The Friendly Times

Alan Graham was 75, Deaf from birth, and a BSL user. After a fall, he was admitted to Queen Elizabeth Hospital in Birmingham and diagnosed with heart failure. He was in the hospital for 11 weeks. During that time, the Trust provided a professional BSL interpreter on just three occasions. So who filled the gap? His grandchildren. Connor, who was 16, and Mia, who was 12. Staff asked them to relay medical information to their grandfather and their mother, Jennifer, who is also Deaf. On one occasion, Connor was asked to tell his mother that her father might not survive the night — and that CPR should not be attempted if the need arose. Alan died the following day. Let that sit for a moment. A child was asked to deliver the worst possible news to his mother because the hospital couldn't be bothered to book an interpreter. Not once, in a moment of crisis, but repeatedly over eleven weeks. Jennifer said she asked for an interpreter every day. Her children just wanted to visit their granda...

It’s January. The long evenings are still with us, but thoughts are already drifting towards summer. Holidays. City breaks. A bit of warmth and light. For many people, this is the moment when flights get booked, and plans begin to take shape. For disabled people, especially wheelchair users, that process comes with a different set of questions. Not just  where   to go, but   whether  flying will be manageable at all. Credit where it’s due. British Airways has done something genuinely good . Last March, they launched a dedicated Accessibility Team. Trained staff. Partnerships with disability charities. A freephone number answered by a human being. They also became the first airline to receive the National Autistic Society’s Autism Friendly Award. That matters. Being treated with respect at the booking stage makes a difference. Speaking to someone who understands your needs reduces anxiety before the journey has even begun. This is real progress. And yet. The BA Access...

  We keep saying we want more disabled people in work. So why are we making the support they rely on harder to use? The government is clear about its ambition: more disabled people in employment, fewer people stuck on benefits, and a labour market that makes better use of talent that is currently overlooked. It’s an aim many of us would support without hesitation. But ambition only matters if the systems underneath it actually deliver — particularly for employers who are expected to turn policy into practice. Access to Work sits at the heart of this. It is one of the few mechanisms the government directly controls that enables disabled people to take up work, stay in work and progress in their careers. For employers, it underwrites reasonable adjustments, reduces risk and makes inclusion practical rather than aspirational. Yet recent data and lived experience point in an uncomfortable direction. Fewer people are having Access to Work support approved than a year ago, waiting times ...

  What the Motability Scheme changed — and why the Budget risks turning the clock back My driving life began in a three-wheeled blue “Noddy car”. It had the turning circle of a shopping trolley and the crash protection of a biscuit tin. More than that, it announced  “this driver is disabled”  to the world at full volume. It got me around, but it never let me forget I was different. Then the Motability Scheme arrived — and everything changed. Suddenly, disabled people could drive the same cars as everyone else. Not a special version. Not a compromise. Just… a car. That may sound ordinary, but it was quietly revolutionary. Independence without stigma. Normality delivered without fuss. And let’s clear up one myth straight away: these cars are not free. Disabled people pay for them by assigning their mobility benefit every month. We invest our own money in our ability to live, work and contribute. This isn’t generosity; it’s a practical exchange that recognises the extra cost...

I keep seeing articles about the “untapped talent” of disabled people. The phrase pops up with the reliability of a well-worn sitcom rerun. It’s meant warmly, I know. But after thirty-plus years in this field, I can’t help feeling a familiar mix of frustration and quiet amusement. Because if this really were a new idea, I must have dreamt most of the 1990s. The Numbers Haven’t Moved Much  Here’s the reality. In 2024, just over  half  of working-age disabled people in the UK were in work. For non-disabled people, it was over  four-fifths . The gap sits around  28 percentage points  and has done so, more or less, for decades. If this were a graph stuck to a fridge, someone would tap it and say, “Is it supposed to do anything?” Talent Isn’t the Problem People sometimes ask why progress is so slow. The simplest answer? If talent were the issue, we’d have cracked it when dial-up internet was still a thing. Disabled people aren’t sitting in the dark waiting to be...

  Ever tried using a parcel return point from a wheelchair? I did recently — or rather, I  tried  to. What followed was a lesson in how clever ideas can become barriers when inclusion isn’t part of the plan. At my local Morrisons, there’s a shiny new self-service parcel drop-off point tucked away at the back of the garage forecourt. There’s no dedicated parking for it, so the only option is to stop in the forecourt itself. The service road leading to the supermarket is on a bend, and pulling up there would be far too risky. From the forecourt, there are no dropped kerbs, so you first have to brave a busy service road. Then comes a raised kerb and a stretch of loose grey shale before you even reach the machine. And even if you get that far, the scanner and parcel boxes are mounted so high they’re out of reach. And then there’s the unspoken assumption: that wheelchair users always have someone with them. That we never go anywhere alone. In reality, many of us are perfectly ...