I’m currently watching last night’s Superbowl. I’ve never watched a full American Football match before, so I thought I’d give it a whirl. I must admit I’m intrigued: back at uni, Ricardio used American football as one of his theatre warm up exercises, so I kind of knew the basics from there, but what I hadn’t appreciated was how tactical it was. Both teams have to predict the moves of each player, so it’s a bit like chess. However, what I’m not so keen on is how start/stop it is: play barely seems to go thirty seconds without stopping, so the game seems painstakingly slow (and I say that as a cricket fan). Each quarter is supposed to last fifteen minutes, but I’ve been watching the program for two hours and I’ve only reached half time. It really staggers me how much Americans pad their sports and other bits of culture out with adverts. How can they stand everything getting interrupted every five minutes (if that)?

I think I ought to clear up a bit of a mistake I made a couple of years ago here. I went down to Charlton Riverside yesterday, on one of my more lengthy rolls. Going through the area by the Thames Barrier, I remembered once bemoaning that that old industrial area, between the river and the A206, didn’t seem to be getting the attention that areas such as the Woolwich Arsenal and north Greenwich have had. Once home, I decided to look into it on Google, and soon realised how stupid I was being: through something called the Charlton Riverside Masterplan, that whole area is shortly going to be transformed into a mixed residential and commercial district. Things have presumably been delayed by the pandemic, but from what I have read, it should be in place by 2024. It just goes to show I shouldn’t start talking rubbish about areas of London being neglected before I know all the facts; and that I shouldn’t be so London-centric when, the truth is, huge amounts of money are going into redeveloping and gentrifying the capital, especially it’s south and east, while other parts of the country are being totally neglected.

I just want to note how great it is to see cricket on terrestrial tv again. It has been on Murdochvision for so long I’d almost given up hope of ever seeing it again, but these last two mornings I’ve been able to watch England play India over my morning coffee. With England batting so well, it has been great – a little ray of sunshine in an otherwise pretty bleak winter. I really hope they (ie both the England cricket team and Channel Four) keep it up.

It has been a long, frustrating afternoon. A couple of days ago I noticed a new COVID vaccination centre had opened not far from here, so today I thought I would go and see if I could get vaccinated. It has been a dismal few months, and like everyone else I’d like to see the threat of this virus lifted. Since I’m in close physical contact with people like Personal Assistants and shop assistants so regularly, and given that I can’t wear a mask, I thought there was a good argument to be made that I should get vaccinated earlier than people my age would ordinarily be.

At about midday, then, I trundled down the path to see what could be done. There, outside the small centre, I spoke to a friendly lady who, seeming to understand my predicament, explained that they would need to see my NHS number before they could help. With that I sped back home (via the off license – well, it is Friday after all). Luckily Serkan was still here when I got back, so he helped me find a letter with my NHS number. I put it in my bumbag together with proof of my new address and passport, just in case, and made my way back to the vaccination centre.

This time, though, things weren’t quite so positive: as friendly as the staff there were, once they saw my NHS number, they found I couldn’t book a vaccination. The program they used just took people’s ages into account, so as much as I tried to explain why I needed the jab, there was nothing they could do. The best they could do was give me a phone number to get someone to ring. At that I began to get frustrated: I am now reaching the stage where I would give almost anything to cuddle mum or dad, have a beer with Charlie, Chris or Steve, or be rolled down a hill in a plastic bag by my brothers (don’t ask), but I can’t due to this damn virus. I’m stuck, trundling around my local area in my powerchair, waiting for the day that things return to normal; hoping that neither me, Serkan or anyone else catches anything in the meantime. And on the one occasion I decide to be proactive and take the initiative, I get fobbed off with a phone number.

Well, at least I tried.

That the charlatan Johnson has the audacity to try to associate himself with Captain Sir Tom, eg using his picture on the 10 Downing Street Facebook Page, really, really takes the piss. One was a kind-hearted, noble old man; the other is a lying, egotistical embarrassment to human civilisation.

A few months ago during the first lockdown I asked my friend Charlotte to help me make a song. Lyn, as ever, was on my mind, and I thought rather than write anything in prose, what better tribute can I pay her than one in the art form which she loved? Charlie very kindly obliged: I wrote some lyrics and she skilfully fit them to music, and a few email exchanges later (together with C’s brother Hugh’s help on the accordion) we had quite a beautiful piece of music. The problem was, we agreed that it wasn’t quite finished: it needed something like an electric guitar solo to round it off. Since neither of us knew any electric guitarists, we sort of left it there; the project was forgotten about, and the file was left to collect electronic dust on my computer.

