"There were commodes as well."

Using a commode in front of half of Central London?

I think I'd rather wet myself...

I am getting really pissed off with, well... Piss.

I know I only go in to university one day a week so I shouldn't let it bother me this much. But, yuck.

There's a man who uses the disabled toilet in the building I have lectures in and wees *everywhere*. And I know it's a bloke because women aren't anatomically designed to spray that liberally.

Some days the room is more like a swimming pool. Except it smells more like wee and less like bleach of course.

I know that some people live with incontinence and sometimes accidents happen. But, seriously... clean it up! Have a little respect for your fellow humans.

One day I'm going to slip over in the wee and wind up on the floor, with a broken leg, covered in his urine. You'd hope that the police could test the DNA on the wee all over my clothes and charge him with some kind of assault for setting off a chain of events which left me injured. But that doesn't even happen in CSI so it's certainly not going to happen in real life.

And it's not just the floor... it's the seat too! I know most women squat rather than sit when faced with a grim loo, but some of us aren't physically capable of that. If I try squatting I just fall down. And land in his pee. Lovely.

So, I decide to find a safer, less vile toilet. What do you do when leaving a toilet? Turn the door handle. And, yup, that's always wet too.

"I would've gotten away with it too if it wasn't for those pesky disabled people!"

A couple of months ago I blogged (very briefly) about Katie Thorpe.

I've been offline for the past few days. I haven't been doing anything interesting... The cat and I took up Synchronised Sneezing, I've read a few essays about Buffy, but mostly I've just been sitting on the sofa watching CSI (hey, I'm doing a Masters in Cult Film & TV... watching CSI is therefore technically studying).

Not having been staring into my computer screen means I've not been keeping up with the news... I rarely watch it on TV or listen to it on the radio, I get all my news from online sources.

So, I was both shcoked and pleased to switch on my computer this morning to find that I had an Email from Scope. Shocked because they're not my most favourite of charities so I was stunned to find myself on one of their mailing lists. But pleased because the Email was the first time I'd heard the news that Katie Thorpe has been spared uneccessary surgery. A quote from Katie's mother in that article that would be funny if it wasn't so disturbing:

"People who don't know Katie, who don't fully understand our situation have actually been swayed by the minority of the disability rights organisations."

Damn those pesky disabled people fighting for the right to not be needlessly mutilated.

In recent months I've started to notice something quite chilling going on. All minority groups have their hate-filled opressors, and disabled people have more than most. But, recently, the people shouting the loudest about why disabled people shouldn't be allowed human rights are the parents of disabled children!

I read an article, or perhaps it was a 'letters to the editor' type thing by a parent, or parents of autistic children. They were basically claiming that the National Autistic Society is bad and wrong and fails to support "real" autistic people. Why? Because they employ autistic people. According to the article people with autism know nothing about it. They claimed that the only people that truly understand autism are the parents, and people with autism have no right to claim that they do know anything about it. I can't remember where I read this, but, if it rings a bell and you know where I can find this story, please comment.

That a parent can claim that their children shouldn't have the right to speak out for themselves, or that their children shouldn't have the right to avoid unneccesary surgery simply beggars belief.

Fortunately, for once, the disabled people are coming out on top.

2007 started with Ashley X hitting the news. This spurned several wanna-copycat cases, like Katie.

Hopefully 2008 beginning with the news that Katie is safe will bring a better year for young disabled girls everywhere.

Mice genetically altered to not fear cats.

Why?

Mice aren't scared of the smell of cats anyway! If they were, they wouldn't keep sneaking into my flat and winding up suffering from death by cat's teeth.

Unless some of these specially bred mice escaped and managed to make their way all the way from Japan to the Somers Town area of London...

Dear Anonymous commenter who keeps leaving me dissertation length comments telling me my "disability is a punishment from the gods."

Fuck off.

Yours so not faithfully;

Lisy Babe.

I think I need some help. I'm wondering if there's an "anonymous" group for my particular problem.

I'm addicted to... CSI.

And I really do have a problem. Despite having all the DVD's so far, I still feel the need to stay up late every night to catch the odd episode on Five US.

