If you've read my book, you will know that I wasn't particularly complimentary following my initial interactions with the Social Services.
Alice phoned the Social Services and was told they wouldn’t look at doing the conversion because they needed to assess me in the already converted environment to see what needs are required to be catered for.
There was a major problem with this ridiculous rule. The Haywood couldn’t discharge me until they were happy I was going back to an environment that catered for my needs.
I simply don’t know what happened here, maybe there were some crossed wires.
The problem as far as I’m concerned was Social Services, though when I’ve used them since they’ve been great. Admittedly, they’ve only project-managed modifications, but things have gone incredibly smoothly. I think whoever was running things at this time is to blame.
Well, this is one of those occasions where they were very helpful. They arranged for the front part of my conversion (which had remained as a garage) to be converted into a utility room/porch/entrance thingy. This would have a raised floor so it would be on the same level as the bedroom. Originally, I used a portable metal ramp to get up to the bedroom from the garage. A permanent ramp would be built and fitted allowing me to get to the front door.
It looks great and it doesn't look out of place, it looks like the ramp has been here as long as the house and is an original fixture. I was very happy with it.
A few weeks later I was walking up the ramp from my Dad's car as I do most evenings, when I took a mis-step and reached for the bannister at the side to steady me. The fixture moved. It supported me, but I hadn't put much weight on it - between my legs and Dad's support, I didn't overly rely on it. On investigation it was discovered that the ramp wasn't attached to the drive, it was held in place simply because it was clipped in to the rest of the structure.
I informed the Social Services and the company in question returned to screw the ramp into the tarmac. I didn't understand how a company who specialise in installing disability ramps failed to remember this key component.
Over the next few years I had got used to buying cartons of salt to pour on the ramp when the weather was cold. The ramp is lackered, making it like a piece of shiny plastic, it was impossibleto scale on my own as the wheels would spin. When I was being pushed, the person pushing couldn't get any grip. It started to dawn on me that this precaution wasn't needed when using my old ramp - which is at my parents house now. It's metal but their are tracks and rivets meaning that it's not slippy. I was starting to realise that although my ramp looked great it had the functionality of an ice rink.
I then noticed another short coming of my ramp, I can't self propel up it. My wheelchair pulls involountary wheelies. I have to reverse up the ramp as this allows my weight - which is predominately resting against the backrest - to be at the front. This isn't a fault of the ramp, it's as long as the drive allows and the incline is what it is. I have a large bulky wheelchair with arms to stop me flopping out. I have a friend with a lighter, sportier chair and he gets up it without a problem, he can get on the ramp already doing a good speed so he has momentum. I can't do this, I have to go bit by bit, I push with my feet whilst turning the wheels.
What is somebody's fault is putting a pointless bit of metal at the foot of the ramp. It is riveted though, so there is a bit of grip... in the dry. When it rains this ramp is a hazard to anyone - disabled or not. Fortunately the bannisters either side have rivets, so I can grab these and pull myself up.
Well the time had come. It was time to say farewell to The South of France. It had given so much, a nice place to stay, sun, laughs, relatively decent accessibility, music, a cute dog next door and most importantly great chocolate! No Golden Eagles though. Dad still won't admit that what we saw was a sparrow, I'll just have to take his word for it.
The owners son had told us there wasn't anybody coming in straight after us, so we could take our time leaving. We knew just how long it took to get to the hotel though and wanted to get there in daylight, as driving around Paris at night was a nightmare.
The weather wasn't very good, in fact it was raining at times. I was glad to be leaving this hell hole to be honest, back to the sunny green hills of ol' blighty. We made it to brit hotel privilège without any hiccups and made it just before we started to lose light. I went upto the room and wanted to turn the heat up as it was quite chilly, but the air con didn't work this time, as I eventually found out. Unfortunately the air con unit was too high for me to read the error code. I had to lift myself up on the arms of the wheelchair. The bed still looked as warm and cozy as last time though, so I didn't think it would be too much problem.
When I got up for breakfast it was raining quite hard and the journey to Le Shuttle was accompanied by the wipers swishing across the windscreen.
On the final leg of the French part of the journey, we started passing a huuuuge convoy of black London cabs, there must have been a hundred of them. There were English ambulances, English police vehiclles and other support vehicles. The convoy wasn't always one car behind another, sometimes there were a few bunched together and then a gap, so this convoy seemed to go on and on. I saw that Magical Taxi Tour was on the side of the taxis, so I Googled it - www.magicaltaxitour.com - It's a charity that provides an annual three-day trip trip of a lifetime to Disney® Paris for over two hundred children suffering from a range of chronic, debilitating illnesses and life-limiting conditions.