A couple of days ago though, I was thinking about Lyn and how I have yet to pay her a decent tribute. The news was about how Captain Moore was in hospital, with everyone paying tribute to him. I suddenly thought about Lyn’s Song, and how it had never received the airing it deserved. At that, I decided to put things right, creating a simple video montage to go with the track and uploading it. It can be seen here. The video is far from perfect, but the music is what matters. I miss Lyn, and always will, and this seems like a great way to remember her.

I think now more than ever, we need reminding of this. With coronavirus rates surging and the pandemic as worrying as it ever has been, we need to cherish the National Health Service more than ever before. We are lucky to have it, and it’s probably the only thing which redeems the UK as a nation at the moment. I think it’s worth recalling that, back in 2012 with the eyes of the world on London, Danny Boyle chose to pay tribute to the NHS; it’s now clearer than ever how much it deserved that place in the Olympic Opening Ceremony. It’s inclusion there meant the NHS was rightly recognised as something we should all be proud of. We surely must express our thanks to an institution which guarantees us all free healthcare, no matter who we are or how much we earn. I also think it’s worth remembering that, according to this clip, the Tories wanted to cut that part of the ceremony, a desire which should damn them now more than ever.

I’m quite fond of allegories or retellings. When you think about it, some of the best films are retellings of older, classical stories: The Crucible, for instance, is about the Salem witch trials, but can be read as an allegory for American politics during the McCarthy era. Jaws is a retelling of Moby Dick. The Lion King is essentially a retelling of Hamlet. West Side Story is a retelling of Romeo And Juliet. There was a program about West Side Story on tv last night, which made me muse about how adapting a story can add something to the original, and also how reframing real events can shed new light on them. That got me thinking, could something similar be done with Trump? He is, after all, almost cinematic or theatrical – even Shakespearian – in his pomposity. If so, what existing narrative could be reused?

The first thing which came to mind was Macbeth. There we see a man whose vaulting ambition drives him to commit greater and greater evils. Yet Macbeth doesn’t quite fit: Macbeth was spurred on by his wife, whereas Trump is driven by his own self-importance; and, as I was just reminded on Facebook, Macbeth starts the play as a good guy, whereas Trump has always been evil.

Another candidate could be Richard III, about a hunchback whose ambition drives him to murder his brother to become king, although I’d be wary of it’s ablest overtones. Yet you can see what I’m getting at, I think: I wonder if there is a classical narrative which could be adapted to describe this pompous, self-important embarrassment to human civilisation, whose deluded opinion of himself goes so deep that he denies reality itself. Is there such a narrative, or is Trump so depraved that not even our greatest writers would dare to create a character that hideous?

Following my parents’ recommendation during the family Skype meeting this morning, I just watched The Dig on Netflix. I’m fairly into history and archaeology, and what Mum and Dad said about it sounded interesting. To be honest though, I can’t say I was that taken by it. The discovery of a Middle Age burial ship is of course fascinating, but archeological digs, however historically important, aren’t the first thing which come to mind when trying to think of subjects for feature films. Naturally the director, Simon Stone, does his best to dramatise things, but as Mark Kermode says in his review, there’s quite a bit that just feels tagged on to jazz the film up. While there are some terrific performances in this film, especially from Ralph Fiennes, as well as some great photography, it was the type of film which had me checking the time, wondering when it was going to end. Too much of this film felt superfluous and unnecessary. Having said that, I now intend to go and read about the Sutton Hoo burial which the film was based on. I suppose the problem is, while archeology can be fascinating, it isn’t particularly cinematic.

It may be a week or so old, but if you want to glimpse into just how divided American society has become, I think this is worth watching. If it’s anything to go by, this Channel Four news film reveals a fractured, warped society rife with conspiracy theorists and reactionaries, all too eager to hurl white hot hatred at anyone who disagrees with them. I don’t really know how widespread this issue is in America, but if the kind of political animosity on display here is as endemic as I’m beginning to fear, I think we should be very concerned indeed.

Boris Johnson’s sickening hypocrisy captured in a Tweet:

I obviously haven’t been able to go out and explore the city as much as I’d ordinarily like, so to keep track of what is going on, I simply go onto Youtube. There, I find videos like this about the revitalisation of the Nine Elms area. Despite the pandemic and the deepest recession in decades, there is obviously still a hell of a lot of money going into building and infrastructure across London – and that’s before we even get into things like Crossrail. I have to ask though: is this being mirrored elsewhere? It feels like years since I went outside London to another uk city. How are places like Manchester, Liverpool or Stoke doing? Are we seeing swanky new buildings being constructed there too? And if we aren’t, could this imbalance in investment be leading to the increasing resentment of London and the South I’ve been picking up on social media?

