men like Branson and Bezos to spend billions on what amount to publicity stunts when that money could have been spent helping us get past the pandemic, really takes the biscuit. Surely it tells us something is wrong with the worldwide distribution of wealth, and that perhaps it’s time to reevaluate capitalism in general. Otherwise this problem will get worse and worse, the divisions wider and wider. The billionaires’ stunts will get more and more expensive, while more and more people are left to starve to death.

Today will always be remembered as the day that wearing a mask became an overtly political statement. Before today, of course, masks were mandatory in all enclosed public spaces: if you saw someone not wearing one in, say, a shop, it was reasonable to assume they had a reason not to, visible or invisible. Yet today mask wearing has ceased to be the rule and has become a personal choice; while they are still recommended, people can chose not to wear them if they don’t want to. In doing so, they are making an overt political statement that they don’t care about those around them; that they put their own petty comfort before the wellbeing of others. That is a statement I find as selfish, arrogant as contemptible as voting Leave in 2016: both boil down to the same egocentric, right-wing mindset, but here people’s positions on the issue are more obvious and the danger more immediate. While much of the blame must go to the tories for lifting the rules far too early when they know full well what would happen, I can’t help feeling utterly enraged by the bare-faced scumbags, now walking around shops, openly and loudly stating that they don’t give a damn about anyone else. In a way society in England has now been split in two: those who wear masks who care about those around them; and those who don’t, who ignore the advice and therefore treat others with contempt.

I was recently struck by an idea: if we in the UK benefit from a National Health Service, which guarantees healthcare for all, regardless of one’s ability to pay, why not take the next step and set up an International Health Service, possibly through the UN, guaranteeing healthcare for all worldwide? As Aneuran Bevan, who founded the NHS, himself said, “No society can legitimately call itself civilized if a sick person is denied medical aid because of lack of means.” Surely that applies no less to human society as a whole. An IHS would allow humanity to coordinate it’s responses to crises like the pandemic, as well as making sure everyone gets the healthcare they need. Quite how such a body would work or be funded I’m not sure, yet surely the last year has shown us the necessity of working together on issues which do not recognise national borders. The NHS is the last remaining virtue of the UK; the only thing we lead the world on. Let’s take the next step and export it to the rest of the world.

This evening finds me exceptionally happy. Ever since I had to move my blog to wordpress, I longed for my archive of old entries to be restored. It was always sort of on the back burner: I knew it would be a huge task, and I didn’t have a clue where to begin. A few days ago, though, I began to think about it again, and started asking questions on facebook. My Australian friend Darryl noticed and kindly offered to help. I was in two minds about it at first, but he obviously knew more about it than me. I sent him the archive in pdf and gave him access to my blog, and I’m overwhelmed with joy to report that my full weblog archive, from 2003 to 2018, is now back online and readable on this site. This might sound silly, but it feels like fifteen years of work, fifteen years of my history, have suddenly been restored to me. I’m ecstatic, and feel like a party. Most of all, I’m indebted to Darryl.

You might notice somethings a bit wrong with my blog. My friend Darryl kindly offered to help me upload my archive. He succeeded, but unfortunately all the old entries were uploaded with today’s date. We’re both working hard to resolve the issue. In the meantime, please bear with me.

UPDATE: all issues have now been resolved, thanks to Darryl. My archive – all fifteen years of it – has at last been restored!

It’s a lovely day here. I’ll probably head out for my daily roll, and may well find myself a pub to have a drink in later, perhaps down by the river. I don’t go into pubs very often these days, and when I do I try to aim for the least busy times, say around mid afternoon. It seems to me that I better make the most of the opportunity while I can: those in the know are now predicting another massive surge in Coronavirus cases in a few weeks time due to restrictions being eased too quickly, so my hunch is, vaccinated or not, we’ll all have to lock down again before long. A Friday afternoon pint in a reasonably quiet pub is something to make the most of this year. If the recent past is anything to go by, we don’t know how long such liberties will last.

I remember two or three times in the past, suddenly coming across bits of news that made my jaw drop in disbelief. Days when, turning my computer on in the morning and checking the headlines, I do a double-take at what I see. They’re usually bits of arts and entertainment news which make me squeal spastically with excitement, such as when it was announced that James Bond would have a role in the 2012 Olympic Opening Ceremony, or when we found out that the Monty Python guys were reuniting in 2014. Out on my trundle yesterday though, I began to reflect on how long it has been since one of those moments happened. I check the arts and ents news regularly in the hope of something to brighten my day, but it feels like years since such a moment of awesomeness occurred: no reunions to look forward to, no concerts to try to get tickets for. I suppose it’s a mark of the times we are living through that we are enduring a kind of awesomeness drought.

