Spontaneous Travelling: Chester (Part 1)

Saturday 16 March, 2019

So I got the news a short while ago that something I contributed to was no longer going ahead. It was originally thought up 2 and a bit years ago, but sadly after a few false starts, it just wasn’t meant to be.

One of the things I did for this project, I only did last year, when things still looked to be going ahead. I was not going to be a regular contributor, because of my health and degree, but I was going to give something when I could. And now I am free to do what I like with it, here it is:

A journey review of Chester. From a disabled person’s point of view, not planned to the nth degree.

I live in Liverpool, and it’s very easy to do, especially for able bodied people, to just hop on the train and go to Chester from any Merseyrail train station with the change at either Central or Moorfields. And it’s pretty cheap at the cost of a Merseyrail Day Saver. I had a vague plan set out. I’d last been to Chester when I was a teenager, and I remember having fun with my Nana, so I wanted to do similar things I’d done with my Nana back when I was a manual user.

I would say this started off badly as soon as I tried to book the ramp. I hardly ever book ahead when it’s Merseyrail, I don’t believe in it and I think expecting disabled people to book everything in advance is holding us to a higher and stricter standard than able bodied people are. However, st the time of this journey, I was experiencing a lot of problems with Merseyrail and their unfair policies that put disabled people at a higher disadvantage to travel than able bodied members.

A member of staff who, for health reasons (she was pregnant), could not deploy the ramp. Merseyrail’s policy was, instead of having two members of staff on shift or having that member of staff in a different role whilst another member of staff was on platform, so that wheelchair users could continue to travel freely on the network, they left that staff member to stay in their role and ordered taxis for anyone wishing to travel.

Now because I complained and explained it was discrimination to expect someone to wait up to an hour for a taxi to turn up, just because they wouldn’t have a second member of staff on to do the ramp, they booked me a taxi to turn up at the time I would get to the station. The problem is the train journey to Central is 17 minutes, with 2 minutes to get from my local station to the next station by train. By road, it takes 10 minutes on a good day, 15 on an average day and 20 minutes on a bad day, meaning I wouldn’t only miss the train I planned to get (the 12 past 10), I would potentially miss the next two, eating in to the time I had available with my Carer for the day in Chester. It was all so incredibly unfair and frustrating.

My carer couldn’t turn up any earlier than 10’clock so we got to the station with 2 minutes to spare before the train arrived, meaning we would have been able to get on the train had I been able bodied. But I’m not, and there was a taxi waiting. My second issue with the taxi situation is that they use the same company that my hospital uses when there’s not a patient transport ambulance available, and I’ve had enough negative experiences with them through hospital transport, that I no longer get this company’s taxis, and I wasn’t happy having to depend on a driver from this company to get me to the next station when I could have just been on the train. And then the day got worse.

The taxi driver was annoyed he’d had to wait, and then he got the ramp down. The staff member had left us to it, because of a previous intense conversation where we clashed over the ramp situation a few times before. I know it’s for medical reasons, but I felt it was partly her responsibility to fight disabled people’s rights to access the train. By continuiing to both be on the station without a second member, or at all, it allowed the continuation of discrimination from Merseyrail.  So, understandably, she left.

I asked the driver to put the seats up, so I could turn around. He became… I won’t say aggressive, but certainly confrontational. “Er, Why?”

I said it was so I could turn around and travel backwards.

He said No. I asked why, and he said he wasn’t going to let me travel backwards, because the wheels turning around in his car would rip up his carpets. I said I always travel backwards, I’ve never ripped up anyone’s carpets. He would not budge. Then he told me I’d be fine, because I’m in an electric wheelchair, and I should travel sideways anyway because that’s safer. They are both lies.

  1. Lightweight electric wheelchairs skid and tilt if not either wedged in or tethered down. I am not heavy enough to increase traction or to keep four wheels on the floor if we take a corner badly, and I’ve already tipped backwards in a taxi once, I don’t wish to experience that again.
  2.  It is not safer to travel sideways, it is safer to travel backwards.

At that point I had the choice of sending the driver away, having my PA go up to the station and tell the staff member she’ll have to call another taxi, wait up to an hour for it to arrive, at the risk it would then take 20 minutes to get to the next nearest train station, (when able bodied people could just get on the train and go 2 minutes up the line!!!) meaning another potential hour and a half eating in to the time with my Carer to get to Chester and back, or travel sideways. I compromised, and said fine, but I needed the straps.

Then he argued with me that I didn’t need the straps, because i had breaks.

I’m going to let you in on a secret that manufacturers don’t like you spreading: The breaks don’t do anything unless you’re on free wheel. If you’re on Powerchair mode, which as an electric wheelchair user, I almost always am, the breaks don’t do anything because it’s the motor that stops the wheels from going around, either by being turned off, or by being on but not pressing the joystick to go in a direction. And as I’ve explained already, I skid, which means the wheels are skimming the tractionless floor without turning at the axel. It is the same as being on a boat in your car, and not being tethered down. If the waves are rolling, your car’s going to be too, even if the breaks are on. It’s basic physics. And I say that as someone with dyscalculia that almost failed physics.

I eventually got him to put the straps on, and in that process, he broke my wheelchair. As he tied the strap down in the wrong place, because he didn’t listen to my instructions, nor did he have the right straps, he tightened the belt and I heard a small crack. That crack led to my wheelchair losing power a lot quicker than normally over the process of 6 hours.

By the time we got to our next train station, we literally got there just as the second train was pulling out, so we had to wait for the third. The journey, thankfully, went smoothly from there, getting to Central and then it didn’t take too long until we were in Chester.

Chester has a shuttle bus of sorts that takes you from the station to the city centre. First we tried to find out where it would be, we were told to look at the information board, but it wasn’t actually on the information board, so then we went to the actual information desk, waited in the kew and the information desk said they were only train information and weren’t sure exactly where the bus stopped but if I went outside the main doors, I would either find the bus there or other poeple waiting for the bus that I could ask.

We did, and then we waited. And waited. And waited. And then the bus turned up, and I couldn’t get on it. It was wheelchair accessible, but it was a middle door type situation, and the problem was the bus driver couldn’t get that middle door close enough to the kerb to deploy the ramp because the front of the bus was blocked by a sharp crescent terminus. I don’t know if I believe him, because he wouldn’t even try.  I had people offer to tilt me and lift me on, which the driver recommended I do!!! But otherwise, he couldn’t help and I coudln’t get on.

I said that wasn’t even remotely accessible or appropriate, and we left, allowing a gentleman in a manual wheelchair to be lifted on the bus instead. I make no judgement on people who choose to be lifted, but I’m not a child nor a parcel from amazon, and that ramp is there to be used. I did not get the chance to get a photo of the ramp I couldn’t use, but here’s the front of the bus the driver told me I could get on instead:-

The picture shows a red bus with it's door open, four people's legs in the queue, one lady clearly in jeans and a gentleman in front of her with dark grey trousers on. A man also in jeans is crossing in front of the photo. The bus's front steps overhangs on the curb awkwardly with a ten inch gap

So, we got a taxi to the city centre. I went backwards, and I was strapped in with the proper straps! It costed £10, including the tip (I’m from Liverpool, we tip). I thought it would start looking up. I took photos of the nice buildings, I took photos of the clock, I took photos of a roman soldier wandering around and then hoped I wasn’t breaking some sort of etiquette, and then we headed in to The Rows. Now, I remember the Rows from when I was there with my Nana, and I remember being pretty impressed. This time, it left me somewhat dissappointed!

