I know I’ve said this here before but I think it’s worth repeating: I have nothing against wearing face masks. Like any intelligent person these days, I realise that they are the only way of getting humanity through the pandemic. The problem is, that puts me in a bit of a predicament. As I wrote here, they’re  not the easiest of garments for me to put on or take off, and as they cover my face they’re likely to get soaked with dribble. That, in itself, may defeat the point of  putting one on in the first place. Nonetheless that  doesn’t make me any  less responsible than anyone else, and I have friends with CP in a similar quandary. I’m  therefore currently trying to think of solutions. I need to find something which will cover my lower face but which I can put on or take off easily. Some sort of mask or balaclava, perhaps? I’m open to suggestions.

I had a dream about dressing up last night. The truth is, I stopped cross-dressing regularly a few years ago; I think I just got bored with it. It was probably one of the  reasons why mine and Lyn’s relationship lost it’s spark, but the thought of pulling on tights, skirts and leotards just seemed to  loose it’s thrill. Recently though, I have started to dream about it again: vivid, pleasant dreams which I was disappointed to wake from.

I’m not sure why. I’m now sure that I’m quite content with life as a  guy. Long ago, I toyed with the idea of fully transitioning into womanhood: what would life be like? Would it be possible for me to live, permanently, as a woman? As I see it, Lyn explored that path for me, showing me what was possible. Perhaps she had a bravery I  don’t, perhaps Lyn’s feelings were different to mine, but I think things would  be  simpler to remain as I am. Lyn had gender dysphoria  of course, whereas I’m probably just a  bit kinky. Either way, where  Lyn acted upon her curiosity, I think I’m happy to stay put, thanks to Lyn having shown me what could be. That is  one of the reasons why she was the most remarkable person I’ll ever meet.

Yet for some reason that urge to dress up is starting to return. I still have a load of girl’s clothes which it is becoming increasingly tempting to dig out. Perhaps it’s time to do so, and let that part of me loose again. The  thrill I first felt as a teenager, of dressing up and becoming someone completely different,  seems  to be returning. Now Lyn is gone though, part of me feels it would be wrong to suddenly start dressing up again, but on the other  hand what better way to honour her memory? She broke down so many barriers, so I must do the same.

A couple of days ago I came across the idea that, instead of greeting people by shaking  hands, these days we should bump fists. That struck me as a cool idea, especially if Coronavirus is spread through touch, but how about going a step further and just doing a Vulcan salute to one another? Leaving  aside the fact that I personally struggle to get my fingers into that position, it seems to me that that  would be a very civilised way to greet each other, especially since it is synonymous with wishing one another ”Live Long and Prosper..” There is no touching involved at all. Mind you, Leonard Nimoy apparently borrowed the gesture from an orthodox jewish ceremony, so it  might have hidden religious connotations.

Either way, the least we can do  to protect one another is sung about here (nsfw)

I know I probably ought to note what I got up to yesterday on here, mostly as a warning to myself not to let it happen again.  Truth be told, I got carried away: after sorting an upcoming event out at school, I decided to take myself to a pub in Woolwich. After having a couple of beers there, I caught the bus home. I was fine at that point, if a bit hungry. Stupidly though, a couple of hours later I decided to take myself up into Eltham for a couple more, and I guess I overdid it: I remember leaving the pub, but I must have come out of my chair on the way back because the next thing I know I was lying in a hospital bed.

Utterly stupid I know. I spent the evening in hospital, before being taken home. I was bloody  lucky nothing was stolen or damaged. More to the point, I shouldn’t have wasted much needed NHS  resources like that. I suppose I just wanted to let off a little  steam after the  last few months, but I really, really shouldn’t be so stupid.

Like many people, I now find myself in a bit of a quandry when it comes to pubs:  there are quite a few in my local area, but the one I preferred to go to, probably due to it’s friendly barman and cheaper pints, is a Whetherspoons. I’d currently prefer not to go to Whetherspoons due to the chain being owned by  a total Outist scumbag, putting me in a bit of a position. I don’t drink that often these days, but mostly go for the social aspect; there’s nothing like an authentic South London pub. I suppose the question boils down to which is more important to me: politics or beer.

