Beyond Wheels

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 m...

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.  ...