And so the wanderer returns.
Yes that’s right your favourite blogger (Top ten? Top hundred? No... Ah well.) is back from his adventures in the sprawling metropolis that is London Town. There were thrills, there were spills, there were disappointing Yorkshire puddings, and a wealth of other bits and bobs.
Curious? Then please read on.
Got Your Number
We set off from the heart of West Yorkshire at 4:30 am, Saturday the 7th of July, and the fun started right from the get-go.
With astonishing foresight and planning we had arranged for a taxi to take us to the place where the bus to London was to pick us up. We’d even thought of potential problems that history told us might crop up (namely the issue of getting my wheelchair to come on the trip with us, which is, you know... handy) and had ensured at the time of booking that the taxi in question would be a hatchback, estate car, or people carrier. You can probably imagine our chagrin when, a couple of minutes later than booked, a saloon car pulled up outside the house.
All was not lost however. I know my ‘chair and how it folds down and I knew that it would fit on the back seat, along with Tina, my wife. I didn’t know that the car had leather seats however, and I didn’t know that this would be the reason for the surly driver to refuse the fare. His number has been taken and a very annoyed wife shall be chasing it up. I almost feel sorry for him.
Mega Driving
Anyhoo, the clock was ticking. We were stuck, with a real chance of missing our connection and the whole weekend to be ruined from the get-go. Desperate, we rang the only other local taxi number available to us and explained our predicament. We then sat, our patience and hope diminishing by the minute, until suitable transport turned up. Eventually, we got there, and with a whole ten minutes to spare. Success!
Of course this was not the end of any potential problems though. There was still the small matter of the bus, which despite being ‘Mega’, had the downside of being equipped with a driver unaware of yours truly having booked to travel. This apparently was down to a miscommunication, and although ideally the information should have trickled down and some measures put in place (special types of buses with a space for a wheelchair are apparently a thing), I was accommodated in a seat that made the six hour drive if not a pleasure, then certainly not a chore. The driver even let me go to the loo at the services the bus stopped at for a driving change
Game on
And so we arrived, creased and rich with perspiration, in the heart of the big smoke. Job done. We didn't just sit on our laurels though and with little time to spare we met up with my rather lovely step daughter and made our way to the Salvation Army Commissioning ceremony that the two ladies were attending in order to see two friends become officers. I say the two ladies because I had other plans. Plans that included a pub, a few beers, and a football match.
It’s fair to say I got a bit lost. It’s fairer to say that I got a lot lost. Eventually though I stumbled on recognisable landmarks and found a small, traditional boozer with three tellies, and a loo that although wasn’t entirely wheelchair accessible could be reached without completing a Royal Marines assault course… In the dark… Backwards… Drunk.
And so it was, whilst the ladies enjoyed flags, brass bands, and an unrealistic amount of marching, yours truly hunkered down with friendly Londeners, Canadians, and Australians, to watch England overcome the Swedes 2-0. It made for a much more enjoyable afternoon, from my point of view anyway.
Commission Improbable
Luckily the commissioning ceremony was in Westminster, a place not short of landmarks. It was also not short of people wandering around in Salvation Army uniform and it probably says something about me that if it weren’t for one upstanding gentleman of the latter persuasion, I probably wouldn’t have found the commissioning hall (in the shadow of Westminster Abbey. Yeah, I know). Find it I did however, and just in time for one jubilant and slightly sozzled blogger to join the evening celebration.
Now, this kind of thing is not really my cup of tea. I don’t really appreciate brass band marches, and religion as a whole is somewhat lost on me. I am however married to a lady for whom the Salvation Army is a way of life, and I had been given the chance to indulge my own sporting passions. I therefore sat down on a folding chair (at the second time of asking), accidentally doused myself in Pepsi Max and sat through the show in relative good humour. All was well.
On The Button
All was well that is, until the time to check into the hotel came. Before I plunge into that particular adventure however, I would just like to give a massive shout out to London public transport. The trains are spacious and comfortable, and if you let them know you’re using them (or have a couple of helping hands) are as accessible as any I’ve travelled on. They’re not perfect by any means but I’m yet to find any that are.
The buses are what blew me away though. I’m used to buses in my native West Yorkshire hunkering down to afford wheelchair access. I even know of the occasional driver who see the unfolding of a manual ramp to not be the absolute bane of their lives. I’m not used to such a ramp emerging automatically from beneath the bus at the press of a button however, and I’m certainly not used to that button being under my control when alighting. It didn’t, if I’m honest, work perfectly every time, but it certainly made getting from A to B just that little easier. Yorkshire can learn.
