I seem to now be caught in quite a curious paradox with regard to the city around me. At one and the same time, London still seems to have an endless capacity to intrigue and inspire me: this afternoon, for instance, I decided to head up to Farringdon to explore a bit more of the area around the Barbican. There is an incredible raised path there called the Highwalk which you can walk along. I had never checked it out properly before, and thought it would be a cool destination for the afternoon. The whole area had a new, novel feel to it, and it was amazing to see the sheer amount of building work going on in that area.

At the same time, however, London is also starting to feel strangely tiresome. I have of course been to the Barbican before, quite a few times, to check out various shows and films. It is not that new to me. The paradox is, as inspiring as London still feels, it also seems mundane or even dull, for precisely the same reason. Take the Elizabeth Line as another example: nobody can possibly deny that it is an amazing feat of urban design and engineering; but by the same token it is quiet, clean and well maintained, lacking any kind of spark which might make it anything more than just an expensive tube line. What it has in efficiency it lacks in character, and thus could be any new tube line in any wealthy metropolis on Earth.

It is obvious that a huge amount of money is being spent on developing the city and building it up: as amazed as part of me is by that, it also feels like the city is just being transformed into a generic modern metropolis full of wealthy urban elites. Part of me is starting to crave getting out and exploring smaller, more authentic places. Thus, strangely, London feels both amazing and dull at exactly the same time.

How could anyone expect me not to gloat about this? Nigel Fartage flew all the way to Florida, only for Trump to refuse to meet him. “Nigel Farage failed to meet with Donald Trump despite flying all the way to Florida to dine at the US president’s Mar-a-Lago resort….But in a humiliating development, he flew around 4,500 miles – and never actually met Mr Trump during his visit.” For one, just how self-important can the wanker be? He’s only a back bencher of a not that popular party, yet he seems to want to be treated like a high ranking minister. He obviously isn’t that close to Trump as he thought, and it’s pleasing to see him being put in his place. Leaving aside my conviction that he should be rotting in jail anyway for knowingly misleading the country in 2016, I’m just glad to see Farage being taken down a peg or two.

I was just in a Zoom meeting with a few of my AAC-using friends, and a Youtube channel was mentioned which I now just have to flag up. Martyn Ashton is a wheelchair user who has converted a mountain bike into a hyper-powered off-road trike. I may not ordinarily be into such things, but what he has created beggars belief. Check it out here. Needless to say, I want one.

I suppose I can only repeat what I wrote a couple of weeks ago about the opening ceremony of the winter olympics this evening. If my attitude towards that was rather naive and romanticised, then it is even worse for the Paralympics. As pretty much the only mega-event foregrounding people with disabilities, of course it will always have my wholehearted support. But as they just said on the evening news, Russian athletes will be allowed to compete in these games; it’s also the first such event since the beginning of the situation in Iran. As much as I love such celebrations of global unity, I’m afraid this evening it feels more out of place than ever.

One of my earliest memories is being photographed standing astride the meridian line in Greenwich. I don’t remember much else about the day, but I think I was about seven or eight, and it was one of the weekends when I was down in London with my family visiting my grandparents. I recall we had had to make quite a journey across the metropolis from their house in Harlesden, and that Dad had got me out of my wheelchair and was holding me up while the photo was taken.

Greenwich Park and observatory would have seemed such a wondrous, distant place back then: the destination for a family day trip, before returning for dinner made by my Yaiya. I don’t remember much else about the day, other than that crossing the city took quite some time. The strange thing is, though, these days I go through Greenwich Park fairly often. I love the view from the hill there, and I often think of that childhood memory as I pass the Observatory, usually on my way down to Greenwich.

Of course I could never have known back then how the next thirty years would unfold, or that that place would one day become so familiar; but I suppose that is the uncanny nature of time. Once distant destinations are now just around the corner, the intriguing has become familiar, and a city which once seemed so vast is starting to feel small. Yet I remember that photo being taken, dad helping me stand with one foot either side of the meridian line, whenever I go through Greenwich Park. If this is a future I could once never have imagined, then such memories anchor me to the past in a way I find both pleasing and inspiring.