They contribute the £1,500 per taxi needed to feed, transport and admit the convoy to Disneyland Paris. The taxi drivers give their time and use of their vehicles for free. Everyone on the trip is a volunteer. Source:https://www.magicaltaxitour.com/about_us
It made sense why some of the cabs had kids with huge foam hands waving at us. Some of these children wouldn't be able to make a trip like this because of their need for medical assisstance. This is a charity I had no idea about. The cost must be monumental and something that will bring great joy to them.
We crossed the channel, England thought it was in competiton with France for rainfall and when we got onto the motorway it said "hold my beer" and really showed us what it does best.
Oh well it's not like most of the clothes I took with me (including my pride and joy Napoli football top with Maradona 10 on the back), that I had put in a black bin bag to wash when I got home had been mistaken for rubbish and thrown away. Sorry, my mistake it was. Oh well it's not like I had left my limited edition Dan Henry 1972 Maverick watch on my bedside table at the hotel. Sorry, my mistake it was.
At least I managed to raid the supermarket before we left. Told you I had a problem 😏
I could get used to this. A lot of our time was spent here, where else could we go where we could bask in the sun, drink beer, eat chocolate... as I'm writing this I'm realising that these aren't unique activities to our villa and we could do this anywhere else. I loved being here though, I was completely independant. I certainly don't disllike being pushed around - I am very grateful. It is my reluctance to have an electric wheelchair afterall, that means I need to be pushed. I'm sure everybody would prefer if I changed.
Most days would start by having brekkie and sitting outside by the pool. There were two ways out here. One way had a step while the other took you through the back door, which was completely flat. Not having to ask if I can come outside and cooming and going as I please, is something that can't be under estimated. It was quite a musical house and upon spotting a vacant guitar I thought I'd remind everybody of my musical prowess. I treated them to some Pink Floyd. I wanted to see if I still had it. I nailed it.
A guy came to look at the pool. An English guy, so I took advantage of the common language and made small talk. "Fantastic weather, is it always this nice?" I asked "Hmmm, not really" He replied, noticeablly not matching my enthusiasm. "It can be very windy and it's rarely this hot. I couldn't help but look at the two excuses for white man legs poking out from his shorts. It looked like he'd coated his legs with varnish. I suspected he was being a typical brit and moaning. I looked at his toes poking out from his sandals, they were just as varnished. I was sure my suspicions were correct. "Do you get Golden Eagle's here?" I enquired "Yes, they're not common, but you certainly see them here. You tend to find them around mountains and warm weather"
"Oh right. Maybe it was then."
Definately what we saw
A few days earlier we were driving back from Pézenas and saw a large bird hovering in the sky. "Eagle!" Dad exclaimed while pointing at the sky. I scrambled for my phone and attempted to flick it onto camera and take a picture all before the car drove past it. "F*** P*** A***. I didn't manage it, but fear not, I have found an accurate depiction of it online. He assured me what he saw was an eagle. He could have pointed at a sparrow and shouted "eagle!" and I wouldn't have known any better. But maybe he was telling the truth after all.
Pézenas was a lovely little town that was mentioned in the blue folder of 'places of interest' found at the villa. This had immediately become our favourite place to visit. We came here a few times during our stay. It looked exactly how I imagined the South of France would. All the buildings were a pale yellow/brown colour. They even leave disabled car park spaces for people who are disabled. Well, every parking space was taken when we were trying to park, it may have just been coincidence that this space had become free at this point. At home most disabled parking spaces are free, but we couldn't read the instructions, so to be safe Dad went to pay. A French gentleman told us it was free before he paid. However, since Brexit a UK blue badge isn't recognised in many EU countries, including France. Replacement talks were set up and ministers agreed to negotiate individual deals with EU countries to recognise British Blue Badges, but these have stalled over the past year with no decisions being made.
Pézenas was clearly quite a popular town but it didn't seem to be very touristy. Any time I heard people chatting they were speaking French.
Rolling around the main town square was simple, everywhere was smooth asphalt, there were drop curbs everywhere. There were quite a few restaurants and shops in the back allies, but some of these were up steep inclines and cobbled streets. They aren't inaccessible as long as you are with somebody to push you around.