Room For Improvement
Hang on though, I was talking about the hotel wasn’t I? This was a Toby Carvery establishment we had booked though LateRooms.com. This had been a rather late booking, probably by dint of our taking the websites name just a little to literally, and as a result of that, was a full ten miles outside of Westminster (hence the need for the public transport). It was however, accessible. We knew this, as when searching for suitable lodgings, we had ticked the little radio button to refine our search to such. So as we rolled in (literally in my case) at 10 pm, you can probably imagine that it was with no small amount of frustration that we learnt that the only family room was up two fights of stairs.
Well. What could we do? The hour was getting late, we’d been up since half past three, and we were strangers stranded in the heart of the biggest city in the country.
The Steps To Success
Yup, you got it. With the aid of a couple of bannisters, a helpful and apologetic bar manager, and the aforementioned ladies, both myself and my wheelchair made it up to the room where at least one of us collapsed into a small pitiful heap.
And so ended day one in ‘that London’ there are two more for your perusal, including those disappointing Yorkshires, but, as the post is reaching a length, and as the football is about to start, I think I’ll leave that for another week.
Until next time...
And so it was, whilst the ladies enjoyed flags, brass bands, and an unrealistic amount of marching, yours truly hunkered down with friendly Londeners, Canadians, and Australians, to watch England overcome the Swedes 2-0. It made for a much more enjoyable afternoon, from my point of view anyway.
Commission Improbable
Luckily the commissioning ceremony was in Westminster, a place not short of landmarks. It was also not short of people wandering around in Salvation Army uniform and it probably says something about me that if it weren’t for one upstanding gentleman of the latter persuasion, I probably wouldn’t have found the commissioning hall (in the shadow of Westminster Abbey. Yeah, I know). Find it I did however, and just in time for one jubilant and slightly sozzled blogger to join the evening celebration.
Now, this kind of thing is not really my cup of tea. I don’t really appreciate brass band marches, and religion as a whole is somewhat lost on me. I am however married to a lady for whom the Salvation Army is a way of life, and I had been given the chance to indulge my own sporting passions. I therefore sat down on a folding chair (at the second time of asking), accidentally doused myself in Pepsi Max and sat through the show in relative good humour. All was well.
On The Button
All was well that is, until the time to check into the hotel came. Before I plunge into that particular adventure however, I would just like to give a massive shout out to London public transport. The trains are spacious and comfortable, and if you let them know you’re using them (or have a couple of helping hands) are as accessible as any I’ve travelled on. They’re not perfect by any means but I’m yet to find any that are.
The buses are what blew me away though. I’m used to buses in my native West Yorkshire hunkering down to afford wheelchair access. I even know of the occasional driver who see the unfolding of a manual ramp to not be the absolute bane of their lives. I’m not used to such a ramp emerging automatically from beneath the bus at the press of a button however, and I’m certainly not used to that button being under my control when alighting. It didn’t, if I’m honest, work perfectly every time, but it certainly made getting from A to B just that little easier. Yorkshire can learn.
Room For Improvement
Hang on though, I was talking about the hotel wasn’t I? This was a Toby Carvery establishment we had booked though LateRooms.com. This had been a rather late booking, probably by dint of our taking the websites name just a little to literally, and as a result of that, was a full ten miles outside of Westminster (hence the need for the public transport). It was however, accessible. We knew this, as when searching for suitable lodgings, we had ticked the little radio button to refine our search to such. So as we rolled in (literally in my case) at 10 pm, you can probably imagine that it was with no small amount of frustration that we learnt that the only family room was up two fights of stairs.
Well. What could we do? The hour was getting late, we’d been up since half past three, and we were strangers stranded in the heart of the biggest city in the country.
The Steps To Success
Yup, you got it. With the aid of a couple of bannisters, a helpful and apologetic bar manager, and the aforementioned ladies, both myself and my wheelchair made it up to the room where at least one of us collapsed into a small pitiful heap.
And so ended day one in ‘that London’ there are two more for your perusal, including those disappointing Yorkshires, but, as the post is reaching a length, and as the football is about to start, I think I’ll leave that for another week.
Until next time...
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