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shocked or scared by what they are seeing. People just accept it. I noticed things changing about a decade ago – the country seemed to be getting more open, more tolerant. Of course there are still idiots about. Take the shocking example of the parents who left abusive messages for the one-armed children’s TV presenter Cerrie Burnell on a BBC website. They complained to the BBC that she was scaring children with her appearance. I felt really sorry for her, she didn’t deserve that. But my experience of most kids now is that they aren’t as shocked or scared of people with disability as some adults are. Because schools are so integrated now, with disabled and able-bodied children grouped together, it’s not such a big deal. As a result there doesn’t seem to be the same vindictiveness. Of course children will always say nasty things to each other – they don’t understand what they are really saying. But when I speak to my ten-year -old daughter Ronie about it she says it just isn’t an issue and that her mates never take the mickey out of her because her dad’s in a chair. She might just be saying that to protect her dad, I suppose. But I don’t think so. I think it has changed dramatically. I just wish it had happened sooner, so I could have experienced school without that division.
    In the beginning, going to Bedelsford didn’t bother me. I didn’t know any different. It was only when I got a bit older and started to get a bit streetwise that I realised I shouldn’tbe there. By the time I was eleven it really hit home, especially when my mates started going to big secondary schools. They seemed to be having such a laugh, meeting girls, making new friends. And there I was, being picked up and driven to my ‘special’ school in Kingston. When I look back now I think that’s probably one of the reasons why I just didn’t learn. It wasn’t the school’s fault. It was a good place and all the teachers there really helped me. And I never missed a day unless I was ill or had a hospital appointment. My mum wouldn’t have let me.
    Getting there was a bit of a drag. It’s a fair old journey to Kingston from Wallington in rush-hour traffic. Some days it could take almost an hour. In the early days I was picked up in a bus provided by the council. Then I had a driver of my own called George. He was a lovely man. We used to talk about the estate and all sorts of stuff. That always used to cheer me up. Having someone familiar and friendly to talk to was a bit of a release from home.
    But the truth is I just didn’t want to go there, and I couldn’t talk to my mum about things like that because she would have just batted it away, saying, ‘You have to go. It’s good for you.’
    She didn’t understand back then that I just didn’t belong. That I was trapped in an awkward place – not so disabled that I needed 24-hour support and care but unable to get around without my chair or my callipers.
    I wasn’t very academic. I liked history – I loved learning about the kings and queens of England. I also likedgeography and as I have got older I have become a bit of a map bore. I love nothing more than spending time studying Google Maps. I am just fascinated by them and can spend hours looking at different places. But the school stopped both history and geography for reasons I never did understand. As for everything else? I simply wasn’t interested. Religious education, I couldn’t stand. Maths, I was just about OK, while I only liked science if it was practical, which normally meant burning things. As for English, the less said about that, the better. How my teachers would laugh at the idea of me writing my own book. A lot of them thought I was good in class and worked hard but they would get frustrated because I didn’t do enough homework. I should have listened to them and knuckled down. It is one of my