Earlier I read an  article about Mary Trump’s new book about her uncle Donald, and I am beside myself with fury. I haven’t read it yet, but the book apparently alleges that Donald  Trump cut off medical  support for his nephew William, who has Cerebral Palsy, in  retribution for losing a family dispute over inheritance. If that is true, then I no  longer see how the thing currently calling  itself president of America can claim to be human, for how could any human being do such a horrible, vindictive thing? People with CP need a lot of support, often round  the clock care: to deny anyone, especially a relative, such care simply  because you did not get what you want is beyond abominable. From his pictures, William Trump reminds me of a   few of my friends with CP – not to mention Lyn – who, despite the  severity of there condition, had as much to contribute to society as anyone. The thought that they would be denied their potential by someone acting so selfishly and childishly fills  my heart  with rage.

How the hell can such a disgrace to humanity currently occupy one of it’s most prestigious political positions, rather than  grovelling around in a gutter begging for scraps dodging streams of piss where it belongs?

I know one shouldn’t laugh at anyone else’s misfortune, but there’s something hilariously ironic about this news that Jair Bolsonaro has now tested positive for coronovirus. If anyone could be said to be more arrogant or brazen than Trump, it’s Bolsonaro. The guy who repeatedly wafted away the virus as though it was nothing, leading to millions of deaths in his country; surely anyone would agree that this serves the twat right.

I vaguely remember, back in 1997 or so, when it was first announced that The Lord of the Rings was going to have a screen adaptation, I saw an article about Tolkien getting ‘the Star Wars treatment’. What that obviously meant at the time was that there were plans to adapt LOTR into three films rather than one, echoing the Star Wars trilogy (leaving aside the fact that the Star wars franchise started life as one film). At the time that struck most pundits as an incredibly bold move: if the first film flopped, a hell of a lot of money was going to be lost.

As it turned out that gamble paid off and the trilogy turned out to be an astonishing success. The Return of the King earned eleven oscars and Peter Jackson a knighthood. It was obviously so successful that it left New Line baying for more, which eventually lead to The Hobbit trilogy. That, for my money, wasn’t such a great move: it’s only one volume, and trying to stretch it’s contents over three films always meant liberties would need to be taken. New Line was obviously eager to repeat the success of Lord of the Rings though, and three films would make them more money than just one. Having said that, the people who made The Hobbit obviously had a deep respect for the source material, and as a work of filmic art it could have turned out much, much worse.

Yet I am now worried how prophetic that twenty-three year old headline may turn out to be. Star Wars, if you ask me, is a mess: since they started adding to the original trilogy, and especially since Disney took it over, it has collapsed into garbled nonsense which no longer has my attention or respect. The guys who make it – Lucas, Abrams or whoever – just seem interested in churning out film after film to make money. They use characters we know from the originals, but use them in stories which become so stretched and convoluted that the franchise has lost all narrative and artistic integrity. The audience has cliché after cliché hurled at them; each new film is a string of saccharine, nauseating moments designed to evoke nostalgia for the originals. It’s mass market, big budget film making of the worst kind.

What worries me is that something similar will happen to Tolkien’s work. I recently got wind that Amazon have a series in production, based on his less well known works in The Silmarillian, Unfinished Tales and The Book of Lost Tales. It’s obvious that Amazon want to use Tolkien as the basis for their own Game of Thrones, but what concerns me is how convoluted it risks becoming. While Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit are fairly coherent narratives, much of the rest of Tolkien’s work is composed of shorter pieces which, taken together, form a very rich, detailed history of his created world. I fear these will be much more difficult to translate to the screen, small or big, meaning any director or producer will inevitably need to take liberties with the source material. The danger is too many liberties will be taken: Amazon will be dying to capitalize on and emulate the success of the New Line films, so they will stretch Tolkien’s work as far as possible, and possibly too far. I worry that it will eventually reach the point Star Wars now has, with films being produced using characters and settings we all know, but losing any artistic coherence or relationship with any of Tolkien’s work.

Of course I hope I’m wrong. I hope whoever is making Amazon’s new series has enough reverence for Tolkien’s writing to stop before they reach that stage. Yet I also know enough about the entertainment industry to know that they will want to bleed every last penny out of this set of stories. Once they know they have a formula which works, with characters the audience likes in a setting they are used to, a studio will want to return to it again and again. That’s the only reason why Lucasfilm made those appalling prequels. Now Hollywood has it’s greedy hands on Tolkien, the franchisation (if I can call it that) of his life’s work is inevitable: I just hope it stops before it goes too far and we see Hobbits racing on Oliphaunts.