Fortunately I'm a student at the moment, so I can afford to stay up late watching TV and then sleep all day. But it'd be nice to see some daylight once in a while.

And you'll be interested to know that the main cause of my obsession with the show isn't Jorja Fox and those wonderful eyes of hers. Though of course she does add an extra level of enticement to the show.

The main draw for me is that it's probably the best representation of disability to have ever been shown on TV.

On several TV shows we've seen disabled doctors... Kerry Weaver in ER and of course House. Why is Doc Robbins in CSI so different?

He's played by a disabled actor, Robert David Hall.

When I was an undergraduate I remember watching a documentary in which a black woman was reminiscing about when she first got a TV. She said something to the effect of "whenever there was a black person on TV my friends and family would call each other to tell them to switch on the TV quick!"

Sadly, disabled performers are so rarely spotted on the small screen that disabled people still do this today. Even the BBC hosts a messageboard called "Quick! I've seen a disabled person on TV!"

The other fab thing about Doc Robbins is that his impairment is such a non-issue. Usually when we see disabled people on TV they're either a villain (think Roger Lloyd Pack's character creating the Cybermen in Doctor Who) or they're burdensome or overly brave for just living their lives (just look at all those "freak shows" they show on five). Certainly their presence is usually all about their impairment - it certainly seemed to me that the only purpose for the character of Brenda in The Office was to make statements about her being a wheelchair user. The same with the baby with Downs on Eastenders, all the storylines were about the Downs, never about the baby as just a baby.

Doc Robbins on the other hand just gets on with the job, and the other characters see him as a medical examiner, not just as a disabled person. In fact, I can only think of his impairment getting mentioned a couple of times - in one episode he began an anecdote with "before I lost my legs..." and in another he got something stuck in the sole of his shoe. Instead of removing his shoe to deal with the offending object, he took off his whole leg.

CSI with the character of Robbins makes disability "normal". Which of course, it is. With roughly 18% of the population in both the US and the UK having some kind of impairment, disability is normal. Though every other show on TV would never have you believe that. I've been waiting and wishing a TV show would show disability in such a way. In fact, I can quite honestly say that CSI is the show I've been waiting for my whole life.

It's important to show disabled people as normal on TV. This summer while volunteering on a FOCUS project one of the young people said to me "before I met you, I was scared of disabled people. I thought they were 'different.' Now I've got to know you I realise you're just like anybody else." I can do what I can to help both disabled and non-disabled people see that disability is "normal", but I just don't have the power to reach as many people as a popular show like CSI.

We're in the 21st Century, yet being a wheelchair user makes me so "freaky" that I can actually cause accidents. People get so engrossed in watching how the-lady-in-the-wheelchair crosses the road that they forget to look right and left before stepping off the pavement themselves. We need more disabled people on TV for non-disabled peoples safety.

Sadly, even CSI doesn't get it right all the time. The episode Sounds of Silence features the murder of a Deaf boy. One thing the show did very, very well was to highlight how even the most apparently open-minded of people, who'd never make a racist or homophobic remark, often have disablist prejudices. Sara and Warrick, two "good guys," make gross assumptions about the needs of Deaf people. The ever adorable Grissom of course puts them right.

What bothered me about this episode was the fact that it painted segregated educational institutions as a solution, not a problem. The victim was beaten up because he hadn't heard 2 guys shouting at him. The episode implies that if he'd stayed in the safety of a segregated environment, and not ventured "out there" he wouldn't have been killed. What the writers failed to acknowledge was that if Deaf and disabled people were allowed and encouraged into education alongside their peers, non-disabled people would have a greater understanding of disability. If the killers had had a Deaf kid in their class at school they might have thought "hey, maybe this guy's deaf?" Rather than jumping straight to "this guy's an arse for ignoring us."

The episode A Little Murder is largely great (I say that through slightly gritted teeth just because so much disability-related language that's acceptable in American English is offensive to me as a British English speaker). Almost all of the guest stars in this episode are of restricted growth, not to mention the whole hotel full of extras. And once again the show brilliantly highlights the sad reality of the fact so many people have disablist prejudices. In this episode the investigator that has his disablist ideas corrected is Nick.