I could get around the ground floor, great. And then we went up. I could get from one side of the outside, to most of the way around the building, but I could only get in one or two shops due to those shops having steep steps either up or down into them, then I had to turn around and go back the way I’d came whilst people who could use stairs had free run of the whole place. Either I’ve misremembered how good Chester was, or I didn’t care at that point because I loved spending time with my Nana, or something’s changed in Chester since then.

It had gone lunch time by then, and to say I was down was a bit of an understatement… and then I noticed my battery gage. Talking of things being down… I had full green when we left the house, and I was suddenly on the last green, except what had really caugtht my attention was the flickering out the corner of my eye. It was going between at least one green and just the oranges. I can lose battery in the cold quite quickly, but it hadn’t been that cold, even if it was, this was quicker than even that, and I’d never seen it flicker between two colours like this before. It wasn’t quick, but it seemed that any time I changed direction, or stopped, I would gain or lose a bar, respectively.

So we tried to get lunch in somewhere warm, hoping my battery would re-calibrate itself. Or I was, anyway. I, er, neglected to share this news of impending battery death with my carer for fear she’d make us go home 3 hours early…

It didn’t go well. I mean, lunch plans specifically, not the battery issue. Either places I could get in did food I wasn’t kean on – I might have mentioned previously, I eat pretty bland foods with simple recipes. No herbs, nothing spicy, nothing too heavy, and nothing I can slop down myself; And the places I wouldn’t have minded trying, all little eateries, had no wheelchair access. We ended up in good old McDonalds. My Carer wasn’t best pleased…

But hey, McChicken Sandwich, Chips and a cup of tea. 10/10, would recommend!

A photograph of a meal from Mcdonalds. A cup of tea in a jazzy style cup a mcchicken sandwich in the middle with stray bits of lettuce in the box and a carton of medium fries on the right with a monopoly sticker showing. The fries are spilt on to the tray.

Chester Nay McDonalds yay

The question is, did the rest of the day get better? Tune in next time to find out!


AFJ’s response: Fireworks.

Saturday 2 March, 2019

A couple of days ago, I became aware that Parliament is launching an enquiry into why, over the last few years, there have been a sudden increase of petitions from the general public asking for the government to create new, stricter laws in regards to fireworks. As the words on the webpage go on to say, the committee are asking for people’s views on the current laws on fireworks, and what needs to be considered when looking at changing the current laws on fireworks.

And on one hand, I’m grateful for someone elevating this issue, not just purely on fireworks, but also for noticing that so many people keep signing petitions, and each time are effectively fobbed off and patronised. The last time I signed one of these petitions, I was disgusted, yet not surprised, to find the response was basically “We don’t need to do anything more, because there are current laws in place that deal with the issues being addressed by this peititon”. So I do think it’s a good thing that someone is asking for our views further. The problem is, these views have been covered by every petition to date. Even in the webpage, they have listed what some of the reasons they’ve found on the petitions they’ve looked at, and still want people to contact them with their reasons, in their own words.

I feel like that’s slowing down the process they could already be making, and it’s putting responsibility on the general public. For example, I did eventually get an email about this, but I originally only even knew about the committee because my friend linked me. How many people would love a say and will miss out because the call for their input hasn’t reached them?

But, I have got the call and I will be sharing my views directly with them, using their contact form on that link. And I will say a better written version of the following:-

I’m afraid of loud noises. I don’t have any specific reason, i’ve just always been that way. And yes, admittedly, somehow during my teenage years I managed to supress my distressed reaction. Then late teens hit and I found I couldn’t suppress it anymore, then the twenties hit and I found every phobia I have is ten times worse than what it was in childhood. And it’s not just fireworks out in the wild, it’s also pyrotechnics at concerts, thunder storms, and even, depending on the tones, loud angry shouting and loud bangs in film.

But let’s focus on fireworks. My fear of the noises they produce means for a week before the 5th of november to the week after, and all through the christmas period to some weeks after January the 1st, I am caused significant distress, because the fireworks are available, and people will just set them off because they can.

I do my best to protect myself from the bangs of the fireworks, and I want to just make it clear here that this specific issues is literally just the loud bangs, if the pretty twinkly ones didn’t end in a loud explosion, I would be fine; But the problem is, they aren’t just silent twinkles, they are loud explosions, and they seem to be louder every year. That means a week of earphones in, loud music that drowns it out, from maybe 6 o’clock in the evening, to 2 o’clock in the morning,  hoping that no random bang from a firework will be set off outside of those hours, and what is set off isn’t so loud I can hear it over my music.

And I am not alone in these fears, and I feel many other people have a much better reason than I do for having these bad reactions. There are people with autism, there are war veterans who are triggered, there are people with non-autistic sensory issues, and then there’s the animals. And they are suffering. We shouldn’t have to live like this!

And that’s just the noise!

Around here in Liverpool, though I imagine it’s the same up and down the country, fireworks seem to go hand in hand with anti-social behaviour. If irresponsible kids aren’t setting off fireworks in the parks and fields, late at night to the early hours of the morning, anytime between September and January the 15th, they’re setting them off in the middle of the road in the direction of cars and buses. Just a couple of years ago, a firework was aimed at the side of the bus, reportedly so it would go in through the open doors, but luckily it went off course. They’re setting them off in random bins, with no care for what might fuel the fire in the bin and cause a spread to the building (which also happened here, right opposite my flat!) and they’re setting them off as pranks, and sometimes, they’re setting them off with the deliberate aim to hurt people. The response to the last petition talked about the laws, but let’s face it, the kids run off before the police get there, and the damage has already been done, and when do the kids ever get caught? If the bangs aren’t coming from somewhere definitive, how can the police even get there in time to catch them?

The current laws are not stopping the irresposible ownership or setting off of these fireworks,  they’re not helping after the fact if they’re not caught red handed, and how can the police catch anyone red handed when police numbers have been cut?

It’s just ignoring the key issue. These things wouldn’t happen if kids couldn’t get ahold of them in them in the first place, and I really believe they wouldn’t be able to get ahold of them, even illegally, if they only went direct from warehouses to organised public displays and pyrotechnic specialists thereof, and controlled via licenses. We understand a lack of access to guns means less gun-related accidents and crimes in the UK, why not with fireworks?

And, with public displays being the only way to celebrate occasions traditionally celebrated with fireworks, we need to go back to only celebrating on celebration nights. Yes I am aware of diwali and chinese new year, and I am including these too. It is not a human right to celebrate with fireworks, and maybe if more people go to displays, the prices of them would drop back down. It is not fair to those of us who can not tolerate the constant barrage of loud noises to put up with it for two weeks at a time. The other year, Bonfire Night seemed to be every night from the weekend before, and the weekend after, and New Years, the week before christmas and on and on and on. Even if you take in to consideration of irresponsible kids just setting them off whenever they like, you still have a lot of responsible adults thinking their right to buy fireworks from any supermarket and newsagents in their area, and their right to set them off in their own back garden, trumps the health and wellbeing of everyone else around them. It doesn’t. I honestly don’t care if the 5th falls on a Tuesday and people are too tired from work, I should not have to spend a fortnight dodging explosions coming from far beyond my home and neither should anyone else, nor animals who can’t understand what exactly is going on.