As someone who values knowing that, should they or any of his friends or family fall ill or need medical help, and as someone aware of how damaging and draconian a private, American-style healthcare system can be, I would like to wholeheartedly wish the NHS a happy seventy-second birthday. Surely now more than ever, we can all agree how precious the National Health Service is.

I went to the pub this afternoon, for the first time in about six months. I was in two minds about it, not wanting to tempt fate; but having waited so long, and being rather curious, I popped a fresh straw in my bumbag (not having needed one for so long) and set off to The Tudor Barn.

When I got there it was already quite busy, with everyone outside, sat at tables on the grass. There was quite a jolly atmosphere despite the overcast skies, with staff bringing  drinks and  food out to everyone. I was given a table quite quickly. Of course the staff remembered me, and  that I liked to drink real ale. Not wanting to go overboard, I just had one, but it was  good to be back there: it has been a long few months for everyone, and  it was good to  see a  glimpse of normality.

I just got wind that the new Bond film, No Time To Die, isn’t going to be released until November, obviously in order that it can get it’s usual, full cinematic release. As disappointed in the delay as I am, I think it raises one or two interesting questions: the guys at EON productions clearly think their new film should be primarily viewed in the cinema, so how integral is a cinematic viewing to the consumption of film (if I can put it like that) these days? We can now watch films almost wherever we want, streamed on computers, tablets and mobile phones; but that isn’t the same experience as watching a film in a cinema, with it’s large screen, darkened room and powerful sound system. In my Master’s, I describe how writers like Andre Bazin wrote about the cinematic aura – an experience specific to the cinema, brought about by the darkened lights and silence of the audience. It is a very immersive experience, where all our attention is focussed on the film. Outside the cinema there is no aura, which is why cinematic screenings are an integral part of cinephilia.

Watching a film at home, we might dim the lights and close the curtains, but the experience is never quite the same. And as for watching a film on a tablet or mobile phone, say, when you’re commuting to work on the bus or tube, you might as well compare eating the most succulent steak to the cheapest, shittiest McDonald’s burger: same beef, very different taste.

I think it was this quite specific, almost sacred experience that the producers of Bond are trying to preserve. Yet they have to weigh that against the thirst many people will have to see this already much delayed film: those who see film simply as a story rather than as an experience or art form presumably won’t care how or where they see it. EON risks loosing people’s interest – and therefore money – if it delays too long, so it will be under considerable pressure to cut it’s losses and release No Time To Die online. In doing so, though, it will lose something which has always been synonymous with film, and especially the 007 franchise: the glamour and prestige of premiers in central London; the excitement and anticipation of travelling to see the latest instalment of a franchise which has been a staple of popular culture for almost sixty years. Released online, 007 would become something far more casual and throw-away; just another distraction among many, watched on a mobile phone sat in McDonald’s, in between mouthfuls of burger.

Rather than see it become that, I would far rather wait. One day, perhaps in a few months, this damn virus will be gone and cinemas will be open. Perhaps charlotte will visit, and we will go, at last, to see this film together, in the cinema. There, every detail and nuance will consume our vision, rather than being lost on far smaller screens, amid a hundred other day-to-day distractions. We can allow ourselves to be absorbed into the cinematic experience, appreciating every detail and reference, like meeting an old friend again after a long separation. That surely is how films should be enjoyed, but now, with everything moving online, I fear for it’s future.

I think this is a glimmer of the news we all need right now: Beavis and Butt-Head is to get a reboot. I remember laughing my head off when I first saw it, aged ten or so. I probably barely understood it, but it was the  first cartoon I had ever seen in which the characters swore. And when Cornholio was introduced, I was in stitches.  Mike Judge, the show’s creator, says it will be updated to reflect the contemporary world but retain the elements of  the original we loved. If you ask me, his timing couldn’t be  better: with so much misery and anger in the world, a bit of inane  stupidity is just what we need.

