Tag Archives: access

WTF ATG? (now updated)

06 Monday Dec 2021

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New lows in access bookings.

No “sorry for being so irregular at updating this” preface this time, let’s just jump right in.

We are trying to buy theatre tickets, specifically to Cabaret at the Playhouse in London’s West End. We love the theatre, and go multiple times a year (when pandemic conditions allow). This year we’ve been to the National Theatre to see Under Milk Wood in July, and last week went to Alexandra Palace Theatre for Mark Gatiss’s A Christmas Carol (also an excellent example of how to do disability representation on stage, btw!). For the National Theatre we had to call, but they answered very quickly and sorted us out, and for the Alexandra Palace Theatre I emailed customer services there who sent my details onto the ticketing agent who, again, got me set up with tickets very quickly and efficiently.

And then there’s the Ambassador’s Theatre Group (ATG), of which the Playhouse is one. They deal with all online and access ticketing for their theatres. And boy, do they do it badly.

C emailed their customer services about access tickets 10 days ago, as there is no special email for this need, with the aim of surprising me with tickets to Cabaret as he knows it’s one of my favourite shows, if not the favourite. However, five days ago he decided to tell me he’d tried this because the only response he had back was an email stating it could take up to fifteen days to get a reply (let alone complete the booking!) and, because going to the show is more important than the surprise, I said I’d start calling to increase our chances of getting to see it. I don’t think, however, that the collective 90+ minutes I’ve spent on hold since then have helped us any. The access line promoted on the website is no longer in use, and the one we’re told to call instead has no listed operating hours. Combine that with no queue system on the phone line itself which tells you how many customers are in front of you, I was left with the idea that I was hanging on for an unattended line in an empty office.

With the days going by, and the tickets unsurprisingly flying out of the box office, I sent another email today pointing out the extreme discrepancies between our experience so far and the one a non-disabled patron would enjoy (*click* *click* *type in card details* *done*). It’s since been forwarded to “the appropriate team” but the quick reply (as they will reply quickly when you mention breaching the EA2010) obviously had to mention the fact that the general customer service line was also very busy. Which is utterly beside the point, because I’m only trying to book tickets. That which the average patron can do in under a minute has taken us over ten days so far.

Money might make the world go around, but to get tickets you need full health too.

I didn’t think anything could be worse about West End theatres than the endemic accessibility issues we have to suffer in the listed-building theatres (see a myriad of now-fixed issues here). It turns out ATG’s accessibility service is threatening that crown! Through thorough perusal of their confusing website, we’ve learned that every ATG theatre has an “Access Champion” which makes me wonder why on earth their customer service to disabled patrons is still so appalling. I’m going to send a (far friendlier) email to the attached “champion” of the Playhouse theatre to see if that helps matters in this instance, but this is about far more than me getting tickets to the show I want to see. This is about making a fairer and more equitable system for disabled people to access the arts, company by company. We might not be able to change the access in the venues, but there is no excuse for such shoddy access ticketing.

UPDATE (shamefully late):
So, after posting this blog I sent a Polite But Scathing Email © to the “access champion” address listed on the ATG website. Someone replied quickly and after explaining my problem he gave me a mobile number to call the box office directly to purchase tickets he’d reserved for me in the meantime (which took a further three days as the line was only operating on limited hours). I was able to sort out tickets for a show in the middle of January a whole 16 days after first trying to get them myself. (They finally replied to my partner’s initial email to the access inbox 5 weeks after he sent it!) The silver lining was that the only wheelchair accessible spaces are at the very front of the table seating and at a fraction of the eye-watering price. My experience has been fed back to ATG’s access coordinator and I hope it helps to improve things for wheelchair users and others who need access tickets – please let me know if you’ve had good or bad experiences with them!

My review of the Playhouse-turned-Kit Kat Club is here. 

Access Review: National Theatre/Lyttleton Theatre

22 Sunday Sep 2019

Posted by in access, Accessible London, Disability, Reviews

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It’s been quite a while since I’ve done an access review, but since I’ve been to the theatre a few times recently I thought I’d dig into my notes and do another one. After all, this was what my abandoned blog and remaining Facebook page are concerned with (I was overwhelmed juggling two blogs and a FB page, so decided to write the reviews here and crosspost to the FB page!)