You may recall that, back in October, I mentioned a youtube channel by two sisters, one of whom had fairly severe Cerebral Palsy. On the face of it, the videos they made were quite unproblematic, documenting their lives, drawing viewers’ attentions to issues they found salient. Yet, forgive my grumpiness, the more of their material I came across – both on youtube and Facebook – the more problematic I found it; the more of a nasty taste it left in my mouth. It wasn’t the content of the channel which was the problem, as much as how it was delivered and indeed the very premise of the channel.

Cheethams with Dreams purports to be about two sisters in Manchester (I think) living their lives. Yet the more of their videos I watch, the more it looks to me like the slightly older, able bodied sister, Becky, is speaking for her younger sibling, Hannnah. Of course, hannah is shown using her communication aid quite a bit, but she is always cued to say pre-written sentences by becky, as if she is only allowed to speak when told to. It is clearly Becky who sets up and structures the content of the films, so that it feels like she is the one who is showing us what a marvellous sister she has, rather than allowing hannah to speak for herself or present herself to us of her own volition. Becky is presented as the one caring for and supporting her sister, for example speaking to Hannah from behind the camera as she eats her lunch with a Neater Eater, asking patronising questions, just as a parent would speak to a toddler while making a home video for their grandparents. It is as if Becky is using Hannah as an object of fascination to show the rest of the world, or presenting her as her poor crippled sister who she has to care for and support.

As you can probably tell I quite like blogging: I enjoy rambling on about whatever takes my fancy, letting the world know what is on my mind. My weblog, of course, was set up for me by my brother Luke, who is far better at such things than I am. While Luke may help me maintain my blog though, only I have any say about its content; only I write my blog entries. This blog is therefore mine and mine alone. If luke (or Mark) did have input, the nature of this blog would be totally different: it wouldn’t just be the ill-informed ramblings of a cripple, but would probably include my brothers’ perspective on what I write and what I’m up to. It would perhaps feel like they were speaking for me, or facilitating what I have to say.

Thank zark they just let me get on with it – they’re both too busy these days anyway. Yet the point I am trying to make is that, as a guy with cerebral palsy, it is important to me that my voice is my own; I don’t want anyone else to talk for me. That’s why the Cheethams with Dreams strike me as so problematic. Watching them, it is obvious hannah cheetham is perfectly intelligent; probably just as intelligent as I am, and heading to university. Yet the way her sister dominates their videos makes it feel, to me at least, like she is being spoken for, or worse, used as a means of attracting attention. In quite a few of their videos for instance, all hannah does is sit there and squeal a bit while her sister delivers all the dialogue, to my mind infantilising her quite appallingly. If Luke tried to make such a video with me, I would tell him to shove it up his arse and head for the nearest pub.

Yet we see this sort of thing quite a lot. Last night there was a program on the Beeb about Katie Price and her severely autistic son Harvey which was just as troubling. The way in which the former model constantly foregrounded herself over her son made it feel to me like she was simply using her son to get attention and reenergise her dying career. The documentary was ostensibly about Price looking for a place for her son in a post-16 special needs education college. Yet that is obviously a problem faced by many, many parents across the country, so the question arises: if the BBC wanted to air a program highlighting the problems faced by parents of young people with severe autism in their late teens, why did they do one just focussing on this former Page 3 girl?

Moreover, the way in which price treated her son was sickening. I know that he has a developmental age of around seven, but his mother was treating him like an infant, constantly referring to herself in the third person. Autistic or not, the guy deserved more respect. More to the point, price seemed determined to make sure the focus of the program was on her rather than her son, for example explaining to the camera how the unfolding events were making her feel. It was clear that she wanted the program to be about her, not her son; and that Harvey was just a useful tool with which she could gain the audience’s sympathy.

It would have been far more interesting, in my opinion, to have let Harvey Price speak for himself, insofar as he can. What must it be like to have a supermodel for a mum? Was he comfortable getting all that press attention? Wouldn’t he rather be treated a bit more like an adult? But, like Hannah Cheetham, someone else has taken it upon themselves to talk for him, using the fact he is disabled to get attention, but in doing so denying him his own voice..