Something a bit odd happened when I was out on my usual daily stroll. Just coming  out of a park the other side of Eltham High Street, three young lads were slightly in my way. I often have trouble with boys their age, but this time one quite politely told his friends to get out of my way. I felt grateful, so I said ”Thank you” with my natural voice. I thought I spoke clearly enough, but one boy then said to the others ”He just told us to fuck off” and they began walking away. Of course, I then began typing what I had intended to say into my Ipad, but it was too late – they wouldn’t listen.

Just a  small incident I know, hardly worth noting  on here; but I think it’s the type  of misunderstanding that guys like me encounter  fairly often, and as such I wanted to put it right.  It’s just funny how, even when you try to be nice to people, it doesn’t always go to plan.

Serkan pointed something out to me last night and I certainly agree it is becoming a real problem: PPE  such as  face masks are being dropped everywhere as litter. I’m starting to see them cluttering up the streets,  as if people throw them onto the ground as  soon as they get off the busses.  It’s rather disgusting, really – those masks could well have the virus on them. I certainly think this is an issue which should be raised and dealt with, then. People must be more responsible with their PPE.

A bowler running up towards a wicket.
Oh how I miss watching cricket.
Sat in the park all day long,
the sun on my skin feeling so strong.
Watching batsmen make run after run.
Chasing a total, or setting one.
Yet this year the grass just grows
on fields where there were once such shows.
No bats hitting balls, no cries or cheers.
None of the joys of past years.
Yet next year cricket will be played once more.
Balls being bowled and getting knocked for four.
And I’ll go and sit there all day
Sipping beer in the sun, watching my friends play.

It is hard to decide what to say about Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga. I had never heard of it until my parents recommended it to me yesterday. A netflix film, they said it might amuse me, so I gave it a watch earlier this afternoon. To be honest, what I found myself watching was appalling: it’s basically a Will Farrell vehicle for making fun of Europe and European culture. While some argue that it is a celebration of the camp kitsch synonymous with Eurovision, I detected far more disturbing undertones in the film. For one, nearly all the dialogue is American, by which I mean it sounded as if the screenplay was written by an American (which it was – Farrell himself) who made no attempt to engage with the culture of the people the film is trying to depict. As Will Gompertz says here, ”the depiction of Icelanders and their culture as an unsophisticated bunch of beer-drinking, whale-watching, knitted jumper-wearing innocents is tiresome and ignorant.” All the characters speak using American idioms but using cringeworthy, borderline offensive Icelandic accents.

This is basically an American film trying to mock an aspect of european culture. The campness of eurovision is not celebrated but amplified in order to ridicule it, like an outsider seizing upon and mocking something they do not understand. Any cultural authenticity is thrown out the window in order to give Farrell a chance to mime along to cheesy music while telling an utterly ridiculous, cliche-ridden story. This is Farrell’s attempt to mock europe by dressing up and imitating his perception of it, while acting in the same inherently American way he always does. Thus his character is shown to loathe American tourists; the very tourists who at the end of the film save the day in an utterly ridiculous car chase through Edinburgh.

You can definitely tell this is a Netfix film; it would be hard to see this kind of dross getting any kind of traditional theatrical release. That in itself raises questions about whether online film streaming sites might actually be changing not only how audiences watch films, but also what sort of films get made. Is film as an art changing to become less cinematic and more toned down and suited to smaller screens and more casual types of viewing? If lightweight, derogatory dross like Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga is anything to go by, we cinephiles have a lot to worry about.

Not that I’m becoming a railway geek or anything, but I just got wind of a project so awesome that I just had to note it. Imagine being able to take a train from London all the way to Tokyo. That might be possible sometime soon. Nicknamed the Bridge Across History, it will  make use of the famous Trans-Siberian Express, as well as new infrastructure, such as a twenty-eight mile long bridge from the Russian island of Sikhalin into Japan. It sounds pretty cool to me, although it would take over  a week to do the entire trip, meaning a lot of thumb twiddling.

Something incredible happened this morning which made my heart ache. I needed to trundle over to Charlton to get another pot of the vitamin tablets I prefer from the chemist there. After picking them up, I  thought I’d pop in  on Paulo. He’s still at Lyn’s, working to sort her things  out; I visit him every few days or so.  A week or two ago I mentioned he could try to find Lyn’s drawings: I remembered  that, some time ago, Lyn showed  me drawings she had done before I met her. Absolutely incredible images drawn by hand, presumably with the  paper taped down. They were clearly built up mark by mark, yet were  so vivid it was difficult to believe a person with such limited dexterity could have drawn them.  They must have taken Lyn hours.

