I had never expected to become a filmmaker. It is one of those things totally outside of even my most secret ambitions, of course I admire the people that make professional films, but strangely, recently, I believe I have earned the right to describe myself as a filmmaker.
The films I have made have in all honesty been home-made short films, just over 10 minutes in duration. and although I learned about filmmaking partly through employing professional filmmakers in my role as the Director of an Arts Trust, and made films with members of the local community as a means of developing skills in that community, what I have learned is what can be learned by any one these days, certainly anyone with a Macintosh computer that comes bundled with a film-editing piece of software that is remarkably easy to use.
And of course good quality digital film cameras have become much more affordable over the past few years.
In technical terms, what can be filmed and edited at home these days is of near-broadcast quality, and in fact many Directors employ the use of smaller handheld cameras when they want to give a sense of reality to a moment in film.
Strangely enough my first film made entirely on my own initiative was made very shortly after I had stopped work completely because of disability.
It came about almost accidentally because I had the opportunity to have a week of respite, staying in a care home in Ipswich, and I took with me my Macintosh laptop and my JVC DV camera.
It so happened that the grounds of the home in which I was a resident for a week were most beautiful, and the house itself had been originally built as a Chantry Chapel in the 16th century, and later developed as a country home.
It was said to have had plasterwork created in the 18th century by a famous architect of that period, and it certainly was most beautiful in places.
The grounds had been beautifully laid out as a formal garden, and this was surrounded by acres of what had become civic parkland when the estate came into the ownership of the local borough council in about 1945.
My stay in 2004 coincided with a scheme to make the gardens for the first time accessible to the residents, because the pathways had always been gravel pathways, and of course gravel is not terribly friendly to wheelchair users.
It so happened that a banker from the City of London had had an accident that involved a spinal injury, and the last years of that banker were spent in at this home, and as a legacy thanking the home for the quality of the care that she had received in those final years before sadly dying, the pathways were given the funding to be able to be laid with Tarmac. To this point, the gardens had been visible from important common areas in the home, but they had not been easily accessible by wheelchair.
It so happened that my not for profit film project had discovered the importance of a wheelchair as part of the equipping of our studio.
There is nothing better than to push someone holding a handheld camera in a wheelchair to get an inexpensive long tracking shot, if one cannot afford the cost of a professional steady-cam. Which is about £30,000.
And so it transpired that I arranged to have a push by a carer around the grounds of this newly accessible set of pathways, only completed weeks before my stay, and I took with me my digital video camera.
In this phase I took 20 minutes filming, from which I edited 10 minutes of usable material, to which I added just a couple of minutes of additional footage shot within the house itself.
Once again, with the help of creative software that comes bundled with a Macintosh computer, I composed a soundtrack for my short film, and wrote a couple of poems during my stay one of which was directly inspired by the history of the estate, and by my discovery in my filmmaking trip of a small cluster of gravestones, where family pets had been buried at the turn of the 20th century.
In the end what I created became an homage to the quality of the care that I received in my week's stay, and although I was careful to ensure that the dignity of residents was retained, so that no one was filmed in person, the film made it evident what the purpose of this fabulous building was used for.
This was back in 2004, and earlier this year, in February 2012, this film was selected for exhibition at the International Festival of Disability Film held annually in Calgary, Canada.
One thing leads to another, and at that Festival were two of the organizers of the Moscow International Festival of Disability Film, and they saw my film and were interested in incorporating it into their Festival, which was held just last week in Moscow.
Unfortunately, they have a rule that films must have been made after 2007, and so this film was not eligible.
Fortunately, in about 2009, I had been commissioned to make a short film by my County Council in West Sussex, because word of my creative tendencies had reached some of the senior social workers within the authority.
And so I had been given a small grant to enable me to employ a cameraman, and to cover the costs of tapes and so forth, and out of that project came A Short Film About Independence.
This film has been used extensively for the training of social workers within the County and also further afield, so that for example I have travelled several times to Camden in London where social workers have been wanting to find out more about the way in which I have benefited from Self-Directed Support, whereby I am able to employ my own carers directly because my care budget is paid directly to me.
This film was acceptable to the Moscow organizers, and it was shown last week in Moscow.
When I first made the film, I had imagined that I would make a trilogy of films, what I have latterly, to call my Triptych, the first being the one described, the second a short film about interdependence, and the third a short film about dependence.
Hopefully the titles speak for themselves, so that in a progressive condition like multiple sclerosis it is perhaps inevitable that dependence might supersede independence.
However, just this week I received something from the multiple sclerosis Society that might encourage me to make an additional film, entitled a short film about hope.
At present, although I technically am diagnosed with secondary progressive multiple sclerosis, my condition remains fairly stable.
But these new drug trials holds out the hope of a new treatment that will stop the progression and deterioration that can be an ever present part of this chronic condition.
Like any hope in the context of a currently incurable condition, it must be treated with a degree of caution, and it may well be 10 years before trials of this drug satisfy appropriate medical authorities as to its efficacy.
The positive element in all of this is that the two drugs in question are both already approved from a safety point of view, in that they are already in use for patients with high blood pressure.
Anyway, it is quite interesting for me to feel that there is hope that my condition might continue to be stable, in which case the critical thing for me is to maintain a sense of perspective that is I believe already the reason why my short film about independence has been of interest.
Because I feel a strong sense of commitment to not only providing an insight into my dealing with this disabling condition, but perhaps at the same time providing some sense of insight into attitudes which perfectly healthy people may well find helpful in dealing with the pressures of daily life in the modern world.
I suppose put simply, I still have the power of speech, and as a consequence, new technology enables me to be able to continue to write. And potentially with the aid of a cameraman, to be able to write a film script that I can create a spoken sound track to, and edit.
Long may this continue. Who knows where it may lead me, and I suppose I must be grateful for the fact that in Britain today, we have the benefit of the kind of support for people in my situation so that I am able to have carers that enable me to remain positive and well cared for, and of course to quote my first film, I do have the consequential benefit of time. That most valuable of commodities.
My time is pretty much my own to decide how I should spend it, rather than chasing my tail to keep up my expensive mortgage. Because it would certainly be more expensive if I were to be part of the rat race.
Sunday, 18 November 2012
Thursday, 15 November 2012
Canine Intelligence?
