Sometimes the best intentions turn out to be counterproductive.

When I have fallen out of my wheelchair in the past, I have had people rush to my aid, and lift my legs. The result of this action is that I am still on the floor. My legs aren't. They are somewhere above my head. This is not going to help me get back into my chair, unless I opt for arraging my pelvis over my shoulders and facing the world upside down.

On more than one occasion, while negotiating a step or a kerb, someone has come up behind me and given me a shove. If I'm not expecting it, the result of such help is that I  lose balance and usually end up bent double with my nose just off the floor and close to falling out of my wheelchair. It is surely only a matter of time before someone inadvertently pushes me out of my chair and then picks my legs up...

I appreciate that it is a desire to help that leads people to break through any feelings of self-consciousness and offer assistance. But it is often anxiety about causing offence or doing the wrong thing that can lead them to, well, do the wrong thing.

There is a simple solution. Just ask. The person you feel may be in need of assistance is the expert in knowing what will help. They have the most experience at being them. It also gives them the option to decline your kind offer. Especially if they are a bloody-minded bugger like me.

To illustrate the potential gap between intentions and result, I offer this report from 1999:

Parachuting for charity: is it worth the money? A 5-year audit of parachute injuries in Tayside and the cost to the NHS.

Lee CT, Williams P, Hadden WA.

Department of Orthopaedic Surgery, Perth Royal Infirmary, Scotland, UK.

I have recently found myself reading a number of bizarre 'accessibility statements' for venues. Perhaps it is coincidence, or perhaps it points to more places feeling that they need to tick a box on disability access.

"Ah ha." I hear you say. "Can I hear the call of the Jaded Cynic?"

Quite possibly, but the reason I suggest there is a whiff of tokenism will be apparent...

First up:
"We regret that the building is accessible by stairs only. We have created links with other arts organisations that are fully accessible so that projects available at Chisenhale Dance Space can take place in other venues. Please contact us if you have specific access requirements."

The implication here seems to be that if I want to take part of watch one of their projects, they will move the whole thing to another venue. Maybe it's like a Cliff Richard movie.
"Hey everyone, why don't we just put the show on right here?"
cue jaunty music over jump-cuts of venue renovation.
If that is the case, then I think they should get whatever the highest accolade is for a disability access policy. On the other hand, that might not be what they mean at all, and that's the point. What are they saying? And if it's that vague, then why bother saying it at all?

Secondly:
"The Luminaire welcomes everyone and our aim is to make your visit as comfortable and enjoyable as possible, whether you're here to see a band, or play in one. We are a first floor venue and whilst we would like to provide easy access for all, there may be accessibility problems for those with restricted mobility. Entry is via a stairway [with two turns]. The venue itself, however, is on one level, though our toilets have not been adapted to be wheelchair accessible. If you have a disability and want to visit us for a gig, drop us an e-mail well in advance and we'll do everything we can to help."

They welcome everyone, providing they can cope with stairs and don't need a disabled toilet. But, hey, even though you might not be able to get up the stairs, the venue is all on one level. One level at the top of a whole flight of little levels, and with two turns along the way.

Ok, they are showing willing. But why use phrases like 'easy access for all' if they can't provide it. I'm sure they would like to provide it. I would like to be able to levitate (it would make stairs easier). I would really like to assemble a farm full of miniature animals. But it doesn't mean I can or will do these things (I will do the farm idea, one day).

 As with many other wheelchair users, I don't expect every venue to be accessible to me. Yes I expect reasonable adjustments to be made (in accordance with the Disability Discrimination Act). To do so makes good business sense anyway.

But when a venue cannot reasonably be made accessible for everyone, then that's fine. I many be a little disappointed, but them's the breaks. If they make it clear what the situation is then I have no problem.

But what annoys me is when a venue makes vague or contradictory statements claiming commitment to access for all. Just tell me what the situation is so that I can make an informed decision. If you don't then I end up doing things like this:

I was back up at the National Spinal Injuries Centre in Stoke Mandeville for my annual service today. Sadly not with the enigmatic Dr.J, so none of the usual banter.

I am not sure to what extent things have settled down or how much I have adapted to my condition, but I am taking less medication, and my pain is no worse than it's been.

My bladder management is generally pretty good, excepting a few bladder infections this year, although the more I ask around, the more common the experience is, and for most people bladder management is a case of juggling (no, not with catheters or bags of urine) medication, timing and fluid intake. I have been lucky up to now that I could be rather complacent, but from here on it's a case of a little more discipline.

I am still extremely lucky to have very good skin and good circulation, so the risk of pressure sores remains low.

My bowel management is straightforward. Digital stimulation makes it sound like a computer game. A different Call of Duty, perhaps.

For anyone as yet unfamiliar with the ins and outs (oh stop it) of life with a spinal cord injury, today's summary may offer you an idea of what the day to day experience involves. It's not that these things dominate life, necessarily, but they do play a large role, and while one adapts to incorporate many fairly icky things into daily routine, it does make it a little harder to make an early appointment, or to stay over at other people's houses.

