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Nina Childish

~ and various brain kittens

Nina Childish

Category Archives: Uncategorized

Access Review: Donmar Warehouse

18 Tuesday Feb 2025

Posted by ninachildish in access, Accessible London, Reviews, Uncategorized

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access review, Accessible London, Covent Garden, Donmar Warehouse, London, theatre, wheelchair access

We first went to the Donmar Warehouse, located in Covent Garden, in January 2022 for their production of Force Majeure and I was left wondering why on earth I was anxious about going there – being a small venue I had fears of limited accessibility and crowding but that couldn’t be further from my experiences at this singular space. Since that first visit we’ve been back a few times and every time I’ve been amazed with what can be done with such a small, intimate space without ever feeling claustrophobic. Even the impressive musical Natasha, Pierre & The Great Comet of 1812 fit perfectly in the space, where the audience surrounds three sides of the stage for a different perspective.

Getting Tickets

The Donmar operates its own access scheme; once signed up, disabled patrons can book their tickets online at a discounted rate and add a companion ticket for free.

Getting There

The evening we went to see Natasha, Pierre …, there was unhelpfully no Jubilee Line running but it was a nice wander/wheel on a wintery London evening from Green Park to Covent Garden. The Elizabeth Line also gives the option of going to Bond Street. Covent Garden station itself is notoriously inaccessible (there is a lift, but then a flight of steps afterwards) and in busy periods may be designated exit only to prevent overcrowding (but the larger Leicester Square station is very close by). Tottenham Court Road is the nearest accessible station (8 mins away) but doesn’t work the route we come into London by.

Entrance

Level access into the main foyer of a theatre in the West End? Just like every other patron? What trickery is this?! But it is, indeed, level from the street into the foyer-bar area of the Donmar. It can be a little crowded to get through as it’s quite a narrow space, and the lift is at the far end past the box office and bar. One floor up takes you to the main level where stalls (including wheelchair space) and a bar are; the second floor has all toilets and another bar plus seated spaces. The lifts also have their own battery backup in case of power outage, which is a nice addition.

Wheelchair Space

The wheelchair spaces at the Donmar are on the ends of the bench row seats in the stalls which means it’s impossible to get into place until everyone else has taken their seat, and it can be a bit of a squish in a small space while this is worked out. The view to the stage is excellent due to it being a small theatre, but depending which of the 3 blocks of seating you’re placed in there can be an impeded view of the “scaffolding” area above the stage if this is used. The major disability access issue with the Donmar is caused by what makes it so special, sadly: its intimate setting. In this space the aisles are often used as part of the performance area and have been utilised in each of the shows I’ve seen there. As a result, there is a strict policy of no reentry not just for etiquette but safety reasons. If you have to leave to go to the bathroom or attend to any medical needs during the performance, there are screens in the bar so no one misses out fully. If you are worried about this affecting your visit, talk to a member of staff when you arrive.

Services

The Donmar Warehouse offers audio described and captioned performances of their shows, with details of these available on their access page. They also offer a comprehensive visual story if you want to know exactly how things will go and what everything looks like beforehand.

Toilets

All toilets at the Donmar are on the second floor, while wheelchair spaces are in the first floor stalls which can make it a bit of a rush to use the facilities if you don’t arrive in plenty of time (necessary to avoid falling foul of the ‘no reentry’ rule). The corridor with the toilets is rather narrow, and behind a heavy fire door, which are both quite difficult for wheelchair users but there are usually other people around to hold the heavy door open – all you have to do is try not to swing the two-way door to the accessible loo into the queue for the ladies’ when you exit!

Overall I can’t really praise the Donmar enough. What they’ve managed to do with such a small space in a converted 17th century banana warehouse is incredible, and, as their social media says, when you go and see a show in their intimate venue you’re never more than four rows away from an actor (yes even in the wheelchair spaces!).

Being the football.