Yet for some reason Lyn seldom spoke of them, and hid them away in a cupboard. A few weeks ago, though, I remembered about them, and asked Paulo  to try to find them. He had no luck, until this morning I had a hunch: I suggested looking in the bottom of a cupboard, and there they were. I was so relieved – the thought of such incredible images being lost was heartbreaking. At least now  they can be stored properly and celebrated. What I find painful is, though, knowing that  the person who created such remarkable images is no longer here.

I recently bought a new Ipad. As I said a few  entries ago, my old one was on it’s last legs, and it was time for an upgrade. Having bought it, setting up my new device could barely have been easier: we just had to show my old one to my new one’s camera,  and all my settings and apps were transferred automatically. The problem was, my new  Ipad didn’t fit into my old  Ipad case, so we had to buy a  new one.

The Amazon delivery came the next day, but that’s when the fun started: it consisted of three pieces, a hard plastic case, a clear plastic screen and a  rubbery sock which enclosed both. There was an Amazon video showing you how to put it together, but try as he might, poor Serkan couldn’t get it right. He spent hours  and hours  on it – the video made it look far less fiddly than  it actually was. However we tried, it just didn’t look right. In the end, though, just as both our patiences were beginning to fail, this afternoon everything just seemed to click together, and I suddenly had a brand new Ipad in a pristine-looking, dribble-proof case.

With that, I went  for a walk, while Serkan went for a well deserved nap.

As a Tolkien fan, I’m not at all sure the Professor would approve  of the languages he spent a lifetime creating being used like this, but even so it’s rather fun.

Now that it has been announced that lockdown restrictions have started to be lifted,  and that we’ll be able to go to pubs, cafes and cinemas after the fourth of July, I could do an entry discussing the various implications of the social distancing rules being reduced from two metres to one. About how, one one hand people tend not to come that close to me in places like pubs anyway, possibly for fear of getting slobbered on; but on the other,  I often need people like shop assistants and pub  staff to come within a metre of me to do things like  take my money out of my wallet.

Yet I won’t. I won’t write that entry because it isn’t the biggest question today’s announcement raises. For me, the biggest question I now want the answer to is,  when will we at last be able to watch No Time To Die?

I still try to avoid using busses. Although lockdown is slowly being relaxed, I still think it’s wiser to use a bus only when I have  to. The problem is, wearing a facemask  is now mandatory on a bus, and that’s something I struggle with. A few days ago, I sent a  message to TFL to find out where I stood  on  the issue, and apparently I’m in the exempt group. While  that makes life a bit easier, I still think I should err on the side of caution.  Therefore, whenever I do need to take a bus, I make an effort to control my dribble, swallowing it regularly and wiping my chin. I cover my face whenever I cough, of course. While I am marginally  more likely to take the bus or tube these days, we’re still all in  this mess together after all, so even guys like me have to play our part too.

Has anyone  noticed that photography seems to be in fashion these days? I just got off the weekly family Skype meeting, and my brothers were talking about which (fairly expensive) cameras they were thinking about buying and what they had been taking pictures of. Also, online I  see people posting pictures they have taken of things like plants,  wildlife or clouds, and talking  about them as though they were semi-professional. Everyone seems to think they are a photographer these days.

I suppose that’s fair enough: due to things like cameraphones,  photography is now more accessible than ever. Yet what these guys don’t seem to realise is that there is more to photography as an art form than just snapping pictures. There is an entire body of theory about how the greatest photographs ‘speak’ to the viewer; they can reveal a form of hidden truth through details which leap out of the image. Roland Barthes called this the Punctum. True photographers familiar with this background discourse know how to achieve this profound effect; otherwise you’re just an amateur with a camera. Photography isn’t as simple as just taking photos. Not only does it require extensive knowledge of things like lighting and framing,  but deep, profound knowledge about how a picture can say something about the reality it depicts,  which takes years to acquire.