I took my dad to see Rutherford & Son at the Lyttleton Theatre, part of the National Theatre complex on the Southbank at the start of August. As with most access reviews, there’s good and bad stuff in here that I hope you will find helpful!

Getting Tickets

Lets get the bad news out of the way first, the National Theatre is one of those theatres that wants disabled patrons to sign up to an access list first before they are able to book tickets. However, unlike many of these schemes, they do not require an overly intrusive “proof of disability” such as scans of PIP letters or blue badges which was appreciated. They ask about specific needs, which include aisle seat, wheelchair space, audio description or captioning. After getting confirmation that my access list application had been received and filed, I could book the wheelchair space and companion tickets on the website, which was also greatly appreciated. There’s nothing more galling than having to phone to book access tickets as the only option, only to have 20 minutes of hold message telling you how much easier booking online is.

 

Entrance

Perfect. Being a large complex of three theatres next to the wonderfully accessible Southbank Centre and BFI, the National Theatre has full wheelchair access. No platform lifts, no precarious ramps. Entrance to the Lyttleton Theatre was well signposted, and while a good portion of the audience headed for the stairs or the lift, we were shown to a door in the wall which led to the wheelchair space at the top of the stalls seating. And here I found the only problem…

 

Wheelchair Space

With four spaces available, the Lyttleton Theatre has more wheelchair spaces than the average London theatre, where sometimes there are only one or two for a capacity of hundreds. All of these spaces are in Row V, at the back of the stalls where the view is still acceptable. However, something was missing in Row V – the companion seat!

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Those are my pixie boots, and just in front and to the left of them is my dad’s seat, in the next row down. The purpose of  a companion ticket is to support the disabled person if necessary. If I had needed help during the performance, like needing to leave to go to the toilet, or help with emergency medication, it would have been disruptive for the rest of the patrons as my assistance wouldn’t be right next to me and I’d have had to adjust my wheelchair (beeping, whirring) to reach him! Also it did make for quite an isolating theatre experience being up on my own next to the sound desk!

If someone with far greater needs than myself (such as needing assistance with drinking) were put in this wheelchair space, then there is no way their companion would be able to take the booked companion seat, and I wonder what would happen then?

Services

No complaints here either. The atrium of the Lyttleton Theatre is in the wider National Theatre lobby, and the bar and café are on the same level as the entrance and level-access door to the theatre.

Toilets

Fine – roomy, red cord dangling as it should be, no nappy bins blocking access. Though it should be noted that the toilets (including the wheelchair accessible one) are located in the main foyer of the National Theatre, and any members of the public can come in and use them so you may find yourself waiting if a passing wheelchair user gets caught short!

 

Overall, because it’s part of the larger National Theatre complex, the Lyttleton Theatre is very good for access – notably when it comes to booking tickets and getting around the building. The only way it let itself down was the set up of the wheelchair space and companion seating, which should be an easy enough fix. As always, I will update if I hear anything back from the theatre or someone else visits and gives me news of positive change!

 

Disabled facilities are not storage spaces.

14 Saturday Apr 2018

Posted by in access, Activism, Disability

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“Disabled facilities are not storage spaces.”

You’d think the above statement would be obvious. After all, what use is a cubicle or toilet if it can’t be used for its intended purpose? Unfortunately, the answer is often found inside – where these facilities created to enable wheelchair users to try on clothes or use public conveniences are misappropriated as store cupboards.

