Taxi please...

 My dad’s side of the family is rooted in the London black cab industry. The story goes back generations and now, all four of the Shorey brother’s are taxi drivers.

To many, the iconic image of a black cab gives off a warm and pleasant feeling. But since becoming a Wheelchair Boy, I have discovered that these Taxi’s are no longer a friendly form of ‘public’ transport.

Disabled people make up the general public so all transport from buses to trains should be accessible. You’ve heard about the incidents I’ve had on trains in the main, they are fine (apart from the Tube) and after trying them at University (awkward silence), buses are surprisingly easy to use.

For as long as I can remember, my dad’s taxi has had a Wheelchair ramp, which he can unlock and fold out. There are also seatbelts to secure the chair in place. So, in theory, a black cab is completely disabled friendly. However, when it comes to putting a wheelchair in, you soon find out that the accessibility is a fallacy. There is hardly any space so not only do I bang my head on the roof but there is no room for any other passengers.

My uncle jokes how he would never bother picking up a disabled person (well I hope he’s joking) but he hasn’t really got the choice. He can’t, regardless of if he can be bothered. As I said, you can’t call it ‘public’ transport if not everyone is able to use it. Restricting accessibility to a black cab would be like saying that homosexuals can’t ride on buses. There would be uproar.

Bye for now!

I'm a big kid...

After watching the BAFTA’s last Sunday, I’ve wanted to go to the cinema but haven’t been able to fit it into my schedule (yes, I have one). There are loads of films I was ready to pick from but turns out; there was actually little choice for the time I wanted. It was either some Twilight looking movie, a psychological thriller or a classic Disney film. I weren’t in the mood for anything deep or scary so I chose the light-hearted option.

I thought Wreck-it Ralph would be OK, nothing special but how wrong I was- it was brilliant. I won’t do a traditional review because I get so annoyed when they give the plot away. All I’ll say is obviously, it’s perfect for children but for me, as an adult, my imagination was running wild and it brought back memories of the hours I spent in arcades when I was little. I felt all-warm inside (sounds cheesy) and I’d highly recommend it.

Even if you have no kids to take, just go. I don’t have any. I know I’ve said nothing whatsoever about the plot, but hopefully my description of how I felt tantalises you.

Have a good time regressing back to your childhood. Can’t beat nostalgia.

Bye for now!

Hypocrisy...

I have something to admit. I probably come across all preachy on here because I’m trying to educate people and show that I’m a normal person. But sometimes, I am equally ignorant when speaking to disabled people, especially those who are mentally affected.

The reason I’m saying this now is because there was a man sitting next to me at the game on Saturday who kept tapping me on my shoulder and pointing saying something. I was doing exactly what I hate people doing by responding with a patronising smile and nodding even though I didn’t understand. He could’ve been saying “you look like a right mug getting upset over football” and I just agreed.

Some may say he’s mental so didn’t realise Wheelchair Boy was being patronising.   Think about it differently. He’s a man trapped behind a mental handicap. What if he was thinking that as a fellow disabled person, I’d understand and treat him normally. It just makes me think of the Down’s Syndrome character of Becky on glee who has a posh voice. You don’t know what people are thinking regardless of disability/race/age/gender, which is an interesting thought.

Another thing that I done was stare at someone with a disability which irritates the hell out of me so I was annoyed. But, I couldn't take my eyes of the men because I find sign language so fascinating. Plus, I was trying to work out who were the deaf ones.  Yet, if a 19 year old boy was staring at me, I'd tell him in no uncertain ternms where to go...

We can all learn from this blog including me.

Bye for now!

Just call me Rocky...

As you all are aware if you’ve read my previous blog posts, I’m trying to build my upper body so that I can be independent when using a manual wheelchair and push myself. I started off with some weight work but then I thought practice makes perfect so I should push myself further than just inside the house. So, I started by going around the block, which is pretty flat. Then, I challenged myself a few times by going down (easy) and back up my street (testing). Today, I combined both by going around to Waitrose and back. It’s not a` huge distance but believe me, to an unfit, disabled Wheelchair Boy pushing himself (and I’m not light, my Harlem Shake proves that), it is like a marathon.