We stopped at Le Pezanes for lunch on what turned out to be the hottest day of the holiday. When we got back to the car it was reading thirty six degrees! Once it moved out of the direct sun it dropped to thirty one. But still, thirty six! We sat outside - as did the rest of the customers. I went into the empty restaurant to go to the toilet and it looked like wheelchair heaven. Everything was on one level, the floors were smooth and the tables were nicely spaced out so you could easily fit the wheelchair through. The toilet even had those rarest of things, a toilet seat!
We came back a few evenings later and ate at a street restaurant called Royal Glacier. It was in the side streets off the main square, so it was a bit of a push getting the wheelchair there. It was by no means wheelchair friendly. There were a few tables and chairs outside and then two or three steps down to get into the restaurant. I could only see the entrance which opened directly into a bar area. I dn't know if there were more seats inside. The food was lovely. Instead of chips they had thin slices of potatoe that looked like they were sauteed.
We consulted the trusty blue folder again and saw that d'agde was a forty five minute drive and was right on the coast. We fancied a paddle in the meditarranean sea. We packed our bucket and spade, put on string vests and knotted handkerchiefs on our head and set off. Fans of
The Chris Moyles Show on Radio X might recognise this name. I didn't. Cap D'agde is often mentioned, as Dom Byrne went on holiday to D'agde as a child and claimed he didn't know it was home to a nudist colony. To be fair to ol' baldy, I didn't know either. It's not obvious just walking around the place. In fact as we drove in I was already thinking of leaving. To say it was unimpressive is an understatement, to say I thought we were in Baghdad would be more accurate. As we got closer to the beach it did change into a nice fresh and clean looking place. It felt like a tourists town. We parked in a car park by the beach. It was more than suitable for the wheelchair. Everywhere was smooth concrete and the path that ran alongside the beach was very wide. The path had the beach on the left and a large grey hotel or shopping mall on the right. There were several restaurants littered around, with outside sitting areas with people sitting under parasols shading from the sun. We looked at the menus and there was virtually nothing for the vegetarians and vegan. Or me the normo...
sorry meat eater. I'm not a big fan of sea food. We would eat back at the villa and take advantage of the outside sitting area.
The penny dropped when I started seeing life size cutouts of Dom and sandwich boards with his face on promoting Cap D'agne. I do believe him now when he says he didn't know this was the biggest nude resort in Europe, but he's certainly making sure everybody else knows.
Our final visit was to Gorges d'Heric. It was mentioned in the trusty blue folder. Words like 'breathtaking' and 'beautiful' caught our attention, but those words don't do it justice. It was another gorgeous day, there wasn't a cloud in the sky again - the car was reading twenty-four degrees. On the drive there my ears were popping again. Well, I couldn't hear as well until I swallowed and they would temporarily clear, but quickly block again. I've never understood why this is called popping.
We were transported into a western again. Surrounded by brownish, orange mountains. I could just imagine a Golden Eagle hovering above one of the peaks, but strangely now I was looking, there were non about. We arrived and started the long climb up. Once again I was regretting not having an electric wheelchair, or in this case a powered wheelchair. This was steep! Fortunately I was with three people who were willing to take it in turns pushing my carcass up. You do not want to miss the views of this place though so you could hire a powered wheelchair from Limitless Travel.
The difference between a powered or electric wheelchair is generally what you're going to use it for. An electric tends to be for general use. You use it get around, but may not have the strength or stamina to self propel. They require regular charging because the battery needs to be able go for many hours. This sort of terrain would probably require a powered chair. Something with off-road tyres that has a short term battery that's only purpose is to get you up and down the gorges. A powered wheelchair often falls under the umbrella of electric wheelchair, but that's just semantics. Just be clear what you'll use it for when renting it.
Limitless Travel have got a fantastic website. It should be your company of choice when looking at booking a fully/partially accessible holiday, a coach holiday, cruise holiday, beach holiday etc. They even provide a carer should you need it, so you don't have to rely on family or friends who may be unavailable when you wish to travel. You can just use them to hire a wheelchair to use on holiday. You will need to phone them and be ready for questions like measurements from one hip to
the other and your body weight and height, as well as the terrain you'll be encountering. It's handy if you aren't going to need the chair all of the time. Most people will, but you may be able to have a manual chair to get around in and a powered one for trips like this. Then you could rent one specifically for this.