I have a lovely dog called Oscar, who happens to be a girl dog, but this blog post is not about why my dog has a boys name. Something quite different.
Suffice to say we have been together a long time, and many people remark how healthy she is considering her age, which is about 14 or 15. I really can't be certain, simply because she was a rescue dog, and although she was still young when we first met her, her exact birth date is unknown.
That would make her in human terms about 100 years of age.
She is of mixed breeding, which for a dog is probably a good thing, in that she is healthier than many pedigree dogs that have been overbred for the sake of their pedigree.
She is also, in my estimation, a very intelligent dog. Thanks to her having once no doubt gone hungry, from a very early age she could be taught all kinds of simple tricks for the sake of a treat.
One of my favorite films is Contact, starring Jodie Foster and with a script based on a book written by Carl Sagan.
It is about the idea of first contact between humankind and extra-terrestrial intelligence.
When that first contact is made, it is detected by dogged listening to radio transmissions, targeting large areas of the heavens.
When that first contact comes, it is determined that it must be intelligent contact, because what is detected cannot possibly be a natural phenomenon.
It is a series of pulses which register every prime number between 1 and 100 from the smallest through to 100. In order.
Prime numbers are those numbers which are divisible only by themselves and one, and although there are circumstances in which for example the number of petals of a flower can be found to be arranged so that if counted they are a prime number, prime numbers do not occur otherwise in nature.
This in the film leads to the conclusion that it must be contact in the language of mathematics, and the product therefore of intelligence.
Whatever the likelihood or otherwise of the film scenario, it is certainly an intelligently scripted film, and Carl Sagan was a highly respected scientist, with a particular interest in asking questions of the kind that the film raises.
His work did much to popularize scientific thinking among the general public, and there is no doubt that the basis of the film is well thought through, and quite believable, however unlikely it might be that we should live to see such contact take place. Or in this way.
What I have been particularly struck by recently is the way in which my dog seems to bark in prime numbers.
Every time she is let into my small back garden, she will bark, and I cannot help but make a mental note of the number of times that she barks.
This is hardly a scientific study, and in fact it is probably something that is subject to that strange capacity that the brain has for making sense of things where there is no sense. Something that is described in the film The Da Vinci Code as scotoma.
In the context of that film, this is implied to be the capacity that the brain has to fill a vacuum with what it expects to perceive.
When I have checked for a dictionary definition of this, I have only been able to find it described as a condition where sight is partial in part of the eye, and I am reminded from my science education at school of how we all have a blind spot at the back of each eye where the optic nerve enters the back of the eye.
We do not perceive this generally as a blank spot in vision, and this is because the brain is able to make sense of the missing area of vision, filling in the gaps of our otherwise imperfect sight so that we see perfectly, or at least, think that we do.
Anyway, one two and three are all prime numbers, as is five, and so I suppose it may well be the case that there is nothing unusual in what I have perceived to be the case, and my dog is not performing some exceptional feat of mathematical exposition. It is just coincidence combined with my tendency to perceive occasional longer barks as if they are a combination of say any of those small numbers.
However, it does make me wonder the extent to which in nature prime numbers may occur as some accidental factor in such things as how many times a dog might bark.
This is probably something to do with the fact that I don't have enough to keep me active, and as a disabled person, I spend too much time staying around the house, and listening on the occasions when my dog hurls herself into the garden and behaves territorially.
But it is curious that I should continue to notice a tendency towards prime numbers in the frequency of my dogs’ bark frequency, and I would be interested to hear of any other circumstances in which anyone reading this might report similar occurrences.
I would not go so far as to imagine that this is an indication of some greater intelligence at play, more likely simply my tendency to rationalize something that doesn't require rationalization.
Suffice to say we have been together a long time, and many people remark how healthy she is considering her age, which is about 14 or 15. I really can't be certain, simply because she was a rescue dog, and although she was still young when we first met her, her exact birth date is unknown.
That would make her in human terms about 100 years of age.
She is of mixed breeding, which for a dog is probably a good thing, in that she is healthier than many pedigree dogs that have been overbred for the sake of their pedigree.
She is also, in my estimation, a very intelligent dog. Thanks to her having once no doubt gone hungry, from a very early age she could be taught all kinds of simple tricks for the sake of a treat.
One of my favorite films is Contact, starring Jodie Foster and with a script based on a book written by Carl Sagan.
It is about the idea of first contact between humankind and extra-terrestrial intelligence.
When that first contact is made, it is detected by dogged listening to radio transmissions, targeting large areas of the heavens.
When that first contact comes, it is determined that it must be intelligent contact, because what is detected cannot possibly be a natural phenomenon.
It is a series of pulses which register every prime number between 1 and 100 from the smallest through to 100. In order.
Prime numbers are those numbers which are divisible only by themselves and one, and although there are circumstances in which for example the number of petals of a flower can be found to be arranged so that if counted they are a prime number, prime numbers do not occur otherwise in nature.
This in the film leads to the conclusion that it must be contact in the language of mathematics, and the product therefore of intelligence.
Whatever the likelihood or otherwise of the film scenario, it is certainly an intelligently scripted film, and Carl Sagan was a highly respected scientist, with a particular interest in asking questions of the kind that the film raises.
His work did much to popularize scientific thinking among the general public, and there is no doubt that the basis of the film is well thought through, and quite believable, however unlikely it might be that we should live to see such contact take place. Or in this way.
What I have been particularly struck by recently is the way in which my dog seems to bark in prime numbers.
Every time she is let into my small back garden, she will bark, and I cannot help but make a mental note of the number of times that she barks.
This is hardly a scientific study, and in fact it is probably something that is subject to that strange capacity that the brain has for making sense of things where there is no sense. Something that is described in the film The Da Vinci Code as scotoma.
In the context of that film, this is implied to be the capacity that the brain has to fill a vacuum with what it expects to perceive.
When I have checked for a dictionary definition of this, I have only been able to find it described as a condition where sight is partial in part of the eye, and I am reminded from my science education at school of how we all have a blind spot at the back of each eye where the optic nerve enters the back of the eye.
We do not perceive this generally as a blank spot in vision, and this is because the brain is able to make sense of the missing area of vision, filling in the gaps of our otherwise imperfect sight so that we see perfectly, or at least, think that we do.
