Beyond Wheels

We've all heard the phrase "Growing old gracefully", perhaps used a little too flippantly these days, but will that be the case? When, like me you are a twenty something young man, the nature of your own mortality rarely comes to mind. At the risk of sounding morbid, I find this astonishing because age is a destiny we will all have to face. We all hope that our twilight years will be spent relatively pain free, cherishing the fruits of our labour and loved ones.  Unfortunately, this is a luxury afforded to fewer people then ever before. Some of us will become prisoners of our minds, retreating fretfully into a quagmire of mismatched memories. Whilst those dearest to us watch helplessly, as we descend ever further down the dark tunnel of incoherence that is Dementia. This evil disease is not picky, paying no heed to fame or fortune. I have a close connection to the horrors of Dementia, watching my grandmother succumb to its clutches. At the time of her passing, she wa

It's all kicking off. Over the last fortnight new seasons of the Championship and Premier League have begun respectively. My brother and I am are avid Burton Albion fans. It has been a privilege to watch their meteoric rise from League 2 to the dizzying heights of the Championship. I am lucky to have been a season ticket holder for the majority of that time. We are a family club with strong links to the local community. Whenever I return to the Pirelli Stadium, after the eternity of closed season, it genuinely feels like I am coming home. There is nothing quite like the lush smell of a freshly seeded football pitch.  I digress. I have traveled to numerous football grounds and their disabled facilities are excellent. I always feel welcome and well looked after. The disabled seating area is inevitably a superb vantage point to experience all the action, amidst your fellow fans, saving you from any feelings of segregation. You are the same as everyone else, your passion for the b

It happened again. This week we saw the Bank of England revise the growth forecasts. It appears that the UK is on course for a decade of slow growth and wage stagnation. While the rest of the world flourishes, we will be left stranded on the edge of Europe, reminiscing about the good old days. Our geriatric economy will be unable to support an ageing population, with their spiralling health and social care needs. Efforts to recruit skilled workers from abroad will be useless, due our perceived hatred of foreigners and devalued pound. Astonishingly, the current political narrative seems to view this as collateral damage. A price worth paying to be free from the tyranny of the European Union.  We are about to enter the economic wilderness. Cuts will bite harder than ever, squeezing already stretched public services to breaking point. I live with the constant fear of my care package being shrunk to it's bare bones. The care industry has a chronic problem with staff retention. The

I was impatient. Born 3 months early, I entered this world silently and was rushed to the Special Care Baby Unit. My parents then began an agonising 10 week vigil, watching me cling to the fragile thread that was my life. My home was an incubator and my sole companion was a teddy bear that dwarfed me. My hands still bare scars from numerous tubes and wires, all of which were used to monitor any fluctuations in my condition. Without medical science I would not be writing this blog, however when is it right to let nature take its course? The tragic case of baby Charlie Gard has been splashed across the news for the past 5 months, highlighting the conflict between merely existing and genuine quality of life. We have all seen images of his desperate parents outside countless courts, fighting to keep their son alive. An incredible amount of money was raised to pay for experimental treatments in America, nevertheless judges ruled that Charlie was too ill to be transported. No one can co

Social media surrounds us, massively effecting how we interact with one another. We chronicle our lives through pictures and posts. Even United States policy has been reduced to tweeting. I use Instagram and Twitter to promote this blog. Whilst I recognise the huge potential of social media, I have also experienced it's sinister side.  Before beginning to write this blog I seldom used Instagram or Twitter, now I am a prolific user. I can instantly reach like minded people and expand my own viewpoint, hopefully aiding the scope of my writing. Through Instagram, I stumbled across Laura ( https://www.mumoam.co.uk ) who is an extraordinary writer, who blogs about life with her disabled son, providing insight and comfort to her readers. If my parents had been able to access blogs like Laura’s, I sincerely believe that they would have not felt so isolated - particularly my mum - would have found solace in the fact she wasn't alone.  This week I downloaded “Yellow”, an app th