Anyway back to the hike. Gorges d'Heric is huge. it's about four kilometres from the car park to the town of Heric which is at the top. Fortunately the old rail bed had been converted to a road. The gorge is surrounded by high cliffs and peaks with spectacular views around each bend. The road was littered with people going up or coming down, most with hiking gear on and/or hiking sticks, hats, hiking boots and sunglasses. And here was us, without any hiking paraphernalia and pushing a wheelchair. I wonder if they could tell we were tourists?
We probably went about one third of the way before relenting and coming back down. What we had seen was spectacular though, and reading the reviews on-line it leads to a largely old ruined abandoned town. The nice cold beer I had when I got back back down to the car park, meant I wasn't sorry to not go any further.
We arrived at about 17:00, and parked on the opposite side of the road next to a field. Dad went across the road to locate the key. There seemed to be an issue getting the key box to open. Unfortunately the property was surrounded by 6ft walls and an iron gate, I think it would successfully thwart any attempts to get in, so I waited for Dad to open it. Fortunately he did and we moved the cars into the driveway. I stayed in the car as my wheelchair was under a pile of other things. I've always found a good way to get out of the unloading, is to be in a wheelchair, it seems to do the trick every time 👍.
As you can see it's a shabby little place, they've tried there best to make it as nice as possible, but you can only work with what's put in front of you. <-- I'm hoping you can detect my sarcasm.
We entered through the back door of the property directly into the kitchen. Waiting for me was a handy chair to use in the bathroom when I had a shower. It was a kemode. Not quite a shower chair, but they get a 'B+' for effort. A kemode looks like a shower chair, but it's made of metal rather than plastic, has the lack of a hole in the seat so you sit in a pool of water as it can't drain anywhere. Oh and there's a bucket so you can... erm... you know, ah, you get the point.
Let me show you around. Not all of it, if you want to see everything go to South France Villas
In the garden is a heated swimming pool. Surrounded by tall greenery, trees and you can only get to the garden through the large driveway gate. There are no other houses or buildings over looking you. There is a bungalow next door, but whoeveer owned it was out all day meaning their dogs were left out to greet us whenever we came back.
Inside, the kitchen, living room and dining area are open plan.
As you can see space was not an issue, I had to try really hard to bump into anything. There isn't a carpet in sight, the whole downstairs has a ceramic tiled floor. There are a few rugs around the place, but they are quite thin and don't cause an obstruction to wheel over. Behind the camera is a large kitchen that spans most of the width. There is a large island in the middle of the kitchen. Most importantly - and I wouldn't be surprised if this was a stipulation Dad gave when speaking to Caroline at South France Holiday Villas. THERE MUST BE A CLEAR ROUTE TO THE FRIDGE SO TOM CAN GET CHOCOLATE. I would imagine this was mentioned before the requirement of wheelchair access.
I have a bit of a chocolate addiction. If I had to go from one side of the room to the other I would stop by the fridge for some chocolate to nibbble on the way over.
There was a TV with Netflix on it. A TV, a comfy sofa and a free run to the fridge.I might have binge watched an Angel Di Maria documentary, during my holiday... oh, and a few bars of chocolate.
Follow me upstairs and I'll show you the Pièce de résistance.
There is a lovely little sun terrace up here, well I say little, but it's actually huge. The villa is called the Moroccan Paradise, which I'd imagine is because of this area. It's not heavily influenced by Morrocan decor, but it's certainly more prevelant up here. It's a perfect little sun trap. Unfortunately it's kind of pointless unless you're in a medittaranean climate... Oh right, my bad. Well, it's pointless if you're surrounded by loads of noisy neighbours... Oh right, my bad.
Onto my room. I was excited to see this, it was after all adapted to make it possible for us wheelchair folk to holiday here as well.
I did a bit of research this time. I had learnt from the mistakes I made last time. South France Villas are the brokers who were renting this villa and they only specialised in this one area (South of France). They allowed the user to search properties 'suitable for reduced mobility', which isn't a website feature that's unique to them. However villas only appeared on this site if they are approved by South France Villas. In my experience sites like booking.com allow accomodation owners to choose this option even if their property isn't suitable. Most property's on southfrancevillas.com have a personal reccommendation by one of the South France Villas employees. I was sceptical as to the authenticity of this though, it's easy to say you've been somewhere, when you haven't. However I happened to view Belle Villa de Ginestas which was personally recommended by Caroline (the broker who was working on our behalf.) It has a long detailed description of the layout, along with rooms that are not suitable for any form of mobility device. Not only had they marked villas as 'suitable for reduced mobility' but they had told you specific rooms that weren't suitable for wheelchairs. The photographs of the property looked fantastic, I had a good feeling about South France Villas now and I trusted them.