27 Thursday Jun 2024

Posted by ninachildish in Disability, DWP, Politics, Uncategorized

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benefits, Conservatives, disability, DWP, economy, general election, Labour, news, pip, Politics, Tories

With a general election happening in a matter of days now, it is with utter predictability that Rishi Sunak – the presumably outgoing Prime Minister and multi-millionaire married to the daughter of a billionaire – is throwing out some lazy appeasements to the taxpayers/dodgers in an attempt to claw back some of the former Tory voters who’ve wandered over to Reform or Reclaim or any of the other loony fringes of right wing populism. As ever, benefits are a popular way for the Tories to direct their voters’ focus onto easy targets (the unworking! the useless eaters! the single mothers!) and this time it’s PIP (Personal Independence Payments) that is under scrutiny. PIP is a benefit that anyone can get, working or not, with savings or assets or not, as long as they are disabled enough to qualify. It has two components – “daily living” and “getting around”. Someone getting the maximum of both components who isn’t using the mobility portion to lease a car via Motability (the “free car” legend still lives rent free in some heads) will be getting just north of £700 a month at time of writing. However, from the “man on the street” interviews some media have done it appears that the general public don’t know much about it, as in the ones I read and saw many people mentioned how Sunak’s proposed changes will “encourage people back into work”. Maybe we should encourage people to research the subject before opening their mouths. Anyway, I’m preaching to the choir here I know, but without PIP many disabled people wouldn’t be able to work in the first place, without help to cover the extra costs involved in getting to and from work and managing throughout the working day. Because that’s what PIP is for on paper – levelling the playing field by helping with the extra costs of being a disabled person in the UK. These costs are ongoing, because our disabilities and conditions are ongoing. Which brings us to the takedown of the shakeup:

Scheme 1 – ONE OFF PAYMENTS:
The first of Rishi’s ideas to possibly replace PIP is one-off payments for adaptations. Here’s a radical thought: these should already be a thing. Not instead of PIP, but on top. Currently, disabled people can apply for grants via their local authority for help towards ramps, stairlifts, door widening etc. but this is means-tested and takes into account the income of partners as well as that of the disabled person themselves (and is why we don’t have a level access back door yet.) I’m sure if the one-off-PIP was introduced, some people who don’t qualify for such grants would appreciate the ability to make their home as accessible as possible – there, I said something nice about it. However, what good will that do the many people who live in homes that have already been adapted? Would we get money back for works already paid for? Most importantly, there are many people who qualify for PIP who don’t need any home adaptations at all, and it once again feels like mental health, neurodiverse and developmental conditions are being ignored in the name of cost-cutting. Of course, the big issue with the idea is that one-off payments, even if they help with the costs of adapting homes for those who need it, won’t help with covering the ongoing costs of disability and chronic illness be it taxis, extra use of water/heating/electricity, private therapies etc. that PIP is supposed to be an equaliser for. If they’re truly one-off, they also wouldn’t cover later necessary adaptations – say, for someone who uses a walker and can manage with grab-rails and a stairlift, but later uses a wheelchair which needs a ramp to be able to enter the property. Also, since this would still be managed by the DWP, I imagine applications would still be scrutinised by unqualified assessors who will turn a good number of them down. Plus ça change. So, my verdict on payments for adaptations is that they’re a good idea on paper, yes, but only as an adjunct to the existing PIP payments, not as a replacement.

Scheme 2 – VOUCHERS
The idea of benefits being paid in voucher form is a longstanding favourite of many who complain about benefits being a “lifestyle choice”. It’s a popular topic for below the line discussion about most benefits, such as Jobseekers Allowance and ESA (but not the state pension, never the pension). The commenters in these cases seem to think that anyone claiming money from the state has a responsibility to only spend it in a way that they, The Taxpayer, explicitly approve. This, of course, means no cigarettes, alcohol, Sky TV (the classic combo)… or in 2024 terms no vapes, no takeaway coffee and no Netflix. This kind of thinking starts with “no luxuries allowed” and ends with “you can survive on beans on toast”. In a pique of irritation with this attitude, I may once have ended up telling someone that it was no matter to them if I spent every penny of my benefits on pick & mix and then found myself unable to pay my rent! As a way of breaking down the problems inherent with the voucher idea, I’m going to see how it would hypothetically handle a few things my own PIP is spent on currently and in the past. So first, non-prescription medications and supplements: I take a lot of these, so for cost saving measures I tend to use Amazon as the alternative is spending an eye-watering £210 a month on Co-Enzyme Q10 alone from Holland & Barrett (my cardiologist continues to apologise that it’s not available on prescription “but please keep taking it”). Would this voucher system let claimants buy products online, and if so would it limit them to “approved” retailers such as supermarkets? Many recipients of PIP cannot get out to the shops to buy things they need and rely on online shopping for everything from groceries to personal care products. Then there’s the matter of paying others for the things we can’t do ourselves: I didn’t qualify for council care, so when I lived alone I hired a friend to work as my PA. He would come over for an evening most weeks to help me blitz the laundry pile, hoover the floors, tackle the kitchen chaos and make sure I managed to have a bath without passing out either during or afterwards. I paid him by bank transfer, but if PIP were given in vouchers or pre-pay card format then presumably it wouldn’t see a bank account at all. And now, although this is something I keep meaning to expand on in another post, now I live with my partner in a house of our own – and as a result, PIP is the only income I have, the only guaranteed money coming into my account. It is how I pay for my share of the food, and the bills. I will argue until I’m blue in the face that this too is a cost of disability, because I can’t earn a salary and my ESA has been stopped for the crime of cohabiting. There are many disabled people like me, who find themselves with drastically stripped down benefits after making such a move, and for this reason PIP in vouchers or one-off payments would be a disaster for us. How can I contribute to my household if my sole income comes in voucher form?