I got back from stratford about half an hour ago. It was the first time I’ve been outside the borough or used  the tube since February, but my Ipad had become so worse for wear that I really needed to get it sorted. To be honest it was a very weird trip: I think of Westfield Stratford as a bubbling, energetic place – a high temple of consumerism, full of people, music, food and light – but today it felt more like a hospital. It was only  half full, everyone was wearing masks and had to follow  strictly regulated paths. I used to go up there quite often just to feel the buzz of the place.  It was always so new and exciting, built especially to show London off to the world. Twenty  years ago that was just a neglected corner of the east end,  but was turned into a thriving urban pleasure centre next door to a world-class olympic park. Yet today,  with half the shops and all the restaurants closed, not to mention the cinema, bowling and casino, it felt like a shadow of it’s past self. I can’t wait for things to start to feel like normal again.

I have had a random idea which I just want to put out there: is there any reason why  credit cards etc can’t contain a built in microchip with it’s owner’s details and photo on it? That way, when a cashier puts the card into the reader, the owner’s details could automatically pop up on  their screen and they can instantly be verified. It seems to me that this would be a good way of guarding against credit card fraud, particularly  if it’s owner is a ”vulnerable person” who can’t input   a pin number.

It seems that the second attempt to reboot the Ghostbusters franchise might indeed be becoming a reality. I just watched this Reunited Apart episode, where it was mentioned that a new film, Ghostbusters 3: Afterlife is in production. I Googled it, and encouragingly found that most  of the original cast are involved, as well as this decent-looking trailer. Hopefully it will return the franchise to it’s 1980’s form. Something to look forward to next spring anyway.

I just finished watching the third episode of The Salisbury Poisonings, the Beeb’s new miniseries about the Novichoc emergency two years ago. Given the hype, I thought it looked interesting, but a drama which at first glance promises to be about global espionage and post Cold War politics quite quickly turns into a bit of a soap opera, focussing on the emotional effects of the poisonings on characters rather than attempting to explain why these crimes happened. While that may have a good deal of resonance now, with everyone having  to quarantine for fear of a lethal virus, I found the focus of the drama misplaced: there was a lot of emotion, tragedy and death which I felt was just superfluous to the story being told. We learn next to nothing about why the Skripals were assassinated, apart from some vague detail that Sergei Skripal was some kind of double agent who had somehow angered Vladimir Putin.

With that said, there are a few questions to be asked about this drama: the big one must be, why is the BBC broadcasting it at all, and now in particular? It was obviously produced well before lockdown, so why are we being  told this particular story at this particular moment? A lot is being said about the role Russia played in both the EU Referendum and the election of Trump; others have also written about how the social division and  animosity currently tearing the UK and America apart is being deliberately, if covertly, stirred up by Russia. And suddenly we see a drama in which Russia is once again cast as the  secretive, ominous bully it was fifty years ago. Could the two be related? I really don’t know, but for this drama to appear on our screens right now seems to beg such questions.

This is just to wish Mum a very happy birthday. The truth is, it has been a tough few months,  and it feels like such a long time since I saw her in person. While we’ve been talking online every morning, I miss her cuddles and her cooking, and I’m looking  forward to going to visit her and Dad as soon as we get the all clear. As fantastic as independence is, nothing quite beats the unconditional love of a parent – these last few months  have made that staggeringly clear.

This afternoon I had my first coffee of the year at the cafe in Charlton Park. As I said a few days ago, it was reopening, albeit only at weekends and  with properly distanced, outside tables. It was good to see those guys  up and running again: of course, they remember me and what I usually like to drink. I love the sense of community at that little cafe, where  everyone knows everyone else; the only difference now is Lyn won’t be there to enjoy it too.

Public opinion – the ambient values held by any given society – constantly evolves and  changes. While such things are hard to quantify in a multicultural, diverse nation, the attitudes of a given group of people will constantly alter over  time. Thus, what is acceptable in one era might not be acceptable in another. The people revered  in one era might be condemned in another.