Yet history shows me that the potential for awesomeness is infinite: if Bond can parachute out of a helicopter with the Queen, and if Stephen Hawking can sing The Galaxy Song, then surely nothing can be ruled out. I have a feeling that one day soon, I’ll come to my computer and see a bit of news so shocking, so thrilling, that it will set me buzzing with excitement. What it might be I have no idea, but that’s half the fun; yet I know it will happen – it’s just a matter of time.

As profoundly disturbing as I find this tweet, I think it’s correct. It’s like we’re now living in a completely different nation to the outward looking, tolerant one which hosted the Olympics.

The question now is, how do we get the UK of 2012 back?

After last night I was hoping for something more positive to write here today. I deliberately didn’t post an entry yesterday because I thought I might have something better to blog about this morning, but what can I say? Like everyone else in England I’m gutted that it didn’t go our way, but I’m currently trying to continually remind myself not to get too wound up about it. It’s only a football match, after all: we only have to wait until the next tournament in a couple of years before it happens all over again. It is no cause for animosity or anger. Italy is just as beautiful as it was yesterday, it’s food and wine just as delicious.

What we should be angry about, though, is what remains: we still have a government which tried to use the Euros to distract us from it’s woeful failings during the pandemic; which cynically attempted to bend the good will created by the results onto itself. When it is obvious that Gareth Southgate was trying to build a team based on principles such as equality and diversity, Johnson tried to barge in and claim it for his own. Had England won last night, no doubt Johnson would now be acting as if he had been instrumental in the victory, or at least had supported it fundamentally rather than, for instance, refusing to condemn the fans who booed while the players took the knee. Southgate and the team stand for principles Johnson manifestly does not, yet he tries to usurp it’s success. That is the type of cynicism we should remain angry about. Things may hurt this morning, but when this disappointment has faded, we’ll still have bigger, nastier things to deal with.

Having been itching for something cool to look forward to for quite a while, I think this could do the trick nicely. Reports are that John Cleese has now finished the first draft of a stage adaptation of Life Of Brian. Unlike Spamalot, it will be a play, not a musical, and will apparently hit theatres after the pandemic next year (hopefully). If true, it will definitely be something I want to go to see. Life Of Brian is one of the greatest, funniest films of all time; a stage adaptation can only add to it’s legacy, taking it in potentially fascinating new directions. After 2014 I assumed that Monty Python was dead, but it now appears that it was just resting.

One of my earliest memories, from when I was very, very small, was watching my Mum type at an old BBC computer. She worked from home, typing the abstracts for old medical research papers. Now that I come to think about it, the number of papers mum must have read over at least a decade of doing that job, then after in her subsequent job in medical journalism, must range into the tens of thousands: she must be one of the most knowledgable people in the field there is. Thus I think we should take this very seriously indeed.

It is a change.org petition, flagged up by my Mum on Facebook, to keep the wearing of face masks in supermarkets and shops mandatory after 19th of July. As I wrote a couple of entries ago, the pandemic is far from over and it is only by working together and keeping our discipline that we’ll ever be able to get past it. Mum knows better than most – far better than any Tory itching to let their rich pals get back to exploiting the rest of us – how essential it is that we keep our faces covered wherever possible. If she thinks it is necessary to link to a petition like this, I assure you it is nothing to ignore.

I just have something quite awesome to report today, and it has nothing to do with last night’s football result. I learned yesterday that Beth Moulam, one of the young people I know from Onevoice, has been selected for team GB’s Boccia team and will go to the Tokyo Paralympics. I think that is incredible news. Her parents, whom I also know, must be very proud. I’d like to take this opportunity to wish Beth the best of luck, and assure her that I’ll be watching the competition in Tokyo with baited breath.

You can read Beth’s incredible story, in her own words, here.

As my last prediction was so wide of the mark on Saturday, I’m not even going to try to predict the score for tonight’s football match. I just hope I stay awake to watch it this time, rather than drinking too much beer, falling asleep before kick off, needing Serkan to wheel me to bed and only finding out who won the following morning.