I cannot tell you the entire range of items that can be found in accessible loos, but to give a brief picture from my own experience: mop buckets and cleaning equipment, excesses of nappy bins, unfolded baby changers, staff members’ bicycles, zimmer frames and wheelchairs belonging to other patrons, and even folded wheelchairs belonging to the venue itself. For a wheelchair user, having the space to enter and safely transfer to the toilet, let alone turn around to exit again without contorting oneself, is paramount. Having the facility stuffed with unnecessary objects and obstacles often prevents wheelchair users from being able to transfer and turn around safely, as well as from accessing the emergency pull cord (which has its own ongoing issues with being cut or tied up). In the worst case scenario, a wheelchair user may find themselves without a toilet they can use while out of the house. We shouldn’t have to pre-check that the toilets are not being used to store things before we choose where to go for supper, on top of checking all the other accessible points that are needed but sadly lacking in so many public places.

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THREE nappy bins (count ’em!) in a shop’s accessible loo, preventing the ability to turn around.

And then there are fitting rooms. What prompted this post was a visit to Topshop the other day, my local branch in the Palace Exchange, Enfield Town. The shopping centre itself is pretty good for access – it’s all on one level, all shops are level access, most shops have lifts if they have more than one floor, and there is an accessible loo that can be accessed by Radar key. I don’t normally try on clothes – it’s less exhausting for me to buy something then try it on at home and return it the next week if it doesn’t fit – but I was having a good day and wasn’t sure which size of the shirt I liked would fit me. I was pleasantly surprised that they’d thought to include a wheelchair accessible fitting room, but less pleasantly surprised by what it was being used for:

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Even the models in their adverts would struggle to squeeze into here.

The staff member monitoring the fitting rooms was very apologetic, and helped me cram my chair into a normal cubicle and pull the curtain around its sticking-out arse (yes my chair has booty). Although I managed to try on the clothes I wanted to in a very small space, I was left feeling that “sorry we’re using the accessible cubicle to store sale rails” wasn’t really good enough. What if someone came in who really needed that larger space? Someone using a larger wheelchair, or who needed someone else to assist them in trying on clothes? Not to mention access to the emergency pull cord….again.

I’ve tweeted to Topshop and haven’t had a reply yet. I’ll keep trying. This brings me onto how to address the misuses and abuses of facilities meant for disabled customers:

COMPLAIN. Complain as loudly and as publicly as you are comfortable with, in person or online. Tell your friends, get the message shared. It is shameful to misuse an accessible space like this, and the abuses of them will only stop when it becomes seen as an unacceptable thing to do. This won’t happen without public pressure from customers both disabled and non-disabled. So, next time you’re in a clothes shop with an accessible fitting room, have a look and see what it’s being used for.

In the meantime, I await a response, any response, from Topshop….

ACCESS REVIEW: Victoria Palace Theatre (Hamilton) UPDATED 30/03/2018

08 Monday Jan 2018

Posted by in access, Accessible London, Reviews

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Let me start by assuring you that Hamilton was as astounding as the hype suggests. There is nothing to worry about in terms of the quality of the performance. However, as the theatre has just had a refurbishment, I had higher expectations of the accessibility. I’m going to break it down into sections.

Getting Tickets
I signed up to the pre-sale list as soon as it was announced. Somewhat predictably, I was unable to buy the tickets I needed online (see: the vast majority of times I’ve bought theatre or gig tickets). I was sent to a form to fill out, with assurances that I would be phoned back – with no timespan given. That was worrying to me because I have big phone anxiety, not to mention a variable sleeping pattern, and only turn my phone ringer on when I know I’ll be getting a call. Luckily they called two weeks later when I was in Starbucks playing on my phone. I got the impression that they hadn’t even decided how many wheelchair spaces to have yet.

Entrance
No complaints here. We made ourselves known to the staff who were managing the queue, and were handed over to the Access Host – and fairly impressed that they had someone who was dedicated to that job. The wheelchair-friendly entrance was around the side, no scary ramps, good sized door.

The Wheelchair Space
Here I encountered problems. The first thing I noticed was that the floor, as is common in theatre stalls near the back, was sloped downwards. While the stalls seating stood upright, my wheelchair tipped downwards to the point where I had to use the tilt-in-space function just to be sitting upright and take pressure off my hips. I’ve been to theatres with sloping floors where a sort of wedge was used to even out the angle for the wheelchair user (after all, not all wheelchairs, manual or electric, have tilt-in-space functions).