There is a current trend in toppling the statues of people associated with  racism and  the slave trade. Of course, I find the notion that someone could be condemned to a life of servitude simply due to the colour of  their skin as abhorrent as anyone  else. Yet the problem with toppling such statues is that it clears the way for other statues to be toppled; statues of people ‘we’  may currently like. If defacing the statue of Churchill can be justified, what is to stop someone with the opposite worldview to ours justify defacing the statues  of Gandhi or Mandela, on the other side of parliament Square? And who’s to say that, sometime in the future, evidence won’t emerge that won’t redeem Churchill or Rhodes or Colston?

The contemporary cultural space is a highly complex one: we live in a society with lots of competing, often contradictory viewpoints. By destroying monuments to people who  were once revered, we promote one set of views  over another, and  assert modern values are more important than those of the past; one viewpoint tries to dominate the entire cultural landscape. Surely the irony of that is, in doing so, we become just as bigoted, authoritarian and intolerant as the people whose statues we topple.

I just watched this 2016 Louis Theroux documentary about Jimmy Saville, looking back on his previous documentaries with him with the hindsight of what we now know. It is a really difficult watch: Saville was a despicable, disgusting man who thought his  celebrity meant he could get away  with anything he wanted. I hadn’t given him much thought before now, but, watching the doc, I was struck by Saville’s resemblance to Donald Trump. Can we not see the same sense of entitlement and self importance in both men? The same egotistical narcissism and  sense that they are above  others? One arsehole reminded me of the other, and I felt the same embarrassment that such a disgrace to humanity could ever have risen to such fame.

Pull down a statue, and you’ll have a mess.

The legacy of what the statue represents will remain.

History is peopled with the good and the bad.

To avoid repeating it, we need to remember both.

People who were once revered may now be condemned:

Progress, with hindsight, sometimes becomes bigotry; civilisation becomes barbarity.

We must remember both.

Lest tearing down their statues just continues the mess they started.

Yesterday evening on tv I heard someone say that one of the ways to tell how much work has yet to be done in terms of achieving racial equality is by noting the lack of black people we see on tv, in films, and  in positions of social authority. That’s undoubtably true, but I couldn’t help thinking that you see far fewer people with disabilities in such places. While the majority of the cast of any given film is likely to be  white, it is still far rarer  to see a disabled person on our screens. When did you last see a wheelchair user or someone using a communication aid on the telly? The Black Lives Matter  seems to now  be gathering real pace, and hopefully will achieve real change; yet we shouldn’t  forget that there are other  social groups, sidelined to an even greater extent, who can make a contribution to society and whose lives matter just as much.

I now  live in a flat on an estate built in the  last couple of years: twenty or so flats built along two short, new streets, on two floors. It’s  a nice little area, with a community feel to it. At the end of one of the rows, though, is a space which obviously isn’t intended to be lived in but for commercial uses. It has been boarded up since I moved here, with a big ‘to let’ sign. I assumed that it would eventually  become a small corner shop or pharmacy.

However, a couple of days ago I saw something interesting on the community Facebook page: the space  is going to become a small bar and microbrewery. Now, reading that I didn’t know what to think. Part of me likes the idea of having nearby to go whenever I  feel like a drink. It’s just around  the corner, so getting there and back in my chair couldn’t be much easier. On the other hand, I kind of worry about what  it might do to the area, and who it might attract.

After seeing the first report I didn’t worry about it much though – it could have just been  a  rumour. However, I just came across this. It looks like it’ll be a trendy little place, hopefully selling some nice, tasty beers. Believe me, this is a development I’ll be keeping a very close eye on.

The walk to Charlton Park  is a short, pleasant one. In my powerchair using the quickest route I’ve found, it takes less than thirty minutes. I go there every so often, but this morning on Twitter I saw that the Old Cottage Coffee Shop – the Cafe in the Park – is going to reopen tomorrow, so I thought I’d head that way again today, to see what was going on.  And sure enough, there were  Rudy and Mimi, preparing the place for reopening, albeit take-away only.

It then occurred to me that they might not know that Lyn had passed away. I decided  to go say hi and ask how they were. I spoke to Mimi, who offered me a coffee. It turned out that they had been told about Lyn, a month or so ago.

Things are slowly returning to normal: businesses,  like that sweet little coffee shop where everyone knows everyone else,  will, sooner or later, be buzzing with customers again. I think I will still go there every so often, but it won’t be the same – nothing will be. The person who introduced me to this area I now know so well and which I now see as home, is no longer here. It feels like an intrinsic part of  the landscape is absent. All the afternoons I spent at that cafe, all the coffees I drank and conversations I had, Lyn was there too, or not that far  away.  I know now that she will never be there again, and to be honest that knowledge really is painful.

