This is what it’s like to be stranded in London at night when you’re a wheelchair user

It was just past 11pm on Easter Sunday when the realisation struck: Christ, I’m stranded. In the middle of London, a wealthy capital that regularly appears in those lists of global cities research organisations like to compile, I had no realistic way home. That was when the panic started to set in.

At this point, dear reader, you’re probably wondering what on earth I’m talking about. There must have been an option. It wasn’t so late. So let me clarify – I use a wheelchair, which means things get a whole lot more complicated. I also require medication and I only had what I call my “evening kit” with me. I didn’t expect to be out for longer – not a mistake I’ll make again.

My therapist had strongly recommended getting out more, and what better opportunity than a Sparks gig, at Camden’s Roundhouse. There are a lot of places that like to bang on about diversity and inclusion only to fail to include disabled people in their calculations. Gestures are cheap. Accessibility isn’t. The Roundhouse is not like this. It practices what it preaches. Disabled life in Britain is a series of bumpy pavements, but the Roundhouse is a smooth, traffic-free road.

The problem with the journey back from the event had its roots in some rube ploughing into my (parked) car and a bureaucratic snafu, which meant I was without a replacement while it was being repaired. I would thus have to rely on public transport. This meant planning.

Why disability sucks, reason number one: there’s no such thing as spontaneity. You have to meticulously plan everything. Even when you live in a global city. Especially when you live in a global city.

The journey there was half an hour longer (plus some additional wheeling) than it would have been before the life-changing cycling accident. But it was at least relatively trouble-free, which is quite rare. The venue lived up to expectations and the band delivered a couple of hours of pure, unadulterated joy.

With deep reluctance, I left a little early to complete the meticulously planned journey home. This was when the wheels fell off – and I’m not talking about the chair. To get to the nearest accessible tube, I needed a taxi or another Uber. There were none. The minicab firms were all shut. Black cabs were non-existent. And the Uber app refused to work on my phone.

For a while, I meandered around Camden wondering what to do. For a while, I watched other people get on the tube. Why disability sucks, reason number two: tubes are inaccessible. And people seem OK with that.

I can walk a little. Not well. It hurts, and I use two crutches (which I had with me). But perhaps, if someone were to help, I might be able to make use of a station with a limited number of steps? Nope.

The supervisor at the nearby station I tried said it was more than his job was worth to provide assistance, or even to explore whether the exercise would be possible. He didn’t have the staff, conditions of travel, he had “a disabled” in his family so he sympathised but… You’ll have to use a bus.

Why disability sucks, reason number three: callous officialdom and policies that green light blatant discrimination. And yes, he actually said that: “A disabled.” What next? Some of my best friends are crippled? The best of it was, he moaned about a lack of staff but had plenty of time to waste droning on and on about policies and why he couldn’t help.

Over to buses: the problem with buses – and this is far from unique to London – is that they are a hostile environment for the mobility impaired. I’ve had so many bad experiences on them that I don’t regard them as a tenable option for even a short journey. This one could have taken hours. I once tried getting into work by bus from where I live for the purposes of an article. What had been an hour’s commute pre-accident turned into a five and a half hour odyssey. The editor who commissioned it was so horrified by the result that they said they felt guilty about it. I brushed that aside. I’m in the job to raise these issues.

So, anyway, buses were out. A hotel (as absurd as that may sound)? Medication would be an issue. A hospital? These were the increasingly unpalatable solutions that were presenting themselves to a mind that was rapidly descending into a morass of post-traumatic stress meltdown.

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And then fate, or the London gods, or maybe just good old science, took pity. I managed to find one small piece of pavement, just outside the station, where the Uber app would actually work. The evening still ended with an extended wheeling session in the cold (the last accessible tube I managed to reach was the wrong branch) through mostly dark, empty and threatening streets in the early hours.

It was frightening. But by then, I was wound so tight I didn’t want to investigate any other options. They would mean dealing with people. And I really didn’t want to deal with people.

The band were, it should be said, worth even the horrific obstacle course. But to (mis)quote their most famous lyric: “This town ain’t good enough for disabled people.” This country ain’t good enough for disabled people

In this column, I’ve been chronicling the way so called “inclusive” authorities – including quangos, local councils and central government departments – openly discriminate and/or torment without consequence.

Examples have included the Department for Work and Pensions, York City Council, and the London Borough of Waltham Forest. My transport travails can be laid at the door of Transport for London and ultimately the Greater London Authority and mayor Sadiq Khan. Different parties in control. Same result.

The local elections are looming. This episode, and others, have me contemplating spoiling my pape – something I’ve never done before – because disabled people don’t matter to any of the main parties. So why should elections matter to me?