The other problem with the wheelchair space was the view. At the Victoria Palace Theatre, the only wheelchair spaces are on either side of Row T, the back row of the stalls. This would have been less of a problem, if not for the significant overhang of the circle balcony (see picture below) which meant we were often unable to see when performers were on the higher levels of the stage. When I posted the picture below on Twitter, multiple people who had also booked a wheelchair space (either side), told me that, like me, they had not been told that the wheelchair space had a restricted view when booking. But, because this is the only wheelchair space available, it seems to be take it or leave it. I did ask the Access Host if this row had the only wheelchair spaces, and she talked to someone more senior and came back with the answer that the council did a health and safety check and told them that the wheelchair space had to be at the back due to fire safety. I took this at face value at first, then remembered that at another theatre I had come in through a corridor, and was still placed halfway down the stalls section. I plan on contacting Delfont Mackintosh, who own the theatre, with my access concerns, and will hopefully be able to verify this.

HamiltonWheelchairView

Not the best of views.

 

Services
I didn’t go to the bar before the show started, but C tells me that he saw another wheelchair user there. That, and the fact that the Access Host offered to escort us to the bar before the show, makes me believe that there is an accessible route to at least one bar. Something that I would have appreciated was being brought a merchandise catalogue, which I’ve been offered in other theatres. I don’t know if there was a merchandise stand I could have accessed* (my partner, C, saw one that was down some stairs), but in any case being in a throng of people is incredibly stressful and dangerous (for them as well as me!) in a powerchair, and I’d rather order remotely to avoid that.

* Update: I have been told by someone on Twitter who has visited with a wheelchair using friend that there is indeed an accessible route to a merchandise stand.

Toilets
Probably the worst of the “accessible” features. To the theatre staff’s credit, the Access Host came with me in order to keep people to one side while I passed though (the corridor is quite narrow), but when I got to the toilet I found the most face-palm worthy of all errors – a door that opens inwards. I reckon if the door had opened outwards, I would have just about been able to get my powerchair in without it being wedged next to the toilet itself and have had enough room to safely transfer. As it was, because the door was quite wide (which would have otherwise been a good thing), even ramming my chair as close to the toilet bowl as it would go, returning tilt to a fully upright position, and moving the seat back as far forward as possible, the door wouldn’t shut. I had no choice but to leave my powerchair unattended outside, angry with the knowledge than many wheelchair users will not have that option if they need to use the loo. Maybe those who use small self-propelled chairs would be okay, but there wasn’t a lot of space to use the pull down transfer rail that I saw. Oh, and when I got into the theatre, I could see there were two folded transport chairs belonging to the theatre on the inside, further reducing the available space. Again to credit the staff, these were removed after I commented. But overall, not great accessible toilet facilities which many wheelchair users would find troublesome.

I will be working all of these worries into an email to Delfont Mackintosh.

& again, don’t worry, the show itself was awesome 🙂

*Update 09/01 – Someone kindly sent me the theatre’s (out of date) access page which states that there are FOUR wheelchair spaces, and they’re somewhere in the middle, not right at the back. I wonder why they changed this? More for the email… 

*Update 30/03 – Hello again! I’ve had some replies from the operations manager of the theatre, who was very apologetic and impressively keen to rectify the issues I raised. In their response to my email, the manager promised to sort out the levelling of the wheelchair spaces (they now have a wedge that non-tilting wheelchairs can use, which should be offered by the access host on arrival), to instruct staff never to store the theatre’s own wheelchairs in the accessible toilet, and to replace the inwards-opening toilet door with a bi-fold one. All of these things seem to have been done immediately after my email (although I have had reports of wheelchairs stored in the loo again, which I have fed back), and in addition I have been told there are wheelchair spaces available in the stall-level boxes (which have a level floor), bringing the total number of spaces per performance to seven. Thanks to everyone who’s been to the show since who’s shared their experiences with me about the improved access. If you’re going to Hamilton in London soon, and are a wheelchair user or will be using the accessible toilet, please let me know how the access was as I am eager to know how much difference the improvements have made the experience for disabled fans!