"The things I need, I want to choose myself"
A disabled lady on #questiontime sums up why payments for specific adaptations or vouchers are not what people on PIP want or need or will be helped by. Our needs are different and varied. #disability #CripTheVoteUK

— ⚫️ Nina – CRIP THE VOTE UK 2024 (@notwaving) June 13, 2024

So here’s the thing – Rishi Sunak is unlikely to remain the Prime Minister after this election; all signs point to Labour regaining the higher ground and Keir Starmer taking the reins. This means that Sunak’s statements about shaking up the disability benefits system will likely come to nothing. However, I feel that after 14 years of Tory cuts and scapegoating of benefit claimants (disabled or otherwise) that things aren’t going to be much better under Labour, or anyone else. It’s a depressing thing to say, but I feel the best I can hope for after this election, as a disabled person on benefits in this current climate, is that nothing changes – not because the current system is a just one, but because in my experience as someone who first claimed (what was then) DLA in 2004, change to the benefits system has been progressively more weighted against those who it purports to help. Maybe I’m just feeling mentally and emotionally drained after seeing my “lifestyle” (ha!) tossed up and thrown around like a political football, dissected in newspaper articles and op-eds, discussed in fabricated detail by people who wouldn’t recognise chronic illness if it smacked them in the face, let alone spent weeks unable to leave the house* because of it (*not during a global pandemic). Underneath my fear and weariness, I do realise that these PIP changes are most unlikely to happen and that Labour are similarly unlikely to want to do an overhaul of the benefits system – at least one to the wider detriment of the people who use it. The problem with being the subject of a political football, though, is that even if it only ever remains outlined in speeches and articles and never even gets close to scoring, you still feel rather, well…kicked.

The Medication Postcode Lottery

20 Wednesday Mar 2024

Posted by ninachildish in Blog, Disability, health, Uncategorized

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Blog, chronic fatigue, chronic-pain, health, heart failure, medication, Mental Health, NHS, personal

We’ve lived here in this small city for 8 months now, owned the house for 9 months – not that you’d know it with us not even being fully unpacked, rooms half painted and half-finished. Despite our slow progress, it’s been easy to settle into life here. Our neighbourhood is calm but cheery. The right mix of students and families. Norwich doesn’t have an awful lot going on, at least compared to London, so there’s less choice when it comes to gigs and theatre, but at least we have some choice at all even if the University is the largest music venue on offer! It doesn’t lack in independent coffee shops and record stores, either. Change hasn’t been so hard, I was expecting more pushback from my subconscious. Maybe it’s just that our home is so lovely it’s making it so much easier to adapt. At least for the most part. Nothing is ever actually so simple…

I knew when we moved I’d have to shuffle some medical stuff around. A few things would have to be re-referred up here, but some would stay based in London where the speciality centres were. I wasn’t expecting to find myself a victim of NHS postcode lottery, though. My new GP flagged it up almost immediately when reviewing my medication list – “oh, that might be an issue…”. Modafinil. It’s a narcolepsy medication, which my cardiologist prescribed to me off-label near the end of 2020 in the hopes it would help the crushing fatigue and cut through the brain fog a bit, give me more ‘useful hours’ to work with. It’s not a miracle drug but has made a marked difference to me, especially in terms of preventing ‘rebound naps’ within a few hours of getting up (which used to be almost daily) and in the amount of focus I have (already terrible thanks to unmedicated ADHD, brain fog makes it far worse). On Norfolk’s NHS prescription board, however, Modafinil is Double Red listed (I presume based on abuse potential, not cost), which means it can only be prescribed for narcolepsy and must be prescribed by a specialist in this disorder. This obviously doesn’t include me. I’ve appealed to the board twice via my GP, but to no avail. My next options are to wait 6 months for my next cardiology review to see if they can prescribe it to me directly again (unlikely as they prefer your GP to do this after the trial prescription) or to pay for a private GP appt and private prescription (expensive to the point of being unsustainable long term). Getting some kind of delayed reprieve from the board based on having taken the medication successfully for three years with only positive effects is, sadly, unlikely to happen.

