Mark Kermode wasn’t lying or exaggerating in his review of Warfare: it is a harsh, brutal film, and one which is quite difficult to watch. The thing is, it’s also an extremely interesting piece of cinema. For one I’m not sure I would call it a film, at least in the contemporary post-classical Hollywood sense. There is no plot and very little character or character development in the way we conventionally perceive such things. There is absolutely no music, diagetic or non-diagetic. The action we are witness to happens in Iraq in 2006: we follow a band of American soldiers as they try to secure a section of a town. We know very little about these men – we don’t even hear their names. What we the audience watch over the ninety minutes of the film is a brutal depiction of what they go through in real time. It is visceral and gruelling: even watching is an act of endurance, the wounds these guys suffer and the pain they go through is is depicted so vividly.

But that is the intention. This isn’t supposed to be comfortable viewing, but leave us with the impression that war is truly hellish. I think it certainly succeeds in that. This is not conventional cinema but a filmic statement, in your face, uncomfortable and impossible to ignore. Yet as I rode the bus home last night, there was one nagging thought in the back of my mind: for all it’s upsetting depictions and brutally realistic portrayals of what this group of men went through; for all of it’s noble aspirations to cut through the usual gloss of action cinema, Warfare totally forgets that, at the end of the day, in Iraq in 2009, these men weren’t supposed to be there in the first place.

John and I are probably going to watch Warfare at the local cinema later. To be honest I hadn’t heard anything about it before today, but after watching Mark Kermode’s review I’m quite enthusiastic. It sounds gritty and brutal, but also very interesting. It sounds like the kind of film which breaks quite a few moulds; and given that there’s currently so much lightweight, commercial bollocks on at cinemas, that is a very enticing prospect. Anyway, expect my review/reaction here soon.

I was just on a bus coming back from my daily trundle, when I heard some people behind me talking about religion. They weren’t being particularly loud or offensive, just chatting about which church they go to and what pastor they liked. Even so, I felt a very strong urge to turn around in my powerchair and tell them not to sound so proud about their baseless delusions. On days like this especially, it infuriates me that people still cling to such nonsense, and that we as a society have yet to outgrow what boils down to a form of social control based on a few anachronistic myths. The fact that it happens to be easter was the lead item on all of today’s BBC news bulletins, as if the inane spewings of some self-appointed men in silly robes and hats are as important as what is currently happening in Ukraine or the middle east, or as though such mystics hold the authority of elected politicians or academics, frankly struck me as perverse.

Yet this afternoon I kept myself to myself and said nothing. To have made such an intervention would just have been rude. As much as the idea of people worshiping a supposedly loving, all powerful god sickens me, at the end of the day I know that, in a multicultural, multi-ethnic world city like London, human diversity must be respected. That includes religion, faith, superstition or whatever you want to call it. We might urgently need to outgrow such divisive, anachronistic, oppressive social mechanisms, but shouting at people on busses won’t help.

To be honest I was a bit gutted yesterday evening. I’d had quite a nice afternoon, taking the bus to Abbey Wood and then trundling back to Woolwich (having rather a nasty crash with a guy on a bike who was going far to fast on the way – don’t ask). When I got home, however, I saw that I had missed a massive pro-trans rights protest up in Westminster. Apparently, thousands of people had gone to Parliament Square to protest against what the supreme court had decreed this week. I was rather miffed: that was the first I had heard of any such protest, and had I known about it I would probably have gone to join them. I might not be transgender myself, but as I wrote a couple of days ago, such injustices are simply too wrong to be allowed to stand. The obvious question now is, how can I be informed of such protests, and are there any more planned?

I saw on last night’s news that Trump now says he will ‘take a pass’ on trying to make peace in Ukraine if no progress is made soon. Surely it should be blatantly obvious what has happened: the childish fuckwits currently governing the US have just got bored. Trump is so arrogant that he thought he could resolve the situation in Ukraine within months, and when he didn’t – when he was proven not to be the awe-inspiring dealmaker he claims to be – he became impatient and moved his attention elsewhere. He doesn’t give a damn about the millions of more Ukrainian lives which will now be put at risk, or the fact that this sickening conflict will be prolonged for several more years; all Trump cares about is himself, and the acclaim he would have received if he had managed to end the war. His mindset is truly, truly vile, and allowing such a vainglorious, arrogant disgrace to human civilisation to continue to lead the world’s leading economy puts us all in grave danger.