Where Are All The Accessible Properties?

31 Thursday Aug 2017

Posted by in Blog, Disability, Housing

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I came back from 10 days away to no emails from the council after our visit there a couple of weeks ago. The friend who is acting as my advocate sent them an email when I told him this, and got a quick reply that I should soon be able to look for private rented accommodation in the borough, then use their scheme to cover the deposit. Ignoring the fact that I should have been sent this information as soon as I had been approved (with J cc’d), the deposit is not what I am having problems with, as my dad has already offered to pay it (a small but arguably fair recompense for evicting me). The problem I am having is with finding suitable rented accommodation in the first place. Heck, it’s what I’ve been trying to do for the last several months! I was told first in June that I’d have to look for private rentals because the council itself did’t have any accessible properties on their books, but I only went through the council because I was having trouble finding any affordable accessible properties in the whole of London; limiting my search to one borough, even to properties that have agreed to house council tenants, seems doomed to fail. I’d optimistically hoped that if Enfield Council didn’t have any suitable properties then maybe they could refer me on to another council that did, or a housing association that the public can’t access independently.  Enfield do have a housing association that works with them, but I’m still waiting to see if I’ve been approved for referral. If I am, then I will have to see if they actually have any accessible properties either. If neither have any, then what?

So where are the wheelchair accessible properties? I’ve found some on general property rental sites during my 8-and-a- bit-month search. They’re generally accessible by coincidence rather than design, and in new blocks of flats that definitely don’t want people like me applying; the kind that have concierges, and pot plants in the hallways. It goes without saying that they are not affordable, even with housing benefit. I could cover the difference for one or two months, and then I’d be out of money and back to square one. It also goes without saying that most properties, accessible or not won’t accept housing benefit, or sometimes ANY:

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Disability Discrimination is alive and well in the UK in 2017.

I suspect the answer is that accessible properties are dying out. The local council used to own many, which got sold off along with much of their general housing stock. The new landlords take out the adaptations, and raise the rent. They can deny installations of equipment needed to help disabled people live independently, and they can evict tenants without good reason just to redecorate a bit then hike the rent up. I haven’t been able to find somewhere to live in almost nine months with a very flexible eviction date, so I don’t imagine I’d do very well with just a month’s notice.Of course, if you can afford to buy your own home and make the necessary adaptations to it, that’s another matter. However, like many disabled people in the UK, I live on disability benefits and am therefore not allowed to save up for a deposit, though I do enjoy imagining the look on a bank employee’s face should I present my financial profile and ask for a mortgage. It seems the wiser thing to do should have been to wait until I had a career, savings, and a mortgage before becoming disabled. Silly me.

Through all this, I am struggling to keep my mental health together. I’ve worked really hard since January’s housing related episode to keep a balance, but when I got the forwarded email yesterday evening, my mood plummeted and I’ve been treading a dangerous line ever since. I can’t seem to engage with the council or think about the process without sacrificing the progress I’ve made since January, and I’m not currently in therapy because the CMHT doesn’t have enough staff to run the group yet (it seems once they’ve decided on the best course of therapy for someone, this can’t be changed due to such trivial things as staff cuts). I’ve spoken to the social worker there before, but she said she didn’t deal with the council because they never picked up the phone, so that’s another line of support cut.

In trying to be proactive, I’m writing this. Angry blogging is my first line of defence. Delegating research to friends who offer help is another. Does the council have a duty of care to appropriately house me, or does their responsibility end at offering me the chance to bid on unadapted properties? How much difference can getting my (shiny new Labour) MP involved make? Or the media? That kind of research. What also helps is that, unusually, I have quite a lot on my plate right now at least writing-wise, but this does rely on keeping the clouds from gathering in my brain. Once I’m fogged with depression, productivity becomes impossible.

Onwards, somehow!