So as of now, I’ve been almost three months without the medication that helped me manage a bit more like a functioning person. For a month or so as I was running out I picked the days I wanted to take the Modafinil, based on how long I’d have to be awake or how much I needed to do that day, and took my last dose on Christmas Day. Inevitably I started spiralling a bit as I reached the last dose, anxious about losing what function, what hours of clarity and ability I had. It’s been better than I’d feared, in reality, but it’s been quite foggy and I don’t feel my year really started until mid-February. It’s nearly the end of March now and this is the most I’ve written at once so far this year (two coffees don’t really have the same effect). Before this happened, I had no idea the kinds of medications that could be affected by moving to a different NHS prescribing area; I thought it was something that only affected expensive procedures like IVF, or expensive drugs for very specific cancers. I knew that some treatments weren’t available in all areas; years of hitting a brick wall with trying to get the recommended hydrotherapy in my London borough come to mind. It never occurred to me, though, that I should double check that I’d still be able to take all my prescribed medication when I moved within the same country!

It feels pretty cruel when it comes down to it, taking away something that was helping me be more productive, less fatigued, more me. I feel sometimes like I wasted a lot of those three years taking the medication, not learning or studying or writing enough, when it might have been as un-fatigued as I was ever going to get. I’m certainly not giving up my quest to get it back, but there’s not going to be a solution that’s both quick and inexpensive.

Trains in the Netherlands – outsourcing wheelchair access.

29 Monday May 2023

Posted by ninachildish in access, Disability, Travel, Uncategorized

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disability, Netherlands, trains, Travel, wheelchair

The week away was wonderful, and if it’s the only time we go away this year I won’t be complaining. Staying in Utrecht as opposed to Amsterdam itself was a great idea, not just for the much cheaper accommodation but for the much less overwhelming crowds everywhere. It’s a beautiful city to wander around, with lots to do and without the tourism overload. I also cannot praise Eurostar enough, we had a wonderful experience with them and will definitely use them again for trips to the continent.

We knew that staying in Utrecht but planning on visiting Amsterdam would involve More Trains and I admit we weren’t exactly prepared for what this would entail. My previous European train excursions have all been of the more “turn up and go” style as we have in the UK. Our first clue that The Netherlands would be different came when we got off the Eurostar and tried to get a train on from Amsterdam Centraal. The fact that it was pouring with rain and all trains in the direction we needed were cancelled due to lightning strikes wasn’t the worst of it (in fact that bit was rather cool). We knew we’d be waiting a while due to this force majeure, but when we asked about ramps at the ticket office we were informed by a surly station staff member that station staff and train staff alike had nothing to do with access onto trains and it was all done by a different company, a.k.a. outsourced! We decamped to a bubble tea shop and tried to work out the ramp booking website (there was also an option to call a number, but we were concerned there would be more of a language barrier). The first thing we learned was that they needed at least one hour’s notice, then that we had to choose a specific train, and that we were required to turn up 15 minutes before the train to meet the ramp operator to a specified point on the platform. The system also kept rejecting my British phone number, so we entered a made up Dutch one and crossed our fingers that they didn’t send confirmation by text (they didn’t). Having chosen a train leaving from Amsterdam Amstel, which took a non-struck-by-lightning route to Utrecht, we then made a mad dash across the city crossing many of the beautiful bridges, passing flower stalls, historic buildings, and not noticing any of them because of our time limit. Eventually we found the tram stop we needed, which took us to Amstel station.

(An interlude on trams – wheelchair access on trams is great. Unlike the trains, there is a conductor on board and they are responsible for boarding wheelchair users via a manual ramp attached to the inside of the tram door. The bus we took to a small city farm was also excellent, with a manual ramp and large wheelchair space.)