Having used a communication aid for pretty much all my life, I’m fairly used to having a synthetic, robot-like voice. However, this report on the local news just caught my interest. A woman with Motor-Neurone Disease has had her old voice recreated from recordings. “Yvonne Johnson, 58, from north London was diagnosed with motor neurone disease (MND) almost six years ago. A bubbly, charismatic personality, she found losing her ability to speak the most difficult to process. But now Yvonne has regained the ability to communicate in her own voice through artificial intelligence (AI) technology.” I must admit it struck me as very cool, particularly amid all the other doom and gloom, although it did get me wondering: if her voice could be reconstructed like this, what might mine sound like? Could other AAC users soon be able to select which voice they want, perhaps choosing from an array of life-like voices? Might I even one day have the opportunity to sound like James Bond or Captain Picard?

I suppose as a blogger I’m now in a bit of a tight spot. I see it as part of my role to give some kind of commentary on what is going on in the world, particularly from the perspective of a disabled man. The thing is, we can all see what is going on; I’m sure everyone else will be just as appalled as I am. Thus, yesterday’s entry aside, I currently find myself torn between the urge to carry on my blogging as usual, writing about whatever takes my fancy on a given day, or to focus wholeheartedly on what is currently unfolding in the wider world. To be honest I see both as just as important. Thus, if over the next few days/entries you start to wonder why I’m not saying anything about what is unfolding in the Middle East, it isn’t because I don’t care. It isn’t that I’m not utterly horrified by what is going on or apoplectic that the USA could sink so low: I just suspect my focus might be better kept elsewhere. You can just take my horror as read.

Just when the world seems to have finally gone absolutely crazy, it appears I now have something incredible to look forward to in May. The BBC have announced how they plan to celebrate Sir David Attenborough’s 100th birthday in two month’s time, including a range of documentaries and a live concert at the Royal Albert Hall. I’m still a big Attenborough fan of course, so if you ask me, absolutely nobody deserves it more. When you look at it, Attenborough’s cultural footprint is incredible; he has done infinitely more than anyone to open our eyes to the beauty and sophistication of the natural world. If anyone deserves such a national celebration, it’s Sir David, and frankly I’m now really looking forward to it. It’ll be a great way to express our thanks to the greatest broadcaster who has ever lived.

The obvious big political news aside, I saw in the local London news this morning that the plan to pedestrianise Oxford Street have now got the green light. Of course I know this idea won’t be popular with everyone: London is still an extremely car-centric city, and I would hate to hear all the cab drivers who will now be endlessly moaning about it. As a powerchair user though, I must admit this seems fairly exciting. Thanks to the Elisabeth Line, I can now get up to the centre of town more easily than ever: Bond Street is less than twenty minutes from Woolwich, so it’s very likely that this new pedestrianised street will be a fascinating place for me to go check out. Who knows, it may turn out to be one of my regular destinations for my daily trundles. Frankly, it’s also good to see that the centre of political gravity is moving away from the motorist and onto the pedestrian in London. It has always been such a car-dominated city, so it’s fantastic to see that there will soon be a place in the centre of town where guys like me can head and wonder and while away an afternoon. I can now see Oxford Street becoming a thriving cultural hub. How it will turn out of course remains to be seen, but for now I think this is very welcome news.

I still don’t see my little brother Luke half as much as I’d like. I’d once again just like to wish him a very happy birthday. He’s a very busy, important guy these days, and probably won’t have too much time to read my ramblings. But I hope he knows that I often think of him, Yan and Elias, and really hope they’re getting along well. Have a great day bro.

I would just like to pose a question here today: one about something I’ve been wondering about for a while. I think I’ve said here before that I don’t get out of London much these days, and that my trundles are confined to the great metropolis. That is pretty much fine by me, although I would like to now get out of the capital a bit more. Wheeling around London, I notice how many screens I come across. Public screens seem to be everywhere, particularly in the centre of town but also notably in places like Woolwich. In General Gordon Square there, there is a large public screen where people can sit and watch television together. I think it was built for the 2012 Olympics, but these days it’s usually screening BBC news whenever I pass it. What I’m curious about now, however, is whether any similar screens have been built outside of London. Can you come across similar large public viewing spaces in places outside of the capital, or is this just a London thing? I’d be really interested to learn whether any other such community viewing areas have been created in cities like Liverpool, Birmingham or Manchester.