Anyway, one two and three are all prime numbers, as is five, and so I suppose it may well be the case that there is nothing unusual in what I have perceived to be the case, and my dog is not performing some exceptional feat of mathematical exposition. It is just coincidence combined with my tendency to perceive occasional longer barks as if they are a combination of say any of those small numbers.
However, it does make me wonder the extent to which in nature prime numbers may occur as some accidental factor in such things as how many times a dog might bark.
This is probably something to do with the fact that I don't have enough to keep me active, and as a disabled person, I spend too much time staying around the house, and listening on the occasions when my dog hurls herself into the garden and behaves territorially.
But it is curious that I should continue to notice a tendency towards prime numbers in the frequency of my dogs’ bark frequency, and I would be interested to hear of any other circumstances in which anyone reading this might report similar occurrences.
I would not go so far as to imagine that this is an indication of some greater intelligence at play, more likely simply my tendency to rationalize something that doesn't require rationalization.
Tuesday, 30 October 2012
Another Festival, Another Film
One of my carers had quite a shock over the weekend.
I had spoken to my Care Manager about the fact that over the weekend, I received notification that one of my films had been selected for exhibition at the Moscow International Disability Film Festival that is taking place just a fortnight away.
I had expressed my desire to be able to attend this Festival, and my Care Manager had sent a text to the carer that was to be looking after me for the next couple of weeks whilst my Care Manager is on holiday.
The shock that came in the text was the idea that she should explore all the logistics of flights and so forth, and all of the things associated with traveling long distances when you have the kind of needs that I have.
I have thoroughly enjoyed the shock experienced by my carer, and she is quite relieved to have had my more considered thoughts that of course it would be impractical at such short notice, not least of all because of the difficulty of arranging a Visa at such short notice.
Anyway, all of my efforts are being focused on making sure that the Festival has everything they need to be able to subtitle the film in Russian, and perhaps technology may enable me to take part in some way from the comfort of my apartment on the South Coast.
My friends are of course delighted, not least of all my cameraman Paul who is a great fan of Bond films, his e-mail response to me was along the lines of From Russia With Love, and equally delighted were my friends that work in the world of opera and and enabled me to use a short recording of their work as part of the soundtrack.
It is most surreal for me to contemplate this latest film success, following from my inclusion in the programme of the Calgary Festival in Canada, earlier this year, and so two of my films have been included in different festivals in different parts of the world.
And a short version of this film was considered to be a runner up and shortlisted for a BBC World Service competition earlier this year, and therefore broadcast outside of the UK in a World Service television programme.
I have spoken to my shocked Carer and suggested a further change to the way in which I describe her work for me, which more recently I have in any case changed from Carer to Minder. Mainly because her principle job when we are out and about seems to be keeping me out of trouble.
The latest suggested change is to Handler, which has a ring about it of someone looking after someone important.
But I am not losing perspective entirely.
The irony of my success with my filmmaking, and also with my writing for a national magazine targeted at Carers and Care Managers, is that it has come about only as a consequence of my becoming severely disabled.
But it is some recompense, and certainly gives me a sense of satisfaction that I am still able to contribute something to the world.
I had spoken to my Care Manager about the fact that over the weekend, I received notification that one of my films had been selected for exhibition at the Moscow International Disability Film Festival that is taking place just a fortnight away.
I had expressed my desire to be able to attend this Festival, and my Care Manager had sent a text to the carer that was to be looking after me for the next couple of weeks whilst my Care Manager is on holiday.
The shock that came in the text was the idea that she should explore all the logistics of flights and so forth, and all of the things associated with traveling long distances when you have the kind of needs that I have.
I have thoroughly enjoyed the shock experienced by my carer, and she is quite relieved to have had my more considered thoughts that of course it would be impractical at such short notice, not least of all because of the difficulty of arranging a Visa at such short notice.
Anyway, all of my efforts are being focused on making sure that the Festival has everything they need to be able to subtitle the film in Russian, and perhaps technology may enable me to take part in some way from the comfort of my apartment on the South Coast.
My friends are of course delighted, not least of all my cameraman Paul who is a great fan of Bond films, his e-mail response to me was along the lines of From Russia With Love, and equally delighted were my friends that work in the world of opera and and enabled me to use a short recording of their work as part of the soundtrack.
It is most surreal for me to contemplate this latest film success, following from my inclusion in the programme of the Calgary Festival in Canada, earlier this year, and so two of my films have been included in different festivals in different parts of the world.
And a short version of this film was considered to be a runner up and shortlisted for a BBC World Service competition earlier this year, and therefore broadcast outside of the UK in a World Service television programme.
I have spoken to my shocked Carer and suggested a further change to the way in which I describe her work for me, which more recently I have in any case changed from Carer to Minder. Mainly because her principle job when we are out and about seems to be keeping me out of trouble.
The latest suggested change is to Handler, which has a ring about it of someone looking after someone important.
But I am not losing perspective entirely.
The irony of my success with my filmmaking, and also with my writing for a national magazine targeted at Carers and Care Managers, is that it has come about only as a consequence of my becoming severely disabled.
But it is some recompense, and certainly gives me a sense of satisfaction that I am still able to contribute something to the world.
Saturday, 27 October 2012
The Reminiscence Of A Fire
This morning, the carer that looks after me every weekend told me a story. It is the kind of story that makes me feel something is very wrong with the world.
For the sake of not upsetting too many people, I won't say exactly which country my carer was talking about, although many of you reading this may well have seen something similar within your own culture.
Whether you’d find it as distressing as I have depends upon whether you are like me or not, and I am a self confessed bibliophile, and my shelves are groaning with numerous antiquarian volumes, which I feel I have rescued from the kind of fate that my story indicates.
What my carer explained was that he had visited a house in this nameless country, and had been impressed with the way in which it appeared to be filled with books. Almost every wall, often behind glass fronted cases were interesting looking books, clearly of antiquarian interest.
At this point, I will make my first small digression.
My favorite old book on my own shelves is a first edition (the only edition) of a book first published in 1676.
It is the kind of book that any university library would be proud to own, and my copy is in poor condition though complete with all of its fabulous engravings.