I realise this probably isn’t worth a blog entry, but I just want to record something weird yet annoying which happened when I was using Google Maps on Saturday. It’s one of my favourite websites, allowing me to whiz around and explore the globe from the comfort of my computer. To avoid having to use the mouse too much, I find it easier to use the arrow keys on my keyboard to move around the map, and the plus and minus keys to zoom in and out of it. On Saturday, though, instead of zooming in or out, whenever I pressed plus or minus, strings of +++ or — started to appear in the search box. I couldn’t work out why it was doing it or what had changed, and it very quickly became extremely annoying.

I spent a while trying to work out how to fix it, without luck, before giving up. This morning though, listening to the cricket test match, I thought I would check out Sri Lanka on the map. I googled it and opened the map page. To test my luck I thought I would try to zoom in and – what do you know? – it worked perfectly. It seems that if there is something in the search box already, I could still use the plus and minus keys to zoom in and out, but not if there wasn’t. That struck me as very, very weird indeed: almost weird enough to blog about.

I didn’t make this one, but I certainly agree with the sentiment…

If anyone is interested in details of Amazon’s upcoming series based on Tolkien’s writing, they might want to watch this. There’s quite a bit of detail in this video, apparently derived from a leaked synopsis. I won’t comment much on it, although to be honest as a Tolkien fan, I feel a bit of trepidation about where Amazon are heading with this: A series fleshing out the Second Age is fair enough, but the synopsis seems to mention characters Tolkien didn’t create, and what the zark will Sir Lenny Henry be doing in it? It has, though, been a while since I read any Tolkien, and I’m not that familiar with the events of the Second Age, so I better go brush up on The Unfinished Tales before I go much deeper.

I think we should be very, very concerned indeed about this news that a Fox-style, right-wing bullshit spewing news channel is being created in the UK. Of course, I know that freedom of speech and plurality of opinion must be sacrosanct, but the last thing the country needs right now is a soapbox on steroids where far-right nutcases like Nick Ferrari and Julia Heartley-Brewer can mouth their empty, reactionary heads off to a captive, unquestioning audience. The country is divided enough as it is, but GB News promises to air “programming with attitude and strong opinions, serving a conservative, provincial audience supposedly ignored by the liberal metropolitan instincts of the current incumbents in British TV news.” Rather than drawing from a breadth of opinion and properly sourced material, such channels use a set of provocative, outspoken hosts to try to steer viewers towards highly conservative mindsets. Such hosts become almost worshipped or reveered by the audience; their often baseless pronouncements accepted without question. Perhaps even more concerning is the fact that it isn’t entirely clear where this new news channel is being funded from. Having watched a bit of Fox News, and seen the social and cultural problems that kind of reactionary, bigoted, intentionally divisive propaganda pump can cause, I really think this channel is the last thing we need in the UK right now.

I just gave Joe Biden’s inauguration concert a watch, and as relieved as I am that America has a properly qualified president again, I must admit my mind is split. The show was full of the self-aggrandising, self-congratulatory hogwash we now expect from Americans: they seem so eager to pronounce their country the greatest in the world, yet apparently refuse to admit, even to themselves, the massive problems their country has. At one point they lauded their healthcare system (they seem to have nicked our ‘clap for carers’ tradition) but refuse to admit how draconian their system is compared to a properly funded state healthcare system like the NHS. At least now they have a proper, decent person as their president, such issues can begin to be addressed, although I’m not holding my breath.

Although I hear there’s something going on in America later which might be worth watching, if you watch nothing else today, check this groundbreaking documentary out. I’m not sure how I missed it last night, but it seems that the Beeb has at last screened a history of the disability rights movement, as told by disabled people ourselves. I can’t stress how important this programme probably is: while it isn’t perfect – such documentaries never are – it seems the mainstream media has at last made an effort to engage with an aspect of culture almost completely ignored until now. As the doc itself admits, until fairly recently people with disabilities were shut away and hidden from the rest of society. Yet with programs like this we crips are at last getting to tell our side of the story; there’s even a pretty good explanation of the Social Model, and DAN even gets referenced too. While it may be rather overdue, the revolution we were hoping the 2012 Paralympics would bring about having never really appeared, I certainly hope this is only the first of many programmes which engage properly with disability as both a social and political phenomenon.

To tell the truth I’m not totally pleased with my entry yesterday. I’m sure most readers will be able to see what I was getting at, but it wasn’t quite as comic or as impactful as I wanted it to be, probably because I couldn’t think of humorous enough analogues. Yet I still intend to post more of that kind of entry: having now been blogging for about eighteen years, I want a bit more variety in what I post on here; trying to write something in prose every day, however short, gets a little waring. I also think that sort of visual blog entry can make certain points more explicitly. Memes are therefore the way to go. Creating them may take me a bit of time, and I’m still only an amateur at it, but I enjoy the challenge.