The room I would be staying in was lovely. It was another sitting room, but one of the sofas was a sofa- bed and it was very comfortable. The en-suite bathroom did suffer from many of the same issues as Brit Hotel Privilège, however this property is only listed as 'suitable for reduced mobility'. I realise this might sound a tad hypocritical as Brit Hotel Privilège also claimed the same. But, they had gone to the effort of showing a PMR graphic, which I think could land them in hot water if somebody has an accident in a PMR room, especially if that ice rink of a floor is involved.
Anyway, the owners son came to see us one morning and asked how I was managing at the accomodation, as I was the first user since the downstairs room was repurposed. That was greatly appreciated and is a large influence on my opinion of this accomodation. He even pointed out that they may need to look at the gravel drive way, as it's an unneccasery difficulty for a wheelchair to navigate. This wasn't pointed out to him, as it was merely an inconvenience, he pointed it out. This propery is listed as suitable for reduced mobility,- not suitable for zero mobility.
The shower wasn't behind a screen or shower curtain, so the whole bathroom became wet when I used it and I had to dry the floor after each shower. The shower head was completely out of reach. There wasn't anything to hold so I could transfer onto the toilet. I was able to hold onto the nearby towel rail, but I'm sure that's not what they intended. The floor was slippy - not quite as slippy as Brit Hotel Privilège - as the tiles offered some friction. Some bath matts would be useful. The bathroom mirror was to high to use
After one of the most comfortable night's sleep I've had - the beds are extremely comfortable. And a pleasant breakfast, it was time to get back on the road again. It was just after 09:00am, we knew it was going to be a long drive, but we were un-aware at this point just how long it would take. Although it wasn't lost on me that the DS could just stop working at any moment, it has form for that.
Pretty soon we reached the first péage (pronounced pay-arge). Certain motorways in France are toll roads. Thinking about it this is probably why the roads are so empty, not because "France is big" as I idiotically said in a previous post.
The first thing I noticed was how big France was. I know that's quite an obvious comment. And how could I notice that just staring out of the window of a car? Well, it was 15:30 and the motorway was fairly empty. As the journey went on there were times when we couldn't see another car
The ticket machine was on the driver's side, but as we were in a British right hand drive car, it was up to me to reach out and grab the ticket. Something that we would get quite used to whilst driving to and from the villa. As this was the first occasion Dad lined up the car so that he was closer to the machine, which meant I was further away. And as weren't in a left hand drive car, it was upto the passenger - me. I took my seatbelt off, Dad pushed me towards the window and - fully expecting my dodgy grip to drop the ticket - I did it!
First stop, the toilets. I already knew there wasn't going to be a toilet seat in this tatty looking public bathroom - which I was quite glad about - providing there was a grab rail.
There was a disabled signpost pointing at the loos, so I was hopeful. Success! I got in and there was indeed a grab rail by the toilet. The room was quite large and in the far corner stood a solitary toilet. The room was in fairly good order. I still wouldn't like to touch anything, but I wouldn't have to rush to a Hospital to get a tetanus shot if I did. Maybe they've got a point with this no toilet seat idea...The grab rail was on the right side. My tremors are far worse on the right side and if I hold anything in my right hand I probably will shake. I gripped the grab rail very tight and my hand was trying desperately to waggle itself free. I wouldn't let go so my arm and my body started to shake. I looked across to the empty wall on the opposite side. There was a five metre space between the opposite wall and the front of this toilet bowl. Couldn't another toilet be put here? The grab rail would be on the left then, so somebody with issues on one side could use the other toilet?
I got back in the car, introduced Dad to the world of podcasting by putting on the The Rest Is Entertainment podcast and settled in for a long journey. Did you know that France has the tallest bridge in the world? Me neither! We didn't seem to be too high up, so I've double checked on Wikipedia.
As of October 2023, it is the tallest bridge in the world, having a structural height of 343 metres
I glimpsed in the wing mirror to the pair of hangers on who'd latched onto us at Le Shuttle and I saw just a pair of feet on the dashboard. French drivers might have been alarmed to see the feet of the driver...