Included in these engravings is the first ever pictorial representation of what a Druid looked like, and although no-one really knows what they looked like, this engraving is interesting because every pictorial representation after this date of a Druid seems to have been based upon it.
So for example Stukesley, who first surveyed Avebury and attributed it to the Druids in the 18th century, produced images of what the Druids looked like, and these images seem to have been based almost exactly on these first representations of what the Druids looked like.
In fact, Gandalf the Grey in Lord Of The Rings could also have been based on this pictorial representation.
Additionally, the volume contains lineages of the Saxon Kings, and traces many of them back as far as Noah. It is anthropologically interesting, because when King Arthur is mentioned, very little is said about him, because of course so much of what we think we know about King Arthur is a Victorian romance, concocted many years after this book was first published.
I have many other battered old volumes, which in better condition would be valuable to collectors, but I am an inveterate rescuer of old books, especially those with beautiful engravings or images, and I have a sense of duty to prevent them from being broken up so that their illustrations can be framed, often making more money than a copy of the book in poor condition.
Another favorite of mine I always describe as The Rough Guide to London for 1801, a small pocket sized volume which would have been targeted at the Gentleman visiting London for the first time in the early 18th century. It lists all of the places of interest, all of the salons where music can be heard, and is an extraordinary insight into the early history of London.
My copy is worth much less because the external boards have become separated from the book, and besides, I would not be able to afford a copy in good condition.
My carers’ story was simply that the apparent library contents of this house proved on closer examination to be simply the first inch or so of interesting books, in effect to make the owners seem as if they were well read, but in effect demonstrating that they cared nothing for the fate of such volumes, if indeed they had been created by the destruction of original old books.
I was reminded of a poem written ny me perhaps 25 years ago, after my own personal collection of books from my earliest years to my mid 20s were destroyed in a fire, as they were being stored in the attic of the large house that had its roof completely destroyed as the consequence of an accidental fire.
Fortunately nobody was injured in the blaze, but the cost of replacing the roof was £250,000, giving some indication of the scale and historic importance of the house.
I was working at the house, and hence most of my personal property was in storage in this extensive roof space, and unfortunately although the building itself had been insured, staff property was not insured, and so I lost many precious volumes, and all of my University textbooks, from my Philosophy degree, in this unfortunate Winter fire.
And so perhaps the terrible nature of this story told to me this morning can be appreciated. The destruction of books is a terrible thing, and on occasions in the past when it has been undertaken as an act of vandalism, it has usually been associated with some terrible political calamity.
Reminiscence Of A Fire In 1985
All the books I have ever read
lay scattered by the winds,
charred and burned out hearts
recognized like old friends
as leaves of text flutter in the breeze.
An accidental pyre in the cold of Winter
leaves behind the body of my childhood
to become food for new Spring growth.
The love of books is a love of life
no less to be mourned
when lost. After the fire
home comfort to destruction
what remains will be purged
by Nature's waiting furies.
Stephen Page
For the sake of not upsetting too many people, I won't say exactly which country my carer was talking about, although many of you reading this may well have seen something similar within your own culture.
Whether you’d find it as distressing as I have depends upon whether you are like me or not, and I am a self confessed bibliophile, and my shelves are groaning with numerous antiquarian volumes, which I feel I have rescued from the kind of fate that my story indicates.
What my carer explained was that he had visited a house in this nameless country, and had been impressed with the way in which it appeared to be filled with books. Almost every wall, often behind glass fronted cases were interesting looking books, clearly of antiquarian interest.
At this point, I will make my first small digression.
My favorite old book on my own shelves is a first edition (the only edition) of a book first published in 1676.
It is the kind of book that any university library would be proud to own, and my copy is in poor condition though complete with all of its fabulous engravings.
Included in these engravings is the first ever pictorial representation of what a Druid looked like, and although no-one really knows what they looked like, this engraving is interesting because every pictorial representation after this date of a Druid seems to have been based upon it.
So for example Stukesley, who first surveyed Avebury and attributed it to the Druids in the 18th century, produced images of what the Druids looked like, and these images seem to have been based almost exactly on these first representations of what the Druids looked like.
In fact, Gandalf the Grey in Lord Of The Rings could also have been based on this pictorial representation.
Additionally, the volume contains lineages of the Saxon Kings, and traces many of them back as far as Noah. It is anthropologically interesting, because when King Arthur is mentioned, very little is said about him, because of course so much of what we think we know about King Arthur is a Victorian romance, concocted many years after this book was first published.
I have many other battered old volumes, which in better condition would be valuable to collectors, but I am an inveterate rescuer of old books, especially those with beautiful engravings or images, and I have a sense of duty to prevent them from being broken up so that their illustrations can be framed, often making more money than a copy of the book in poor condition.
Another favorite of mine I always describe as The Rough Guide to London for 1801, a small pocket sized volume which would have been targeted at the Gentleman visiting London for the first time in the early 18th century. It lists all of the places of interest, all of the salons where music can be heard, and is an extraordinary insight into the early history of London.
My copy is worth much less because the external boards have become separated from the book, and besides, I would not be able to afford a copy in good condition.
My carers’ story was simply that the apparent library contents of this house proved on closer examination to be simply the first inch or so of interesting books, in effect to make the owners seem as if they were well read, but in effect demonstrating that they cared nothing for the fate of such volumes, if indeed they had been created by the destruction of original old books.
I was reminded of a poem written ny me perhaps 25 years ago, after my own personal collection of books from my earliest years to my mid 20s were destroyed in a fire, as they were being stored in the attic of the large house that had its roof completely destroyed as the consequence of an accidental fire.
Fortunately nobody was injured in the blaze, but the cost of replacing the roof was £250,000, giving some indication of the scale and historic importance of the house.
I was working at the house, and hence most of my personal property was in storage in this extensive roof space, and unfortunately although the building itself had been insured, staff property was not insured, and so I lost many precious volumes, and all of my University textbooks, from my Philosophy degree, in this unfortunate Winter fire.
And so perhaps the terrible nature of this story told to me this morning can be appreciated. The destruction of books is a terrible thing, and on occasions in the past when it has been undertaken as an act of vandalism, it has usually been associated with some terrible political calamity.