Needless to say that I didn’t watch last night’s BAFTA Awards ceremony, but I have of course got wind of the news about an actor with Tourette’s Syndrome using a nasty racist term. I can only point out that he couldn’t help it, any more than I can’t help dribbling. At the end of the day, his vocal tics are part of his disability. That fact should surely outweigh any offence caused. Indeed, I’ve met people who seem to find my dribbling just as offensive. Then again, this gives rise to the unseemly situation where one value must be weighed against the other.

Ask anyone for a torture scene in a film, and many people would probably point to the scene in Casino Royale where Le Chiffre interrogates Bond by flicking him in the balls. Trust me, that’s nothing compared with what I had in endure this afternoon. I was having a lovely trundle along the Regents Canal. That’s still one of my favourite routes, but I hadn’t been that way in a while so I was feeling quite cheerful, when I came to the Camden Market. It was predictably quite busy there, being a Sunday afternoon; but you should have smelled all the food! I came across a stall selling American pancakes with real maple syrup, and I suddenly felt absolutely starving. I could tell they would be so warm and sweet and tasty The problem was, being out alone I had nobody around to feed me, and trying to eat such things myself would just result in a great big mess. That meant I had to beat down the temptation, but needless to say it needed all the determination I could muster. Trust me, Bond had it easy! Oh, the things I go through sometimes.

One of the first things I came across on Youtube earlier was this video about JP Morgan’s massive new skyscraper, recently approved to be built at Canary Wharf. It’s apparently set to be one of the biggest buildings in Europe. Naturally this put me in mind for one of my usual trundles over to the Isle of Dogs. I go over there fairly often. To think that, forty years or so ago, all that was there was a bunch of crumbling, deserted docks always strikes me as incredible. The area feels more and more like Manhattan each time I go over there.

Today, though, a couple of questions occurred to me: If so much investment and regeneration can be ploughed into that curve in the Thames, could other areas of London be lined up for similar treatment? Obviously the area around Stratford had a similar overhaul, but I wonder where could be next? More to the point, I have to wonder, with so much investment now going into London, with all the shiny new buildings and huge transport projects being built, what about elsewhere in the country? New buildings are going up pretty much everywhere I look here in London; I still can’t help worrying that other parts of the country, particularly towns in the north, are being neglected and left behind.

I’m not altogether sure how noteworthy this is, but something fairly random happened on the bus earlier. It was a fairly soggy day, so I had basically just got on to keep dry. I was parked in the wheelchair space as usual, minding my own business, when a man came down the stairs and, spotting me exclaimed “I’ve seen you on YouTube! At a protest up town!” He then strode out of the bus before I had chance to reply. Needless to say I had no idea what he was referring to or what video he could have seen; I was just taken aback by how random it was. It made me chuckle, and amused me enough to break me out of the malaise I’ve been feeling recently. I wonder whether such things happen to anyone else.

It has been quite a tough couple of days to be honest. Well, actually that might be overegging the pudding slightly. Basically my personal assistant Dom has been stuck in Poland all week. On Monday and Tuesday he was able to get his friend Abdul to come to help me with breakfast and dinner. That was fine as Abdul has helped me out before. Yesterday, though, he had other commitments, so I was on my own.

When you’re used to someone coming to help you twice a day, it’s uncanny how quickly your flat can start to seem eerily empty and quiet. Even after such a short time, I began to notice the lack of human contact, down to those merry “Good mornings” which begin every day. The old observation starts to ring disconcertingly true, that even in a metropolis of eight million people you can still feel lonely.

To call the situation difficult would probably be being melodramatic, but even so things like meals begin to feel far more problematic. It was simply a matter of going to Starbucks for breakfast, then buying something which I could feed myself for lunch and dinner. I can manage to do the basics like putting my powerchair on charge. It wasn’t ideal, my living room table is rather messy and my laundry is building up; but nonetheless I have pulled through. I feel like I have demonstrated to myself that I can cope and fend for myself if I have to. Of course I’m very grateful to the staff at Starbucks in Kidbrooke for their help. It also goes without saying that I now can’t wait to see John or dom again. Even so, at such times it’s just a matter of keeping my chin up and carrying on.