The critical, important question I’m asking today is, should I shave? I genuinely cannot decide and would like to get people’s opinions.

I’ve been letting my facial hair grow for a few days. I was going to get John to shave it off this morning, but decided not to at the last moment. I think it kind of suits me. Of course, my parents would say that I definitely should shave, as I don’t want to get food, dribble or badgers tangled up in the hair; but I think it rather suits me in a Parisian intellectual sort of way. What does everyone else think?

Yesterday we bore witness to something utterly disgusting: a step backwards from liberal, open democracy towards the dark depths of fascism. I have been thinking about what to say about this all day, but as someone whose former partner – a woman I loved deeply – was transgender, I feel I must say something. Yesterday’s ruling at the high court was perverse. In decreeing that gender/sex reduces down to a simplistic matter of biology, they effectively eliminate a person’s agency and right to live as they feel comfortable. Obviously this is a very complex subject with lots of issues you can get sidetracked by, but surely it boils down to a matter of agency: surely everyone has a right to define their selves as they see fit, and that includes gender. Yesterday’s ruling effectively strips thousands of people of that right, and instead rules that the rights and views of snooty, arrogant, intolerant TERF bitches are more important. That I can neither stomach nor abide. Frankly, as both a liberal, educated writer blogger and filmmaker who knows how valuable personal autonomy is, and a man who still thinks his trans former partner was the most incredible person I’ll ever meet, this injustice boils my blood with rage.

I just got up and turned on my computer to be greeted with this, surely the most exciting scientific news I’ve seen in a while. Scientists operating the James Webb Space Telescope have detected the most promising hints of extraterrestrial life yet in the atmosphere of a planet called K2-18b. Of course, the BBC article contains lots of caveats, and we’re still a long way from detecting any form of advanced, intelligent life yet; but nonetheless this is enough to have me intrigued. This is the first real hint that life may in fact be abundant in our galaxy. If that is true, then we might indeed be on the verge of a final, awesome frontier, exploring millions of worlds teeming with life. I find that incredibly exciting, and can’t wait to see what we discover next.

It is now my conviction that all lifts on the London Transport Network should be strictly reserved for wheelchair users and prams, punishable by at least a stiff fine. That might sound mean spirited, but I’m serious. I have now lost count of the times that I’ve had been unable to get to where I have wanted to go because a lift has been out of order. Earlier today, for example, I took the DLR to Star Lane, intending to take one of my regular strolls along the River Lea up to Stratford. However, I got to the station only to find the lift wasn’t working.  Obviously if fewer people used such lifts, if they were only used by those of us who need to use them, they would break far less often.

I know I have written things like this before, but this issue is really beginning to infuriate me: I’m fed up of people who are perfectly capable of climbing stairs just being too lazy to do so. I have had enough of being prevented from getting to where I need to go by such selfishness and idleness, and now waiting something done about it. If, say, a motorway was blocked or damaged by a particularly wide, heavy lorry whose load could more suitably have been transported by rail, I’m sure motorists would be up in arms demanding that the haulage firm was punished. What is the difference? Why should it be acceptable for people to use lifts out of sheer idleness and arrogance?

If you want a glimpse of how complex, nuanced and interesting online film analysis is becoming, check this out. I won’t even begin to give any form of summary, but it’s an hour long video essay on why Ireland and the Troubles there have effectively been written out of James Bond films. When I first came across it, I thought it was quite a silly question to ask: Bond films are set in all sorts of sunny, exotic locations – why would 007 ever go to Ireland? But if you think about it, relations between the UK and Ireland have been a major aspect of British foreign policy over the last fifty to a hundred years, so it’s rather odd that a film series about a British secret agent has completely ignored the subject, almost as if it did not exist. The short, simple answer is that the EON producers didn’t want to enflame tensions or offend viewers on either side of an extremely complex issue, so they understandably avoided it entirely. But what this video delves into to an impressive, intriguing extent is the politics behind this rather conspicuous absence. While I’m not sure I wholly agree with everything that is said in the video, it certainly makes for an interesting, thought-provoking watch.