Reminiscence Of A Fire In 1985
All the books I have ever read
lay scattered by the winds,
charred and burned out hearts
recognized like old friends
as leaves of text flutter in the breeze.
An accidental pyre in the cold of Winter
leaves behind the body of my childhood
to become food for new Spring growth.
The love of books is a love of life
no less to be mourned
when lost. After the fire
home comfort to destruction
what remains will be purged
by Nature's waiting furies.
Stephen Page
Friday, 26 October 2012
A Moment Of Reflection
I haven't written as many blog posts as I have become accustomed to recently. Over the past couple of weeks or so, so that my September total was quite small, and my October output almost Zero.
This isn't anything to do with me having run out of steam, or lacking ideas. If anything, I have paused quite consciously so that I can observe the rate at which my blog has continued to be read in spite on my lack of regularity in creating new posts.
Interestingly, this month has been an important month for me from the point of view of the way in which my care is funded.
Some of you may have read about the way in which I benefit from something called Self-Directed Support (SDS), something relatively new in the world of providing independence to people with disabilities in Britain.
Instead of having a contracted agency paid for by the local County Council, I am paid directly an assessed amount based upon the strict criteria applied by the Council and according to my needs.
In return, I provide regular reports as to the way in which I have spent the allocated monies, which is principally on the salaries of the half a dozen staff that support me with personal care, providing my meals, and more recently a programme of physiotherapy to maintain the capacities I currently have.
This week, I have had my annual review, in which an officer from the County Council has visited to see how I have been managing on this new scheme, and to see how if at all my condition, multiple sclerosis, has changed, and perhaps affected the way in which I have been managing my care.
It's not that this review has taken up a great deal of time, in fact it was much less stressful than such an annual review might be considered to be, especially in such straightened financial times that we live in in the United Kingdom.
Of far more interest than simply my adherence to the schemes’ requirements and the possibilities of savings, were the outcomes of my participation in SDS. I was able to talk about the sort of things that I have been doing as a consequence of the support my care package has provided, and this has taken into account not only the practical satisfaction of my daily needs such as dressing and washing, but also my social self, my ability to take part in those things that are so much taken for granted when we are able to live independently almost without thinking.
My assessor was very interested in some of the things that I undertake, not least of all my blog, and interestingly there was a significant spike in the number of page views just the day after my assessor's visit which I can only assume has been because she has actually had a look at some of my blog posts, and in fact passed on the details of my blog to some of her colleagues, because of the way in which some of my blog posts have received several hits over the course of a couple of days.
This is very gratifying, and added to the fact that I have just passed the important milestone of my 1000th page view, has perhaps contributed to my taking a moment to reflect on what I might do next.
I think it's important sometimes to take time over these reflections, and my first thoughts have been to look at ways in which I can more effectively promote my blog, and perhaps specifically in order to promote the sales of my special edition of my first book of poetry, all proceeds from the sales of which will be entirely for the benefit of the Hospital Home for Soldiers just across the road from where I live in Worthing.
I have written about this important institution in several of my blogs, and from my 70 blogs, my absolute favorite has been my blog post entitled Diaghilev and Lady Ripon.
I will of course be continuing to write my posts, and I am even contemplating putting together all of them as if they were the chapters in a book, just to see how effectively it might work as perhaps an electronic book. Into the modern age I might venture, with perhaps a Kindle publication, aimed at further supporting the hospital that I have already mentioned.
I continue to write occasional articles for the magazine Care Talk, and this gives me great pleasure and satisfaction. It was always an ambition of mine to write perhaps in some national context, and the fact that it has taken my disability to give me my material is simply background. Nothing to feel saddened by, no more than anything might affect the flow of one's life.
And so a period of reflection, perhaps natural when I have just celebrated my own birthday, and yesterday my mother celebrated her 93rd birthday. More reflection perhaps.
Whatever the outcome of my navel gazing, I will come refreshed to my task, and hopefully witha new vigour and purpose.
As the ancient philosopher Heraclitus once wrote, a human life is like a river, constantly flowing, perhaps varying in width according to the season, and we lead our lives as if we are dipping our feet into this constantly flowing stream.
Perhaps it's about time I started swimming, not necessarily against the stream, but simply because I can still swim.
This isn't anything to do with me having run out of steam, or lacking ideas. If anything, I have paused quite consciously so that I can observe the rate at which my blog has continued to be read in spite on my lack of regularity in creating new posts.
Interestingly, this month has been an important month for me from the point of view of the way in which my care is funded.
Some of you may have read about the way in which I benefit from something called Self-Directed Support (SDS), something relatively new in the world of providing independence to people with disabilities in Britain.
Instead of having a contracted agency paid for by the local County Council, I am paid directly an assessed amount based upon the strict criteria applied by the Council and according to my needs.
In return, I provide regular reports as to the way in which I have spent the allocated monies, which is principally on the salaries of the half a dozen staff that support me with personal care, providing my meals, and more recently a programme of physiotherapy to maintain the capacities I currently have.
This week, I have had my annual review, in which an officer from the County Council has visited to see how I have been managing on this new scheme, and to see how if at all my condition, multiple sclerosis, has changed, and perhaps affected the way in which I have been managing my care.
It's not that this review has taken up a great deal of time, in fact it was much less stressful than such an annual review might be considered to be, especially in such straightened financial times that we live in in the United Kingdom.
Of far more interest than simply my adherence to the schemes’ requirements and the possibilities of savings, were the outcomes of my participation in SDS. I was able to talk about the sort of things that I have been doing as a consequence of the support my care package has provided, and this has taken into account not only the practical satisfaction of my daily needs such as dressing and washing, but also my social self, my ability to take part in those things that are so much taken for granted when we are able to live independently almost without thinking.
My assessor was very interested in some of the things that I undertake, not least of all my blog, and interestingly there was a significant spike in the number of page views just the day after my assessor's visit which I can only assume has been because she has actually had a look at some of my blog posts, and in fact passed on the details of my blog to some of her colleagues, because of the way in which some of my blog posts have received several hits over the course of a couple of days.
This is very gratifying, and added to the fact that I have just passed the important milestone of my 1000th page view, has perhaps contributed to my taking a moment to reflect on what I might do next.