So, to summarise my feelings on fireworks, the noise levels of those explosions need to be brought down, firework purchasing should be only for license holders, those license holders need to be managers of public displays, and those public displays need to be scaled down to just the day of celebration. Any unlicensed use or ownership should be treated as a criminal offence, stronger than “antisocial behaviour” by the fact it’s literally someone setting off explosives.


I am not normal

Thursday 3 January, 2019

A few months ago, I wrote a post, which I locked, about how worried I was about the chance of being genetically normal. A few years ago, I was put in for a genetic map study because my rare undiagnosed condition had gone undiagnosed for too long. I was worried because I’ve had a few people in my life, at key times of my life, who have doubted that there was anything wrong with me at all. I was regularly dismissed as being an attention seeker and it’s taken me years to grate off the feeling that I am not disabled enough for help, not disabled enough to be disabled, that their outright and underhanded attitude towards me imprinted on me. I might have a terrible memory now, but I can still remember most, if not all, comments said to me that have hurt over the years, and I remember who said them and when they said them.

And I was worried about the results, because if it turned out I was genetically “Normal”, that would turn my identity upside down. I couldn’t think past the possibility of various conditions I’d come across and read up about, because there was always this chance that they hadn’t found any genetic reason for why my body is the way it is.

Well. I got the results and it’s taken me a while to write this entry, like five months nearly, but I am glad to say that I am not normal. Genetically speaking, i’m abnormal. To say I was relieved was an understatement.

I have a rare bone disorder, that is so rare that currently I am the 50th person to be diagnosed with it, in the whole wide world, and is currently the most severest and the most furthest advanced that my genetecist had seen. I’ve lived with this for over 30 years, in mystery and in doubt and in pain. I had surgery to physically correct my body’s abnormalities that the genetic fault cause, at a time we didn’t even have genetic mapping.

The faulty gene was only discovered and named a year and a bit ago, and it was only in April last year that it flagged up on my sample.

I know this sounds suspcious, but I don’t want to share the name with everyone just yet. I’m just glad I have a piece of paper that confirms what I’ve been saying all this time, that my joints rest badly on each other, and that the pain I’ve been suffering from is bone pain. I have a piece of paper that says it’s a collagen fault, randomly occuring within me. I have not caused this myself, and my parents didn’t cause it, and more importantly, the doctors didn’t cause this by operating willy nilly on me when I was a child, as one unhelpful person suggested. People paint the 80s and 90s as if it was full of mad scientists eager to operate and to change and to improve without a care to the consequences, but as having lived through it, I know for a fact that whilst my doctors did some radical things to save my life, and to improve it on subsequent operations, they were never a moment too soon. I remember the pain of being left to wait too well.

If I was to have children, I would pass it on to them. You can’t have it and not carry it, but you can have it without inheriting it.

Now that they have a name for it, and as the word spreads more doctors will know what to look for, I hope it means more people looking for answers, because they live in pain and the current diagnosis of arthritis or scoliosis and or post-operative complications or they’re attention seeking or it’s all in their head, get tested and diagnosed too.

I am not normal, and that’s the best news I had in 2018.

I don’t know what 2019 will bring but i’m not sure it will top cracking a 30+ year old mystery.

 


They giveth and they taketh away

Monday 19 November, 2018

Hello all, hope you’re all well. It’s been a while since my last blog. But here I am again, to complain about something. As usual.

So, as I blogged previously at some point, a few years ago I bought a kindle. It’s a basic model, 5th Generation, and I believe that it’s the last version to have page turning buttons along the side on them. I bought it on sale at a time when the newer Paperwhite and touch screen versions were out.

That was in 2013, and five years on, my little kindle is getting, erm, sluggish. I don’t think it’s ready for the great recycling centre in the sky just yet, it’s only five years old after all, but I am getting the White Screen of Death sort of frequently, and even though the experimental browswer was put on there and never got further than basic searching, it now doesn’t work at all without crashing the kindle in to a White Screen of Death, making that feature completely unusable.

So I’m preparing myself to get a newer one at some point in the future, and here’s the problem. The newer ones don’t work for me. The Kindle basic 5th generation weighs 169g, and has buttons either side to turn the pages. Newer models are heavier and have no buttons, it’s all touch screen. I hold my kindle with one hand supported by a pillow, I can’t hold heavier models and if I can’t use the hand I’m holding the kindle with to turn the page, it won’t be any use to me at all.

To give a better comparison, even the latest ipad air 2, 32GB weighs 500g.

If and when my kindle does go on me, I really don’t know what I’ll do without it if the other devices are much of the same as we have today. And if goes sooner rather than later, it could even affect my degree. I put my text books on there and the tutorial hand out material too, so I can read along with the rest of the group as they read the paper handouts.  I don’t want to go back to struggling, but the Kindle solved the problems I had with reading, and if I can’t get something as good as it, I’ll be back to struggling.

For those of you who don’t know, I was fed up of struggling so much that I bought a mouse shaped device which had a camera where a rollerball on an old mouse would have been, called The Vision Booster, and the idea is you roll the mouse over the paper and read as you go… and it was terrible. There was a fisheye effect and you couldn’t read the inside margins, but you also couldn’t hover the mouse over the spine because then the words went blurry.

So, I have to know. Am I the only person affected by these changes with technology? Or are we, like the straw issue, the hidden minority who are forced to either adapt or be left out because we’re ignored in the drive for superior technical progress? Am I missing some really obvious solution


Protected: Please don’t tell me I’m normal

Sunday 24 June, 2018

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:


Spring Cleaning Can Make You Money – As long as you had money to start with

Monday 16 April, 2018

There’s a history to Spring Cleaning, that I won’t go into because the history is long and I can only remember a small bit of it that I learnt from watching Ruth Goodman in Tales from the Green Valley, but it’s enshrined in western culture. When Spring eventually comes around, we dust the window ledges, we stack our cupboards a different way and we throw out the old curtains that did not survive yet another winter.

But lately, on the radio and on prime time TV shows for the masses, I’ve noticed there’s a bit of a fad about it this year. This happened a few years ago as well, around about the economic crash of 2008. The radio was full of top tips to make money on your unwanted goods, and the tv had shows about items you just happened to have in the attic being worth an unbelievable amount of money. This year, the fad is back and it seems to be tied to the fact we’re more conscious on the amount of household waste we produce.

