Over the years I’ve recorded many awesome things here on my blog: truly incredible events, from concerts to graduations, which I never want to forget. From time to time though, I do things which I’m far less proud of. I suppose such events nonetheless need recording here if I intend to use my blog to give an account of my life as a disabled man living independently in East London.

On Saturday afternoon I went for a walk towards Woolwich. It started to rain heavily, so I popped into a pub. I didn’t intend to drink at first as it was only just turning midday, but one thing lead to another, and I eventually had four or five Leffes. At about four pm I was getting tired, so I asked for a lift home. The staff in the pub thought this meant I needed an ambulance, so they called one. Instead of home, the ambulance took me to hospital. I couldn’t argue due to the beer: using my communication aid had become rather difficult. I was put in a bed, and after a check up and a short rest spent the next six hours begging to be taken home. My powerchair was left in the pub; I went back and collected it on Sunday with the help of my neighbours.

Needless to say I feel very very embarrassed about this entire episode. I didn’t get home until 2am, by then utterly drained. It should never have happened, and to a certain extent puts my ability to live independently at risk. On the other hand, the fact remains that I eventually got home, demonstrating that I can handle such situations to a certain extent. I just wish that I had communicated more clearly, kept my head, and made sure that I was taken home. Above all, I must make sure something like this never happens again.