Tag Archives: London

The Good Samaritan

16 Tuesday Mar 2021

Posted by in Blog, Disability

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

, , , ,

I wrote this a year ago, the night it happened. I wanted to get the details down while they were fresh in my memory, but as it turns out this didn’t matter. A police officer came to my home a few days later, and told me that because the incident had happened off the bus they couldn’t use the bus CCTV to try and identify the man because it would “violate his right to privacy”. The (male) police officer also suggested that the man might have honestly “just been trying to help”. Because of lockdown and my health risks, I’ve not been on a bus since and that’s been the best help in dealing with this. I’ve decided to post it now, though, because of the outpouring of stories women have been sharing since Sarah Everard was killed and because disabled women are at risk too – often under the guise of “assistance” like this. 

Two men are facing me, sitting in seats separated by the aisle; it was clear they’d been having a conversation, thrown together by late night commute. Talk quickly turned to the wheelchair ramp, which didn’t want to go back in. We sat while the alarm beeped and the recalcitrant ramp moved a few centimetres at a time towards its goal, sharing weary head-shakes, eye rolls, “oh TFL” sardonic grins, until eventually the bus was able to move off. I learned on the short journey that the man on my right was heading somewhere unfortunately far off the night bus route and not looking forward to the 40 minute walk. The man on my left asked me some questions, none about my disability, which I answered coolly but politely (my age, why I was out so late, if I needed help). It’s ingrained in me not to ignore questions, even from strangers. Say something or it’s rude, but include as little information as possible if you don’t feel like a conversation. Politeness will get you everywhere, including into trouble.

At my stop the ramp deployed properly but then, of course, refused to return to position. The driver got out of the bus, and excused me from trying to assist. Wishing him the best of luck, I got around the corner of my road before stopping for a minute to answer a message on my phone with my dominant hand, the one I use to control my wheelchair. I can hear someone coming up behind me, and move over a bit to let them pass with more room.

“Hello!”
To my surprise the man from the left hand side of the bus is walking up to me.
“I just wondered, did you need any help?”
I didn’t remember him getting off the bus at my stop, but maybe since the ramp was taking its sweet time going back in, he had time to come and ask – many non-disabled people offer me assistance like this in the average week, both underestimating the power of my electric wheelchair and the extent of TFL’s accessibility infrastructure (if you’ve never needed to use a wheelchair ramp on the bus, for example, you may presume the driver is about to leave without letting a wheelchair user off, but the doors need to close for the ramp to be deployed).
I said no thank you to his offer of help, and this where most people stop.
“But you must need help!”
Again, no thank you, I explained that I manage this journey into the city and back multiple times a week (slight embellishment for emphasis on my independence) and don’t need help getting into my own home. He changed tack:
“What is your name?”
I couldn’t pretend to be distracted this time. My mind sticks on Elly Higginbottom. “Elizabeth”.
“Elizabeth… Elizabeth, oh Elizabeth…”
the wavering red flag I’ve felt since he appeared on my road suddenly springs upright
“I think you should probably go back to the bus” (although I was vaguely aware of having heard it drive off a moment before) “you don’t want to miss it”
“Let me help you, Elizabeth”
He speaks gently, but as if he’s already decided on the course of action and he’s just asking first because it’s a social norm.
“No it’s okay, I’ve been travelling on my own since I was a teenager, I don’t need help”
“No Elizabeth, where do you live? Do you live here?”
Deflect, deflect, deflect (and lie) “About five minutes away, look it’s nearly 1am I just want to go home and go to bed it’s really late, so…”
“Can I come with you, walk with you?”
At this point, I am acutely aware that the late hour means that most of the people on my residential road are in bed. Footfall is minimal, as are passing cars. My wheelchair has lost some battery over the course of the evening and is now running at a medium-fast walking pace at best. The priority is not to let him know where I live, which means cutting contact with him there at the end of the road.
Direct, direct, direct “No, sorry. I just want to go home, have a cup of tea and go to bed”
This seems to encourage him in a new direction, unfortunately.
“Can I come home with you and have a cup of tea?
“No, sorry.”
“I can stand outside even, not in the house, just a cup of tea”
“No” – no more “sorry”, because the red flag is getting ominously brighter
“Coffee”
“No, I just want to go home and go to bed”
“Can I not come for one cup of tea?”
“No, sorry [argh] I’m not going to take a stranger home with me in the middle of the night” (slight lie, ask my second year housemates)
“But I won’t be a stranger soon, we are at the beginning of something”
fifty fucking red flags are waving in my face
Now desperate, and not sure when I went from feeling hassled to actively scared, I try to override my British-Canadian double whammy of natural politeness and the wobble in my voice.
“Leave me alone please. I don’t want you to come home with me and I don’t want to talk to you any more.” Said as forcefully as possible, being very aware to put on an apologetic smile at the end to dampen the rejection. Everything in me is screaming “don’t make him angry” so the urge to just keep him placated is overwhelming, but also things have been slowly escalating in the last three minutes and I am very worried about where they might end up. I start to silently pray for someone to come walking past.
“You don’t need to speak aggressively to me Elizabeth” I think I do
Since he mentioned coming to my home I’ve been thinking of what is open at this hour nearby on a weeknight. Nothing on the parade of shops to the left, the corner shop closed two hours ago. The pub on the right? No one’s in the beer garden having a smoke, so I can presume the doors are locked. I’d have to roll 15 minutes into town to find anywhere open, and he already knows that isn’t my way home.
In utter desperation I use my last card.
“If you don’t leave me alone, I’m going to have to call the police”
“You don’t have to do that, Elizabeth, I am not-“