I think it's important sometimes to take time over these reflections, and my first thoughts have been to look at ways in which I can more effectively promote my blog, and perhaps specifically in order to promote the sales of my special edition of my first book of poetry, all proceeds from the sales of which will be entirely for the benefit of the Hospital Home for Soldiers just across the road from where I live in Worthing.
I have written about this important institution in several of my blogs, and from my 70 blogs, my absolute favorite has been my blog post entitled Diaghilev and Lady Ripon.
I will of course be continuing to write my posts, and I am even contemplating putting together all of them as if they were the chapters in a book, just to see how effectively it might work as perhaps an electronic book. Into the modern age I might venture, with perhaps a Kindle publication, aimed at further supporting the hospital that I have already mentioned.
I continue to write occasional articles for the magazine Care Talk, and this gives me great pleasure and satisfaction. It was always an ambition of mine to write perhaps in some national context, and the fact that it has taken my disability to give me my material is simply background. Nothing to feel saddened by, no more than anything might affect the flow of one's life.
And so a period of reflection, perhaps natural when I have just celebrated my own birthday, and yesterday my mother celebrated her 93rd birthday. More reflection perhaps.
Whatever the outcome of my navel gazing, I will come refreshed to my task, and hopefully witha new vigour and purpose.
As the ancient philosopher Heraclitus once wrote, a human life is like a river, constantly flowing, perhaps varying in width according to the season, and we lead our lives as if we are dipping our feet into this constantly flowing stream.
Perhaps it's about time I started swimming, not necessarily against the stream, but simply because I can still swim.
Tuesday, 25 September 2012
The Quiet American And Other Stories
It was my birthday yesterday, and like most anniversaries, a time for reflection perhaps. For me, as someone severely disabled, a time to reflect on not only how my life has been changed by my disability, but perhaps more positively how much I have achieved in spite of my disability.
That I can still speak means that I can use the voice-activated software with which I can write my blog.
The fact that I can use my Macintosh computer fairly effectively means that I have a connection still with the world.
Recently, I have discovered that the broadcast films I record with my hard disc recorder can be transferred to my computer, and so I have a library of almost 200 films available at my fingertips.
I am a great fan of good films, films with a good story.
I don't like horror and fantasy too much, but otherwise my tastes are fairly eclectic.
The other day, I discovered something interesting when I watch a film entitled The Quiet American. This is based upon a Graham Greene story, and is not the first of his books to have been made into a film.
It is as fascinating as his output of other novels, and doesn't disappoint when translated to the screen. In this case, Michael Caine is the lead actor, and it is typically thrilling, with a surprising and yet perhaps typically for Graham Greene, morally challenging ending.
What was more interesting for me personally was the way in which it made me realise some of the connections I have made in the world. Before I became not exactly reclusive, but more limited in what I can achieve.
Disability does not stop the imagination, and within reasonable bounds, so much more can be achieved than anyone might typically realize.
So for example, my birthday treat to myself this year was to attend a performance of The Magic Flute at English National Opera in London.
The fact that I am in receipt of Self-Directed Support makes this kind of outing more straightforward to plan, because the lengthy journey means that I require the attendance of a carer, and in this case, there were engineering works which prevented me from getting directly to London by train.
Fortunately, the train companies have taken seriously with the requirements of the Disability Discrimination Act, and provided me with a taxi to pick up the train from Littlehampton, enabling me to travel to London to see the performance, a matinee and the last opportunity to see this production by Nicholas Hytner.
It was stretching my capacity to travel from home to its limit, but it was a success. And a memorable one.
Going to the Opera is a strong reminder of the life I used to lead, in the Education Department of Opera North, the full name for which was originally English National Opera North. A Northern outpost of the London based National company.
Although I am not a musician, my work at Opera North enabled me to go on and become the Development Director at the Scottish Chamber Orchestra in Edinburgh, where I was responsible in effect for the education programme.
This is where I came into contact with the composer Craig Armstrong, who I was surprised to discover had composed the soundtrack for the film version of The Quiet American.
He has also composed the soundtracks of films such as Love Actually, and Moulin Rouge. He has a number of other film credits to his name, but too many to list.
I had tea with Craig in his Glasgow house once, when I employed him to work with students at the Edinburgh School of Art to help them compose soundtracks for their animated shorts. It was part of my work for the Scottish Chamber Orchestra, and the resulting compositions were performed live by a small ensemble of about five musicians from the orchestra, to accompany a showing of the student's films.
It was a great success, and Craig asked for the same person to conduct his music at this event as conducted the music that was recorded for Moulin Rouge.
And so whenever I see one of the films that Craig Armstrong is credited as the composer, I have the glow of pride that comes from having been connected to much greater things in the world.
It is those connections, and the strangeness of them that constantly surprises me. When I saw The Quiet American I was reminded that I had once or twice slept overnight in the house in London where Graham Greene once lived.
A friend of mine was living in the house, which had passed to the granddaughter or great granddaughter of the author, and a number of mainly women shared the house, and therefore its upkeep.
I can remember that one of the girls that had lived in the house had been an unfortunate member of the party that had been involved in the sinking of a boat on the River Thames, when so many young people died in a tragic river accident. The Marchioness claimed so many lives.
And so another sadder connection to world events, and I am sure most of us, if we care to look, can discover a network of connections that stretch strangely far into the world.
That I can still speak means that I can use the voice-activated software with which I can write my blog.
The fact that I can use my Macintosh computer fairly effectively means that I have a connection still with the world.
Recently, I have discovered that the broadcast films I record with my hard disc recorder can be transferred to my computer, and so I have a library of almost 200 films available at my fingertips.
I am a great fan of good films, films with a good story.
I don't like horror and fantasy too much, but otherwise my tastes are fairly eclectic.
The other day, I discovered something interesting when I watch a film entitled The Quiet American. This is based upon a Graham Greene story, and is not the first of his books to have been made into a film.
It is as fascinating as his output of other novels, and doesn't disappoint when translated to the screen. In this case, Michael Caine is the lead actor, and it is typically thrilling, with a surprising and yet perhaps typically for Graham Greene, morally challenging ending.
What was more interesting for me personally was the way in which it made me realise some of the connections I have made in the world. Before I became not exactly reclusive, but more limited in what I can achieve.
Disability does not stop the imagination, and within reasonable bounds, so much more can be achieved than anyone might typically realize.