Even before the opening credits have rolled, the writers got a dodgy comment in. And surprisingly they gave that line to the usually wonderful Grissom...

"Being a dwarf doesn't mean you're disabled Nick, it means you're... short."

I bet everyone with dwarfism claiming Disability Living Allowance is hoping that a decision maker from the DLA office doesn't see that episode.

The episode goes on to acknowledge some of the many disabling barriers dwarves face (one example given is handrails on stairs not being appropriate heights), and Grissom seems perfectly aware of these barriers. So why on earth would he think that dwarves aren't disabled? Does he really belive those barriers have no effect on a persons ability to participate in everyday life? (I am of course using the Social Model definition of "disabled".)

Robert David Hall and the cast of A Little Murder aren't the only disabled actors to have appeared in the show. There was an episode (Snuff) in which the team investigated the murder of a stable hand with Downs Syndrome, and the victim was played by an actor with Downs. This positivity towards hiring disabled actors makes the episode XX seem so sad - the fact that they cast the non-disabled T R Knight (of Grey's Anatomy fame) to play a learning disabled man.

Another episode which featured a non-disabled actor "spazzing up" is One Hit Wonder, in which Elizabeth Mitchell (Juliet in Lost) plays a wheelchair using attorney. You could in this case argue for the casting of a non-disabled actress, the character had an acquired impairment and was non-disabled in the flashback scenes. But there have been instances on other TV shows of a blind actor faking sight in a few scenes before the character went blind, and of actors with no arms wearing prosthetics for a few scenes until the character's arms were lost. And lets not forget Cherylee Houston playing a non-disabled woman in one sketch on Little Britain.

The issue with this episode in my mind was what I call "The Glen Hoddle Mentality" - that disability is a punishment for sinning. The character became disabled when she shot her husband. Before he bled to death, he grabbed the gun and shot her back. But, not all disabled people are angels, and these things do happen. And I think the fact that CSI has such a positive history in terms of it's realistic representation of disability that it earned the right to "get away with" this episode.

And this is just the tip of the iceberg, we've seen an episode with an autistic witness (Caged) and the murder of a girl with bipolar disorder (Recipe for Murder). In the episode Living Legend there's even an acknowledgement that disabled people can be victims of Hate Crimes.

While CSI might not make it to the almost one-in-five ratio of disabled people that would truly reflect real life, it does better than any show I've ever seen to have come before it. OK, Twin Peaks might have just about gotten the numbers in (Eileen Hayward, Johnny Horne, Nadine, Leo, Gordon Cole, The Man From Another Place, The One-Armed Man, The Log Lady, Andrew Packard, and I'm sure Andy had some degree of intellectual impairment) but it was hardly groundbreakingly positive in its approach to depicting disability like CSI. I mean, the show Twin Peaks itself isn't even accessible to all - several episodes contain strobe lighting which can trigger seizures in those with photosensitive epilepsy.

The good thing is, since CSI we've had the spin off CSI:NY - another disabled doctor! This time played by the wheelchair using actor J. Grant Albrecht

I sincerely hope that future programme makers consider the success of CSI and the fact that disabled people make up such a significant proportion of the population. If we're all phoning our friends and telling them to tune in, like that black woman, we can make a real difference to audience numbers. I wonder how many other CSI fans are so engrossed because of it's representation of disability, like me?

Disabled 15 year-old girl to lose womb

Oh look.

The "Ashley 'Treatment'" is coming to the UK.

I'm disgusted.

I've just finished reading Stephen Fry's essay on fame. I certainly found it a thought provoking read.

I often think there are a lot of similarities between being famous and being disabled.

Firstly, people will always remember meeting you. I can remember the exact date I first met Sharleen Spiteri. I remember sitting next to Matt Lucas on the tube and him pointing out that my jacket pocket was undone. I remember crossing a road in Regents Park in the opposite direction to Derren Brown. I remember that New Year's Eve spent at the same event as Hannah Martin from Neighbours. And I bet there are millions of people in this world that I had a brief chance encounter with who will also remember me for years, if not their whole lifetime. People whom I've met once often approach me and talk about the last time we met. "I'm sorry, my face recognition is appalling," is really all I can say back.

