From the Pub to Farringdon: The Night I Accidentally Conquered Fabric
Wheelchair user, and a nightclub. We’ve all been there. You’re sat in a pub in High Wycombe, halfway through a pint, when someone says those dangerous words: “Let’s go to London.”
Usually, that’s a joke. But after my spinal injury, “spontaneous” took on a whole new meaning. Before I knew it, the joke became a reality. I wasn’t just heading home; I was on a train leaving Wycombe, bound for Marylebone, and beginning a journey that would involve being carried onto Tube platforms by my mates just to reach Farringdon.
The Orchard: Where the Banter Never Changed
After my Spinal Cord Injury and attending a course with the charity Back Up, I had a renewed confidence. I became more self-assured that I could venture out, further from the comforts of my local area – local area being the village I grew up in and everyone knowing me. Although before the London madness, I’d venture to a local nightclub on the outskirts of High Wycombe called The Orchard and, when that closed down, Time in the town centre.
On occasion, I ran into old school mates, the “spinal injury” label vanished. There was no pity and no walking on eggshells. It was just the same old insults and the same old banter. They didn’t see a wheelchair; they saw the same guy they used to mess around with in class. It turns out, when you’re a few drinks in, the chair is the last thing anyone is thinking about.
The Step, The Crowd, and the “Ejector Seat”
Wheelchair User and a Nightclub. While my mates treated me the same, the club environment itself was a different beast. Take the dance floor at The Orchard, for example. It was up a step—a minor annoyance for most, but a tactical challenge for me.
My wheelchair skills were solid, but in a packed club, taking a “run-up” to hop a curb is impossible unless I want to bowl over half of High Wycombe. My move was simple: I’d shout over the music to whoever was standing nearby, asking them to lift the back of the chair once I’d gotten my front casters onto the step.
The result? Total carnage
For reasons I took time to wrap my head around, people would grab the back of my wheelchair and, instead of a gentle lift, keeping my rear wheels in contact with the step edge, they’d basically pull an “ejector seat” manoeuvre. I’d be tipped straight out of the chair and onto the floor.
There I’d be, lying on the sticky floor of the Orchard, while the door stewards had to wade through the crowd to come and peel me back up. You have to laugh—I was trying to be independent and verbal, but drunk physics is a law unto itself.
The Fabric “Heist”
Then came the London mission. Wheelchair User and a Nightclub. After leaving home turf and arriving at Fabric—a global clubbing institution—I was a world away from a night out in High Wycombe. Because I was a wheelchair user, the staff didn’t just let us in; they ushered us into the VIP access area.
- The View: Suddenly, I went from being carried onto the Tube to looking down at the crowd from the best seats in the house.
- The Damage: The VIP treatment was incredible, but the bar bill? Extortionate. I think I paid more for a round of drinks in Farringdon than I did for my first car.
The Great Equalizer
Whether I was navigating the sticky floors of Wycombe or the exclusive platforms of a London super-club, the lesson was the same.
“My chair is how I get around, but these nights proved that my spirit didn’t need a ramp. I wasn’t ‘the guy in the chair’—I was just another person on a mission, fuelled by bad decisions and great friends.”
I started that night in a pub in Wycombe and ended it in a London VIP lounge with a massive bar bill and the realization that while my legs had changed, my ability to end up in a ridiculous situation hadn’t changed a bit.
The Journey Home
As we left the club in the early hours of the morning, we didn’t have a logistical plan to get home form the big smoke. I got lifted into a people carrier, my mates bundling in after me. The driver drove us back to our home area. I do remember the disco lights in the back of the people carrier. It felt like the night was continuing even then. I’ve no idea what the cost was, or the time we pulled of the motorway? This was over 20 years ago!
The last Dance
A wheelchair user in a night club. Is a thing. I am free to go where ever I like. The Orchard didn’t have an accessible toilet, but I managed. Time had an accessible toilet in the VIP area, although I wasn’t allowed to hang out in there-the VIP area, not the toilet!
Other night clubs I risked ranged from places like Watford – I had to get carried up several flights of steps to gain access. Leicester Square which had a lift to the club in the basement. Keswick – a club we went to on a night out while on the Back Up course I attended. Again I needed lifting up a flight of stairs. A club in Aylesbury, although I’m not keen to return to that one! And probably the best club I’ve experienced is The Funky Fish, in Brighton. I sampled this club with my now wife, when we were courting. It was cool!
But now, as I start my fiftieth decade, I have come to the decision that night clubs are no longer for me. Give me tickets to a live gig anytime!
Moral of the story? Never say ‘Let’s go to London’ unless you’ve got your wallet ready.
Photos from my Back up course in 1999. Look how young I look!
I wasn’t keen on the canoeing and I managed to get across the camping field in my Quickie GPV with ease.
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