How does one sum up the best week of my life? Let me begin by saying that it was probably very bad for me: I sat in my chair and got pushed everywhere; I was fed everything; I did absolutely no exercise or physio…

So, Berlin ruled! I’m not sure where to start. Firstly, I should say the staff from college were fantastic. I was very impressed with my PA, John White, who managed to cope with me very well, although perhaps his feeding technique was perhaps a little too slow for my liking, and sometimes he seemed to forget he needed to put food in my mouth too! He coped with the usual footwear, bedtime and toilet problems very well. Also, I like the fact that the other staff sometimes chipped in to help – I dined with the staff 2 or 3 times, as me and john often seemed to stick with them, and they all seemed to chip in, shoving the odd spoonful into my mouth and wiping my face etc. I especially liked the fine meal we had on Sunday evening of three courses with spirits afterwards.

Fine meals with the staff aside, the major fun was had with my fellow students. While John is a top bloke, I felt it wise for us to spend some time away from each other for both our sakes. I really enjoyed sitting in the bar with the guys, buying and being bought countless drinks. Usually in such situations, I like to sit back and just observe, but this time I really felt part of the action – watching thee pool, talking, laughing. Often people who I hadn’t spoken to came up and steadied my drink so I could sip from it. There was a huge Cuban cigar being passed about at one stage, and I was offered a try. Although people still made allowances for me, it was like my CP didn’t matter: I was one of the guys, and I felt totally free.

One night, having spent the day with john and the staff at checkpoint Charlie, we arrived back at the Generator, the hostel where we were staying. One of the guys approached me:

“hey, matt. A whole load of us are going out. Wanna come?”

“Sure.” I went upstairs where john changed me into my good button-up shirt (I can never do buttons) and sprayed some lynx over me. Within 30 minutes, there were about 40 or 50 of us, going along the streets of Berlin to a night club. No “adults”, no restrictions: even stairs weren’t an obstacle as about 5 of the lads would simply pick my chair up, me inside, and carry it down. No problem! With surprising organisation, we all made it to the club, where I danced my head off. People seemed quite happy to steer me along the dance floor like a maniac, stopping now and then to feed me a swig of beer. I felt absolutely elated.

However, when we tried a similar thing the following evening, it didn’t go as well. I was being pushed along by Hayley and Janine and the girls, and suddenly most of the boys deserted us. We got to the bar, where we waited, and waited, but the boys didn’t show. There was no way of those with me being able to get me home via the tube, so we rang a taxi – john had lent me about 20 Euro for just such an occasion. Thus about 4 of us (me and 3 girls – hehe) took the taxi home, leaving Hayley and the others to walk back (should I tell Kyle what happened then, hayley?). once home, I was able to extract a reasonable apology from rich and the guys who deserted us.

For any wheeled readers I might have, I should point out that Berlin is a nightmare to get round: most tube and train stations have lifts, but many older ones do not. It was often simpler and easier for me to get out and walk up the stairs. One evening, when me and John were making our way home, we found the lift we needed was totally broken. After about half an hour of head scratching, we decided to get a taxi home: there was no way John could handle me and a heavy wheelchair alone up several flights, especially as I was rather tired.

The trip itself went well. Most museums, bar the one at checkpoint Charlie, were fully accessible, and I could manage the stairs at the checkpoint. Although there was rough ground to walk over, I enjoyed the trip to the beach, which was rather like a certain scene from James bond….ahem.

Oddly, though, our trip to the concentration camp was not as moving as I thought it would be: one couldn’t see the physical evidence of death – the gallows, gas chamber etc had been destroyed by the invading Soviet army in 1945, and all that remained were a few huts and exhibitions. At one point, however, when I saw the archetypical Auchvitsian gatehouse with its clock tower, it hit me that below those gates had passed 200,000 people never to return. All I felt was numb.

So, save for the concentration camp, trouble with trains and John’s bad jokes, it’s been quite a week. No doubt I have left details out, due to too much brain-pickling, but I assure you I lived every moment of it. It is sad to think that, because of university next year, I probably will never see the students who came with me again