I have written on here before about how I struggle to wear face masks. I can’t wear them: because of my dribble they just slip down my chin and are completely impractical. However, I don’t think that strips me of my right to criticise people who refuse to wear them for pseudo-political reasons. If it was easier or more practical for me to wear a mask, of course I would: they are a vital step in getting past this pandemic. Those who refuse to wear them when they can and should do so out of pure selfishness. By loosening the rules regarding the wearing of masks in public spaces, Johnson is pandering to his core tory voters whose only concern is for their selves. They do not give a damn how many other people might fall ill – their needs and wants come first. It all boils down to the old Thatcherite, ”no such thing as society” which is at the heart of the Tory ethos, which in turn boils down to spoiled children who were never taught to share.

The problem is, society exists, and it is only by working together, as a society, that we’ll ever be able to get past this pandemic. That means we need people capable of seeing things in far broader terms running the country than those we currently have in government. If we allow these fools to continue as they have been, loosening the rules as soon as they can, before having to tighten them again when cases and deaths begin to rise once more, things will just go in an endless circle. Surely we need someone capable of putting the needs of society before their own, of seeing things in terms of the bigger picture rather than the immediate and short term, running the country. If the last eighteen months or so has demonstrated anything, it is the folly of such short term, individualistic mentalities.

Whether the Tories like it or not, we are in this together, and we can only get out of it by working as a society. I might not be able to wear a mask, but I still have a right to condemn others for not doing so, and wholeheartedly intend to. These days, a bare face is a sign of a selfish mind: it tells others you don’t care about them, no matter what you might be exhaling. It is the very mentality which lead to Brexit and Trump, and every day it becomes clearer and clearer that we, as a society, should be better than such idiocy.

Today I’d just like to reiterate my comments here. As we celebrate the seventy-third birthday of the National Health Service, I still think it’s the only redeeming feature of the UK, especially at the moment. As a disabled man, I know that, whatever happens to me, whatever accidents I might have, I’m guaranteed world class healthcare irrespective of my ability to pay. Not only is that hugely reassuring, it is also a source of pride: I’m proud to live in a society which looks after it’s members like that. With that said, I would feel much more comfortable if the people who worked for the NHS got the pay rise they deserve, especially after this last year; and if there weren’t so many capitalist vultures circling, ready to carve the NHS up after Brexit.

In this morning’s family Skype call, my brother Luke mentioned he’d been watching Clarkson’s Farm on Amazon. Now, while I used to enjoy Top Gear, I can’t call myself a fan of Jeremy Clarkson: in recent years he has become more and more of a prat as he has tried to live up to his reputation for being a loose cannon. He wants to be seen as a kind of right-wing, anti-authoritarian figure, famous for doing all these whacky, car related stunts. Some of what he did used to be ok, but since he left the BBC he has lost my interest and respect. This morning, though, Luke mentioned him doing something involving a tractor which I thought sounded cool. I have always had a liking for tractors since I was small. I just looked it up on Youtube, and wasn’t disappointed. My initial reaction to this clip was, “I want one!” but then it struck me that I have enough trouble with my powerchair sometimes, how on earth could I handle a forty-tonne tractor? Then again, if they allow someone as blatantly juvenile and socially irresponsible as Jeremy Clarkson use such a behemoth, why not go the whole hog and let me use one? It would certainly make going to the shops a lot more interesting.

Just because everyone else seems to be making predictions about the football match later, on the breakfast shows at least, I think I’ll go ahead and predict a 2-1 win for England. Then again, I know next to nothing about football or the teams involved, so I might as well be pulling scores out of my arse, but isn’t that part of the fun? I suppose we’ll see whether I’m right later today. Come on England!

I have had quite a quiet day. This morning I went for one of my usual trundles, over to the cafe in Charlton Park, where I bumped into one of the guys I know from the cricket team. I had an elongated coffee there, before heading down to Woolwich. That entire area still holds so many memories for me. I was just checking out the new Crossrail station, though, when my Ipad reminded me I had a Zoom meeting in ten minutes: the Greenwich Association of Disabled people (GAD)’s annual general meeting was about to start. I hurried home as quick as possible, catching the bus back. Fortunately I don’t think I missed much of the meeting, and hopefully made one or two useful contributions. I think it is good for me, as a disabled man, to play an active role in my local disabled community, which is why such meetings are worth hurrying home for. Over the last ten years I’ve come to know the guys at GAD, and it is only by supporting one another that we can all pull through.

After catching a glance of Tom Moore’s biography in a book shop this afternoon, I couldn’t resist the urge to make this.

It amused me, although the only problem is, most people interested in Tom Moore won’t know about Star Trek or Worf, and most Trekkies probably won’t know much about Captain Tom, so nobody will get the joke.