I have always been hugely passionate about music. From my first breath, music has permeated every aspect of my life, a constant companion through the highs and lows of learning how to cope with my disability. Growing up, when things got too much, I would retreat to the solace of my earphones. A familiar world, without judgement or pain. I would bathe in the rejuvenating melodies, immersing myself in soothing sounds. Similarly, when I need to focus, music is my first port of call. In fact, every blog I write has it's own soundtrack.  Nothing compares to live music. I would recommend it to anyone. You are able to literally feel the music, the way the musician intended their songs to be heard. You become the beat, bass notes morph into your heartbeat. Going to a concert transforms you on a primal level. Adrenaline courses through your veins, leaving you with a euphoric sense of happiness and emotional freedom. Booking the tickets, that is an entirely different story! Ticket m

Welcome to my first blog of July. Incredibly, another month has flown by, as if it were a dandelion in the wind. A month of fascinating political jostling, intermingled with horrific tragedy that left us all questioning what it means to be human. Since I began this blog, I have been astounded by the connections we form today, particularly on Social Media.  Let me tell you a little more about myself. I am a 20 something (the older I get, the more significant the “something” becomes) disabled man. I live in the dead centre of the United Kingdom, a short drive from the picturesque Derbyshire Peak District. I have resided in my own flat for the past 7 years. I require full assistance with all aspects of my daily life, everything from applying aftershave to brushing my teeth.  Having live in care has exposed me to the full spectrum of humanity, good and bad. Imagine opening your front door and inviting in the first stranger you see, desperately trying to find some common ground wit

Last weekend saw the return of Glastonbury, in all it's muddy glory. A visceral manifestation of humankind’s eternal connection to music. The visually spectacular closing set of Ed Sheeran, where he showcased total mastery of the loop pedal and his uncanny ability to pull at your heart strings, as if they were chords on his guitar.  I grew up on a strict diet of Annie Lennox, Mozart and Coldplay. Throughout my life music has been a tremendous antidote to the riggers of my disability, especially in my teenage years. Whenever things got a little too much, I would put in my earphones and escape.  This years Glastonbury had performances from a wide range of artists, an eclectic mix of genres and ideas, even a politician. Jeremy Corbyn entered the Pyramid Stage as a conquering hero to rapturous applause, having won a resounding victory. Unless I am mistaken Corbyn lost, losing so badly his party are 56 seats behind the Conservatives, a Conservative party that failed to win a majori

I awoke on Monday morning after sleeping fitfully, switched on my computer and was greeted once again by images of terror, grief and despair. A van had ploughed into innocent Muslims as they were leaving the Mosque, having finished their midnight prayers as part of Ramadan. I sat watching those all too familiar scenes and a question began to form in my mind, what does it mean to be British? I was born in rural middle England, surrounded by rolling hills and hedgerows. My formative years were spent in a quintessential English village, where the highlight of the calendar was the annual Maypole dance and mobile signals were honours only afforded to “Townies”. We had all the amenities you could wish for - a pub opposite the church - evidently all human needs were met. My regular alarm clock was the neighbouring Rooster, although his time keeping was always a few hours out. Summer Sundays consisted of leisurely strolls along with the occasional barbecue, weather permitting. I am the el

Just as I thought the pantomime of politics had to end, the election results came in. An election that did not need to happen. An election that took the country and the people for granted! We were mere pawns in a game of political chess that spectacularly backfired. We are about to enter perhaps the most significant period in Britain’s recent history, astonishingly Brexit became the least discussed subject of the entire campaign.  Party allegiances aside Brexit should be handled with mature pragmatism, rather than with populous pleasing platitudes. We were promised stability and certainty, instead we are left floundering in fragility. There is no coherence to the messages we are being given. For over half a decade we have been told that Britain needs to become fiscally responsible, paradoxically this week newspapers gleefully reported that "Austerity is over ". Did I miss something? Disabled people live in constant fear of receiving that ominous phone call inform

The election is over. Now what? I am sure that we will all ask ourselves this question at some point in the coming months and years. In the past few years it seems we have been bombarded with slogans, tag lines and hashtags. Does anything change? We will all continue to manage our own mini economies, trying to balance the books whilst endeavouring  to better our lives in small enriching ways. We will be horrified by the insidious face of terror in modern times, which appears to have no regard for innocence. We will marvel at the freakish nature of politics, forever surprising us with the phenomenon of "Fake News" and "alternative facts". As a disabled person living in Britain, I am acutely aware of the disconnect that exists in politics today. They promise to promote inclusion while grappling the gulf of public finances. Some would tell you that the solution  is an easy one, simply tax rich people and the “Land of Milk and Honey” will flourish.