I don’t see the point of golf. If you ask me it’s just a bunch of over-privileged, arrogant guys wasting time walking around a park trying to hit balls into holes. It’s far more a matter of luck than skill, but for some real BBC news has chosen to lead today’s bulletins with the news that Rory McIlroy has won the masters. How interesting! Surely there are far more important things they could cover.

If you ask me, golf isn’t even a sport: it’s a waste of time played by men too inept to do anything else. Building golf courses ruins otherwise beautiful areas, and I don’t see how anyone could be so dull that they would want to play, let alone watch it. Famously, of course, Ian Fleming was something of a golf aficionado; although my current disdain for the game may be in large part due to the fact that the turd who Americans currently call their president thinks he’s some sort of golf champion. Trump brags that he’s an oh-so-great golfer, as if such sporting prowess puts him on a par with Michael Johnson or David Beckham, but any fuckwit can hit a ball into a hole given enough time!

As a rule I try to blog about upbeat, interesting, cheerful things; if anything miserable happens, I’m sure you can find it out for yourself. However, earlier I came across some news from America which was just too disturbing for me not to flag up here. According to this, a severely disabled man has died after being shot by police, who assumed he was drunk. “An autistic, nonverbal teenage boy who was shot repeatedly by Idaho police from the other side of a chain link fence while he was holding a knife died Saturday after being removed from life support, his family said. Victor Perez, 17, who also had cerebral palsy, had been in a coma since the April 5 shooting, and tests Friday showed that he had no brain activity, his aunt, Ana Vazquez, told The Associated Press.” Needless to say, I find that truly chilling. How could any society reach such a fucked up point where such things are possible? How can American police be so trigger happy? How could they think this boy was any kind of threat?

If this can be read as any sort of reflection of the state America is currently in, I think we should all be very, very worried.

At 31 minutes it’s a tad long for a casual Youtube video watch, but I really think I need to flag this one up. I have been watching Joolz Guides for a while now. I enjoy his explorations of London, explaining the history of an area as he goes. What I find cool about this vid is that he is exploring Woolwich and the Arsenal. That, of course, is a part of London I now know really well: I now go through Woolwich every few days, and recognised nearly all of the places pointed out in the guide. The Arsenal has a long, fascinating history, both as a port and a munitions factory. What he neglects to mention, though, is what I think the greatest irony of that area: it was once called the ‘secret city’ – closed off and highly guarded, full of dirt, grime, explosions and toil. These days, however, the Arsenal is home to an Elisabeth line station, with thousands of people passing through it every day, going to and coming from central London just minutes away. It is clean, open, and I think very pleasant.

I know from my study of psychology that you should be fairly cautious when dealing with IQ as a measure of intelligence, but if this is true (and accurate) it shouldn’t surprise anyone.

It would seem that I’m not the only person to have been infuriated by what Kemi Badenoch said on BBC Breakfast yesterday. If you want to hear what Youtuber Maximilien Robespierre made of it – and I suggest you do as it’s quite perceptive – check this out.

Trust me everyone: you don’t know what fear (or relief) really feel like until you’re trundling along in your powerchair, and you suddenly feel your speed dip. You haven’t gone that far, at least compared to the epic journeys you used to take, but you have felt this dip in power before and know what it means. It happened a few days ago up in Stratford. Then, you didn’t worry about it too much, only for your motors to cut out completely a few minutes later, leaving you totally stranded miles from home. In the end, after two or three hours of trying to explain to various people what is wrong and how they can help, you have no choice but to get a taxi back.