So for example, my birthday treat to myself this year was to attend a performance of The Magic Flute at English National Opera in London.
The fact that I am in receipt of Self-Directed Support makes this kind of outing more straightforward to plan, because the lengthy journey means that I require the attendance of a carer, and in this case, there were engineering works which prevented me from getting directly to London by train.
Fortunately, the train companies have taken seriously with the requirements of the Disability Discrimination Act, and provided me with a taxi to pick up the train from Littlehampton, enabling me to travel to London to see the performance, a matinee and the last opportunity to see this production by Nicholas Hytner.
It was stretching my capacity to travel from home to its limit, but it was a success. And a memorable one.
Going to the Opera is a strong reminder of the life I used to lead, in the Education Department of Opera North, the full name for which was originally English National Opera North. A Northern outpost of the London based National company.
Although I am not a musician, my work at Opera North enabled me to go on and become the Development Director at the Scottish Chamber Orchestra in Edinburgh, where I was responsible in effect for the education programme.
This is where I came into contact with the composer Craig Armstrong, who I was surprised to discover had composed the soundtrack for the film version of The Quiet American.
He has also composed the soundtracks of films such as Love Actually, and Moulin Rouge. He has a number of other film credits to his name, but too many to list.
I had tea with Craig in his Glasgow house once, when I employed him to work with students at the Edinburgh School of Art to help them compose soundtracks for their animated shorts. It was part of my work for the Scottish Chamber Orchestra, and the resulting compositions were performed live by a small ensemble of about five musicians from the orchestra, to accompany a showing of the student's films.
It was a great success, and Craig asked for the same person to conduct his music at this event as conducted the music that was recorded for Moulin Rouge.
And so whenever I see one of the films that Craig Armstrong is credited as the composer, I have the glow of pride that comes from having been connected to much greater things in the world.
It is those connections, and the strangeness of them that constantly surprises me. When I saw The Quiet American I was reminded that I had once or twice slept overnight in the house in London where Graham Greene once lived.
A friend of mine was living in the house, which had passed to the granddaughter or great granddaughter of the author, and a number of mainly women shared the house, and therefore its upkeep.
I can remember that one of the girls that had lived in the house had been an unfortunate member of the party that had been involved in the sinking of a boat on the River Thames, when so many young people died in a tragic river accident. The Marchioness claimed so many lives.
And so another sadder connection to world events, and I am sure most of us, if we care to look, can discover a network of connections that stretch strangely far into the world.
Tuesday, 11 September 2012
A Worthy Challenge For Those Post-Olympic Blues
I suspect I am not alone in feeling bereft of something, now that the Olympic period has drawn to a close.
In the wake of this, I have an appropriate and worthy challenge for all of my blog readers, across the world. Please pass it on.
In the eight months that I have been writing my blog, nearly 1000 page-views have been registered on my statistics, and the reading of the statistics resembles in some small way the medal table for the Olympics.
In other words, a large number of countries have been represented, often surprising to me, and this has given me the idea for a challenge that is perhaps my way of competing for that wave of opprobrium that so many of the athletes, and not just those from team GB, have experienced in that stadium that has no doubt in this focus of a worldwide audience for the past several weeks.
My concept is simple, and like the Olympics, participation need not cost anything.
On the other hand, for a small cost, it will be possible to earn for your country a gold medal in the medal table. Perhaps this cost, because of its charitable application, should be compared to the effort that a gold medallist might invest in their preparations for the Olympics.
The worthy cause I have in mind is a Hospital, and not just any Hospital.
It happens to be just across the road from where I live in Worthing in West Sussex, but it began life in 1915 as the George V Hospital in London, where its construction took place in the shell of the Imperial Stationery Office, which was in the process of construction at the time.
The plans were swiftly altered, and a 2000 bed Hospital came into being, which was the first point of treatment for so many of the badly injured soldiers returning from the front from the trenches of The Great War.
Perhaps unsurprisingly the work of this Hospital did not end with the signing of the armistice in 1918, and until its move to Worthing in 1933, where it still continues to provide support and rehabilitation to members of the armed services predominantly, it was located just north of London in a country house that was provided on a charitable basis by the Charrington Brewery family.
It was the place where Douglas Bader got his tin legs fitted, in the film Reach For The Sky, and today although there are additional patients not drawn from the services, it is still fundamentally a home for soldiers ranging in age from 22 years to 100 years of age.
It is an extraordinary place with an extraordinary history, and I have been greatly honoured by the fact that my first volume of poetry is available for sale through the fund-raising shop online at the Hospital, with all proceeds from sales contributing to maintaining the extraordinary standards that the home achieves.
I think part of the reason for my confidence in approaching the Hospital with this idea for a fundraising proposal was that when I gave two copies of my book of poems to my local Library, one copy was placed in the Lending Library, and one copy was lodged in the prestigious County Local History Collection, recognizing perhaps not so much the quality of my poetry as the fact that I have included in this special fund-raising edition an essay about meeting Dame Vera Lynn at the hospital, and both Dame Vera and the Hospital are considered important enough for my volume to have been included in this collection, where it is rubbing shoulders with works by Shelley, Kipling, and Balzac.
At the 2012 International Festival of Disability Film, in Calgary, Canada a short 12 minute film made and edited by me was accepted for exhibition, and this film includes two of my poems, completed whilst I was on location during a respite week at an extraordinary historic home near Ipswich, which is very much the subject of this short film, and the quality of the care that I received during my respite week there with the Sue Ryder Trust.
I had hoped that my film might have made its way into the Cultural Olympiad which has taken place alongside the Olympics, but have been unsuccessful in my efforts.
But these three things, my book and its purpose, the film and its ambition, and perhaps simply my blog, might satisfy the gold, silver, and bronze which athletes have striven for in competition.
And so what I propose is to produce a medal table, say one year from today, just three days after team GB have paraded majestically through London, in which participation is possible in these three different ways.
A gold medal is achieved if a copy of my poems in this special fund-raising edition is purchased, directly from the Hospital, a silver medal is allocated if the film is viewed and I am notified in some way, and a bronze can be achieved simply by reading my poetry online, which can be done free of charge through my print on demand publisher.