I am quite proud because it is by no means simple. Not only am I weak because of my condition, there is also other problems that conspire against me. Firstly, like I’ve said before, the pavements are awful. It’s like an added obstacle course, what with the potholes I’m forced to manoeuvre and uneven ground I have to go over.

Secondly, my wheelchair is from the NHS so is obviously not the best. My fingers are always getting caught and it tends to veer off to one side, which adds to the difficulty. It is just not designed properly. I could do with a lightweight chair but I’m not sure where from.

About 5 years ago, the charity Whizz Kidz bought me an electric wheelchair because the NHS refused me one. This completely transformed my life by making me more independent. However, I’m 19 and no longer fit in the criteria of charities like this. I can’t afford one because a light, easy to use manual that is designed to fit my purpose would be highly expensive (talking £1000’s) and I would need assistance.

I don’t know where to turn (no pun intended).

I’m still a long way off flexing my biceps but I’ve just had a protein shake so I’ll keep you updated.

Bye for now!

Everybody hurts...

Yesterday, Arsenal lost. That’s nothing new. As you know from my post back in early December entitled ‘A little bit over the top’, I wear my heart on my sleeve when it comes to football so I’m miserable when my beloved team. I said that the defeat to Bradford was the end of the season and that Wenger should step down in the summer. But, after my away day at Brighton, which we won 3-2, I came away with a special feeling that the 2013 FA Cup was ours. If you still don’t understand how desperate I was to win this competition, here is my ‘Final Word’, which I sent to the programme editor but wasn’t used:

“We are all aware that the 2005 FA cup is the last piece of silverware our great club has won so why do people, namely those in the media or opposition supporters, feel the need to remind us. I know it seems funny to others but it is a fact that eats away at me on a daily basis. I just want this suffering to end.

I was only 12 when Patrick lifted that cup after a nail-biting victory on penalties 8 years ago. I didn’t get tickets to Cardiff but managed to convince my mum to throw a party around our house and invited all my friends. I was so happy, gloating in front of some of my non-Arsenal supporting friends but little did I know that feeling of utter contentment would never be replaced. I am 20 at the end of this year so I’ve never seen Arsenal win a trophy in my teenage years. They say being a teenager is the best days of your life but mine hasn’t been because I can never be happy if Arsenal isn’t winning.

I want the players putting on our famous Red and White strip to read this before kick-off today. Just like us fans do. So they can get inside our head’s and begin to feel the emotions of a true fan. The obvious difference is the future is in their hands and they can change our fortunes on the pitch. I’ll be sitting in the North Bank trying to suck the ball into Blackburn’s goal but, at the end of the day, I am a helpless passenger just like every other fan.

The reason I’m writing this before this Fifth Round tie is because we are so close. The FA Cup has a special place in all football fans hearts and none more so than Arsenal fans. The actual trophy may be seen as not that important compared to the Champions League but believe me, it is still the Cup of Dreams. But, that’s the thing. The dream can become a reality. To put it in black and white terms, only four games stand between us and glory.

There was a time not long ago when Wembley was our second home. Cup final after cup final. The famous old Arsenal was synonymous with the Twin Towers. Even our Champions League matches were held there. The awful PA system aside, I want a return to those days. Let’s make the Arch the new symbol of our club and take ownership of Wembley Way. Surely that’s not too much to ask.

I'll leave you with this story to ponder (some of you may have heard it). It was a sunny day in the merry month of May. I met a lady with a yellow ribbon tied in her hair. I asked her “why do you wear that ribbon”. Without thinking, she replied “I wear it for the Arsenal and we’re going to Wembley”…

The players will never know the pain I’m in. I look normal on the outside but the lack of success is eating away at me. Wenger’s had time to change but that’s it, he has to go.  I sat there just staring at the pitch last night, as my mind was completely empty. I wish I could stop supporting Arsenal with so much vigour. I fear for my sanity if this carries on.

People, including some Arsenal fans, will tell me to stop being so melodramatic, it is only a game and to get over it because there are more important things. No, Arsenal is my life and only those who feel the same can empathise.

Don’t worry; I’ll still be blogging every day even when the pain intensifies on Tuesday.

Bye for now!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ijZRCIrTgQc Cue the tears!