Secondly, people always either talk to you or avoid you because of who you are. I've been in bars where there has also been someone off the telly and hearing my friends go "I'm going to talk to X." Or alternatively "I can't talk to X... they're famous!" People react the same way to me. I either get people wanting to know "What happened to you then?" Or of course, people avoid me like I've got the plague because "I can't talk to her! She's in a wheelchair!" That last response is particularly pesky when they're serving at the bar and all you want to do is order a pint.

Thirdly, people think they have a licence to just come up and talk to me in the street/supermarket/other public place.

Stephen says:

There are days when try as I might I cannot go unnoticed. It’s as if I’m walking around with a neon sign over my head. Every cab driver, everyone I pass in the street, every shop assistant stops me and asks for an autograph or photo (of which more later). I can lower my head, concentrate on looking anonymous, but it’s no good.

OK. I don't get asked for autographs. Instead I get asked "Were you in an accident?"

Stephen summarises that paragraph by saying:

‘Weird, I’m really famous today,’ is how one might put it.

And I know exactly how he feels. Some days I seem (in the eyes of other people) to be more disabled than on other days.

Famous people are not allowed to be in a bad mood in the way that everyone else is.

Neither are disabled people. You may remember in this post I worried about giving "The Disabled" a bad name. Very often I just want to tell people to "fuck off," but know that I mustn't.

If I were to ask one thing of people in their interaction with the famous it is this: consider the companions. Imagine what it is like to be in the company of a well-known person, a person who could be your brother, sister, mother, life-partner, school-friend, client, patient. You’re chatting away and someone barges in on your conversation. They completely ignore you, indeed often literally elbow you out of the way, planting their back in your face.

Something else I can empathise with. It's amazing how many of my non-disabled friends get more bothered by the way "Ordinaries" talk to me and treat me than I do.

Finally:

Robbie Williams can walk around Los Angeles without being recognised

Interestingly, I too can wander round LA without being harassed in the same way I am in the UK. Quite simply because LA is so brilliantly accessible, wheelchair users can get everywhere - so we are everywhere. In contrast, London with it's steps everywhere, it's almost totally inaccessible public transport system, etc disabled people are rarely seen or heard. Who'd of thunk me and Robbie would have something in common?

I'd like to be famous actually. As Stephen says, in many professions, fame is a measure of success. It would be nice to have people recognise me in the street because of something I'd accomplished, rather than just approaching me because I look different.

Trouble is, if I was "famous" - would I notice the difference?

Today I was on my way home from a meeting, and I was starving. So, even though my bank balance hates me for it, I stopped off in a restaurant to grab some dinner.

"You look like you could be this person who used to come in here 2 to 3 years ago, 2 to 3 years.... older," said the waiter who cleared away my empty plate.

When he paused before "older" I was expecting him to say something like "fatter" as you could tell he was clearly searching for the most polite word.

Earlier on in this conversation he'd mentioned that this person was a HE.

I know I've got broad shoulders, but do I really look like I used to be a man?

I think he was just doing that thing that so many people do, assuming that there's only one wheelchair user in the world, and we're all the same person. Laurence Clark wrote an article about the phenomenon here. As you can see from that article, I'm not the first disabled person to be mistaken for someone of the opposite gender, because someone has paid attention to the wheelchair, but no other identifying facets of the person in question.

I know my boobs aren't very big, but they are there. This is why I like to wear T-shirts with writing across the chest to draw peoples attention to them.

Today was the second time in 5 days I've been mistaken for any old wheelchair user. On Thursday I was on my way to the Fresher's Fayre at uni, when a member of staff from one of the halls of residence came marching up to me.

"Did you get your stuff moved across alright?"

"I don't live on campus..."

"Oh."

I wonder if there's someone out there still struggling to move all their belongings from one hall to another, just waiting for someone to offer them some help...

Earlier this evening I was pushing from Holloway to Finsbury Park. You see, I was on my way to my nearest Lidl, which is in Finsbury Park, following a tip off from my Mum that in her local store they currently had cat food that my cat can actually eat.

