Beyond Wheels

My life revolves around trust, shaping all elements of my existence. I have no choice but to bestow the most intimate aspects of personal care to people I barely know, leaving me vulnerable and open to abuse. Thankfully, the vast majority of society are generally trustworthy and honest. Living independently has taught me the art of patience and compromise. I have yet to find a “perfect” carer, a person who slots into my life seamlessly without invading my privacy, even if they had no intention of doing so.  In previous blogs, I have spoken about feeling as if I reside in my very own Big Brother house, endeavouring to cope with the endless new faces that appear on my doorstep, whilst trying to live an active lifestyle.  I have come to the realisation that all of human life is adaptation. Growing up, I had to come to terms with my Cerebral Palsy, constantly seeking ingenious ways to interact with the world around me.  My adolescent years were extraordinarily diffic...

Throughout my life, I have felt trapped between two realms, disabled and able-bodied, never quite inhabiting either of them. Growing up, I struggled to reconcile my disability with the movement of my mind. I would longingly watch my brothers play football, wishing my muscles would spark into motion.  Music has always captivated me. My early life is littered with memories of my Mother’s beautiful piano playing. Her fingers seemed to operate independently of her, lovingly caressing the keys. There I would sit, mesmerised by the magical notes floating on air, dreaming of my crooked bones conjuring those sounds into existence.  I spent most of my early education in special needs schools. As my ninth birthday approached, I was enrolled at my local primary school for the final eighteen months of junior school. My parents believed this would soften my transition into the mainstream system, before making the much more significant leap to secondary school. My parents were right....

The clock ticks ever onwards. The transition deal is finally signed, and the sunlit lands of a post-Brexit future await us, at least according to some politicians. Over the past eighteen months, I have had the distinct impression that I am observing an elaborate pantomime, complete with hissing villains and dashing heroes. The opposing sides continuously vilify one another, leaving little or no room for positive political discourse. Furthermore, we have a rabid tabloid press who are intent on misleading people, while attempting to smear anyone brave enough to offer a counter-argument to the current narrative of isolationism, protectionism, and xenophobia.  On Monday, we had the pleasure of seeing The Secretary of State for Brexit shaking hands (somewhat awkwardly) with the EU’s chief negotiator, hailing the completion of this crucial phase as a decisive step forward. I welcome progress. However, I struggle to see any light at the end of this never-ending tunnel. Let me explain...

Throughout our lives we are shaped by those who inspire us, moulding our outlook and defining the way in which we relate to the world we inhabit. I am extremely fortunate to have been blessed with a loving family who have always encouraged me to pursue my ambitions, regardless of any barriers or obstacles I have faced. I became aware of Stephen Hawking while I was wrestling with the constraints of my Cerebral Palsy . He was a man with an almost mystical quality to me. Someone who had managed to transcend his life changing disability, whilst achieving extraordinary things. In the week of his passing, I feel the need to tell you how this great man influenced my life in ways you couldn’t possibly imagine.  Acceptance is a process. Always changing, never static. You begin with the “Why me?” phase, where there is a furious desire for explanation, almost as if the answer to your question will provide immediate comfort. When the answer does not appear, you frantically search for some...

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...