And so, I’m sitting here listening to the wedding mix. I’ve stopped watching wedding shows and started eating again. Mostly Tic-Tacs. For nostalgic reasons. And because I know I should eat, but I’m not actually hungry. I’m still writing emails. And my mother arrives on Monday. And then Sarge and I get married on the 15th. Think of us. While I’m away, I shall leave you in the capable words of Elsa from Feminist Sonar, Susan from Adventures in Low…
Dearest Pepto, Thank you. You’re lovely. We first met when I barfed at the very top of a moving Ferris wheel. I lost a friend and corn-dog that night. But you were there, in all your pink splendour. I don’t like pink as a colour, but I can certainly drink it. Fast-forward to yesterday. All those emails. Hopefully we’ve seen the last of them. Not counting the actual replies to said emails. Which would be really useful. I can read…
Remember when this blog was about (in)accessibility, travel and life on wheels? It’s kinda morphed into a wedding-planning stress-fest, which still includes all of the above. Stick with me here. In the midst of writing emails, being poked with dress-pins and sometimes sobbing over song choices, I have been doing some work. I’m part of a website start-up which will focus on listing accessible travel accommodation for disabled people, with an opportunity to read/share reviews on such places, book from…
I used to be really good at being alone. When I was single, I was perfectly happy to stay in by myself with only ice-cream, popcorn and my collection of Sandra Bullock movies for company. True story. I would dance and sing around my living-room. One particular Saturday night, I did all of that while drinking Baileys from a pint glass. That was special. OK, maybe that night I wasn’t all that happy to be alone. My point is this.…
Confession time. When I started this blog, I was angry. Angry about uneven pavements that may or may not have dog-shit on them. Angry about inaccessible buildings and accessible toilets being used as storage cupboards. Because, if you keep a damn fridge in there, it becomes inaccessible. Angry about being called a ‘wheelchair’ on the bus, and always having to say: There’s a person in it, too. I wanted to write about all of that, and my boyfriend and my…