To its credit, the one time we used this system of booking access it did work. We waited anxiously at Amstel, wondering where this ramp person was as we were definitely not “met” by the elevator fifteen minutes early as instructed, but someone did turn up eventually in time for our train lugging a huge multi-level ramp on a trolley to access the double decker train. Likewise, someone was waiting at Utrecht to get me off the train. We wouldn’t try this again until a few days later when we tried to go to Amsterdam for the Van Gogh Museum, but were foiled by a depressingly familiar foe – the broken lift. We did find the ramp operator at the lift, so at least they didn’t think we hadn’t shown up!
In the meantime, a friend living in the Netherlands messaged me with a cheat code – take the often accessible Sprinter train from Utrecht and change for Amsterdam at Breukelen. It takes a little longer, but 2 of the 3 train types used on this route have electronic ramps that pop out of the accessible carriage! Unfortunately this wouldn’t have helped us to make our booking at the VGM on time, but it was very useful to know and we used this method for our remaining trip to Amsterdam and on the way home. It just felt more secure to me than making a booking online then relying on someone else turning up in time.

We also found a glitch in the booking system – we were not allowed to book assistance for a particular platform at Amsterdam when we tried to work around the lightning-struck routes on our first day, as it stated the large wheelchair accessible lift was out of order. What it didn’t know was that my powerchair was an appropriate size for the standard lift, as I’d used that one to leave the platform when we arrived, but there was no way to explain this. In any other setup I would have gone and talked to staff at the station, but in this system where the ticket office and train staff have nothing to do with the access I don’t think it would have made any difference.

I fear this might be where trains in the UK are headed, instead of the current turn-up-and-go system (which still has its limitations). With station staff numbers being reduced and the threat of conductors being removed from trains, it becomes a distinct possibility that train access for wheelchair users will become worse, not better. Before I make a journey on the Underground I always check Up Down London for lift status, and it’s incredibly frustrating to find that lifts are out of service “due to a lack of station staff”. If lifts aren’t operational due to staff numbers, then it stands to reason that manual boarding ramps won’t be able to be deployed either at stations which use them. I’ve been told before, when trying to board an Overground train home at Liverpool Street, that there might not be any staff at the station to help me off at the other end “because of the late hour” (it was only 8pm!). In better access change, though, for the last year the Greater Anglia trains we take between London and Norwich have been level access! Actual level access! Roll on, roll off, no fuss! I really wish more companies would consider this when they replace their old rolling stock, after all what disabled passengers really want is independence.

If you’re a wheelchair user planning on using trains on your trip to the Netherlands, I’d definitely recommend setting up an account on their national railway network site at https://www.ns.nl/en so you don’t end up having to do it in a panic like we did when trying to book ramp assistance. You can only use the ramp booking service if you have an account, and you also need a Dutch phone number before it lets you book (which it doesn’t need to verify, luckily, but I assume this is the number they’d call if they can’t find you at the rendezvous point) so to get around this you can either get a Dutch SIM, make one up entirely like we did, or if you have any friends there see if you can use theirs!

Airlift

27 Friday Jan 2023

Posted by ninachildish in Housing, Uncategorized

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Housing, Mental Health, personal, relationship

Things have changed. Suddenly, or at least it seems sudden, I’m not looking for a flat to rent. We are looking for a house to buy. Together. It’s still made more complicated by disability and my lack of work, but it’s within sight. It feels sudden because for 5 years of our relationship housing was something we dealt with separately. For 5 years I tried to find somewhere appropriate to live, with the assumption I’d be there on my own. C moved between rented rooms, his own flat, here, and his family. Then the pandemic happened and he was here with me, sacrificing months of rent money to make sure I wouldn’t be on my own during lockdowns. For almost two years we were bubbled, making a go of being a “household” and learning just how much we could get on each others’ nerves but also just how well we worked as a cohabiting couple. It was that, the pandemic. Those two fraught, surreal years that now comprise a quarter of our relationship and felt like a matter of weeks and an eternity all at once.

Then more things happened, rather quickly: I inherited some money when my beloved grandmother died, which pushed me out of qualifying for housing benefit and made the prospect of getting a rented flat a lot more difficult; C got a better-paid job; my mum sold her old house and pledged the profits to me for housing. Suddenly the two years of cloudy pandemic uncertainty cleared, and we realised we’d jumped over that “together but separate homes” stage, realised we’d already been doing that for 7 years. In that time many couples have long since moved in together, and I have had many moments of upset and frustration in that time about my access needs and the horribly punitive benefits system stopping us doing it sooner. But those things fell into place, almost without us realising what picture they were creating, and soon without really having any formal conversation about it we were discussing “our home” as a real thing that was actually going to happen. Is happening.