One thing that may have changed since last year is the level at which I lose sensation. I have always been a little lopsided in this regard, with more sensation down my left side than my right, but seem to be more aware of it recently. I have noticed that if I reach for something on the floor it is harder to sit back up from the right than from the left. It's not so defined as to convince me that things may have changed, but it is enough for me to want to have an MRI to make sure that I'm not developing a spinal cyst which can increase level of paralysis by damaging nerve bundles higher up the spinal cord.

Up to now I have had an MRI annually, but ironically I was not scheduled for one this year. While I'm sure Dr.J will have no hesitation in sending me for one, today's consultant offered me a variation on one of the most insensitive cliches in spinal medicine:
"If you're paraplegic, then you can afford to lose a few levels, not like a tetra."

Today's version was, "If you were T4, you'd still sit in the same way."
 Er, no. My backrest wouldn0o9t be this low, my transfers would all need to be relearned, I wouldn't be able to sit upright without leaning on something, not to mention the fact that I would lose all sensation in my trunk. When one is paralysed, every tactile experience is something to value, to treasure.

Presumably, as he has no spinal cord injury, then there's even more scope to 'lose a few', sure, he might become incontinent and maybe even unable to walk, but, hey, he'd still be able to sit in the same way.

I think the point he was trying to make, albeit clumsily was that surgical intervention for a spinal cyst would not automatically be the first solution and it may be necessary to monitor things first. My point was just that. I want the monitoring to continue in the same way as was deemed appropriate over the last 5 years.

On the plus side, I did get weighed while I was up at Stoke, and I've lost four and a half kilos in the last year. This would seem to be the result of increased regular exercise, which is great. Really great. Still, if you were thinking of sending me a pie at some stage, then please do.

Excerpt from Stanley Kubrick interview in Playboy magazine 1968:

Playboy: If life is so purposeless, do you feel that it's worth living?

Kubrick: Yes, for those of us who manage somehow to cope with our mortality. The very meaninglessness of life forces man to create his own meaning.

Children, of course, begin life with an untarnished sense of wonder, a capacity to experience total joy at something as simple as the greenness of a leaf; but as they grow older, the awareness of death and decay begins to impinge on their consciousness and subtly erode their joie de vivre, their idealism and their assumption of immortality.

As a child matures, he sees death and pain everywhere about him, and begins to lose faith in the ultimate goodness of man. But if he's reasonably strong - and lucky - he can emerge from this twilight of the soul into a rebirth of life's élan. Both because of and in spite of his awareness of the meaninglessness of life, he can forge a fresh sense of purpose and affirmation. He may not recapture the same pure sense of wonder he was born with, but he can shape something far more enduring and sustaining.

The most terrifying fact about the universe is not that it is hostile but that it is indifferent; but if we can come to terms with this indifference and accept the challenges of life within the boundaries of death-however mutable man may be able to make them- our existence as a species can have genuine meaning and fulfillment. However vast the darkness, we must supply our own light.

This weekend, I got to tick another box on the 'Bumper List Of Unusual Experiences.'

It was quite tricky finding the box marked 'Played tennis in Trafalgar Square', hidden as it was between 'Pickled a jar of ants eggs' and 'Pleated home-made kilt'. Some say it is pointless keeping such a list, but as I demonstrated on Saturday, you never know what opportunities life may present.

The event was the Liberty Festival 2010, an annual event in Trafalgar Square which celebrates all aspects of disability arts. Sadly, the event suffers from a real lack of publicity, as can be seen with a quick web-search. The top hit is a hotel group website that announces,
"The Liberty Festival provides deaf and disabled people a golden platform to expose their instinctive talent in front of British people."

Though we sadly lacked a 'golden platform', I took part in the event as a part of the Wheelpower presence. We were there to demonstrate wheelchair sport as part of the wider move to publicise disability sport ahead of the Paralympics in 2012. It was great to play a a little 2 on 2 basketball, which reminded me of the fun to be had with the sport. I have great intentions of joining the training with my local team, should I ever get around to it.

Following the basketball, we attempted to demonstrate wheelchair tennis in a space that was 10 meters square. With a small net and transition balls in an attempt to reduce injuries among the crowd, we ran through some drills and got some of the kids in the crowd to have a go in a sports wheelchair. Luckily I only walloped one person (who was part of the staff) when we tried to demonstrate the service action. The rest of the event passed off peacefully and the response from onlookers was really positive. I felt proud, having 'exposed my instinctive talent in front of British people.'

An exciting extra dimension to the Wheelpower contribution was provided by Rachel Gadsden, who set about capturing the event in dramatic style on a huge canvass in front of the National Gallery. The coming together of art and sport in this way was really inspiring, and has led me to add a number of other boxes to my Bumper List...