In the last week alone I’ve listened to tips on how to get some of your money back from the clothes jamming up your wardrobe – Sell them to those clothing merchants you see on the high street (Cash4Clothes!), sell them back to the high street shops you bought them from (They named a place I’d never heard of, so I assume it’s expensive) or sell them on ebay or Gumtree as a joblot. If you’ve got gadgets you don’t use, sell them too! All this advice was intertwined with stories about some households who just threw things out instead of recycling, and landfills being filled with perfectly good clothes and accessories that could have gone to a good home if given the chance. Even worse, some items that say “this is not recyclable” could be recylable if you seperate the bits that aren’t recylable from the bits that are. You have to be conscious about everything you do. And I agree with that. As a minimalist on the verge of hoarding (I’ll get to that contradiction in a minute), I agree that what can be recycled, whether that means melted down and remade, or passed on to someone who could use it second hand, sent to a charity shop, or given to someone who can make something else entirely out of it- should be recycled. Unneccessary waste is wreaking havoc on our planet.

What I don’t agree with is this patronising tone it’s said in. Because it presents the idea that it’s the solution to clutter, without considering what causes the clutter in the first place, and even worse, without considering that the “make money off your unwanted shit” idea won’t benefit everyone. I’m coming at this from a personal angle. I had some unwanted clothes in my wardrobe. I recently went through my wardrobe and binned anything that couldn’t possibly be used by anyone else, and put what could be used by others in a bag for a charity shop (I have a threshold here, if they’re not fit for me to wear, they’re not fit for a charity shop).

The real problem is, is that my wardrobe is cluttered because I have very little space and I only have the necessities and some items I was given as  a gift. (Minimalist) But I had clothes that had holes in them, fraying at the seams, and the worst ones I threw out and I’ve kept some of the rest so long despite being in such a state because to me, they still serve their purpose and I can’t possibly throw them out (Hoarding tendencies) until they stop serving their purpose.

Some other advice was selling valuable jewellery, and gathering up any collectibles and finding a buyer of them to get the most money for these items. I don’t own any “valuable” jewellery that I’d be willing to part with, because the two items I do have mean a lot to me. I don’t own any collectibles, we’ve never had the space for them and my family have never inherited any from late relatives.

What I have are old clothing, some  20+ years old, some from charity shops, some from Primark, one or two items from New Look, a well worn pair of Jeans from Matalan, and a dress I bought for a wedding that will no doubt become The Wedding Dress (As in, the dress I’ll wear to people’s weddings, not my wedding dress… Although….). Nobody is going to want to buy these things off me when I am done with them. I will not make money from my unwanted goods, because the biggest reason for most of the things that are unwanted, is because I’ve worn them down. I’ve worn them down and worn them out. And that is the case for a lot of poor people, so this solution is being presented TO poor people to make some money off their stuff despite it not being practical advice for a lot of poor people. This solution also assumes that people are cramming items in because of an excess of items and a forgetful disposition, when these days it’s more a case of lack of space within the home.

Don’t get me wrong, if you can make money off spring cleaning, then all the luck to you. But you have to realise that in order for you to be making money off your unwanted, you have to have money in the first place to get them, or to store them somewhere where they’ve gone unused and untouched.


The Sex Corner: Ding ding ding, round two!

Tuesday 26 September, 2017

Sticks of card with the titles of the books written on them in black ink arranged artistically against purple and green patterned wallpapered walls. The two titles seen clearly say Under the knife and The Ben Hope Series the card obscured at the back only shows the word The

Thought I couldn’t possibly find more fault in the big land of literature? Well, you would be wrong. My reading was down over the last year because University got in the way of reading for pleasure, but when I did read for pleasure I noted down which books were good, which books were bad, and which books deserved a special mention on this here blog.

So without further ado, here we are, round two of The Sex Corner:

It’s not easy being asexual in a sexual world, and it’s even harder trying to avoid something that is always considered a selling point. (Although it isn’t really, but that’s a post for another day). Luckily there will always be more books for me to get my head into. Well, for as long as my kindle works and libraries exist, anyway.

And that is where of which I procured the new editions to the The Sex Corner from. (Holy awkward sentence, batman!).

The first is an early piece by Tess Gerritsen. You might recognise her name, she is the prolific author of the Rizzoli and Isles series, but before them, there was a Under The Knife. It start’s with a female doctor, called Kate Chesne, being accused of malpractice which leads to the uncovering a murder plot. And that sounded brilliant, I was all for that! Murder? Hospital related? So my cup of tea it was practically a family sized teapot full of Tetley Decaf.

Until the lawyer came into it.

At first he was looking into the case, and then suddenly it turned into a whirl wind romance that left me wondering the legalities of the situation. Would a prominent lawyer take such a risk by dating his client? He wasn’t only risking the case, he was risking both his and Doctor Chesne’s reputation and their respective licences to practice, if she was to be found guilty. She could have been branded as the murdering doctor who slept with her lawyer so he’d guarantee she’d be found innocent. He could have been branded as the lawyer who had sex with a murdering doctor, not caring about the evil deeds she’d done, bringing his firm into disrepute. What does that say for either of them, in character and ability to act reasonable?

It says nothing other than this is book is full of ridiculous people who can’t do their jobs. I can’t possibly understand these characters, and I certainly can’t empathise with them. I don’t know if other people can or do. All I know was that I was in it for the crime and the court case, and I left at the door by badly written, convoluted romance and unfathomable scenes of a sexual nature.

So, in the sex corner it went!

And it was followed very quickly by Shadow of the wind, by Carlos Ruiz Zafón

Initially this is a story about a lonely lad, Daniel, who, grieving after the death of his mother, is shown a library of forgotten books. The Cemetary of forgotten books.

Remembering what someone once said to him about your first book always staying with you, Daniel carefully chooses a book called The Shadow of The Wind. And he becomes enthralled by it. After he reads it, he wants to know everything he can about the author. He wants to be an author! This book has picked up this lonely lad and gave him a purpose beyond his own existence. It was beautiful and it was brilliant! I was all for that.

And then it derailed.

Daniel, the lonely boy, develops a crush on an older girl called Clara, whose father is a rare book connoisseur. And it turns out this book is as rare as you can get. Not wanting to be turned away so soon after he refuses to sell his book, which was an amazing, once in a lift time gift from the very secret library of forgotten books, he offers to return regularly to admire Clara from an up close and personal distance. Oh sorry, no, I mean, so he can read to her because it just so happens that she’s blind.

And that still isn’t where my problem was with this story. Developing crushes is fine. I remember the older lad I used to have a crush on! But one part I had a problem with is that Daniel seemed to think that Clara owed him something just because he liked her. And she wanted to see him less and less, probably because she was 6 years older than him and he was just an opportunistic child. And he gave her the book to keep. Yes, the very rare book he at one point would not let out of his sight.  He just gave it away.

There is such a mystery surrounding The Shadow of the Wind. All the other copies of this book was burnt by the author himself. Why? That’s part of the mystery. One night, fearing for Clara’s safety and the safety of the book, he sneaks in to her flat to take reposession of the book, hears, uh, noises, goes to check the, uh, noises out, finds Clara is, erm… quite happy where she is, erm, shall we say? And then he promptly gets beaten up by Clara’s boyfriend. He flees with the book, and then makes acquaintances with an eccentric homeless man called Fermin Romero de Torres.