I don’t know what kept me from truly believing it, but I didn’t think this would happen to me even over the last several years of this relationship. Somewhere in my mind I felt a certainty that I would be in a state of permanent failure-to-launch, that the brain-and-body maladies would keep me stuck living in this flat full of 20 year old ghosts, or worse – sent to live in another depressing poky bedsit in a rundown block attended by disinterested and patronising support workers. That’s where my mind kept going in the years I was looking for housing, that I would be stuck there again in a situation worse than remaining here (where I can still see scenes of violence and fear play out like holograms in every room). In all honesty, I just didn’t think about the future because I didn’t know if I was going to have one. I definitely didn’t think it would involve someone else, and there are a lot of feelings to sort through still – some “normal”, and some from the darkest recesses of my brain. It’s funny how even positive things can stir up harmful emotions when you’ve accustomed yourself to feeling undeserving. I’ve spent much of the last 6 months telling myself that I am worthy of this, that I’m not unconsciously pressuring (or hypnotising, or bewitching) C into wanting to live with me, and that he’s a grown up who can make his own decisions however illogical I find them. He wants to live with me. He wants to own a house with me. We want our life together.


Equal Access Booking: Good Venues in London

19 Monday Dec 2022

Posted by ninachildish in access, Accessible London, Disability, Reviews, Uncategorized

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access, accessibility, Accessible London, buying tickets, disability, London, theatre

Although I review individual venues, including the booking process, I thought it would be useful to keep a list of venues (London-based for now, as that’s where I go to the majority of events) which have easy booking for disabled customers. By that, I mean being able to book online without the extra hassle of having to call or email to ask for tickets, like every other person gets to do. Some of these venues only allow online bookings if the customer is a member of their access scheme (which are always free, and remove the need to constantly provide proof of disability) and I have pointed out where these are applicable. I am focussing on the provision for wheelchair users specifically, as this is my own experience. Do please let me know if I’ve missed any venues out!

Barbican

The Barbican operates a good access scheme, and has obviously put a lot of thought into making a visit to their City Of London home a less stressful experience for disabled people. While anyone can buy wheelchair space tickets online, access scheme members will automatically have the cost of a companion seat discounted when added to their basket. Blue Badge holders can also reserve a parking space for the time of their visit up to three months in advance.

The Bridge Theatre

Sign up to access list to book online (more info to come)

Donmar Warehouse

Sign up to access list to book online (more info to come)

National Theatre

Actually a complex of three theatres – the main Olivier, and smaller Lyttleton and Dorfman theatres – the National Theatre has an access scheme that doesn’t require much personal information to join, and is more interested in the applicant’s access needs. After joining, logging in to the website allows disabled people to book both wheelchair spaces and companion seats online with no follow up needed. However in my personal experience, despite being signed up to the access list, I can only book the wheelchair spaces online for the main Olivier theatre. Booking for the other two theatres requires phoning their dedicated access line on 0207 452 3961 (11am-6pm Mon-Sat).

Roundhouse

Camden’s impressive 1,700 capacity venue is equally impressive in its provision for disabled patrons. There’s no coincidence that of the ten shows I currently have tickets for, 70% are playing here. The Roundhouse does not have an access list, instead asking ticket buyers to confirm that a member of their party has access requirements before purchasing and has a text box for additional information if applicable. This is followed up with a polite email confirming that a wheelchair space (which comes with a free companion ticket in all cases) has been purchased. In a nutshell, the venue is trusting people not to take advantage of something that is not meant for them. And it seems to be working.

Soho Theatre

Located on Dean Street in the heart of London’s historic Soho, the building is commendably accessible for its cosy space. To purchase access tickets for events Downstairs or for the Theatre without having to call the box office you must have an account on the website. After purchase, the box office will get in touch to ask if you require a seat removed for a wheelchair or if you will be transferring into the seat. They also ask you to please email with your booking reference for a free companion ticket if required. Upstairs is a smaller venue without reserved seating, and while you can buy Access tickets online, this should be followed up with an email specifying if you’ll be needing a space for a wheelchair, and for a companion ticket if needed.

Southbank Centre

This brutalist complex is one of the most accessible venues in London, and a frequent host of disabled performers too. Buying wheelchair space tickets for events at the Southbank Centre is done after simple application to their access scheme, where preferences/needs can be toggled as seen below. Wheelchair spaces then appear on the ticket seats map, and customers have a choice of either a single concession ticket, or a concession ticket and heavily discounted companion ticket combo. When viewing the basket, a notice appears reminding customers that the ticket they are buying can accommodate a wheelchair user only.

the intersection

22 Monday Jul 2019

Posted by ninachildish in Activism, Blog, Disability, health, Mental Health, Uncategorized

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chronic fatigue, chronic illness, depression, personal, self worth, writing

I’ve spent the last few years insisting that my worsening physical health isn’t impacting on my mental health; that maybe occasionally my brain will mistake not leaving the house for days at a time for depression and slump accordingly; that I don’t grieve for the abilities I’ve lost. I find denial a powerful coping mechanism, but one that only lasts so long.