 

Why I’m Suing A Bus Company

08 Tuesday Aug 2017

Posted by in Blog, Disability

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I’ll get to the nitty gritty first:
I’m suing a bus company because their repeated lack of enforcing the wheelchair space is making me angry, especially after January’s Supreme Court declaration that bus drivers need to do more to ensure wheelchair users can board their buses. After January things in general got a tiny bit better, and then slowly reverted back to how it used to be – and then it got worse on one route that I use several times a week! Any instance where access gets worse rather than better, in my opinion, needs immediate attention. Since the spring, I have sent numerous complaints to the bus company in question, and each time I get the same response – “we will investigate the driver if we can identify them”, but of course I am not allowed to know the outcome of the investigation. But whatever has happened in said investigations, I see no overall improvement.

The company I am taking to court is based in London. TFL bus drivers can do three things when a parent with buggy refuses to move from the wheelchair space of their own volition. They can play an automated announcement requesting that the space is cleared for a wheelchair user; they can leave their cab to ask the parent/caregiver to fold the buggy; lastly, they can offer a transfer ticket for free boarding on the next bus if folding the buggy is either not an option or not something they want to do. In the numerous instances where I was not permitted to board the bus this year, including four times within two weeks, the most a driver did was to ask a parent to move but did not mention that the space was a priority space for wheelchairs, or offer a transfer ticket. I’ve even had multiple bus drivers claim that having two buggies on at once was an exception and that they couldn’t do anything if that was the case.

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Holding my ground/delaying the bus. This tactic didn’t work.

Despite this, when I am already on board a bus, drivers have no problem letting buggies on to push into my feet and ankles, block mine and others’ exit, or to huff at me when they find they have to fold their giant buggy up because I have unexpectedly occupied the wheelchair space with a wheelchair. It seems like there is a massively uneven system at work, and, by forcing a bus company to address this in court, I hope to further the rights of wheelchair users on buses and public transport.

Lastly, I’m doing this for the wheelchair users I know who are too scared to take buses on their own because they don’t feel that the bus drivers, companies, nor the other passengers have their backs. They feel, unsurprisingly, that they are seen as a nuisance, even though many bus companies have clearly marked priority wheelchair spaces. It’s the co-opting of these spaces by people who then refuse to move or make a big fuss over it which makes us feel that way. I’m doing this because we deserve to use the spaces that disabled people previously fought so hard for.

[I have checked with my legal team, and I’m okay to talk about this case on the internet as long as I don’t name the bus company in question.]

My wheelchair is not a prison!

12 Sunday Mar 2017

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Since becoming visibly disabled in 2013, after several years in the invisible camp, I have been anxious about seeing people I used to know, and meeting new people. Not just the inevitable “what happened?” (answer: “technically nothing, I was born with this”), but the misguided sympathy I now get for being a wheelchair user. Non-disabled people tend to see the wheelchair as The Worst Thing That Could Ever Happen to someone – look at the terminology used: wheelchair-bound; stuck in a chair; confined to a wheelchair…. but they don’t think of the alternative. Before I had my electric wheelchair, I would leave the house once or twice a week, as it caused me that much pain to walk and the knock on effects weren’t worth it. Now, as long as I’m not in a bad fatigue phase, and can get what passes for “dressed” enough, I can go out multiple days in a row with only minor consequences.  Without their wheelchairs, tens of thousands of people in this country would have no access to education, work, or a life outside of their homes.
The futon is my prison, and the wheelchair is my freedom and my best friend.
I will admit to getting a bit (extra) depressed from time to time because I miss being able to do the things I used to love – dancing, climbing, scrambling, hiking (basically anything involving going up mountains), kayaking – but what people often fail to understand is that even if I didn’t need my wheelchair, or the crutches I sometimes use, I wouldn’t be able to do these things anymore anyway. The wheelchair is not the symptom of my condition or my limitations, it is the thing that helps me continue to do what I have left. So don’t aim your sympathy at my wheelchair -maybe channel it into anger at the lack of wheelchair access I and other disabled people face instead!

The buggy/bus saga rolls on….

30 Tuesday Aug 2016

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(Again, apologies for the formatting. I wrote this on my iPad and copied it over.)