Enough is enough.  If America had an ounce of self respect, they would boot that shitstain on humanity they currently call their president out of the White House immediately. It was bad enough when Trump mocked a disabled reporter, but when I saw him trying to warp recent events to suit his own narrative by claiming that George Floyd would be looking down and smiling at  the progress America had supposedly made, I felt physically sick. How dare he? America is in shock over the vilest incident of racist police brutality in years, yet somehow Trump seises the right to speak for the victim, twisting the focus onto himself and how  great he is doing. That is utterly, utterly grotesque. How can any nation, let alone one which claims to be the world’s greatest superpower, stoop so low?

As of today I may have a bit of a problem. While I have been trying to avoid using public transport for months, there are times when it can’t be avoided. Yesterday, for instance,  I was out for my usual daily drive when, almost in Charlton Park, my powerchair tyre blew. Fortunately the bus connection from there to here is quite good, and I was able to come straight back  to Eltham. Apart from that, busses have been  no-go areas.

Yet from the fifteenth, if I needed to use a bus, I would need to wear a face covering. These days, though, I don’t know whether it’s because I drink too much coffee or what, but I dribble like Niagra bloody falls:  Any face mask I could wear would get soaked very quickly. It would be so sodden that it would probably be useless…and that’s assuming I manage to somehow get it on my face in the first place. Thus,  while I certainly see the necessity of these masks – the sooner this pandemic is over, the sooner the pubs, cafes and cinemas can reopen – I think it’s worth noting that the rules in place to  stamp it out could raise a few issues for the likes of myself.

This is quite a difficult  position for me to get into and keep my balance,  but I think it’s worth it to show my solidarity with all those currently protesting against discrimination and prejudice in America all over the world.

In any other circumstances, of course, I’d be setting off for Hyde Park to join today’s protest over what’s happening in America. Unfortunately Corronavirus still makes using public transport too risky for the likes of me, but I nonetheless want to express my full solidarity with everyone up there today. Of course racism is not just an american problem, but I think we should all be very worried indeed about what is now unfolding there: frustrations built up over decades – even centuries – of prejudice and oppression seem to have reached boiling point; but rather than taking the pot off the flames, the only person in a position to calm things down actively adds fuel to the fire.

Most of the news reports I’ve seen say that these protests are largely peaceful, but by ordering in the national Guard, it’s as if Trump actually wants them to grow violent, or at least appear violent for the TV cameras. By portraying them as looters and anarchists, he can dismiss the protesters’ very legitimate grievances while presenting himself as the good guy trying to combat domestic terrorism. In doing so, Trump obviously only exacerbates the problem: not only does he refuse to listen to the protesters, he tries to warp the situation to suit his own interests. We only need to look at how he had the crowds cleared with teargas so he could pose in front of a church to see how shallow this stupid little man is. In doing so, trump makes the situation much worse; his actions, speeches and tweets make people even angrier, so the situation becomes far worse.

In fact I’d go as far as to say that Trump IS the problem here, or at least a large part of it. Of course, you can’t blame one man for decades of institutionalised racism, no matter how much of an embarrassment to humanity he is. But the poisonous mixture of arrogance and moronic ignorance we see him displaying points to something deeply ingrained in parts of affluent american society: something almost Victorian in it’s conservative refusal to concede that anyone else might have a valid point of view. The type of view which demands that one is always right and that everyone else should know their place, and which refuses to engage with any form of culture other than their own. The rich are wealthy because they deserve to be, and everyone else is just lazy. It’s a viewpoint which seems to be an inherent aspect of the American mindset, and which Donald Trump epitomises down to his toes. A mindset which has lead to decades of police brutality against black people, and which absolutely refuses to do anything about the gross inequalities which lead to the current situation. That mindset is the problem, but because it is so engrained into their current president, so eager to play at being a strongman rather than engaging with the issues which lead to this point, the situation there is now very dangerous indeed. Surely the first step towards cooling things down and healing the divisions would  be to remove Trump from office and replace him with someone who understands the value of reconciliation.