Probably the best thing I can do today is direct everyone here. Civil rights great Jesse Jackson has died aged 84. For all it’s current turmoil, he leaves behind a world which is far more equal and tolerant than the one he was born into. I’m sure he will be sorely missed.

My accent really irritates me sometimes – I sound so American. I’ve recently been playing around with making more videos and increasing my output as a filmmaker. One of my ideas was to take some of my old blog entries, turn the text to speech, add footage and make short films out of them. They could then act as vlogs too. I’ve done it a couple of times so far, and I’m quite happy with the results. To do it though, I needed an app which would allow me to input the text I wanted, for it to then turn into an mp3 for me to use in my filmmaking. Luckily I found a free one a couple of weeks ago and it worked fine; the problem was, the voice it uses has a very American accent. In the films I’ve so far made I sound like I’m from Alabama or Texas or somewhere. Not that there’s anything wrong with it – it’s very rich and deep, and reminds me of someone like Denzel Washington. I just wish I could sound a bit more British.

If you’re interested in just how articulate and insightful online analysis is becoming, as well as why contemporary Star Trek sucks, I certainly think this is worth watching. Essentially a Trek Culture video essay on the differences between modern Trek and what went before, it goes into a fairly surprising level of detail about shooting styles and narrative structure, concluding that, whereas the Star Trek of the 80s and 90s was about telling coherent stories, these days it’s all about drawing viewers in and keeping their attention. As the guy points out, a good example is the advent of the ‘spore drive’, which got rid of the need for any sense of scale, distance or time between narrative events. Viewers are just bombarded with one plot point after another, with no time to breathe. I must say I thoroughly agree with the conclusions he draws, and think it’s a very good summation of why Trek no longer feels like the intriguing, cerebral science fiction show it once was. It’s also great to see just how advanced this kind of online video analysis is becoming, as it covers all kinds of complex structuralist details which I wouldn’t have expected to come across on Youtube not that long ago.

People will make videos about anything these days – not that that’s necessarily a bad thing. I’ve used the Greenwich Foot Tunnel quite a few times over the years on my trundles around the metropolis, but have never given it much thought. The problem is, one of the two lifts is nearly always broken, so it’s often easier to scoot round to the DLR station if I want to cross the river up to Canary Wharf. However, I just came across this intriguing video about the tunnel’s history: it’s more fascinating (and spooky) than you might expect, growing out of the need of Victorian dock workers to get from South London to the Isle of Dogs. It was thus an essential means of combatting the crippling poverty of that era by helping people get to work. The irony is, these days it’s little more than a novelty and tourist attraction which locals tend to avoid. After all, can you see a top business executive heading to his Canary Wharf office through that dark, damp tunnel? Either way, it is through such snippets of history that I find London so intriguing.

I do wish they would fix those lifts though.

Would it be justifiable to organise a campaign to get people to unilaterally rip the books of a certain author from the book shelves given their repugnant views? I have been mulling this question over for a while. Obviously all art should be respected, whoever it is by; but JK Rowling is now such a transphobic bigot that the thought of anyone buying her fourth rate crap, let alone reading it, is too much for me to tolerate. Her views are now so repugnant that she does not deserve anyone’s money, much less our respect. She should never have been published in the first place, but if you ask me anyone who cares about the rights of transpeople and civil rights in general, has a duty to go into any book shop they can and rip the Potter books from the shelves. That at least would show our distaste for the hatred and bigotry Rowling has been spewing. It may cause trouble or look unseemly, but surely we must show our objection to what she has been spouting.

I may still have issues with John Cleese and his positioning as a figurehead for reactionary, anti-woke zealotry, but it appears he can still be spot on.

The problem is, when you point out they’re being stupid, ignorant or arrogant, these days they claim they’re being oppressed and that the ‘liberal elite’ are just trying to silence them. They seem increasingly trying to frame bigotry and intolerance of other people based on their social or ethnic status, as a facet of their own right-wing culture, so preventing them from expressing their prejudices is in itself an act of persecution. This gives rise to quite a galling, insipid paradox.