To my great relief, none of that happened today. Fortunately I was at a bus depot, from where I could get a couple of busses home. Yet all the way back I felt a constant, gut-churning fear that as soon as I got off the bus my motors would suddenly cut out again. That would have lead to at least a few hours of trying to get someone to help me get home, probably followed by a few days of trying to get the chair repaired. Thank zark this time they didn’t, and my powerchair is now charging nicely, ready for tomorrow’s trundle. But trust me, the sensation of dread that your chair could suddenly stop and refuse to turn back on, leaving you completely stranded, is nothing to be laughed at.

Why do we as humans make art? That, of course, is an extremely vast, open-ended question, but one possible short answer is that we make art as a way to reflect on ourselves. Art casts light on the human condition. Painting depicts people in ways really does not; novels often put characters throughout ordeals people would never face in reality, and in doing so articulate aspects of our existence which would otherwise remain hidden. Thus art is an essential means to reflect upon ourselves.

If you were watching BBC Breakfast earlier, however, you would have witnessed someone articulating one of the most moronic things earlier ever. They were interviewing Badenoch, and the subject got onto the Netflix series Adolescence. Adolescence seems to now be causing quite a stir, and has got people talking about issues which previously were rather taboo. The Tory leader, however, replied that she hadn’t seen the series, and didn’t need or intend to watch it as she already knew about the issues it raised.

I’m sorry, but that must be one of the most stupid, arrogant things I have ever heard anyone say. It’s like refusing to watch Star Trek because you had already seen a rocket launch, or read Tolkien because you already own a ring. Again, art reflects humanity; we create art in order to comment on the human condition. To refuse to engage with such art, to trumpet that you already know all you need to about an issue, so there is no need for you to engage with anything more about it, surely tells us all we need to about this arrogant, big-headed cow and her wretched party.

Not that I’m becoming a public transport geek or anything, but today I thought I would try out one of the new Superloop busses. I had heard a bit about them from my browsing on YouTube, and I thought they might be worth investigating. I saw that a new route, SL4, now runs from Lee Green, not far from Eltham, up through the new Silvertown Tunnel to Canary Wharf.

That, then, is what I did this afternoon. To be honest there isn’t that much to report: a bus ride is a bus ride; it was smooth and uneventful. The passage through the new tunnel was cool, if that’s the sort of thing you find cool. From Canary Wharf I simply took the Elizabeth line back to Woolwich. Perhaps the only noteworthy detail was that I was virtually the only passenger on the bus, but that’s probably just because it is so new.

Well, that’s another new piece of London’s spectacular public transport system tried out. Quite a convenient new way to get to Canary Wharf, but that’s about it. To be honest if I wanted to get to Canary Wharf I’d probably still take the jubilee line from North Greenwich, but it was still worth investigating. Even so, all these super new bus routes make me wonder what TFL will come up with next.

I was reflecting to myself earlier that harbouring animosity towards Americans because of Trump is as foolish and illogical as resenting Germans because they once elected Hitler. The problem is, it is getting harder and harder not to do so. While I know full well that resenting a group of people or country because of the actions of their leader is foolish, with the world teetering on the edge of a potentially catastrophic economic war, and with America and Americans drifting further and further to the right, I doubt that I’m the only person to feel like this. Who can look at the USA these days, and resist the urge to wonder how that bunch of inbred numpties became the most powerful nation on earth? Is it me, or do they all seem more arrogant and self-important? Needless to say, it was this growing anti-Americanism and feeling of bewilderment which gave rise to this entry the other day.

Yet we all know that not all Americans are stupid, that a lot of good comes from America, and that thinking that way gets us nowhere. Indeed, it is precisely such foolish, lazy thinking which gets charlatans like Trump elected in the first place. What frightens me is, as things get worse and worse, as Trump becomes more and more deranged, resentment towards America will build and build, and we risk going down a very dark cultural rabbit hole indeed.

