I’m a sucker for paths. I love to explore, and I love to follow paths. I’m not sure why – if I see a path, leading off into the fields, I just have to follow it. I am just imbued with a terrible wanderlust which urges me to see what’s on the other side of the hill.

The problem with paths is mud. They’re deceptive: you’re trundling along n the wheelchair, and all of a sudden the path gets narrow and steep. If you’re a careful driver, as I try to be, these shouldn’t be a problem. The real difficulty starts when you get stuck in mud. You’re wheels whirr, you push and pull, but your chair doesn’t budge. It is then that you need help, which means getting out and going to find someone.

This means going through all the rigmarole of meeting new people. First you have to get their attention (they will try to ignore you if u have cp). Second, you have to prove that you are in fact sentient and ‘all there’, and not an escapee from an institution. Third, you have to introduce them to your communication aid, which eighty percent of the time amazes people. Finally, you have to tell them the problem. Thereafter, threes much heaving and shoving, and a lot of damage done to the chair,, and often you’re on your way.

Only, today was different. Today I managed to enlist the help of an off duty police man, who despite my affirmations that everything was ok now I’m out of the mud, decided to walk me to the local station. I narrowly avoided him calling dad, which would be a major embarrassment, and he gave me some water and I went on my way.

No more driving on mud, methinks.