My biggest problem with his reaction after finding out Clara’s got a boyfriend and that they seem quite happy together, is that he seems to think that she was using him. From my point of view, he was foisting his attentions on to her and imagined a whole Will They/Won’t They scenario in his mind, like a delusional fantasist, whilst she probably didn’t even think about him at all, especially considering his age. Like, in her mind, he was probably like that young next door neighbour you used to play out with when you’re both in the bracket of “under 16”, and then you’re over 16 and you go off and do your A Levels, but the next door neighbour’s just gone into year 10. Except this book is set in just after the Spanish Civil War, so, you know. No A Levels, or year 10. But ignoring the speciifcs, generally speaking, that’s life, it happens, and everybody moves on and makes friends with people their own age.

Everyone bar Daniel.

But the scenes of a sexual nature don’t go away just because Clara is no longer in his life, nooooOOoooOoooo. First you have Fermin Romero de Torres, who is never too far away from talking sexually, and then you have the very graphic sex scenes.

I was less than a third into the book but I was out. I’d powered through the Clara thing in the hopes the mystery of the book and Daniel’s plan to be an author would remain in the foreground. It didn’t. Once again, I paid the price for powering through.

Just when I thought I was learning!!

So, last but not least is a series of books I think I got into under false pretences. My friend recommended this book to me (the same one who recommended the Languidoc series. I need to stop listening to this friend’s suggestions). She said it was like Dan Brown’s books, but better written, with better plots. And I thought, well you can’t get worse than Dan Brown, surely? So why not give it a go? Hah. Why not, indeed!

The series was the Ben Hope series, by Scott Mariani. I started in the order Mariani recommends on his website, with the prequels first. The first one, Passenger 13, was flawless, filled with violent action, mystery and a little bit of back story. I couldn’t fault it. The second one, Bring Him Back, similar on the violent action but the mystery involved a child with “special” telepathic powers. I could see the Dan Brown comparison. And yes, it was still very well written. Then I read his real first published Ben Hope book (if we talk chronologically by published date), The Alchemist Secret, and I didn’t think it was as good as the prequels. Mariani seemed to be suffering from a case of “Plot strong, writing weak” itis. I figured, that’s understandable. My writing wasn’t as good in my first chapters than it was in my 10th chapters of a multi-chaptered story I’m writing, I can forgive tired tropes and poor narrative in the early days of his career. I can’t forgive the James Bond-esque poor treatment of female characters, though, making them look bad so men look good. I had a watchful eye out but ultimately, I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Then there was The Mozart Conspiracy, which again had a decent story but the narrative style really started rubbing me the wrong way. Some chunks of purple prose here and there, and the romantic elements on the up, and then as usual with male writers, using female character’s suffering to drive a male character’s story onwards. This is irritating and insulting to the point where I thought I’d draw the line there and then. None of the bad elements were what I was reading this series for!

But then I got an email from my local Library. The next book in the series was available. So I thought, I’d give it one more chance with The Doomsday Prophecy and if it’s the same, I’d give up. It was the same, and a little bit worse. In this story, he starts off so torn up about his dead wife that he plans to finish up his theology degree from years before, and reconsiders going into the priest hood. We get one woman chatting him up and he turns her down, though it seems more begrudgingly because of appearances of propriety and the prospect of a job rather than earnestly out of mourning. And then he spends the rest of the book having a sort of “will they, won’t they” type romance with the next woman he meets. I’m not saying he should have been donning mourning suits for the next three years, but the timeline in the book means it’s only about 4 months since the apparent love of his life is dead before all of this happens.

Some of the dialogue meant to be enriched with romantic tension is so convoluted I felt like I was reading bad fanfiction.

I ummed and arr’d over reading the next lot. I thought, “this isn’t as bad a decline as the Oz books, and I’ve not faced anything overly sexually graphic, just the romance really pulls the stories down” and planned to go on. Then I was hit by a snag. The library didn’t have the next two books on audiobook and had no plans to stock them. I couldn’t afford to buy them, especially if I didn’t like them, so I just waited it out and put Ben Hope to the back of my mind. Probably for the best, considering.

Then I found out something unrelated to this which has made the decision once and for all about whether I should continue reading or not. There was a promotional campaign for the latest Ben Hope novel in The Sun. And then I found out that HarperCollins is related to The Sun. I did not know that before then.

So now I will have to pick my books carefully because there is no way I’m supporting anything in relation to The Sun.

But, all in all, that doesn’t change the fact that these books will be going in The Sex Corner. And then after that, I might throw all Ben Hope novels in Mount Doom.

I may be slow to update, but as long as there’s good books ruined by unnecessary romance plot lines and sex scenes, there will be The Sex Corner, so watch this space!


A Failed Journalist Reviews: Flare Path

Tuesday 12 September, 2017

Almost 2 years ago to the day, I did something that I haven’t done since before my operation in 2010.
I went to see a show, all by myself, probably to the downright horror of the theatre’s health and safety officer. But hey, that’s what a limited care package gets you.

Anyway, I’ll spare you the back story and get right down to business.

I broke out of my new normal to go see Flarepath, which was on at The Playhouse in Liverpool. Many things could have gone wrong during this play: I could have suffered an asthma attack, my back could have locked up, my heart murmur could have picked up and left me short of breath and dizzy. I could have thrown up randomly, I could have found myself in an altercation with a disgruntled fellow theatre-goer. I could have found myself needing the toilet and not being able to get back out again  – It has happened before. (Misadventure 1: McDonalds, Liverpool Town Centre, heavy door vs No manoeuvre room, Misadventure 2: Broadgreen Hospital, Orthopeadic Clinic, Very Heavy Door.)

I risked all of that, and possibly more! To see two people i’ve wanted to see act in a theatre* near me for years: Olivia Hallinan and Philip Franks! Both being in the same play, it killed the proverbial birds with one stone.

So, for those of you haven’t read Flarepath, and don’t worry, I am amongst you, the play is about a group of people who are staying in the same hotel, near the aerodrome in Lincolnshire, during World War 2. But it’s not just about any old people, no! We have an actor, called Peter Kyle, who checks in to the hotel seemingly under the guise of business, then we have resident Countess Doris Skriczevinsky. She’s married to Count “Johnny” Skriczevinsky and recognises Actor Peter Kyle straight away. She’s a fan! Fellow hotel guest is Patricia “Pat” Graham (played by Hallinan) who is also an actor. Yet, for reasons not yet disclosed at this point, Peter Kyle is rather cagey about whether he knows her or not. Despite having worked on a film together. See? Very cagey.

Then we have Pat’s Pilot husband Teddy, Air Gunner Dusty, who is married to poor Maudie, who is the most normal guest at the hotel. She lost everything when a bomb hit her house, and she’s very pragmatic about it. I loved her and Dusty so much that I would like them to have a play where they’re the main characters instead. Well, as well as, rather than instead. This was a good play!

Count “Johnny” Skriczevinsky, I’ve mentioned him already, he’s Polish and could be considered the comic relief. He could be, but I didn’t. There’s something poignant about a man fighting for a country he can barely speak the native language of. I know, Allies and all of that, it was common. But, no, this man was fighting for Britain, and his wife and their future together. And whilst he did provide brilliant comic relief, I do not want how well rounded and loving this character is, to be overshadowed by that comic relief.