Me and my pussy are very well matched when it comes to food sensitivities.

What I was unaware of before I set off on my journey was that Arsenal were playing at home. And I was trying to get to Lidl at the same time as the crowds were trying to get out of the stadium. Bad timing.

The number 29 bus was going nowhere, so I decided it'd be quicker to get off and push the rest of the way.

This guy walking in the opposite direction to me stopped and pressed himself up against the railing fencing the pedestrians in. I'm used to this reaction from crip-phobes who can't bear the thought of having to share a pavement with a wheelchair user. Like most people who do this, he watched me as I approached.

Usually though, people resume walking once I (the dangerous, terrifying wheelchair user) have passed. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that he didn't. So I looked over my shoulder and he was still staring at me. Obviously at this point I shot him an evil glare. Most gawpers usually take that as their cue to stare at the floor. Not him.

"You're beautiful!" He cried after me.

Which makes the second nutter this week.

First there was the odd, drunk, smelly bloke I met on a number 29 bus coming home from dinner at a couple of friend's house on Wednesday night.

He was asking the usual, boring old "how long have you been in a wheelchair?" crap that all random strangers want to know. Then he said:

"Well, at least you've got a pretty face. If you were single, I'd go out with you."

Obviously, I didn't mention that I am single. I just nodded.

What is it with people thinking that having a pretty face will melt away all access barriers? (He's not the first). Come to think of it - why do only odd ones who think pretty faces remove access barriers think I have a pretty face anyway? Why can't any hot women ever think that?

I'm starting to think the being single is like being unemployed.

You know how the longer you've been unemployed, the lower your chances of finding a job?

I think people look at prospective partners in the same way as employers look at prospective employees.

"Well, they've been on the shelf for a while. Are they up to date with modern techniques and practices?"

Being 28 and having never had a "proper, grown up" relationship I'm starting to feel how I imagine I'd feel if I was still looking for my first job.

"Well, she's never been in this situation before. How can we guarantee she's got the skills to cope? She's never had to use them. Does she even know how to respond to certain situations? Does she know the rules and etiquette?!"

I've had a couple of conversations about this. One person pointed out that "It's also easier to find a new job when you've got one already." A sentiment echoed by another friend when we were having a conversation about polyamory.

"I think polyamory is just unfair... why should some people get hundreds of partners when I can't even find one?"

My friend went on to point out that I'm the only non-poly wheelchair user that she knows. I was pushing over cobblestones at the time, which is about as close as I come these days to intimacy.

Just now I was flicking back through old blog entries looking for something when I stumbled across the first paragraph of this entry.

I have some shocking news dear readers: Today was my second day back at uni proper. On a Masters course.

Yeah. I know what I said 2 years ago. But I've been bored! And unemployed! At least this gives me something to do, and will (hopefully) make me more employable at the end of it.

I say hopefully, because, well, my MA is in Cult Film & TV. That's right - I'm getting a Masters in watching scary movies and Buffy.

Wish me luck!

It runs in the family...

Did you know that my cat Betty is a supremely talented blogger as well?

Betty's Blog was yesterday's Catster.com Diary of the Day!

I suppose she deserves some kind of treat for that really.

I'm finding it hard to adjust to being back in the real world.

I know I was only on a FOCUS project for 6 days... And that was nearly a month ago. But I still haven't quite gotten into the swing of being back in reality.

One of the things I love most about FOCUS is that the staff and other volunteers simply see me as me. They respect me for my knowledge, skills and experience and don't judge me on the basis of my impairment. If you're disabled and reading this I'm sure you can appreciate straight away how far removed such a simple thing is from day-to-day life.

I've been fortunate enough to be able to spend some quality time with other volunteers that were there since the project. LilWatcherGirl and I went to see Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix at the IMAX together, for example.

"Right, you hide, I'll hail the bus. When the driver gets the ramp out, appear and get on behind me before the driver has the chance to close the doors!"

Because London buses only have one wheelchair space. As we wandered towards the bus stop we had a little discussion about how we were both going to fit in the one space. Oh, if you can catch a bus without having to have a strategic planning meeting you really don't know what you're missing.

