Live your potential

Still waters

I've just returned from two days of sailing. I feel as if I've been away for a week. I lose all sense of time when I'm on water. Time stops. It becomes meaningless. Perhaps it's to do with the endless horizon. Or because I feel utterly embraced by the elements.

I was on the Spirit of Scott Bader again, the accessible catamaran owned by the Disabled Sailing Association. We sailed from Portsmouth to the Isle of Wight, the Royal Southampton Yacht Club at the mouth of the Beaulieu river, then back again. Sleeping onboard was pure bliss. Silence, other than the sound of rigging, seagulls, water against the hull. Helming with full sails at ten knots was exhilarating.

There were only four of us: skipper, crew and one other guest who'd had a stroke a year ago. We talked of loss, of dependence, of changing identity. I was reminded to be grateful for a stable condition: one of the side-effects of stroke is epilepsy, unpredictable and shocking.

If I didn't have responsibilities, children, I'd go to sea. It's where I feel most calm. I'm with Tennyson:

Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.

Dear WOMAD

First, thank you for a vintage year. It would be impossible to choose a favourite moment. Psycho Killer on massed ukuleles? An acoustic Too Drunk To Fuck with the audience counted in ("un, deux, trois") for the shouted chorus of "fuck"? Gil Scott-Heron's brilliant monologue about the meaning of his disappearance? The blistering set from 70 year old Calypso Rose? Staff Benda Bilili giving a whole new meaning to integrated performance (and wheelchair dancing)? Oh, so many magical moments.

So yes, it was a vintage year for music. I just wish the same could be said for staff attitude.

I admire the spirit in which you approach access. I enjoy the raised viewing platforms. I appreciate the central car-parking for blue badge holders. I'm glad you have a dedicated email address for disabled enquiries.

However, it's not enough just to have these things. It's how you deliver them.

A dedicated email address is great, but you need to monitor it. None of my queries sent to that address were answered.

It's admirable that you have a voluntary system of "disabled wristbands". But if it's voluntary, why was I warned I wouldn't be able to get on to the viewing platform without one? Why was I refused entry to the disabled camping to use the (only nearby) accessible toilet? I'm in a wheelchair. I think I can pass as disabled.

I'm impressed you have a "one person, one carer" policy for the viewing platforms. It means that everyone should be able to see the acts. But what's the point if you don't enforce it? I was refused access to the platform because it was full. Fair enough, until people decided to leave with their carers in tow. I counted one person who had five attendants. And yet when two of my friends wished to join me on a near-empty platform, they were stopped.

None of these problems should be hard to resolve. You've got great mechanisms in place with parking, viewing platforms, dedicated disabled camping. You now just need to train your staff to be a little more sensitive.

I look forward to hearing your plans and seeing what changes are made for next year. Let's hope that 2011 will be a vintage year in every sense.

Racing a thing of beauty

I've spent the last two days in Cowes, sailing a boat of extraordinary beauty and speed.

When you enter the world of disability, design is generally left behind. You join a world of monochrome and straight lines, of function without form.

The Artemis 20 breaks the mould. She's been designed to be fully accessible and yet to be an object of desire for able-bodied sailors. With her sleek black six metre carbon fibre hull and 25m² spinnaker she looks like an America's Cup boat. And she performs like a racehorse, accelerating through the water in a flash. Take a look at this video to get a taste.

I got to sail her in the Artemis Even Keel Challenge Trophy at Cowes Week. On Sunday, twelve of us went out with instructors to practice race training in six boats before racing in the evening and on the Monday. We were a mix of people with spinal cord damage, strokes, Parkinson's, cerebral palsy - all competing equally. I'd forgotten how much I miss the thrill of competition, where skill and tactics are the ingredients you need to win, rather than a high level of fitness. Watching everyone's faces after the racing and hearing the excitement in their voices, I know I wasn't alone in my feelings.

And if you want to see a short programme about the Challenge, watch the video here (and I'm there too, at about 3 mins 50)...