On buses, front wheel drive and American TV drama
- 30 Jun 07, 10:01 PM
I like to buy stuff; shiny stuff, indulgent stuff, deeply unnecessary stuff, occasionally useful stuff, all of it good. Yesterday I ventured into town having heard that a boxset of a US TV series involving a British comedian pretending to be an American cripple was on sale at a considerably discounted price. I鈥檒l give you a clue, it rhymes with Mouse. Less than a year ago if you鈥檇 asked me which of Laurie and Fry was disabled I would have said 鈥淲hy, it鈥檚 my second favourite manic depressive in the whole wide world, Stephen Fry.鈥 It still is. Hugh Laurie, as his character Dr House, is only pretending. Even in my walking days I was never one for the straightforward limp, limping was accompanied by flailing arms and the inability to stop. Hence I am not the one to comment on the authenticity of Laurie鈥檚 chosen brand of crippledness, although I would like to know how the hell he can ride a motorbike. Answers in the comments section please. I would be one of those women simpering to Heat magazine that I had a 鈥榳eird crush鈥 on House but then I would have to admit that crush actually started when I saw him in Blackadder when I was 11. And that just ain鈥檛 right. Nor is it remotely to do with disability. I digress鈥
I鈥檝e recently borrowed my boyfriend鈥檚 old powerchair, it is several leagues above my own. Never have I spent an impulsive shopping trip gliding so smoothly over the cobbles, paving stones, tram lines and loitering Goths. But steering through a busy shopping street still requires concentration, whatever your turning circle.
On my way back to the bus station I realised I had to lower my seat. Knowing that if I stopped dead I risked some innocent soul crashing into me, possibly a goth with many delicate peircings, I had to pick my spot. A stall selling scarves was one possibility, but what if he thought I wanted to buy a scarf? I don鈥檛 want a scarf. Or do I? I might, I didn鈥檛 really like the shape of my neck that day. After much deliberation I stopped, lowered the seat and eventually emerged from the bus station subway, bewildered and scarf-less. Worse was to come, because when I go to the bus station it鈥檚 mostly because I want to catch a bus. In a wheelchair I had driven for less than a week. The bus company could combat sexism and disablism combined if they would just design a wheelchair space that was a. easy to steer into b. therefore didn鈥檛 invite quite so many 鈥榳oman driver鈥 jokes. I know I should be happy accessible buses exist at all. For a freakishly long time I was, I still get the adrenaline rush and the beaming smile to this day, but that could just be exhaust fumes. But as it was, on this bus I got the back wheel caught on the helpfully placed yellow pole, nearly crippling an old woman wearing a headscarf and a terrified expression. If I'd hit her she could always get tips from Hugh Laurie. Like I said, it鈥檚 all about concentration.
Comments
When he buys the bike, the seller says something to the effect of "It only affects your right leg? There's nothing wrong with your left leg? You'll have no problem riding then."
I know nothing about motorbike riding, but I'm guessing that means you don't use your right leg, much like one doesn't use ones left leg when driving an automatic car?
There's a whole counterbalancing thing with motorbikes though, innit? I mean, limpy people tend not to be great at counterbalance, unless that's just me?
Class read - even though you're now part of the machine - LOL