Then there’s Teddy, who I’ve also already mentioned. He’s Pat’s husband, he’s a bomber pilot, and him and Pat have been married for 9 months. Then there’s the amazing Squadron Leader Swanson (Played by Philip Franks) who is all heart and no bite. Somehow, despite rankings and severe punishment for dissension in the ranks, Teddy gets away with calling him Gloria. Admittedly, I didn’t get the joke whilst I was watching it, but when I got back home and mentioned it, the response was “Oh, after the singer!” and I googled it.

Last but not least is the hotel owner, Mrs Oakes. Provider of the full English breakfast, and questionable sausages.

So, what’s the story about, with all these interesting characters? They’re all meant to have the night off, time to be with their loved ones, or in the case of Peter Kyle, seemingly sleep until he leaves the next morning. But far too soon,  Squadron Leader Swanson bursts through the door with bad news: They’re needed for a raid.

Let me break into the retelling of the play to talk about the effects and the set. They were minimal, but affective. The set was laid out like a lounge at the hotel, desk to the right, couch in the centre. The backdrop was just a general outside with a window in front. In the night scenes, before they drew the curtains, it was a dark blue night scene, in the day it was a brighter blue with a bit of a visible garden. The absolute star of the stage, outshining even the great Philip Franks! Was the realistic fire at the forefront of the stage. I wish I had a photograph of it because it was indescribably beautiful.

There was nothing technologically advanced to portray living near an airstrip, and yet! Yet! Some strip of lighting to represent the Flarepath (Yeah, that’s when I twigged about the meaning of the play’s name too) through the window, and some very close, loud, sound effects, and a synchronised reaction as if fighter plane’s were passing by right over head (it’s called acting, Dahling!) makes you duck out of the way. Genius!

I’ll be sending the stage managers the bill for my new heart.

Back to the plot, and this is where I should say there’ll be spoilers, obviously: Whilst the RAF members were away, the crux of the play unravelled. Pat, to the shock of myself, had been in a relationship with Peter Kyle. She had left him to marry Teddy, despite still being in love with Peter Kyle, and, further revelation! After 9 months of being married to Teddy, wasn’t sure she loved him! Teddy, that is. How awful! And Peter Kyle wanted her back! And she wanted to go back! And, urged on by the very site of Peter Kyle, whose presence originally seemed to annoy her, she decided she was going to tell Teddy as soon as he got back. Teddy had no clue that they’d been in a relationship, the poor clueless sod! Was this going to end with her running away with Peter Kyle!?

Short answer: No.

Long answer: She realised how despondent she’d been towards Teddy. She married him on a whim, it was a war time romance, they barely knew each other and she’d never bothered to try. I weeped internally at the struggle. So after a brief bout of ill health on Teddy’s behalf (Like, very brief. All of 15 minutes in real time), she decided she did love him after all, and could love him even more, and stayed.

Poor Peter Kyle, you might say. I thought the same, until he tried to emotionally blackmail her and manhandled her about the place.

To change the pace a bit, there was a hell of a crash over at the aerodrome. And then only Teddy and Dusty arrived back – it wasn’t looking too good for Johnny. They waited all morning for him, but Squad Leader Swanson returned – after having stayed a while over night with the women to keep them company (see, all heart, that man!) – to tell them that, whilst they don’t want to give up hope, they all knew the chance of Johnny returning decreased the longer it took to find him.

In a random twist of fate, with Peter Kyle out for revenge, to ruin Pat and Teddy’s marriage, Doris, who knows Peter Kyle can speak french, asks him to read out a letter The Count had left for her in the event of him never returning. It was heartbreaking. The letter said how much The Count loved her and how he was sorry he never got to show her his homeland of Poland. I’m not doing it justice, but trust me, I weeped externally and I don’t think there was a dry eye in the house.

Realising how much of an arsehole he was being, he decided to keep his affair with Pat a secret and subsequently left quietly.

I’m very glad to say that whilst the foreground of the set was very busy, my attention to things that move in the background allowed me to notice a mysterious figure in a big hat come through the door, unnoticed by the other characters.

Could it be?
…Was it?

Be still by murmurring heart! Yes it was! It was Johnny! Wonderful! My heart swelled. Metaphorically speaking.

After a repeated, hilarious retelling of how he survived (I won’t quote it because I won’t be able to do it justice, but, it’s brilliant), they celebrated their reunion with a good, lung beltering rendition of “We don’t want to join the air force”, and, proving that life sometimes changes within a second, a bright light came up and a loud noise hit, and the stage went black. And that was the end.

Wow. I mean, WOW. The acting all around was almost perfect in my books. I was a bit distracted with trying to think who *Peter Kyle* reminded me of and, alright, maybe Philip Franks didn’t get enough stage time for my liking. But for what it was, it was great. I really don’t know why there’s so many negative reviews. Not just for the Liverpool showing, but for the play over all. Boring? Pretentious? Patronising? What play where They watching!? Uncultured swines, the lot of them.

I don’t know how much of the original written play they stuck with, I don’t know if Rattigan evolved it during his time, or, like a few other plays, a new version emerged at some point and theatre producers have been putting that version on instead since it’s incarnation. All I know, is that this play features a variety of characters, and some are flawed, and some you don’t get to know enough of, but there is enough there to relate to them in some way. Or, in my case with Peter Kyle, to know you absolutely dislike them 100%, and that’s okay because it means the actor has done their job.

I do have one criticism: There was a change in cast which saw the character of Percy played by Holly Smith yet one of Dusty’s lines was “Percy, my lad”. And on one hand, I understand audiences are also meant to have a bit of imagination about things, on the other hand, it was jarring and it could have been adjusted with changing the line. It could be because the line continued on to threaten to physically discipline Percy for not minding their own business, and maybe that would have come across wrong with the character being played by a woman. But that also could have been adjusted. I’m sure, as theatre directors should know, not every line has to be exactly the same all the time.

The ending might be too abrupt for some people, as well. At first I was confused, unsure whether I liked the sudden ending, and then it dawned on me, hours later to be honest with you, what it (probably) signified. Ouch, talk about mood whiplash. Talk about delayed mood whiplash!

Anyway. Would I recommend this play? Yes. Especially if Philip Franks ever returns to the cast.

I would also recommend film makers pull a History Boys with this and make a film with the 2015 cast. I have no other cast to compare it to, but, trust me on this. It’s Hallinan and Franks or bust!

10/10


We need to talk about television 

Tuesday 4 July, 2017

As you know, I am an entertainment consumer buff. If I’m not watching films, I’m watching TV, if I’m not watching TV, I’m playing games, reading books or listening to audiobooks. I go through cycles and phases but I am always consuming media of some sort. When my health craps out, when I have the flu, when I’m brain tired but not body tired, I watch television. I don’t want to sound like a hipster, but I was marathonning tv shows before it became ~cool~, before the Netflix generation inherited the earth.

Here’s the problem, television keeps dissappointing me. It might just be me and maybe I have high standards, but there’s not many television shows made in the last 10, even 20, years that I have watched from start to finish, without either losing interest half way through or suffering through mediocre plotlines and self contained episodes until I can’t suffer anymore.