I see a man on the other side of the road, strolling briskly in the direction of my flat. I immediately cross the road (thank heavens I stopped on a drop kerb) and go after him, occasionally shouting to try and get his attention, but he is wearing headphones and doesn’t hear either me or my high-pitched (and usually ineffective) wheelchair horn. I follow him for close to five minutes, passing my house on the other side, never getting closer than 2 metres away thanks to the reduced battery life, and too scared to turn around to see if there’s a figure in a red hoodie following me. I think about calling the police but don’t think their priority in North London at night is to come to the aid of someone who may or may not be being followed, and in any case the local station closed down years ago and it could take hours. By the time the man with the headphones crosses the road at a point where I can’t follow him, never knowing that I tried to get his attention, I’ve made a list in my head of anyone I know nearby who might be awake (but still probably isn’t). I can’t hear footfalls over the sound of my wheelchair, but I don’t want to stop so I take a convoluted route through the residential side streets, making sure that if he’s still following me I could still be feasibly “going home” (and realising that I am still considering his feelings although I can’t tell if it’s out of tact or fear of angering him). Eventually I stop and look back. Nothing. He hasn’t followed me. My only worry now is that if he was savvy enough he might have gone up and down my road looking for a wheelchair ramp. I call my upstairs neighbour, guiltily aware that I will most likely be waking him up, but after three attempts realise his phone must be on silent. Scanning mentally through the rest of my potential awake people list, I message the neighbour who lives near the end of the road where I had the encounter with the bus man. She is in bed, but says she’ll stand at the window and look out for anyone wearing a hoodie. I know this won’t help if he’s found my house in the meantime, but at least I don’t feel quite so alone. Forty minutes after getting off the bus, I come back onto my road from the opposite end to the bus stop, barrel up the ramp to my front door and put the chain on after it shuts. 

Access Review: National Theatre/Lyttleton Theatre

22 Sunday Sep 2019

Posted by in access, Disability, Reviews

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , ,

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!

IMG_3496

 

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!

 

Housing Doldrums – when is progress not actually progress?

08 Thursday Aug 2019

Posted by in access, Disability, Housing

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , ,

In May, 28 months after first applying to the council as needing housing rather urgently, I was accepted onto their Homefinders scheme. This is where private landlords list their properties and us lucky property seekers can then bid for the right to rent them. Applicants are placed in the queue based on their assessed needs and urgency to move.

So far so simple.

Except not. In March I found out I had been placed in Housing Group 3 – extra health and wellbeing needs – which sounded accurate on the surface, until I learned that Group 5 was the group for those who need wheelchair accessible properties. My advocate and I queried this, as I rarely go anywhere without my powerchair and absolutely need it for independent living, but were told that Group 5 was only for wheelchair users that need to use their wheelchairs inside their homes as well as outside. Fair, I do not need to do that at this point as long as I can have reasonable adaptations made. But this left us with an issue – does Group 3 ever get offered wheelchair accessible properties? We asked the council multiple times in emails, going as far as to request a face to face meeting so I could get a straight answer, but no joy. We were also told that there were many other applicants in the group, and my chances of getting anything via the council were so slim that I should continue to look privately or consider a low cost homeowners scheme (hello, where is the bank that will give a mortgage to someone existing solely on disability benefits?).

So as well as frustrating myself to tears looking through property sites for accessible and affordable flats (as I have been doing since early 2017), since May I’ve been logging onto the Homefinders site weekly to see what’s listed as available for me to bid on. I’ve never seen more than 4 available in my strict category (1 occupant, 1 bedroom) in one week, and to answer my own question to the council it seems that wheelchair accessible properties offered to Group 3 are sparse. I’ve seen one so far, and it was on the ninth floor of a tower block far enough removed from public transport that even the site listed it as such. Even yesterday, a friend alerted me to a property listed that had a “roll in shower” so must be wheelchair friendly? Nope – third floor, no lift. We’re going to try and push again for that data on accessible properties, or a face to face meeting.

What else in the meantime? I’ve applied to two different specialist housing organisations in the last couple of weeks, although I’ve not even had an acknowledgment of application from either of them, and since posting a desperate tweet to find any other links/HAs/charities/flats for rent I’ve got a couple more to try.