It’s not that long, but if you want a bit more background about what is going on in America, I think this interview/conversation between Mark Thompson and Prof. David Cay Johnston is worth a watch. In it, Johnston outlines just how stupid and corrupt Trump is. He is an appallingly corrupt, cynical man who is essentially running the US like one of his failed casinos – to a certain extent we all already knew this, but what I think videos like this help to make clear is just how low he’s going. The guy is literally treating the White House like one of his hotels and charging people to stay there. He also plans to turn the streets of Washington into an indicar track. Just how low can this man stoop? That’s like holding horse races along Whitehall or The Mall. That aside, what I also think makes this video noteworthy is that it’s the first time I’ve heard such a high-ranking academic talk about Trump so disparagingly and in such base, disgusted terms, referring to him not just a crook and conman, but also as a fascist.

I’ve written a few times about my absences, and how uncomfortable and anxious they often make me feel. When I know one is coming, I feel a strange sense of imminent doom. Yet in a weird way they can also make me feel a sense of relief and even contentment, particularly after they happen. This morning, for example, I had one: to be honest I’d known one was coming for the last few days, and Sod’s Law prevailed so it happened during a visit by my parents. Of course they knew what was happening and helped me through it.

Now though, I must admit I feel oddly cheerful. It’s as if I now know it happened, it is over and I don’t have to worry about it anymore. The one I knew was due happened at home and there were no serious consequences, so I can now get on with the day without having to worry. While that obviously won’t be my last ever absence, I now won’t have another for some time. Knowing that feels oddly liberating. That seems to me quite a positive, optimistic way to look at things, which other people can probably learn from.

It’s probably time for a bit of a housekeeping post today. I think I ought to make it clear that, when I write about having talked to people, it’s usually safe to assume that I used my communication aid to do so. Yesterday, for example, when I wrote about speaking to the staff at the shoe shop, of course I did so using my Ipad. It’s obviously quicker and easier not to have to make that explicit every entry, but I also think that using my communication aid is now so normal for me that I don’t even think about it. Indeed, I think that is what makes occasions when I don’t need to use it all the more noteworthy. Similarly, when I blog about going somewhere, it’s safe to assume that I used my powerchair. Even spelling that out feels a little weird; yet as someone who aspires to be proud of who he is, including my identity as a disabled person, I don’t think it ought to be forgotten.

I bought myself a new pair of shoes today. There would have been a time, not that long ago, when I would have thought that that in itself was a blog-worthy event. I would probably have gone into elaborate detail about how, three days ago, I got into a slight incident with a car as I was coming home from the shop. Despite being caught under it’s wheel, my feet were fine but my shoes were ruined. Then I would have explained how, today while out and about, I ended up in Bexleyheath with it’s well-appointed shopping centre; and how, more or less on the spur of the moment, I thought I’d resolve the issue by buying myself a new pair of shoes. No doubt I would have contextualised this by explaining that, throughout my childhood I had to wear special shoes, so my footwear was always supplied by school, and thus shoe shopping is still a relatively novel experience for me. I’d also have told you all how courteous the staff at the branch of Clarks were, how well they treated me, and how they helped me try on several pairs of shoes until I found the one I wanted.

But does anyone want to read all this? Would anyone want me to go into so much detail, or be interested by something so mundane? It’s not as though there aren’t plenty of other things I could blog about. After all, everybody goes shoe shopping; there is nothing special or novel about what I did today. Are such trivialities really worth blogging about? Does the fact that I did it for myself make it noteworthy, or is that being egotistical? Am I just talking cobblers, or do I think the sense of achievement at what I managed to do today is justified enough to document on here? I suppose in writing this means I do.

I think I’ve written about what I call the urban palimpsest on here before. I find it absolutely fascinating how, amid all the regeneration happening everywhere in London, you can still find fragments of the past. Earlier today, for example, I thought I would go down to Woolwich for my usual trundle. Woolwich is an area which is developing fast, and these days I head that way quite often to get on the Elizabeth Line. Today, however, I wasn’t in much of a hurry, so I decided to do a little exploring.