It’s not that I never get a bit sad about losing my physical abilities. The other night I dreamt I had learned how to click my heels in midair (apparently it was to do with having the right – possibly magic – shoes), and woke up feeling rather wistful, despite not having been to a dance lesson in years . Social media constantly throws up reminders for me of what I used to be able to do – climb a mountain, walk a marathon, stay out all night, walk to the end of the road unaided… I tend to view these prior accomplishments without sorrow; I’m just pleased that I did them while I was still able to. Of course, if I’d known that everything would go so, so wrong before I hit 30, then I like to think I would have done a lot more. For five years in my adolescence I lived on a lake, and can count the number of times I took the canoe out on my fingers. As much as I wish I could go back in time and shake up my sulky 13 year old self into going outside on a bright spring day, instead of spending the day lounging on the sofa with a book, I know that it won’t change the now. At least I have done things, I think. At least I’ve been to places that I couldn’t manage now. I just wish I’d done a little bit more.

But it’s not the physical loss I struggle with. Whether as a result of fatigue, brain fog, lack of ADHD meds or a combination of the three, my ability to sit down and write something longer and more convoluted than a tweet has all but disappeared over the last year. I feel like I’ve hardly done anything in the realm of activism or awareness so far this year – which is slightly unfair as I did write one article and collaborate on another, but it’s hardly the height of productivity. Almost six months characterised by notebook pages and blog drafts with ideas, starts, first paragraphs – and no energy or drive to continue with them.

I have always put more value in my intellectual abilities than my physical ones. As a clumsy, easily-injured child it made sense. Not that I was particularly good at school either. My parents pushed me to work hard (I didn’t) and get good grades (ditto) and I’d throw myself into things that I liked and do the bare minimum with those I didn’t. This is what’s so distressing – I can’t throw myself into my passions as readily as I used to be able to. Thinking through fog I can get a few sentences down, then when I come back to it a few days later or when I’m next able to, the flow is gone. Writing my way through chronic illness and disability has been an invaluable outlet in the last 5 years, and has led to some amazing opportunities, and without it I feel utterly useless, my power centre taken away, my saving grace gone. My self worth is so tied up in my productivity, even my adjusted-for-illness productivity that without having something to be working on, no matter how small, I feel like I have no purpose.

The fog has lifted slightly today, so I’m taking the opportunity to get this down before I lose my train of thought or get too tired. I need to write more, I know this, and write more without worrying about form, readability, coherence. The important thing is that I do write my experiences down, not how well written they are. It’s another mental block to get past.

 

It’s just a saga now.

05 Tuesday Dec 2017

Posted by ninachildish in Blog, Housing, Uncategorized

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

council, Housing, personal

I’m sorry for the gap between posts. I’ve had a cold and apparently when you’re already chronically  ill, a cold turns into “three weeks of being mostly asleep”. Not that much has happened in terms of housing; the council move at a rate that doesn’t exactly suggest that they work with people in danger of becoming homeless. Also, a couple of weeks ago the Guardian’s Disability Diaries , which I was a contributor to, were published and there’s been a lot of good feedback. I hope it helps in a small way to change public preconceptions about disability of all kinds.

Before I “update” (spoiler: no actual progress) I will share some exciting news. I finally decided to make a Patreon page.  Readers of this blog are, of course, under no obligation to sign up, but this blog is just one small aspect of what I hope to be able to do in terms of disability awareness and activism. Already I’ve reached my first funding goal, which means I’ll be meeting with a designer next week to revamp the style of this blog, ahead of registering a domain name. Fancypants!