It was coming home from the cinema that night that I really missed being in a FOCUS bubble for the first time. Sure, the project didn't exactly run smoothly (*cough* understatement *cough*) but there were some amazing people there. As LWG and I boarded at the rear ramped door, LWG's OtherArf, being a walkie, boarded at the front door. I heard the driver ask her "Where are they getting off?"

If I wasn't so throughly exhausted (this was a Tuesday, on the Sunday night I'd been up all night with sinus pain, and on the Monday I'd been up all night from taking Sudafed which is kinda like speed) I'd have burst into a screamy rage at him. How dare the driver ask someone else questions about me?

For the record, I don't take sugar.

But, I was too exhausted to fly off the handle. Instead I sat and pondered how much the real world sucks.

The bank holiday weekend was awesome. 4 of us volunteers spent the weekend together in Manchester. I don't really drink much alcohol these days; in fact, so little that I'd kept track of all the alcohol I'd drunk so far this year.

Until the bank holiday. Good times.

Being with a group of FOCUSy types out in the real world is kinda strange, but also very cool.

Being out in the real world I was subjected to the usual rubbish: people patting me sympathetically on the shoulder, people grabbing me and trying to push me, etc, etc. But, I had my bodyguards! Oh yes.

On the Sunday night we were indulging in some dirty street drinking (seeing as none of us could afford bar prices). Being FOCUS folk we all know the FOCUS dance routine to "Shake a Tail Feather" (from The Blues Brothers). And, having had a few drinks we decided that dancing to it on Canal Street would be a wonderful idea.

So, there we were quite happily getting our twist on, minding our own business, dancing away. When some guy decides that he wants to grab the-lady-in-the-wheelchair and start pushing her around. Before I could even start screaming I heard:

"Oi! Fuck off! Do one!"

My bodyguards came to my rescue. Good times. Unfortunately it ruined our dance and destroyed any chance of applause from our audience.

I wish I could take those 3 dirty street drinking scum chums with me wherever I went. Unfortunately 2 live in Manchester and the other in Cambridge. I could've done with them on Friday night when at a Treasure Tones gig some creepy drunk guy decided that I was wonderful. *shudder*

Dust. High in fat? Low in fat? Dust?

I really should be cleaning my flat. It looks slightly like a bomb has gone off in here.

I returned on Thursday after roaming round the country for a fortnight (Clacton, Leicester, a FOCUS project in Penistone which is the 2nd best named town in the country after Cockermouth, Leicester, Clacton, Manchester, Clacton) and just threw my stuff everywhere. Although to be fair the place was a tip before I went away.

The good news is though... I can't clean! I have been forbidden from taking any antihistamines until after I've been to the hospital on Monday, which means I can't be sending dust up into the air.

Last time I had an allergy test the nice staff at the Royal Throat, Nose and Ear Hospital failed to tell me that you're not supposed to take antihistamines for 3 days prior to the test (and I'm a bit thick so it didn't cross my mind) so they just stuck a load of needles in my arm for nothing. I didn't even react to being stuck with pure histamine.

So, having been antihistamine free for 24 hours so far I'm trying to avoid all allergens. I'm a bit afraid of leaving my flat because there are flowery things all down the street outside my building and they'll make me sneeze my little head off.

So, instead of cleaning, I'm going to take this opportunity to blog about shoes. I know it's a subject I've blogged about before, but after my footwear traumas of this week, I think it's a topic worth revisiting.

When going down hills in my chair I put my right foot on the floor and use it as a brake. This means I get through right shoes rather quickly (and still have an immaculate left one. If anyone knows anyone with no right foot and a size 4 left one that wants some shoes, I've got plenty).

At Kingswood Peak Venture (the site for this summer's FOCUS project) there was a wicked mean evil hill that I had to push up/roll down about a million times a day. The good news is that from pushing up it I now have the upper body strength of Arnold Schwarzenegger (can you believe I spelled that right first time?!?). However, from rolling down the hill and using my right foot as a brake, I completely wore through the sole of my right trainer. This made shoe shopping a rather urgent thing to do once I re-entered the real world.