As we got over the bridge the view changed immediately. We seemed to have been transported into a western. The world was suddenly brownish, orange mountains. I was expecting to see bandits in between the rocks pointing rifles at us with questionable moustaches.
Along with the change of scenery, we now had the sunshine and not a cloud in the sky. The journey stayed like this for the remainder of the journey, gone were the motorways. It was single carriage roads all the way, but barely another car shared the roads with us. We got a phone call from the hangers on in the car behind. "Are your ears popping?" "I think so", I replied "I keep going deaf, and then I swallow and I can hear again".
Dad checked our elevation on a handy little app on the DS dashboard - this is probably the only time we'll need it, but DS have clearly got their priorities right. The car doesn't always start! But it gets the important things right. We were 3000km high, and it would continue rising to 3400km. It dropped quite significantly after that.
After about another hour and a half we arrived.
We pulled into the car park but were blocked by a barrier. We waited for a little while and it didn't move. There was an intercom by the barrier that I thought we would need to press and confirm we were guests, but the arm eventually raised and we went through and parked right in front of the hotel. The hotel was lovely. We went through some double doors into a small foyer and then through a large opening in a glass frontage into the reception. The reception is a large room with a grand piano, some chairs a table and some extremely comfortable looking deep sofas. The reception desk was in front of us underneath a skylight/glass canopy thing that must have been about thirty feet above. Cleaning the windows must have been a nightmare.
We went upto the disabled room. I was excited to see it.
First of all we had to go through a fairly heavy door to get to the room. The door was on a hinge, which meant the door would start closing the moment you let go of it. My room was behind a similar style of door and there was a slightly raised threshold separating the room from the corridor. It was difficult for my Dad to get me in and stop the door from closing. I don't think I could have managed on my own.
The room was lovely. There was a large comfy looking double bed in front of me beside a sofa. However I immediately experienced their preference for aesthetics over practicality.There was barely enough room for the wheelchair between the bed and sofa.
An air con unit to control the temperature was on the wall opposite the bed. It was underneath a wall mounted flat screen television. The air con actually worked! Not a guarantee in most hotel rooms. I set it to make the room a bit cooler - I wasn't particularly warm, but I like to press things. I squeezed through the gap between the arm of the sofa and a cabinet and made my way over to the bathroom. This took me two attempts as the wheelchair had to be dead straight, there wasn't even enough room to put my hands on the wheels. I had to drag myself with my feet as my hands were stopping me from squeezing through. Fortunately the carpet was quite thin and didn't make it difficult.
I knew from the difficulty I was having moving around, that this room wasn't designed as a disabled room, it had been called a disabled room as an afterthought.
The bathroom was a nice and large marble effect bathroom with a grab rail by the shower and another by the toilet.
"This is better" Dad said, referring to the 'non disable friendly' accommodation we'd experienced in Sorrento. "A shower you can actually fit in", he continued. "Yea, I can't use it though. There isn't anywhere for me to sit..." I said, pointing at the shower.
I need a high backed shower chair, with arms to stop me from toppling. This is a very specific requirement that I wouldn't expect them to cater for, but I have been in hotel rooms' before that have a retractable seat on the wall next to the shower.
I started to look at the practicality of this bathroom for a disabled person. The bathroom looked great. It was lovely marble effect, but they seemed to be more interested in the look rather than its functionality.
This shower had two shower heads. A large shower head that I imagine would cover you in a satisfying deluge of water and a smaller shower head to rinse yourself. This was out of the reach of a wheelchair user however. I didn't get close enough to the shower to see where the controls were, but as you can see from the video, the shower unit is barely reachable if you're in a wheelchair.
The shower screen had been removed, making this one large wet room. Any part of the room could get wet when the shower is on, especially the floor, which I suspected was slippy when dry, I can only imagine what it would be like wet. I had rubber soled shoes on at the moment, so I couldn't test my theory. The floor should be a non shiny surface and rough so you can get some grip.
I should mention, there were advantages as well.
The sink was low enough to easily reach at my height. The underside was empty so I could get my legs underneath. The tap was easily accessible and was operated by lever rather than turning the top. The hair dryer is a bit of a stretch to reach and unhook from its holder, but it is above the near side of the table/ledge, so I wasn't straining over the sink to reach it.