Turning left off the road from Charlton, I headed down a street I’d never been down before. Of course when I was living with Lyn I got to know that area quite well; yet it is labrynthine enough that there are still some places I don’t know. I found myself going past what looked to me like seventeenth or eighteenth century walls. That area was once a massive military base for the Royal Artillery: much of it has now been converted into housing, but I really like how you can still find fragments of what was here before. The walls and gates I had stumbled upon were still highly ornate, bearing royal and military insignia, as if they evoked a long faded prestige. My guess is that there were some quite important or high status buildings there, long swept away to make way for houses. To be honest I found it rather amazing, as if I had come across some decaying artefact of a long forgotten past. There was certainly still beauty in what I had found; yet down that underused side street in Woolwich, I doubt many people would even know it’s there.

What kind of abhorrent bigot posts a blatantly racist video on social media, depicting his predecessor as a monkey; then, when he is called out for his vile behaviour, he tries to claim he had nothing to do with it?

What sort of self-respecting, outward looking nation would call such an embarrassment to human civilisation their president?

I’m sure I don’t need to tell anyone reading this just how appalling the latest news from America is. If I were American, I would feel utterly insulted that Trump tried to deny the obvious truth that he posted this vile video. The situation there is getting more perverse by the day, to the extent that I now honestly can’t understand why they’re putting up with it.

I was just watching the BBC news channel as usual, sipping my morning coffee, when they suddenly flipped from their usual coverage to farage giving a speech. We all know what huge trouble Labour and Starmer are in over the Epstien files; but the last thing we need is the snivelling p’tahk farage sticking his neck in, making the morons listening to him laugh and stirring up trouble for his own benefit. The views of that charlatan are utterly irrelevant, on this or any other matter. He is a racist embarrassment to human civilisation who actively, knowingly deceived the country into voting for something contrary to our best interests: he should either be on his knees begging our forgiveness, or rotting in a jail cell. But there he was, mocking the government, cracking jokes and doing his pathetic statesman act; as if we don’t all know that, sooner or later, his name will no doubt appear in those very files as one of the biggest culprits.

It was so sickening that I turned it off. The thing is, the more such coverage the guy gets, the more he looks like a respectable politician and the more likely people are to forget that he’s a deceptive little xenophobe who should never have been allowed to rise to such prominence. More to the point, the Beeb should never have suddenly cut to him like that, as if his rancid, fascistic views have any relevance whatsoever to the current political situation.

If you ask me, at most he should be living in a one bedroom terraced house, not a vast royal estate.

The last thing I watched last night before going to bed was this half hour NBC video on the Artemis program. Of course it’s crammed full of jingoism about how America is a space-faring nation, about how they have to beat China back to the moon, and about how the exploration of space should be up to them rather than anyone else. Their cities are literally burning, there healthcare system is non-existent and they’re sliding further and further towards fascism every day, yet Americans have the hubris, the arrogance to think they should be the ones to return to the moon. Surely I can’t be the only one to find that sickening.

When I was out on my trundle yesterday I had a bizarre idea which I now can’t get out of my head. An idea for a meeting of two fictional characters which I think would be so hilarious, so awesome that I simply have to make it happen. How it could possibly happen is another question, especially given one character was live action and the other is animated; but I’m now nonetheless set on seeing it come about. Surely it would be the most amazing thing ever if the French Taunter from Monty Python ant the Holy Grail could somehow meet Cornholio. I have no idea what they would do together or how they could possibly be shown to meet, but even so I suspect it would make me roll on the floor with laughter. The unnamed French Taunter, of course, was played by John Cleese in the 1975 film Monty Python and the Holy Grail, mocking King Arthur and his Knights from the battlements of a castle. Cornholio or The Great Cornholio is Beavis’s alter ego who he transforms into whenever he drinks too much coffee or any other stimulant. Both are, separately, probably the funniest things I have ever seen. The crazy idea of seeing them somehow meet may be far fetched, and I have no idea how I would get either of the actors to reprise their roles, but this is just too awesome for me to let go. The thought of those characters having some sort of dialogue is too magnificent. If it is indeed true that everything is possible, then this simply has to happen.