I could give you a whole list of the shows that have lost me or dissappointed me in my entire life time, but, in all honesty I just tried and I derailed and ranted and remembered how dissappointed in House I was and that spurred a very long entry on it’s own, and then had to go for a lie down.

So I’m going to just mention the last few series I had high hopes for, and try to keep it to the point.

But saying that, shall we get it out the way first? House. You know how I feel about this show and it’s downfall. It was the best thing on television… for all of 2 and a half years. It was everything I wanted from a show, I didn’t even realise it was what I wanted from a show. Murder mystery in a medical setting, because the disease is the murderer. House, like Holmes, has to work out the intricate web of lies and livestyles to figure out why the victim is the target, and who is trying to murder his patient. Sometimes he went wrong, and killed them faster, but usually, the man and his ducklings came through and saved the day. What more could you ask for!?

Well, consistency would have been good for a start. Then longevity. And a little less of the producer’s own fantasy wish fullfilment. I think it should have finished at the end of series 3, when something shifted the focus away from Patient of the Week and Clinic Patient of the Week, on to character drama. Yes, okay, we could have had a bit more about Wilson’s brother in the first series, but there is a middle ground between the strict procedural that left us wanting it was in the first series and the soap it turned during series 3.

I said I wasn’t going to go on about it, and I won’t. But I just really wanted to get that out. I loved House, then House changed, I feel not for the better, and then it dragged us through 5 more series until it ended.

Shortly after that was Alphas. I know, it was generally disliked by the masses. It was like X-Men, it was stereotypical, it had problematic casting by casting a british non-disabled guy to play an American 20-something autistic guy. But… for the first series it was quite good! It had me hook, line and sinker. I do love me some mutant powers and hey, X Men 3 was a botch-job, I had to get my Mutants Saving The Day fix somewhere. And then series 2 happened, and one character’s own personal problems and a love triangle drove one half of the plot, and the other half of the plot came from a personal vendetta characer arc that dragged on for far too long. It just lost what made it enjoyable in the first series. It did not surprise me that it didn’t get renewed for a 3rd series, though I am annoyed they messed with the airing of the second in the UK off the back of that decision. It also could have improved for series 3, with the feedback of what failed in series 2.

I was briefly into Rizzoli and Isles. I seem to be a sucker for any show that is even remotely Holmes and Waston-esque. Here we have Jane Rizzoli, a streetwise hard boiled egg of a Police Detective with her friend and colleague, Dr Maura Isles, an intelligent but socially-blind Cheif medical examiner, working together to solve Murders of the Week. It works very well, and should have remained a strong series despite set backs and personal tragedies, but the writing team behind the scenes changed hands and took the show in a different direction. Apparently, in response to the fan reaction supporting the idea of Jane and Maura becoming an item, they promptly wrote in male love interests for both characters to prevent anyone from doubting the two main character’s sexualities or romantic interests is anything but straight. Nothing is confirmed but the implications have been noted by better notekeepers than myself.

The introduction of the love interests wasn’t as much of a problem for me as obvious signs that the new writers had no idea or care for what came before their involvement. Jane had a dog called Jo Friday, the dog dissappeard off-screen, and eventually we got the bizarre explanation that Jo Friday wasn’t Jane’s to begin with and has been returned to her real owners, which the Mum keeps in touch with. Thank God that explanation was scrambled together, otherwise we might have thought they’d killed off Jane’s beloved pet dog in an arson attack on her flat. The same arson attack that led to her moving in with Maura, which fuelled the relationship rumours the writers became concerned about.

Maura had a tortoise. I don’t know what happened to the Tortoise.  Then we have Jane’s brother Frankie, which is short for Francesco. But you wouldn’t know it from the once-proud Italian-American mother suddenly calling her Italian-American son “Frances”, which just would not have happened in the earlier series. And all  sorts of other little details that were retconned or ignored or over-shadowed in favour of lazy writing, which was clearly starting to affect the actor’s ability to act.

One day I just stopped putting myself through it. Much like what I did with Person of Interest. Talking of…

Person of Interest was a flash in the pan in my eyes, but that might be due to the binge watching. I came to this party very late in the game. It was already on hiatus in America, and it was on Hiatus, from what I can gather, because it lost thousand of viewers over the course of series 4 and something was aired during a mid-season break that got higher ratings so the cast were waiting both to see if the first half of series 5 would be aired, and if it was, whether they would be in the second half. Added to that, the writer’s had admitted to losing interest in the show and did not want to complete it.

Going from series 3 to eventually seeing most of series 4, I can see why it lost viewers. This show, which started off brilliant and almost flawless, and with characters you can believe to be real people, changed into something else. It was a procedural with heart. Finch was the leader, a bruised and broken genius who lost his best friend before the start of the show. He follows the intel a highly intelligent machine gave him, and gave orders to his second in command, John. Along the way, after a lot of pain and anguish, they make trusted acquaintences with two new york coppers, Joss Carter and Lionel Fusco. For the first 2 series, Finch’s greatest enemy is a megalomanic sociopath with computer skills to rival him, she goes by the name of Root and she kidnaps him and terrorises him. John’s ability to take down the enemy for Finch and save people because that’s what good poeple do, Finch’s determination to save people because nobody else can, along with the goodness of Joss Carter and Fusco’s redeption of wanting to do good for Selfless reasons drove the series.

The series all fell apart when the writers dissolved the friendship between Reese and Finsh almost over night during series 3. I don’t like to talk about queer baiting because I still don’t really understand the phrase, but all the work put in to Finch’s past, the relationship parallels between a normal couple of Finch and Reese’s friendship, not to mention the looks between them that don’t seem within the normal paramaters of Friendship, it really feels like a plot bomb that was dropped was the end result of queer baiting and everything was retconned rom there. Then they turned Root from a very scary Baddie, to a redeemed saviour who had all the answers. Suddenly she was better at programming than Finch, a better shot than Reese, and it didn’t matter that she was practically sexually harassing late-joiner Shaw, she was what Shaw was somehow missing after years of working for the ISA. What the Machine was at the start was always going to change, but there’s very little reasoning as to why it had to involve Root being the Machine’s mouth piece over the more logical choice of Reese. Her redemption makes no sense either. It wasn’t like Fusco’s, slow, well written, with acknowledgement of his earlier wrong doings. Root’s is “Well she’s good now because that’s what The Machine wants, let’s forget she spent 2 whole days terrorising Finch, that’s all in the past now~!”

I stalled during watching series 4. I’ve now got 2 episodes of series 4 to watch before I can start series 5 and I just don’t really want to. The procedural element went, there was a lost plotline to do with a third party team getting revenge, and that didn’t really go anywhere, and it does seem to be the “Look at how brilliant Root is at everything” show. That’s not what I signed up for when I started watching the show.

The most recent dissappointment was The Flash. I really liked the first series. I’d been meaning to watch everything Super-hero related everything anyway, I was just waiting for the time to become available as well as the DVDs, then a friend lent me her boxset of The Flash. I watched all of the first series in 2 and a half days. I thought it was Brilliant, and it wonderfully filled in the holes that Person of Interest was leaving me with. It ended on a cliffhanger and I was dying to find out what happened next.