It is a kind of challenge I suppose, but I have been so impressed at the way in which my blog has achieved such a wide readership, that I believe perhaps this could be translated to the purpose I have outlined.
It is so much in the spirit of the Olympics, in that participation itself is the object. I will not benefit personally at all financially, but the Hospital may.
And so I provide within this blog all of the links needed to participate, and you have my word as an equivalent to the oath taken by athletes and judges alike that fairness will be my constant companion.
Perhaps the point to aim for in my special edition is the essay about my meeting with Dame Vera Lynn at the Hospital, which is a short 3000 word piece, and will give a small flavour of the Hospital at one of its annual open days.
At the end of the book, I provide my e-mail address, but comments about the film could be communicated via YouTube, the link also provided.
I will ask the hospital to keep me informed of Gold medal purchases, and as no copies have as yet been purchased, there is no hidden home advantage.
Although you can read the poems for yourself, if you did need any recommendation, I have received my first Arts Council of Great Britain award for a project linked to this volume. This ought to be some recommendation of its quality.
Good luck and thank you in advance if you should take part in this challenge.
It is after all a worthy cause.
To purchase:
http://www.qahh.org.uk/get-involved/donate/shop/
The Film:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sPDcI8cTSLo
The poems:
http://www.completelynovel.com/books/50-x-50-useful-poetry-for-troubled-times-extended-edition--2/read-online
In the wake of this, I have an appropriate and worthy challenge for all of my blog readers, across the world. Please pass it on.
In the eight months that I have been writing my blog, nearly 1000 page-views have been registered on my statistics, and the reading of the statistics resembles in some small way the medal table for the Olympics.
In other words, a large number of countries have been represented, often surprising to me, and this has given me the idea for a challenge that is perhaps my way of competing for that wave of opprobrium that so many of the athletes, and not just those from team GB, have experienced in that stadium that has no doubt in this focus of a worldwide audience for the past several weeks.
My concept is simple, and like the Olympics, participation need not cost anything.
On the other hand, for a small cost, it will be possible to earn for your country a gold medal in the medal table. Perhaps this cost, because of its charitable application, should be compared to the effort that a gold medallist might invest in their preparations for the Olympics.
The worthy cause I have in mind is a Hospital, and not just any Hospital.
It happens to be just across the road from where I live in Worthing in West Sussex, but it began life in 1915 as the George V Hospital in London, where its construction took place in the shell of the Imperial Stationery Office, which was in the process of construction at the time.
The plans were swiftly altered, and a 2000 bed Hospital came into being, which was the first point of treatment for so many of the badly injured soldiers returning from the front from the trenches of The Great War.
Perhaps unsurprisingly the work of this Hospital did not end with the signing of the armistice in 1918, and until its move to Worthing in 1933, where it still continues to provide support and rehabilitation to members of the armed services predominantly, it was located just north of London in a country house that was provided on a charitable basis by the Charrington Brewery family.
It was the place where Douglas Bader got his tin legs fitted, in the film Reach For The Sky, and today although there are additional patients not drawn from the services, it is still fundamentally a home for soldiers ranging in age from 22 years to 100 years of age.
It is an extraordinary place with an extraordinary history, and I have been greatly honoured by the fact that my first volume of poetry is available for sale through the fund-raising shop online at the Hospital, with all proceeds from sales contributing to maintaining the extraordinary standards that the home achieves.
I think part of the reason for my confidence in approaching the Hospital with this idea for a fundraising proposal was that when I gave two copies of my book of poems to my local Library, one copy was placed in the Lending Library, and one copy was lodged in the prestigious County Local History Collection, recognizing perhaps not so much the quality of my poetry as the fact that I have included in this special fund-raising edition an essay about meeting Dame Vera Lynn at the hospital, and both Dame Vera and the Hospital are considered important enough for my volume to have been included in this collection, where it is rubbing shoulders with works by Shelley, Kipling, and Balzac.
At the 2012 International Festival of Disability Film, in Calgary, Canada a short 12 minute film made and edited by me was accepted for exhibition, and this film includes two of my poems, completed whilst I was on location during a respite week at an extraordinary historic home near Ipswich, which is very much the subject of this short film, and the quality of the care that I received during my respite week there with the Sue Ryder Trust.
I had hoped that my film might have made its way into the Cultural Olympiad which has taken place alongside the Olympics, but have been unsuccessful in my efforts.
But these three things, my book and its purpose, the film and its ambition, and perhaps simply my blog, might satisfy the gold, silver, and bronze which athletes have striven for in competition.
And so what I propose is to produce a medal table, say one year from today, just three days after team GB have paraded majestically through London, in which participation is possible in these three different ways.
A gold medal is achieved if a copy of my poems in this special fund-raising edition is purchased, directly from the Hospital, a silver medal is allocated if the film is viewed and I am notified in some way, and a bronze can be achieved simply by reading my poetry online, which can be done free of charge through my print on demand publisher.
It is a kind of challenge I suppose, but I have been so impressed at the way in which my blog has achieved such a wide readership, that I believe perhaps this could be translated to the purpose I have outlined.
It is so much in the spirit of the Olympics, in that participation itself is the object. I will not benefit personally at all financially, but the Hospital may.
And so I provide within this blog all of the links needed to participate, and you have my word as an equivalent to the oath taken by athletes and judges alike that fairness will be my constant companion.
Perhaps the point to aim for in my special edition is the essay about my meeting with Dame Vera Lynn at the Hospital, which is a short 3000 word piece, and will give a small flavour of the Hospital at one of its annual open days.
At the end of the book, I provide my e-mail address, but comments about the film could be communicated via YouTube, the link also provided.
I will ask the hospital to keep me informed of Gold medal purchases, and as no copies have as yet been purchased, there is no hidden home advantage.
Although you can read the poems for yourself, if you did need any recommendation, I have received my first Arts Council of Great Britain award for a project linked to this volume. This ought to be some recommendation of its quality.
Good luck and thank you in advance if you should take part in this challenge.
It is after all a worthy cause.
To purchase:
http://www.qahh.org.uk/get-involved/donate/shop/
The Film:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sPDcI8cTSLo
The poems:
http://www.completelynovel.com/books/50-x-50-useful-poetry-for-troubled-times-extended-edition--2/read-online
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