I took advantage of this toilet having a toilet seat. I had learnt from my trip to Sorrento to check whether the toilets have seats. Something I had always assumed, but I had recent experience of that not always being a guarantee. A quick Google search revealed that France along with Italy and Greece have squat toilets in most public bathrooms. People tend to stand on them rather than sitting on them, meaning they get broken, They are a breeding ground for germs, it's easier to clean etc. It's not something I disagree with, although it is a lot harder for disabled people. At time of writing it appears to be just these three countries (France, Italy and Greece) that don't have toilet seats, but I wouldn't be surprised if this becomes more common in European countries. Disabled tourists should check what the protocol is in the country they are travelling too.
This brings me on to my next issue. The toilet flush is a button on the wall just above the toilet. This meant I was accidentally pressing the flush when I raised myself up to take my trousers down. This isn't a problem that a lot of disabled users are going to experience, so it's a bit of a selfish gripe. However, isn't this gripe because it's a non-disabled bathroom like the other rooms in the hotel? I believe disabled toilets should have paddle-type flush handles and should be on the open side of the cistern, not on the wall side. A disabled user might not have the dexterity to push a button and the flush should be accessible using a hand, elbow, or other part of the body.
There is no panic cord in case of emergency. This is a legal requirement in the UK. I'm not sure about France. But, in this case it should be. What happens if a disabled person needs to call for help? It should reach almost all of the way to the floor, in case the disabled person has fallen. As the shower is on the opposite side of this large room, a similar panic cord system should be on the opposite wall as well.
This bathroom has clearly not been designed as a disabled bathroom.
It was about 21:45 so we went across the road to a bar called Aubureau, that said it served food. We located the ramp to get the wheelchair out of the car park, went across the street and into the bar, passing several people chatting outside whilst having a cigarette. The music was so loud I had to shout as loud as I could to be heard. We signalled there were four of us and as the waiter went to locate a table, I turned and shouted to Dad "I think we should try somewhere else" just as the waiter returned to show us to a table. Okay, quick service I thought, but I'm still not sure about the noise. Well, I think I thought that, but it was too loud to hear my own thoughts.
We sat down, were given menu's and I immediately saw my much missed old friend, Hoegaarden. I hadn't seen it served in a pub for many a year, although that's probably because I don't get out much. I ordered a large, and large in France seems to mean 'the size of a laundry basket'. I needed two hands to lift the thing.
Okay, quick service I thought, and they serve Hoegaarden in a laundry basket. But I'm still not sure about the noise. I had a flam du pays, which is like a very thin base square pizza with ham and mozzarella. It was divine. Okay, quick service I thought, they serve Hoegaarden in a laundry basket and the food is divine. But I'm still not sure about the noise. The place started to empty and we were pretty much the only people left in the place. It was still too loud to talk though.
We went back to the hotel for some kip
I went to the bathroom before going to bed. On my way back from the bathroom after brushing my teeth, I shut the curtains. I tend to plan what else I can do on each journey as I'm lazy and don't want to do each trip more than once. The left curtain was simple as there was plenty of room on this side of the bed to move the wheelchair next to the curtain. The right curtain wasn't so simple. The gap between the bed and sofa I mentioned before, meant getting close was impossible. A bedside table stopped me from getting close to the curtain and I was blocked by the sofa on my right side, so I had to reach and grab a piece of the curtain to pull it closer.
The consequences of drinking a bucket of Hoegaarden, meant another visit to the bathroom before bed was necessary. I didn't have room to turn around or move the wheels on my chair. I pushed myself backwards with my feet, lined up the chair to get through the gap between the arm of the sofa and the cabinet and made my way over to the bathroom. I realised I wasn't wearing my trainers, and I couldn't be bothered to go back over by the bed and get them. Through laziness I would test my 'slippy floor when dry' theory. I transferred to the toilet and tried to push up with my bare feet to remove my trousers, it was indeed too slippy. My feet just skated along the floor.
Their own website - https://paris-rosny-sous-bois.brithotel.fr/ - proudly displays that they have PMR rooms (People with Reduced Mobility). My Dad phoned them directly to check they did have a disabled room, as he had booked it through booking.com, and as we learnt when booking the accommodation for Sorrento - booking.com don't seem to have any means of verifying that you are telling the truth. The hotel assured Dad they did have a disabled room.
The bed was luxury though and they did put on a nice spread for breakfast.
For my purposes the Brit Hotel was very nice, but the disabled needs of somebody in a wheelchair are different from somebody who is unsteady on their feet. I think they should remove the PMR sticker from their website.
