I still keep an eye on my old special school’s Facebook page. I like to keep track of what’s going on there, and to see how the old place is changing. Of course, a lot seems to have changed in the twenty years since I left: from the look of it, they now support a lot more students with learning difficulties, whereas when I was there, there was a much higher proportion of kids with just physical disabilities. Just now, for example, I came across pictures the school had posted of students being taught the safest way to cross a road. They were stood at a replica pedestrian crossing painted onto what looked like the old playground. I couldn’t help letting out a cynical little chuckle: I can’t remember having such lessons. Indeed, if only those teachers could see me now.

Of course, I cross roads every day in my powerchair, many times a day. What amused me was, like most urbanites, I find that the rules soon go out of the window. It isn’t so much a case of ‘stop, look and listen’ here in London, as much as a situation of ‘cross when you get the chance, and don’t worry about the consequences!’ Of course, pedestrian/zebra crossings are certainly good places to get across a road, but that assumes all the drivers stop for you like the law says they should!

I find myself wondering whether the students in the pictures I saw will ever get a chance to lead an independent, urban life like mine; or whether, when I was their age, I could ever have imagined that I would one day be living on my own in one of the world’s greatest cities, crossing roads, getting on and off busses, living life just like everyone else in this amazing place. To be honest as a youngster I couldn’t imagine ever leaving our old family house, so ultimately the kids now at my old school have just as much potential as I had. If that is the case, though, they will probably need much more advanced lessons in how to cross roads. They may be being taught the basics – things which every child needs to learn – yet I really hope that one day they feel the thrill of life that I now do, a feeling which no school lesson can imbue.