. . . But it comes with it’s hazards . . . and I’m not just referring to the age of the pipes . . .
Nothing tests a manual wheelchair user’s skills like an ongoing succession of quaint original features like narrow doorways and steps: “Roll-up, roll-up and test your (new) neck strength and non-existent core on our sloping, cobbled flooring”.
It’s not all that bad though, after all you can ignore the “mind your head” signs on the low beams and it’s nice, for once, for the spillages on the table to be the fault of the floor and not your own clumsiness.
Wheelchairs aside, a roaring fire and uneven stones, when you have small children are just a burn/trip hazard that frankly spoils your dining experience. Your trio of desserts are gradually sliding off the roof tile that’s been substituted for a plate while you’re too distracted making sure your long since finished little darlings don’t face-plant directly into the flames.
Asking SA what frustrates him most about the pub and high up there is being eye level with the bar, trying patiently not to turn into ‘Angry Wheelchair Man’ when pint after pint is tantalisingly drawn for other people who only just rocked up. Any set-up where everyone else is standing up is also a big no, no. Fortunately, this scenario is less common since having somewhere to sit on an evening out becomes more of a pre-requisite in one’s 40’s . . .
If you’re wondering why I make my man go to the bar while I sit by the fire and inspect my cuticles, I don’t – it’s upon his insistence. He will not let me take this gender specific honour away from him. I must have a reputation for being the most precious, most lazy cow in the area.
On the plus side, in a bar situation where seating is limited, SA has brought his own perch and has no issue with providing a shared seating service to my female friends who are queuing up to sit on his lap and express their drunken adoration. Last summer we attended a very good friend’s wedding so there was plenty of yummy mummies lavishing attention on the elusive SA. The next morning the district nurse had to ask SA why on earth he had glitter all over his face . . .