I freely admit that the following will probably be one of the stupidest sentences that I have ever written: I think I want to visit more places where I can’t use my powerchair. I realise how ridiculous that must sound, but it’s a feeling I have had for a while. When it comes to accessibility, of course, London is a long way from perfect, but at the end of the day it’s one of the richest, most privileged cities in the world. It is safe and secure, and I can get around the city pretty much on a whim. This morning, for example, I decided to continue to try out the overground by taking the train from Kidbrooke up to Victoria. Dom and I had taken the route on Friday to get to the theatre, but I wanted to see if I could use it alone. It turned out to be a pretty uneventful trip, and, aside from a short wait for the ramp, I was in central London probably more quickly than ever.

If you haven’t been into London recently, it really is jaw dropping just how quickly it’s developing. Colossal amounts of money are clearly being spent in and on the city; not just in central London but in the so called east end too. The area around Victoria station, however, took my breath away: it was like a 3d labyrinth of concrete, metal and glass, with walkways, arcades and paths leading around coffee houses and expensive boutiques. The wealth was so apparent that it didn’t seem quite real.

The thing is, I’m almost used to it: I’m used to trundling along wide, smooth pavements; I’m used to being able to get on and off buses with automatic ramps; I’ve come to expect stately, well maintained parks which I can explore just as easily as anyone else. Of course I have a right to expect such things, but I can’t escape the cynical voice in the back of my mind crying out that they are all simply facets of extreme privilege. There is no denying that London is an extremely rich, bourgeois city: take a walk around Mayfair or Pimlico and you can almost smell the entitlement. It is a great world city which can fund any infrastructure project it wants. As fascinated as I still am by it, part of me now craves grittier, grimier places.

Of course I’m not talking about living London altogether. London is obviously an incredible base, full of culture and life , where I can go and buy fresh doughnuts five minutes from my front door. It’s just that the pull of grittier, grimier parts of the world is growing. Towns and cities which have not been so pumped full of money; smaller, more down to earth places, not so used to being developed and redeveloped beyond recognition. More earnest, less privileged places, not so accustomed to being the centre of attention or being granted permission for every project it likes. Perhaps it would be harder to get around such places, and I might not be able to use my powerchair. The people there might not even speak English. Yet I really think that it would somehow seem more real.