The wheelchair vs buggy on the bus debate is continuing to roll on, with the Supreme Court ruling yet to be announced, more than two years after Doug Paulley opened his landmark case against a transport group for failing to ensure wheelchair users could use the spaces legally provided for them.

I’ve seen a lot of posts from parents this year on various platforms not only arguing
their rights, but equating them with those of the disabled people they are
keeping from accessing public transport, so I thought I would make an
annoying list of bullet points to round up my errant brain kittens on
this. Warning: will contain personal experience and also instances of
ableism.

(All points assume that neither the parent nor child is themselves
disabled. If a disabled child in a wheelchair buggy is in the
wheelchair space, well, it’s a wheelchair space, and that is a
wheelchair.)

So important it doesn’t get a number: the bleat “You wanted equality
now you have equality” holds no water here. This is not equality, not
when a non-disabled person can sit anywhere in the bus (or indeed
stand if there are no seats) but a wheelchair user only has one
option. Not equality, but it is a small step towards equity.

1.      The wheelchair space on the bus is the only place which a
wheelchair user – be it manual, transport or powered – can safely
travel. Most wheelchairs are too bulky to be able to go anywhere else
without blocking the aisle, even if they don’t move while the bus is
in motion.
2.      For most bus companies, the current rule for parents with buggies
is that they may use the wheelchair space if it is not needed by a
wheelchair user. This is clearly marked on signs in the wheelchair
bay.
3.      According to the Big Red Book (the driver’s manual for TFL buses), upon trying
to board a wheelchair user when there is already a buggy in the space,
drivers are first supposed to play the automatic announcement and, if
this doesn’t work, then go and ask the parent to please fold the buggy
so that the wheelchair user can board.
4.      The rules are apparently made to be broken: more often than not a
driver will shrug apologetically and say they have a buggy on board.
This kind of driver is unlikely to actively engage with the parent, so
I have to ask them to open the middle doors so I can speak to the
parent myself and plead with them to let me on. It’s not dignified,
but sometimes I can’t afford to wait for the next bus – hell,
sometimes this IS the next bus!
5.      Obviously this doesn’t work all the time – it’s pretty much 50% in
my personal experience, and half the time I do board (size of
wheelchair space dependent), I have to slot in next to an unfolded
buggy, in an “illegal” position. It’s okay in my powerchair, if not painful due to people continually bumping into me,  but
manual chairs are far more prone to tipping and this could be very
dangerous especially as UK buses don’t seem to have
restraints/wheelchair belts.
6.      If a buggy won’t fold at all, the driver is supposed to offer a
transfer ticket for the parent to board the next bus at no cost. I
have yet to hear a driver offer this to anyone.
7.      Should a parent flat out refuse to vacate the space, fold the
buggy, or reposition themselves so that we can unsafely share the
space (massively compounded when two or more buggies are present), a
wheelchair user will be unable to board. However, there have been
numerous times where I have used a previously unoccupied wheelchair
space and the driver has allowed a buggy on board to block me in, or
block the aisle. Yes the buggy is (often) smaller than a wheelchair,
but it smacks of double standards.
8.      The most controversial point… A baby is not a disability. Sorry.
Sure it’s inconvenient lugging a buggy around, but the right to co-opt
spaces that disabled people fought for doesn’t come with that
temporary impediment. It’s almost as if everyone has forgotten that
before disabled people literally chained their wheelchairs to buses in
protest for access, all buggies had to be folded before boarding
anyway. Years of access to a space created for disabled people has led
to entitlement and apathy. Why not join growing protests for TWO
accessible spaces on the bus, or start your own movement with other
parents? The benefits of disabled victories are not yours to reap with
impunity.
9.      A little bit of empathy goes a long way. I’ve let buses leave
without me, with buggies on board, knowing that there is another bus
not far behind. Similarly, I’ve had a mum with a baby get off a stop
early so I could board. I know there’s a striking juxtaposition
between this point and the last point. Consider point 8 aimed at those
who insist that their rights to have a giant unfoldable buggy trump
everyone else’s, and point 9 an ideal case of working stuff out in a
non ideal situation.