So, the housing saga, and it is a saga at this point. It’s almost a year since I was told to find somewhere else to live as soon as possible, and I keep hopping back and forth aimlessly between the council and private rental options. Neither have been productive.
This month I’ve been focussing on the council, as I received a letter last month telling me that the “medical officer” had written to my GP to verify my various health claims (so that I could be referred to the council’s “housing association” partner). First problem – aside from the fact I went through four GPs there in a year due to them all leaving or retiring, my surgery closed down at the start of October after failing its CQC inspection. I had an appointment with the named GP at my new surgery last week to explain my housing needs and she seemed understanding and receptive, though I feel bad asking already-overstretched doctors to do things like this, when I’ve already uploaded reams of medical evidence to the council’s housing denier bot. Second problem – As I learnt in January when my mental health took a nosedive, the hospital mental health team’s notes don’t get copied to the GP’s system, so this sent me into a small tizzy when I realised that a GP would be unable to confirm the mental health history I had outlined to the council. Trying to rectify this was a small saga in itself:

I called the council, on the number at the top of the letter. There was a housing extension there, but as it turns out, the officer was there only for questions about rent. Any other housing queries had to be sent to the Housing Office. No there is no direct number, or email address. No he could not pass a message onto the Medical Officer, because they didn’t work in the same building. So, lacking any other option, I went back to the wretched hive of scum and villainy known as the Enfield Housing Office. “Do you have an appointment?” No, because there is no way to make an appointment. I took a seat as requested, and watched various vulnerable people having their needs denied. Eventually my number was called and I wrote down the information to be passed onto the medical officer. “She’ll call you, wait here and she’ll call you” “Is she not here?” “No, she’s upstairs”
So, I sat in the Housing Office for 90 minutes until someone who couldn’t be bothered to come downstairs and talk to me phoned me instead to verify that yes, someone had passed on the post-it note with the mental health team’s details. How very dehumanising. 

Then, on the 22nd of November, a text from a lettings agency:
“Enfield Homefinders have forwarded your contact details” – without my permission to do this, I might add. They included a link to a property on RightMove. It is not wheelchair accessible. So, the council gave a third party my phone number so they could advertise properties to me, without also passing on my access needs (which go beyond just needing level access). Superb. I was polite in my reply, but made it clear that I didn’t want either of our time being wasted by being offered unsuitable properties. I strongly suspect that this is nearing the extent of what the council will actually do for me, although I’m not aware of what their legal obligation is if they don’t actually have any suitable properties themselves.

 

 

 

Dirty Tricks

14 Monday Nov 2016

Posted by ninachildish in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

I came home from 12 days in Chicago to the inevitable brown envelope: my PIP assessment is on November 23rd. That’s under a month after I sent the forms off. Last time it was an 8 month wait so I’m impressed at the speed. However I learnt two somewhat disturbing things from the phone call I made afterwards:

1. In August they quietly “ended the trial” of pre-paying cabs for claimants who needed them to get to their assessment. Instead they now pre-approve claimants for reimbursement and pay them back up to two weeks after the assessment. This means that claimants who cannot afford the return trip in the first place (which would be about £60 in my case for example) are at a distinct disadvantage. Remember that “how did you get here today?” is a commonly asked question to those with reported mobility problems, and taking public transport to the assessment can count against anyone who has claimed they have problems with public transport – even if there is no other way for them to GET to the assessment!

2. I asked if I could have my assessment recorded, after last time when the assessor might as well have written down the opposite of what I said. It turns out they now ask claimants to bring their own recording equipment – good because they can’t now say “sorry we don’t have enough”, but bad because it has to be a very specific type of recording device (dual tape or CD recorder) which most people will not have or many be able to afford. They do not accept any kind of digital recording, as both parties have to have a physical copy of the recording by the end of the assessment. A quick Amazon search shows that dual tape recording devices are not readily available, and definitely not cheap. By insisting that claimants use equipment used primarily in police and court situations, Atos are ensuring that a minimal number of assessments are recorded using a method usable in an appeal. (A covert digital recording would be fine for a claimant to personally review what had happened, but that is all.) One easier to find alternative to the double-tape recorder is to procure two identical single recorders, but again for most people this will come at a cost.

 

I knew already that the odds were stacked against the claimant, but these extra costs and tricks make it extra unfair.

untitled (kicking against the tropes)

26 Monday Sep 2016

Posted by ninachildish in Poetry, Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

disability, fuck tropes, poetry

I am not a good cripple
I am not brave or inspirational
I was not a courageous child
Nor injured in war

I do not bear my cross with grace and patience
My honesty is unpalatable, humour too morbid
Cousin Helen can go fuck herself
I create uncomfortable silences

There is no yearly event for me
My illness is not marketable
I am not “battling” anything
(It’s a war of attrition)

I am not a good cripple
Sympathy makes me sneer
I have to choke out thank yous
And pretend I don’t resent it

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