Truth be told I’m feeling a bit low at the moment. It’s yet another lovely sunny day and I’m stuck at home. I was still out and about when I posted yesterday’s entry, and shortly after putting it online thanks to the Wifi in Westfield, Stratford, my powerchair conked out. Very long, frustrating story short, I ended up having to get a taxi home. Thus, as bright and sunny as it is today, I’m stuck at home. Mind you, it has meant that I have had some time to muck around on Youtube, which I’ve not done in a while; so with that in mind I think I’ll direct everyone here. It’s a political video by Maximilien Robespierre about Kemi Badenoch’s comments this morning concerning Israel and it’s rather disgusting treatment of two Labour MPs. I won’t try to summarise what the Youtuber says, save to say that I think he’s spot on: that the Tory leader can sit there and justify Israel’s totally unwarranted, even illegal actions, obviously for her own political gain, shows us what a vile, contemptuous charlatan she is.

My deep loathing for religion was compounded even further today. I was out and about again, this time exploring north of the river, around Gallons Reach. There is a big new retail park there which I was looking around. I was starting to think of heading home when unfortunately I took a wrong turn and headed onto some rather deep gravel. I thought I could make it but almost instantly my wheels got stuck. I tried reversing but that made the problem even worse, and pretty soon I couldn’t go anywhere.

I was down a bit of a back street behind the large shops, so there was nobody around to help. However, within a few minutes a couple came through the gate I had initially been heading towards. I called out for help, but to my astonishment they completely ignored me. They were obviously a Muslim man and woman, presumably a couple, who  got on their knees to pray.

I called for help again, but again they completely ignored me. To be honest that made me rather exasperated: I was sure they could see and hear me, so why weren’t they helping? Was their religion more important to them than a disabled man who clearly needed help? How sickeningly perverse could you get?

In the end I was rescued by two kindly women on their break from working in one of the shops. They went and got a security guard, and I was free within a few minutes. Nonetheless I was still incredulous at what had happened. I don’t want to sound like an islamophobe, but surely that couple could have broken off their prayer to help me. Or does religion matter more to such people than a disabled man urgently needing assistance?!

If I can just put my James Bond hat on for a moment, this is at least slightly reassuring. The Beeb reports that, while there was no major news from CinemaCon in Las Vagas yesterday, the producers stressed that they were committed to cinema: “As movie theatres struggle to bring in audiences and as many consumers stay home and watch YouTube, Amazon MGM executives repeatedly told the crowd they were committed to the theatrical experience.” Needless to say, that is quite a relief. As a cinephile, I would hate to see film’s greatest secret agent watered down into just another generic, mass market streamed character. On the other hand, the producers Amazon have put in place, Amy Pascal and David Heyman, are behind dross like Harry Potter and Spider-Man, which does not fill me with optimism.

In 1776, Britain had a choice: we could either send troops to Jamaica to suppress a rebellion there, or to our colonies on the eastern coast of North America, to combat a similar insurrection there. Given how lucrative the Jamaican sugar trade was to the British Empire, troops were diverted to the Caribbean, and the colonists in North America were allowed to try to govern their selves. By and large, it was an act of benevolence: everyone knew that the people who had been sent to those thirteen colonies were duller than average, but it was thought it would be kinder to let them try to deal with their own affairs.

For a time the experiment seemed to be going well. The colonies expanded into a nation stretching across the continent; massive amounts of wealth were produced, mostly through the exploitation of the expertise and resources of others. The former colonies even reached the point where it could create a space program, mostly through luring technical experts trained elsewhere and then claiming the credit. Now however, two and a half centuries on, the consequences of Britain’s mistake have become clearer than ever: in letting these incestuous halfwits try to run their own affairs, they have selected the biggest halfwit among them as their leader. This imbecile is now actively threatening the stability of the entire world through his sheer arrogance and shortsightedness.

Frankly it is now obvious that we should never have let those colonists try to govern their own affairs. We are now akin to parents who gave their learning-disabled son his own flat, only to see him set it alight. If only there was a way they could take him back under their wing.

After less than a week back in the metropolis, I’m afraid this is what I came up with.

Not that I’m about to start claiming to be a massive Beatles fan, but I really think the four films outlined here stand to be very interesting indeed. The great Sir Sam Mendes will direct the quadrilogy of films, each focussing on a different member of the legendary band. While it may not be a full scale reunion, a la Monty Python in 2014, I think this series of films will put some focus back onto a highly influential, significant band which we may be starting to forget. At the very least they stand to shed light on a very significant part of british cultural history, and will definitely be worth a watch.