It’s hard keeping my head above water right now. I can be in a perfectly good mood then think too much about housing and start going under. I tried to access private therapy to deal with the trauma around housing and homelessness from my previous experiences, but something got in the way – lack of wheelchair accessible therapists. The irony is not lost on me. I’m even considering reapplying to my local CMHT for help, but I’m not sure I’ll be accepted since in November they kicked me off the therapy program I was on because my housing issues were monopolising my thoughts and causing more acute mental health issues, distracting from the longstanding ones the program was designed for. If I don’t laugh I’ll scream

And that’s where I’m at now. I know I’ve been crap at updating this, it’s hard to pull the brainkittens together to write something longer than a tweet – see last post – but I’m trying to write it out more. It makes me feel less lost and confused, writing it all down as a record of what happened too. I’ll do a medical update one at some point, but it seems less urgent.

Thanks to everyone who’s retweeted my plea – so far 674 of you! Please keep it going, any advice, any ideas are appreciated. Even if it doesn’t get me a property to rent, I hope that it wakes people up to the appalling lack of wheelchair accessible properties in this country.

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

08 Monday Jan 2018

Posted by in access, Reviews

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , ,

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!

Ability Bow – a gym for disabled people in London, hit by Tory cuts.

12 Sunday Nov 2017

Posted by in Activism, Disability, Government Cuts

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, , , , ,

The Tories are taking away from disabled people with one hand, and outright stealing with the other. I recently received a message from the user of one depleted service, asking me to spread the word. I recognised it as a gym that I had once been recommended to use myself when I was unable to do my physiotherapy exercises on my own, so I was shocked to hear that many of its services, including the ones I had been recommended, were no longer available.

Ability Bow is located in the heart of East London, and was set up in a disused church after a community campaign in 1998. It accepts both disabled and non-disabled members, with programmes tailored to each person’s ability and goals. Disabled and elderly people are frequently referred from their GP, so that they can benefit from what Ability Bow offers. It’s no surprise that the gym is described as “busy” with the amount it offers, including specialist sessions for stroke patients, people with MS, people with learning disabilities and, still on the website as “starting soon”, a programme for D/deaf and hard of hearing members. From 2006-2016, over £2.3 million was raised so that 3650 disabled members could exercise safely and with supervision  – the gym is wheelchair accessible, with accessible changing rooms, equipment, showers and even a sauna! 

Most of the people we work with have had a life-changing event such as a stroke or spinal injury or the diagnosis of a long-term condition like MS or Parkinson’s Disease. We accept referrals from GPs, physiotherapists and other Health or Social Care professionals and we have no exclusion criteria – we do not turn anyone away no matter how complex their disability making Ability Bow the only service of its kind in London. – from the Ability Bow website

The Ability Bow gym is an active, and beneficial part of both the East London and disability communities. However, in October 2016, due to a lack of adequate government funding, Ability Bow was made to cut half their professional staff and subsequently many of their services. Currently the Ability Bow gym is only open for those who can exercise without close supervision (after their initial supervised introductory sessions), which leaves 60% of their membership, who have been referred from their doctors and need more support or 1:1 sessions, without any gym services at all (the nearest similar service is in Birmingham). This is a huge blow to the regular users, who now have no support to exercise, and also a self-defeating move from the government – the long-term rehabilitation offered by the gym reduced hospital admissions, physiotherapy needed, and amount of medication and care needed in several disabled gym members surveyed. The money saved by cutting the gym services will be added onto the additional cost for the NHS and social services. It’s not just the exercise either – the members no longer catered for are missing out on socialisation, interaction, familiarity; things many severely disabled people lack due to a rotation of unfamiliar carers and lack of support.

The testimonies speak for themselves:

“My daughter uses the gym regularly. She is long term disabled. She no longer gets regular physio. The reason is funding cut. The excuse is that she has the gym to keep her agile. Now the gym is being affected by cuts! What a disgrace. The top priority for funding in the city should be important projects like this!” – Akiva

“My wife is a user of Ability Bow. It is a rehabilitation centre as welll as a gym. My wife was always falling due to her poor balance and mobility limitations. Use of the the specialist/adapted equipment at Ability Bow and the support from staff has helped her build strength and develop confidence which in turn has reduced her falls and visits to A&E. As her carer, Ability Bow helps me to help her, Please save Ability Bow” – Joseph

“I have worked here for the last 7 years and it’s one of only 2 or 3 gyms in the country that caters for people with serious health conditions with specialised equipment.I have loved working at this gym and seeing the life changing impact it has had for clients.” – Andrew

“…my wonderful sister attends the gym and has benefited immensely. The staff and centre do fantastic work helping some of the most vulnerable and often forgotten members of the community. The gym provides a much needed and invaluable service.” – Mary

You can find more testimonies, and information on how to help campaign to restore the gym’s services at the Ability Bow website or on the campaign’s Facebook page. 

There is a 38 Degrees petition here, and enquiries on Twitter can be directed to @DJ_Paperwork.