I think I mentioned on here a few weeks ago that my brother Luke had kindly given me a subscription to Disney Plus as a christmas present. It was a lovely gift, and I’ve been watching all kinds of things on it. This morning, though, during the weekly family Skype chat, Luke asked me whether I had watched The Mandalorian yet. To my little brother’s great surprise and exasperation, I answered that I hadn’t, but this morning I wasn’t really able to articulate my reasons for not being interested in the Disney-produced Star Wars spin off. Allow me to do so now.

I think I’ve written here before that Star Wars, as a franchise, no longer has my interest or respect. The first trilogy of films are great; they work well, telling the story of Luke Skywalker and his friends as they rebel against the evil Empire. The second trilogy of films, released in the late nineties and early noughties, felt a little more tacky and childish, involving the character who we knew would become the antihero of the franchise racing tie fighters. Yet it has been argued that, together, these six films could be said to comprise the tragedy of Anikin Skywalker: that is, they tell a coherent, overarching story depicting Skywalker’s rise and fall. The franchise should have been left at that.

Now though, it’s being added to with lots of peripheral series which apparently have little to do with the original story save for being set in the same fictional universe. Forgive me, but that just feels like Disney are tagging on things for the sake of it: they know Star Wars is a popular franchise which makes money, so they’re squeezing it for all it’s worth. I also get the sense that Lucasfilm doesn’t want Star Wars’ cultural position to slip: they know it was once an extremely popular, venerated franchise occupying a unique position in popular culture. Yet that position has now been usurped by franchises like Harry Potter and Lord Of The Rings. Star Wars has been forced off the cultural pedestal it once occupied, and I get the impression that George Lucas and his friends are desparate not to let it slip. They therefore keep adding to their creation, trying to keep it current and not let it fade into cultural history, all the while draining away artistic and narrative coherence with every addition. The result is a jumbled cliched mess, churned out by big American corporations in order to make money, which I have very little interest in watching. So Luke, before you accuse me of snobbery, please know that there are valid reasons why I don’t watch The Mandalorian.

With that, I’m off to check out the latest episode of Star Trek Discovery 😛

The Guardian is reporting that Simon Rattle, lead conductor of the London Symphony Orchestra, has decided to apply for German citizenship due to Brexit. ”The Liverpool-born musician lamented the barriers thrown up by Britain’s departure from the European Union to the careers of young musicians who had grown used to performing freely to the continent’s music-hungry public.” I must confess I recognise Rattle best from this part of the 2012 Olympic Closing Ceremony, but, rather more seriously, stories like this raise the rather disturbing prospect of Brexit causing an intellectual and creative drain on the country. Artists like Rattle no longer see the UK as the open, tolerant society where creativity is fostered that it once was, so they are leaving in search of more welcoming, progressive places. They also no longer have the freedom to work anywhere in the EU without needing a visa that they had before 2016. Rattle may just be one of the first, but he certainly won’t be the last unless we do something to reverse the stupidity which is Brexit.

Why oh why do we have to put up with morons like this running the country? Rees-Mogg may think he’s superior to the rest of us because he speaks with a plumy accent, but he’s clearly an idiot.

I’m still a huge Monty Python fan, of course, but one of the often forgotten aspects of classic python is Terry Gilliam’s wonderful animation. Gilliam is now a renowned director, but I think it’s worth remembering he started his career making fantastic stream-of-conscious cut-out animations whose artistic impact is arguably still felt. With that in mind, I think this fascinating little 1974 video about how Gilliam made his videos is worth a watch. If nothing else, it’s a nice little distraction for a bleak Thursday afternoon.

I’ve heard it said recently, more than once, that Boris Johnson is the kind of person who waits to see which way a crowd is running, before running in front of it and shouting ”Follow me!” The charlatan did it again at PMQs earlier in an attempt to rewrite facts which was almost Trumpian. Kier Starmer was rightly criticising the Tory scumbag for not supplying enough food for schoolchildren during lockdown. It’s obvious that the buck stops with the government: if they funded the catering services correctly, people like Marcus Rashford wouldn’t need to campaign to get children adequately fed. Yet to hear Johnson speak, it was all the mean, nasty catering services fault, and he was fighting alongside Rashford to try to get the poor, hungry children fed.