A couple of days ago, Dom showed me the first episode of a series on Netflix which I had never heard of before, but which I now think everyone needs to check out. I’m only a couple of episodes in to Adolescence, and don’t want to try to give any sort of proper review or analysis of it until I’ve seen the entire series at least once; but I can already see it is a clear demonstration of just how advanced the produce of online streaming services is becoming. It is a highly sophisticated psychological drama about childhood masculinity and sexuality which draws audiences in over several episodes. Until fairly recently, such dramas were the sole domain of large mainstream TV channels, but streaming has now opened that realm up, and we are now finding increasingly sophisticated dramas online. Such programs are starting to receive increasingly high-end critical attention. It is another example of just how radically the internet has changed how we consume film and television: we no longer need to go to the cinema to watch such texts, or wait until they get screened on TV, but can view them whenever we like on our computers or even mobile phones.

I intend to write more about Adolescence soon, but in the meantime I would highly recommend checking it out if you can.

There is no denying that our trip to Cyprus didn’t go quite as well as it should have done. Now that I am back, though, and have caught up on things like sleep and vitamins, I have started to reflect on some of what we saw. As I touched upon a few days ago, the fact remains that Nicosia, Cyprus’ capital, is Europe’s last divided capital city. The island has been split in two for almost fifty years; it is a longstanding, unresolved conflict. Yet, what strikes me as strange is, we never hear anything about it in the media, and the vast majority of people are totally unaware of it’s existence. Most people will be forgiven for thinking that Cyprus is just a happy, peaceful little island in the Eastern Mediterranean.

Of course, the situation there is nowhere near as black and white as I once took it to be, and the more I look into it the more complex it seems. Needless to say, however, our trip has really sparked my curiosity, and I find myself wondering if the conflict there could ever be resolved and the island could ever be reunited. Surely it is too beautiful a place to remain split in two forever. After all, resolutions were found to other longstanding conflicts such as Northern Ireland. The only way that will ever be achieved, though, is if more people realise that the conflict, the stalemate, actually exists. Until then, Cyprus will remain split in two, something which now strikes me as sadder than ever.

London may still have it’s faults; it may still have a tonne of work to do when it comes to accessibility in its infrastructure and public transport system. Yet it must be said that my adventures in Cyprus went some way to putting what I enjoy here into perspective. Almost as soon as we landed, John started to struggle pushing my wheelchair. Whereas here at home I tend to take things like drop kerbs and ramps for granted, I was astonished to see how lacking they were in cities like Nicosia and Paphos. Even walking along ordinarily streets proved to be a struggle; and as I touched upon here a few days ago, whatever ramps we did find in to shops etc struck me as a bit of an afterthought or box ticking exercise. To be honest I was rather surprised, given that Cyprus is a member of the EU. It taught me not to take the level of accessibility I have in London for granted, as well as demonstrating here much work there is still to do to reach true equality.

I had lunch with my parents today. It was just a simple, ordinary lunch at the nearby Tudor Barn pub: a thoroughly enjoyable meal with no alcohol involved. Yet I must say, after all the recent drama and the turbulence I experienced a few days ago, I have never experienced anything so welcome. It felt like reality had at least been restored to normal, and the world was cool again. I really must have lunch with mum and dad more often.

Perhaps the weirdest thing about going on holiday is coming home. I have written on here before – many times – about how much I love to travel. I absolutely adore going out and exploring the world and experiencing new cultures. Over the past couple of weeks in Cyprus, John and I saw some absolutely beautiful Roman mosaics and archaeological remains, among many other things. The weird thing, though, is coming back: all of a sudden, it seems that I’m back in my flat in Eltham on quite an overcast day, and the routine of my daily life has snapped back into place with a vengeance. Exploring a fascinating island in the Eastern Mediterranean has been replaced with trundles to my local Tesco, seemingly within just a few short hours. Oh well – I suppose it just means I need to start planning our next adventure.