Then on Monday night whilst in Clacton at my parents I had a somewhat unfortunate incident involving cat food and my left shoe. So Tuesday really, definitely meant New Shoe Day.

Shopping for shoes is usually quite fun. They're the one piece of clothing I can shop for and not come home crying about how I'm too fat. This was before I'd experienced shoe shopping in Colchester.

I scoured the town high and low looking for some Skechers. In the end I did find some in Barrats, but they were all hideously girly. And, well, I'm not.

I decided my best bet was Office. Amazingly I'm not banned from the chain of stores as the last time I went in a branch I was wired and doing a report for Five Live about inaccessible shops. And I did make them and their employees look rather stupid.

So, there I was sitting in the trainers section in the corner of the store browsing. Unsurprisingly seeing as how I was deep in the heart of Essex, most of the trainers on sale were white. This narrowed down my selection somewhat as I'm not overly proud of being an Essex Girl, and it's not neccessarily something I want people to know about me as soon as they look at me.

But, my selection got narrowed down even more. Once I'd ruled out the possibility of wearing white, most of what was left were velcro trainers. I sat there thinking "well, I can't buy velcro trainers, I'm too crippy. I'm gonna look like I've been given them by an Occupational Therapist because I can't tie my own laces." It was bad enough on the FOCUS project last week when we went 10 Pin Bowling and I had to wear velcro shoes because my feet are so small I'm not supposed to be old enough to tie laces.

I was left with a choice of 2 pairs of trainers. One black with blue stars all over them, and one black with pink hearts all over them (and a little skull and crossbones in each heart). I opted for the latter because they seemed more "me" - at the moment I seem to be going through a phase of wearing predominantly pink on my feet.

I informed the shop assistant of my choice and asked if I could keep my new shoes on, seeing as how the old ones were somewhat gross. The shop assistant wouldn't even go near them and made me put the old ones in the box. They're still in there actually. I'd planned on taking them home and throwing them in the washing machine to get the cat food off, and keeping them in case I ever found myself painting or doing something equally messy that required old shoes. But they've been sealed in that box for 4 days now, and I'm scared of opening it. I think I may just have to burn them.

With my new shoes on I rather spontaneously headed up to Manchester to see some singery songwritery types gigging. All night I got compliments of "Cool Vans!" But I couldn't muster up a very enthusiastic response.

The pain had already begun.

I spent the night up in Manchester sleeping on a friend's sofa. At one point I woke up in so much pain I decided to see if gravity would help my ankle and went back to sleep with my legs cocked sideways over the back of the couch.

My theory is that my foot has gotten so used to the nice, comfy arch support in my old Skechers, it now can't cope without it. Or it could just be a random coincidence that my ankle started hurting shortly after I put my new shoes on. After all, my ankle does hurt quite a lot quite often what with there not actually being a proper joint there anymore (it got completely smashed about 20 years ago and is now just a smoosh of bone not resembling a joint in any way).

I guess I've got to go shoe shopping again this week to find some with better arch supports. This time I will not be shopping in Essex.

If I were president of the world I'd insist on people-washes at bus stops.

They'd work on the same principal as car washes - go through, get clean.

I'm sick of stinky people on public transport. Literally. Yesterday on a 31 bus on my way to a gig I nearly threw up on someone because he smelled so awful.

And it's not like I can escape and move to a different seat - what with being confined to the wheelchair space and all.*

One of the other comics last night nearly shared with me the reason why men who smell of wee do so. But then he decided to go to Leeds instead. I feel all lurchy having been left here.

I'd also force Cadbury's to make Creme Eggs all year round - that way I wouldn't get fat around Easter from scoffing as many as I can before they disappear from stores.

Yes, I know they now do the Dairy Milk with Creme Egg all year round, but they're just wrong. The Creme filling to chocolate ratio is all wrong, and... wrongness!

*Yes, I know there's nothing "confining" about a wheelchair, it's a tool of mobility and enablement. Only being allowed to sit in one spot on the bus however does have something of a confined feel. Yes.