I’m sorry, but I find such hypocrisy sickening. Johnson’s flagrant attempt to rewrite obvious facts and frame himself alongside a man who is fast becoming a national hero makes my blood boil with rage. Kids are going hungry during lockdown because of Tory Meanness alone; if they funded and supported the catering organisations properly, this wouldn’t be a problem. Yet Johnson is doing what he’s always done: claim to be a champion of the oppressed, poor and weak, while in fact only caring about himself. As long as he looks good, others can starve for all that vain asshole cares; and if they do start to starve, he’ll never accept responsibility. He is a self-centred, opportunistic, hypocritical disgrace second only to Trump in my revulsion: neither scumbag should have ever been allowed anywhere near government.

I’m currently feeling fairly pleased with myself. A while ago – I’ve forgotten exactly how – I got in touch with Christian Keathley, the American academic whose work my Master’s is broadly based upon. I emailed him a copy of my thesis and he said he enjoyed it, and we began to occasionally exchange emails and ideas. A few weeks ago, I decided to email him with a few of my recent ideas about how to develop my thesis: I know I finished my MA over six years ago, but it’s subject, cinephilia, still interests me, and it feels like the concepts I wrote about could be developed. The love of film and it’s manifestations seemed to be developing rapidly, especially online, but I didn’t know whether anyone else had picked up on that and started to theorise it. I thought I’d bite the bullet and ask Dr. Keathley what he thought, and a couple of weeks ago he kindly replied, suggesting two books he thought I might be interested in.

With my parents help (thanks Mum and Dad!) I managed to get hold of the two volumes of one of them, and sat down to read it after breakfast this morning. I usually just read things on my computer these days so I was a little out of practice turning pages; I also often get the screen reader to read things aloud to me, so the going was rather slow. Yet quite soon I found myself immersed in the subject of my thesis again: it all came flooding back. More to the point, I recognised in the book, published two or three years ago, many of the same ideas I had spoken about in my thesis. Others had obviously come to the same conclusions I had in my MA, which is enormously reassuring. Of course, this book goes much further than I did: Cinephilia in the Age of Digital Reproduction is evolving rapidly, and I have a lot of interesting new material to get into.

I spent about three hours reading this morning, and even then didn’t finish the introduction. It was slow going, but even so felt good to reacquaint myself with concepts which still intrigue me. What is it about film we love? How do we express that love? I’m not sure where I’ll go with this, but, having kept my own personal writing up it will hopefully help me develop my own ideas. And who knows: this could eventually lead to my reentry into academia.

Are fictional characters ever truly dead? I just came across this Guardian article about Rowan Atkinson no longer wanting to play Mr. Bean, and Sasha Baron Cohen being bored of playing Borat. As the article itself says, it’s not hard to see where both men are coming from. Atkinson has been playing Bean since I was young, and there’s only so far you can go with a mute, slapstick clown. As we know from programs like Blackadder, Atkinson has much more to say; the same applies to Baron Cohen. At the same time, though, I don’t think you can rule anything out these days. Everyone thought we had seen the last of Monty Python in 1988, only for them to get back together in 2014. I think the most awesome thing about art is that you can never rule anything out, so when their creators say Mr. Bean and Borat have been laid to rest, who knows where that might lead? After all, we have heard others make similar statements before.

It might be slightly on the long side, but I think this New York Times article, contextualising events in Washington this week, is worth a read. I’m sure most people will be as astonished as I was by what happened there: after all, you would expect the seat of American government to be one of the most secure buildings in the world, especially after 9/11. But, as the article explains, American society is deeply, frighteningly divided. Even after Trump goes, the wounds his four years in office are going to take years to heal. When you start playing around with what is real or true, disputing the outcome of an election just because it didn’t go your way, things start to get dangerous.

I received a late christmas present yesterday. Serkan had noticed the trouble I have brushing my teeth, so yesterday evening a parcel arrived containing a strange teeth-cleaning device. It’s a moulded rubber semicircle attached to a motor. You put toothpaste on it, put it into your mouth and it vibrates to clean your teeth. I was in two minds about it at first, but this morning during my shower we gave it a try. I must say I’m impressed – it beats arsing around with toothbrushes no end! It just took around thirty seconds, and didn’t feel that unpleasant; yet my teeth now feel cleaner than they have in ages. Whether it will incentivise me to clean my teeth a bit more often of course remains to be seen – other, more interesting things just seem to get in the way – but cool little gizmos like this certainly give it more appeal.