Series 2 did not have the same effect. It started off well enough but somewhere along the line, I think maybe with the Wells we grew to love to hate (and love again if you’re into that sort of thing) going, the dynamics of the show changed. It didn’t quite make the new mark, and the ending annoyed me. This show is superhero procedural with an over-shadowing arc with a Big Bad, much like Buffy the Vampire Slayer was, and as the procedural element was being drowned out by personal drama as the character dynamic shifted and changed, the over-shadowing arc dragged on rather than shone. And then Barry pulled a Barry and left us all wondering why we wasted 23 hours of our lives watching series 2, specifically the Ross and Rachel plot line of Barry and Iris. And then series 3 happened. I won’t get too far into series 3, I think spoiler warnings can sometimes extend to a whole year! But I think it started off weak, everything was a mess canonically and it didn’t make for good watching… besides Julian. That was a nice little gem on an otherwise pile of bricks. I know the fandom loved the Musical episode. I was impressed by the singing, I wasn’t impressed with the execution or arbitrary plot developments leading up to it so that they could have it in the first place.

“Once More With Feeling” it was not.

And the big bad of the series? Called it. Though not the reasonings behind it, because I couldn’t have guesed that mess in a millon years. To me, that part of canon made very little sense whatsoever.

What has happened to this show!? I can only hope, without sounding like i’m mis-quoting D:Ream, things will get better. Before the last episode, I thought if the ending crapped out, I wouldn’t be watching series 4. I’ve heard that Arrow fell in a similar way and redeemed itself during series 4 and came back stronger, so I’m willing to give the 4th series a go. But it has until the 3rd episode to pull me in as much as the first series did, an if it doesn’t, I’m out.

It seems to me that most of these series start with a very strong recipe. They know what they want out of the show, so they know what to put in the show, and then suddenly what they planned ran it’s course. So they throw in personal drama, they change the dynamic, they hope it’ll make their characters grow but put hardly any of the groundwork to make it work like it did in the first series. They guess their audience and half the time they guess wrong.

I’m show hopping right now. I’ve found watchable shows to watch, such as The Blacklist, but nothing that has grabbed in the way that House/Alphas/POI/Rizzoli and Isles/Sports Night/The West Wing/Sherlock/Breakout Kings/Law and Order: Criminal Intent did before their inevitable downfalls.

And that’s what I think about Television now, and televsion shows. It’s only so long until the new shows of today have their inevitable downfalls, so is there really any point in investing time into watching them?

I want to end this on a special mention of the series of long, film length episodes: Hornblower. That show, though it changed over the years, and one of my favourite characters got killed off, never dissappointed me. Upset me, yes, but not dissappointed.


I survived, and to prove it I’m here

Monday 12 June, 2017

To follow up on my last blog post, I have to say that though the response I got from it was minimal, the responses I did get was appreciated. The relaxation techniques were tried (and then subsequently thrown back out the window – Sorry, but breathing calmly does not stop my head being as loud as Lime Street station on a busy day), and the more practical ones about revising did help a lot.

So, how did I think I did in my exam? Well I’d say it was an exam of two halves, which is an achievement in itself considering it had 3 questions. The first one I think I did okay with. I structured part A like an essay, I made and followed an essay in a good order, with all the revelant information I could think of, and part B was writing a short script, which I had fun with whilst trying to show I did understand the stuff I’d written about in part A. The second question started to lose me a bit. I structured it like an essay but half way through my brain shut down and I was struggling for information and coherency. It was my shortest answer and I’m just hoping that through showing what I knew about the metta sutta the length won’t be too much of a problem.

It all fell apart on my 3rd question. I hadn’t been well the week leading up so I wasn’t at my best because of that, I was also on antibiotics for it, which were not playing nice with me at all. I did take a small break to eat which perked me up, but it didn’t take away the wave of tiredness I was hit with or the grinding I was feeling in my ear. My third answer was word vomit of all I could dredge up on the topic of religious Touristification. There was a weak plan, and no structure to the essay. No introduction, no clear conclusion. I forgot locations, so I had to work around it by describing where I meant. I forgot specialist terms, and had to give a roundabout definition of them in the hopes the markers understand I did know what I was trying to say, I was just failing to do so. It was my longest answer and I felt I did as best I could do in the circumstances, but I’m not confident that I did well enough. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, I will be glad if I scrape a pass. I’m not asking or expecting anything more than a pass.

But, I was relieved it was done and leaving the room made me feel a bit better almost instantly.

As soon as I was able to, I went on facebook. And boy was that a mistake. I’m sure in a few years time, I’ll look back and find it funny, but right now the feeling of my heart in my stomach and panic induced nausea is still a bit too fresh.

The normal finish time of the exam was an hour before I finished, so there was already a discussion about who answered what questions and how we felt about them going. I added what questions I answered (2, 8 and 12) and how I felt about them. Under my reply, someone else replied saying they did the same questions as well, “but part b”, they added “was awful!”.

My heart sank, I was devastated. I didn’t do part b, because I didn’t see part b. From what I could remember, in my panic induced haze at the time, the question I did started near the top of the page and ended just before the bottom of the page, and the next page was the last page with “END” or “LAST PAGE” written on it. There had been no more. I’d had nightmares about a similar scenario and I felt like it had come true. I couldn’t get past the idea that I had missed the queston in my eagerness to leave. I also tried to imagine the page was folded badly by the invigilator, or the pages were printed out of order, or left out of the pack altogether, something to make it not my fault, but those ideas didn’t stick. The one where it was all my fault and that I’d failed because of my own incapability stuck, and I was so disappointed in myself. How could I? There is always one person who misses out a question, why did I have to be the one to do it? It was such a “me” thing to do, wasn’t it? The scatterbrained disabled person. Just so typical.

I couldn’t face being on Facebook anymore right them. I went to the loo, I tried and failed to eat an apple, and I waited for my taxi to arrive.

Shortly after getting in the taxi, I got a direct reply to my comment so I risked another peek on the group. What can I say? I didn’t think anything could make me feel worse at that point, so there was no reason to avoid it any longer. It had happened, I couldn’t do anything to change it, I needed to accept it and enjoy the summer holidays.

I spotted a bunch of replies to the reply underneath mine. They were all panicked “WHAT PART B” type questions. “I didn’t do part b either!” were heavenly words to my eyes. A bunch of us had missed part b. I can’t be that much of an idiot if we all missed part b, right? We weren’t All in it together, but some of us were, and that was enough for me.

And then the person who originally wrote the comment replied, with an apology.

“Oh my god guys!”, she said, “I’m so sorry! I meant question 10, not 12!”

I was torn between relief sobbing and flinging my phone out of the taxi.

To summarise to those who might have missed that. I didn’t miss “part B”, because there had been no “part B” to the question I had answered. We were all fine, and I imagine all equally relieved.

 

I don’t plan to do another exam for at least 2 years and I am hoping by then the Open University will see sense and reintroduce EMAs as an equal method of testing students on their knowledge, because I don’t think I want to go through any of that again.

But ultimately I did survive and now I am trying to enjoy my summer. And with summer comes film reviews, so watch this space!