I want to be completely transparent. This video was recorded at 23:23 on Thursday 12th September 2024, not 06:30 on Friday. I even wore the t-shirt I would be wearing the next day. I'm sorry, feel free to leave now if you are too disgusted with me to carry on.
Still here? I'll continue then.
Dad picked me up at 08:00 and we started the long journey down to Folkstone. The weather had been miserable for the past few days but today was quite sunny. It was early in the morning but the temperature was already fifteen degrees. It would be sods law if the weather in England was going to be nice for the next week and not nice in France.
We set off and the sat nav was saying our arrival time was going to be a lot sooner than we expected. Our calculations were a bit off, Folkstone wasn't as far away as we thought. No harm no foul, I don't like rushing, it stresses me out. Hence why I got up an hour and a half before we left.
The roads were fairly empty and we had a fairly leisurely and relaxed drive, as there was no danger of being late for the train.
Even though the motorways were quite empty, everybody chose to drive in the right hand lane. I thought we were in France already but then remembered, it's a British tradition to drive in the right hand lane on the motorway.
We arrived at Le Shuttle with over an hour to wait for our train. Fortunately my Uncle and his partner Kaz arrived a few minutes after us. What are the chances they would be going to France on the same day, getting the same train and would be staying in the same villa.
Our train came up on the screen 'now boarding' and we took that as a subtle hint and headed for our cars. Within a few minutes we were in a small line of cars, presented our passports to a gentleman in a booth, had our car searched and headed for the train...via a mahoooosive traffic jam. It looked like the abandoned freeway in season 2 or 3 of The Walking Dead'. Most of these cars did have people in though. Those that didn't were standing around in the warm sun.
Sod's law was a worrying possibility.
An announcement came over the Tannoy, boarding was about to start. Car engines started switching on, people standing outside started walking briskly to their auto mobiles. The cars in front moved forward and it was our turn to keep the traffic moving. There was one small problem with that. We were in a DS. It's not the 1st time this car has acted like a toddler throwing a tantrum and refused to move, or just turned off mid drive leaving us stranded until the early hours of the morning.
"Do you want some jump leads?" A helpful woman calls over.
"No thank you, it's the computer refusing to start the car. It sometimes does this." Dad replies.
After a few minutes the car's stuck behind us breathe a sigh of relief as the temper tantrum subsides and we start moving.
We're ushered onto the bottom floor of the carriage, sit in our car for half an hour and hey presto we're in France.
The first thing I noticed was how big France was. I know that's quite an obvious comment. And how could I notice that just staring out of the window of a car? Well, it was 15:30 and the motorway was fairly empty. As the journey went on there were times when we couldn't see another car. Some things don't change though, everybody still drives on the right!
Sod's law had come to fruition, as the relatively nice weather we'd left behind hadn't followed us across the channel. It was dry at least, but there were clouds in the sky. I hadn't signed up for clouds.
As the night drew in and we got closer to Paris the traffic became more and more congested. The sat nav was giving us simple instructions like "turn right" but there would be no right turns, just several roads forking to the right taking you to different parts of Paris. Fortunately, Dad somehow took us in the right direction and managed to stay in convoy with the two hangers on we met at Le Shuttle. We had reached our stop for the night - Brit Hotel Privilege Paris Rosny-sous-Bois.
Back in 2007 I had a brain tumour, it was a Hemangioblastoma. It's a rare non cancerous tumour that occurs in about 2 to 3 people per million per year. It was supposed to be a fairly simple operation. Hemangioblastoma's are slow growing, and the tumour was 'away from all the major clockwork'.
Unfortunately MRI scans had failed to portray how “entangled” the tumour had become in hundreds of blood vessels.
Any of the blood vessels could be an essential supply to the brain stem. Each one the surgeon cut was likely to starve a part of the brain of oxygen, so he knew he was going to cause damage, but it was near-impossible to predict to what extent. I’m now forty one, I was twenty four when I had my brain tumour removed. I'm in a wheelchair, have Ataxia and have double vision and speech problems.
I've written a book; Brain Tumours, John Bonham and Fat Pigeons. It’s a cautionary tale, but also one of hope. I feel very fortunate to be able to share my story, and who knows it may help somebody going through similar times. It may help somebody identify the problem instead of making the same mistakes I did.
Plus, you want to know why fat pigeons are mentioned, don't you...
I did an interview on Vibe Radio breakfast show with Stu Haycock you can listen to it by clicking here