I was just starting to wonder where to even begin to blog about the obvious subject of today’s entry, but I have just come across something far cooler and more cheerful. After their live shows of 2014, I assumed we had seen the last of Monty Python. Of course, I still count seeing those guys perform live with Lyn that night as one of the greatest events of my life. Yet it would seem we haven’t quite seen the last of Python – not quite anyway. According to this variety article among others, Paramount are now making a film adaptation of Spamalot. Details seem quite sketchy as yet, but Eric Idle has been working on a screenplay. This news cheers me up no end: it might not be the announcement of another live stage show a la 2014, but anything to do with the greatest comedy troupe ever piques my interest. It’s also news of a forthcoming film, so that gets me interested too. It will be interesting to see how they adapt it. After all, basing a film on a stage musical which was itself adapted from a film is rather weird when you think about it – you could almost call it Pythonesque.

Just to follow up on yesterday’s entry, I got an email from the NHS last night to say that I’m perfectly fine and don’t have COVID. Serkan received the same message. At the same time, the news was unexpected and quite a relief. Of course, with the country entering another lockdown, it doesn’t change much: I still can’t really go anywhere, and there’s nowhere open to go to if I could. Nonetheless it’s reassuring to get the news that we’re both bug free.

I’ve had a bit of a cough recently, so yesterday Serkan and I decided to go get tested for coronavirus. It seemed to make sense, as at least then we could be sure we didn’t have anything more dire than the normal little coughs I get from time to time. It meant a short, these days rare, bus ride to Plumstead, serkan following on his bike. It was a quick, straightforward process involving little sticks being rammed up my nose, and we’re expecting the results to arrive soon. Nothing to worry about really, but I just wanted to note it for one thing: while on the testing site, in a tent set up on a car park, I had to wear a surgical mask like everyone else. It was my first real experience of wearing a mask because I’m usually exempt, and I now know why. That thing was a pain in my arse! It got soaked with dribble almost immediately, and was constantly slipping down over my mouth and chin so that I was forever trying to pull it back up over my mouth and nose. Within five minutes I couldn’t wait to take it off. After so many months of not having to wear one I now see why some people are so resistant to them. Mind you, other people don’t dribble so their masks don’t get so infuriatingly damp; and they don’t have to stop driving their powerchairs every few metres in order to pull their mask back up.

As I wrote here yesterday, I haven’t been having many absences recently. I’m pretty sure at least part of the reason for that is the fact I take a daily vitamin pill. They have been a part of my daily routine for ages, accompanying my breakfast just as much as my morning coffee. That isn’t to say that my diet might otherwise be low on vitamins, but I think it’s good to make sure I’m topped up in that department. Of course, a result of that is that I feel fit and perky in general: I feel strong and well, and seem to stave off bugs and colds fairly quickly. That, of course, makes me wonder whether this could have had an effect on my reaction to Coronavirus: here I am living in an epic metropolis during a global pandemic, with infection rates rising to worrying levels, but so far, touch wood, I seem to have fought it off. Naturally that’s just speculation, but nonetheless it’s all the more reason to keep taking my vitamins.

Mind you, another consequence of those pills is that they cause my beard to grow. That isn’t much of a problem until you have a few days worth of itchy stubble, your PA is about to give you a much-needed shave, and you realise that you have forgotten to buy shaving foam.

It’s not really worth noting here, but I just checked the log I keep of my absences, and I just had ten in the whole of 2020. The vast majority of them were mild, and I often had long periods when I didn’t have any. I’m quite pleased with that – they currently seem to be behaving their selves. I know it’s not much to blog about, but at least I have something good to say about last year.

I just came across this rather sad news that ”Irish Eurovision singer and frontman of the rock band Bagatelle, Liam Reilly, has died aged 65” and was pondering making some sort of crude joke about elves being mortal after all – an obscure reference to a pronouncement my dad made one Eurovision night over twenty years ago, having had one too many rums. However, I decided to look up Reilly’s entry into the contest, and what I found was oddly pertinent: Somewhere in Europe is a rousing anthem of European unity. Containing the lyrics:

It’s been a long time since we were together
I’m back in Ireland and I miss you more than ever
In early spring we parted and I’ve been here since then
But if I could only see you once again

It’s obviously about Ireland, but I daresay it could easily be adapted into a theme for the UK Remain/Return movement. With lines like ”Meet me in Paris on a Champs Élysées night / We could be in Rome again, ‘neath the Trevi fountain light” it would remind us us of the glories of Europe, and what we have so foolishly lost.