It’s our final day in Cyprus, and John and I fly home tonight. In all it has been a wonderful trip. One thing I have noticed, though, and think is worth noting, is the steepness of the ramps. In cities like Paphos and Larnaca, of course there are ramps up to the entrances of cafes and shops everywhere. The thing is, I have noticed that they are all frighteningly steep: so steep that I wouldn’t even try going up them in my powerchair. Frankly they give me the impression that they were a bit of an afterthought. That is to say, they were added on after the building was constructed simply as a way of complying with regulations, without any real consideration of how a wheelchair user might actually get into the building. As much as I don’t like complaining about such things, it is a little disconcerting to see such a clear sign that your needs are being met  only because the rules say they have to be.

I was considering taking a break from blogging due to recent events, but on second thoughts, some places are just too interesting not to blog about. John and I will soon be heading back to Larnaca. This morning we visited an absolutely fascinating archaeological site dating from the Roman period. The mosaics we saw were truly amazing. I know I said something similar to this a few days ago, but it astonishes me that so many people come to visit this island just to sit on the beach. Cyprus is intriguing, historically, culturally and politically. It’s like a small piece of land where whole worlds collide: one  can easily see influences from Europe, the Middle East and Africa here, all competing and bouncing off one another like a great cultural symphony. What a shame it is, then, that so many people just think of this place as somewhere to come to get a suntan.

I don’t want to go into detail, but something happened yesterday which has made me very worried indeed. I’m okay, but spent most of the day in a Paphos hospital. I’ll fill everyone in in due course, but it may be prudent if I forget about blogging for the next few days. Thanks for your understanding.

John and I have now been in Cyprus for a couple of days, and one of the things I have found most striking, even shocking, is the ubiquity of  english. I genuinely think that around half the signs I have seen are in english rather than Greek. That Includes road signs, public service signs and everything. I would have thought that, as a nation of primary Greek speakers, they would have been keen to make sure it remains dominant; yet, as seems to be happening everywhere, it looks like english is taking over. Simply putting this down to the island’s colonial past would seem too simplistic to me. I think I have noted my astonishment at this odd phenomenon on here before. As someone who can only speak english, I can’t really complain; it just seems to me that allowing just one language to become so dominant takes something away from the diversity and variety of the world. Part of the reason why we travel is to experience other cultures; and surely language is a defining feature of any given culture.

Today finds me and John in Nicosia,  capital of Cyprus and Europe’s last divided capital. I’m half Greek Cypriot, so from when I was little my grandfather told me and my brothers what happened here in the seventies. It was more or less drilled into us that the Turks were bad people who had invaded the north of Cyprus totally without reason. Yet here and now, and since reading more about what happened here fifty years ago, I realise that the situation is far more complex. I still consider the north of the island to be illegally occupied, as most world governments still do; but I now realise it’s not as simple as dismissing what the Turks did here almost fifty years ago as just wreckless and barbaric. Indeed, sat here in our apartment, with the prospect of visiting the north of the island on the cards today, I must admit the idea of visiting the place which I remember my grandparents being so upset about, as if to finally put that deamon to rest, as well as to get a better idea of the actual political situation here, rather intriguing.

Late yesterday afternoon, John and I visited an archaeological museum here in larnaca. He had been pushing me around the city all afternoon and it was getting late. We thought we would pop in to the museum for a brief look before going to find dinner. What the museum really opened my eyes to, though, was the way in which, for the past seven thousand years or so, this island has really acted as a crossroads. Due to its geographic location in the eastern Mediterranean, Cyprus has attracted people from all over Eurasia and Africa. It thus has an extremely rich cultural history, if you just scratch the surface. More to the point, I think Cyprus still acts as a crossroads, more than many other places: there are still obviously very strong Greek cultural influences on the island, but what this adventure is already making clear to me is how Cyprus is such a rich, vibrant melting pot. We have already bumped into people from all over the world and it’s only our second day here. What a pity it is, then, that so many people just come here to sit by the hotel swimming pool and listen to cheesy music.