Open any history book and you will probably find it full of narratives about one group of people fighting another: of disputes between countries or cultures so profound that they go to war with one another. Wars in which thousands if not millions of people died. I have believed for a long time that the only way to avoid such conflicts is for humanity to come together and work as one. We need to stop seeing ourselves as members of different groups and see ourselves as human: hugely, fantastically varied, but all equal. That is the only way to end the tribalist, nationalist disputes of the past. The European Union is a body which worked towards that goal: an organisation which spanned a continent, bringing people together, guaranteeing them their rights, and making sure the conflicts of the past were not repeated.

For the United Kingdom to have left that body is nothing but an act of historic vandalism. Brexit is nothing but a crime perpetrated by liars and charlatans, voted for and backed by nationalist halfwits too stupid to see the big picture. It was always about stripping us of our human and consumer rights, safeguarded by the EU, so we can be exploited by capitalists more easily. Things will now get far harder and nastier. Brexit turns the UK into an inward-looking, nationalistic irrelevance refusing to cooperate with it’s neighbours, like a spoiled brat in a playground refusing to play with the other, more mature, children.

I find the fact I am now forced to live in such a society sickening. I want to live in an open, tolerant, multicultural world, working together with our neighbours, but that dream has been stolen from me by bigots too stupid to see past petty national divisions. To them, the human rights the EU safeguarded got in their way; they can now be done away with, opening the door to the cruelty and persecution of the most sickening form of capitalism. That such selfish, arrogant embarrassments to human civilisation now have their way makes my blood boil with rage. The stupidity that is Brexit must not, can not, be allowed to stand.

At about this point every year or so, I often like to post a summary of everything that happened in a particular year, just to round it off. Years like 2012, 2014 and 2017 were particularly awesome and needed recapping. This year, though, I find myself struggling to find even one positive thing to say. It has been a downright miserable year for everyone, to be honest: I haven’t done anything or been anywhere nice; it was mostly spent either here at home, or trundling around South-East London. And as I’ve said before, Lyn’s death in April was a blow I doubt I’ll ever get over.

I suppose the only good thing about this otherwise wretched year was having Serkan around. When he moved in in February it was only supposed to be temporary, but as the year wore on and the pandemic grew worse, it made more and more covid sense for him to stay. I frankly don’t know what I would have done without his company or support: being here alone most of the time would have been unbearable. I’d like to take this opportunity to thank him from the bottom of my heart.

I think I need to thank my parents too. Of course I haven’t physically met mum and dad in months, but we now chat every morning over the web. They’re usually just brief, simple calls just to check up on each other – I think they just want to make sure I’m still alive and haven’t done anything too stupid – but it’s reassuring to know they’re looking out for me.

I suppose it just goes to show that, even in the bleakest of years, you can still find positive things to say. I’d like to end this entry on a high note, and assure everyone that 2021 will be much better than 2020. But I don’t think I can: it looks like the pandemic isn’t going anywhere, and Brexit is going to make things even harder and nastier. The truth is I don’t feel very optimistic at the moment. Then again, if life has taught me anything, it is never to rule anything out: something incredible could be just around the next corner.

As incandescently furious and exasperated as I am at what is happening politically today – and the Brexit battle isn’t over, not by a long shot – I think, just for perspective, I’ll just direct everyone here. Sometimes we just need to chill out a bit, and be reminded of our place in this amazing and expanding universe.

Whenever life gets you down, Mrs.Brown
And things seem hard or tough
And people are stupid, obnoxious or daft
And you feel that you’ve had quite enough

Just remember that you’re standing on a planet that’s evolving
And revolving at nine hundred miles an hour
That’s orbiting at nineteen miles a second, so it’s reckoned
A sun that is the source of all our power.

I won’t go into much detail about it here, but I rolled home this lunchtime to discover that I have been blocked from posting anything on Facebook for three days. Basically I posted the meme I made yesterday onto an anti-Brexit Facebook group, and needless to say it caused quite a stir. Most of the responses were favourable it must be said, but a few people took offence. One particularly stupid blonde woman demanded the post be deleted, and when I defended myself things became increasingly shirty and she reported me. Needless to say I’m not happy, and have lodged an appeal with Facebook. That she had the gall to accuse me of bullying her when she was the one completely out of line only adds insult to injury.

I realise that the comparison I drew yesterday might not be to everyone’s taste, and for some it might go too far. Yet I think it’s time for the gloves to come off; we need to make people realise the potential consequences of what is now happening in the uk. All our rights now stand to be eroded. Yesterday I attempted to show people the potential destination of our country’s current course, albeit in a particularly emotive way, but it seems some people can’t accept that.