I’m always going to be grateful for theatre: it has helped me forge the most valuable friendships I have in my life, helped me nurture my own creativity in terms of my blog and my podcast, ensured I’ve broadened my horizons in terms of the kind of pieces I choose to see and enriched my life immeasurably thanks to the wealth of talented people onstage and off that it has been my privilege to watch.

I know that all those elements have given my life joy and meaning in ways that I struggle to find in other aspects as a disabled person. And yet, I marvel at how an industry  I love so much consistently manages to make me feel so unwelcome and down about myself.

A couple of weeks ago, I was overjoyed to be invited to see the cast of Bonnie and Clyde in rehearsal before they opened at the Garrick: see them perform, interview them and so on. I’m always humbled and excited by these invites, but it’s also a sure-fire way of putting my guard up as I know I’ll have to enquire about access for myself in my wheelchair, and I’m bracing myself for the likely inevitable answer. It’s no surprise then, that my suspicions were correct: I couldn’t attend said event due to the venue’s rehearsal space being inaccessible. It surprised me how deeply this one impacted me, given that it’s not the first time and nor I suspect, will it be the last, (indeed the issue has raised its head at the beginning of this month for a show and theatre I had been keen to attend and review later this year that I know now won’t happen) but I was so hurt by the fact that this space in a newly built London theatre (The Troubadour) that is currently playing host to one of the hottest tickets in town right now, has let itself down because by its rehearsal space not being fully accessible,  you’ve immediately closed your doors to the disabled community of actors and other creatives who use wheelchairs and are unable to transfer from them that have stories to tell and work that deserves to be seen, just as their non disabled peers do. You’re losing the opportunity to foster that environment of collaboration and creativity that this industry seems to pride itself on, and thus this perpetual cycle of systemic inaccessibility continues.

Some might say that I’m wrong in naming the venue, but it felt important to do so not to encourage harassment or take away from the work they do, but to shed light on something that if we’re being truthful, the team probably haven’t even thought about. And as Hamlet says: there’s the rub: accessibility is, too often, an afterthought. The argument you’ll also see a lot is that nothing can be done to improve the access provision because a lot of theatres, are grade II listed buildings. I don’t dispute that it’s time consuming and expensive, but there’s nothing to say that it’s impossible: may I draw your attention to the work that London’s Shaftesbury and The Old Vic have done to improve their facilities.

When I tweeted these frustrations, someone reached out to me and said “you’re writing is usually spot on, but today was emotional and prone to being misinterpreted.” Of course it’s emotional – I and the entire disabled community who love the theatre as we do face issues like this on a regular basis, and though I don’t claim to speak for our entire community, I find the fact that my default setting is to think “I won’t be able to attend that” and continually having to self-advocate by having the onus on you as the disabled patron to ask about accessibility in that first instance  exhausting. That same exchange questioned the fact I put in how many years of time, energy and money I’d put into supporting this industry, and said it was irrelevant to anyone but myself, and that I “want to be part of an industry that by it’s very nature is one of rejection”. I’ll just address those points (again not wanting to reopen a heated discussion, but just for the sake of clarity): perhaps it is, but to me it shows just how long I’ve been facing problems like this and yet I will keep coming back because of the reasons I outlined at the top of this post.

Why should I give up something that means so much to me, and more importantly, why shouldn’t I call it out when it continually fails me and my community? No-one else seems to want to do it except when it directly impacts them, so I stand by my implication that my money and time should be of equal value to anyone else’s, and as to the point about rejection: I understand that meaning, but I’d counter with the fact at least the rejection comes from something they have a degree of control over: people can choose whether they want to audition, or put their project forward for funding, and a myriad of other things. We as a community are at the mercy of where people choose to run these events, and continually told that theatre is for everyone without much being done, particularly in the West End, to carry through that mantra.

I’d be remiss not to acknowledge that there is an element of selfishness here on my part: I want to grow my platform and be up there with the others I admire and follow, to be amongst my peers and welcomed – that’s a big part of why I set up Wheelie Stagey in the first place: because I knew my voice and point of view are underrepresented in the industry and I wanted to try and change that. Going to events like these are a massive chance for me to grow my platform and audience, and yet I can’t do that if I’m unable to attend these kind of events in the first place.

I’ve thought about giving up more times than I can count, and have to talk about one of my local theatres, the Bristol Old Vic who have always been fierce champions of my writing and have made great strides to improve the accessibility of their building and ways they work. They have always been honest with me and acknowledge that they don’t always have the expertise or lived experience to know what they need to do, and so turn to those that do for support. The fact that they do that gives me hope, as does the fact the PR company who sent me this original invite have bent over backwards to find a resolution for me, I thank them from the bottom of my heart. Therein though, you hit another point that’s important to raise:  it’s never the fault of the PR company that inaccessible venues are chosen, and yet they are the ones who bear the brunt of the disappointment when we can’t attend.

I’d love it if there was a job role created within PR agencies to help facilitate/champion conversations like this, and assist on these particular processes, it would certainly help alleviate the pressure on the staff having to be the bearer of bad news, and on us as disabled patrons as we won’t always be the ones having to start the conversations that often brings about that bad news! If access is thought about from the outset, you will make life easier for everyone in the industry, not just the 22% of the UK population who are disabled in whatever shape or form that takes.

So, what’s the solution in an industry where the disabled community as audience members alone have to put up with: a lack of access performances that cater for their particular needs, poor views from accessible seating (the stories I could tell you about this alone as a wheelchair user), and the inability to be more spontaneous in our theatregoing due to limited seating choice and availability against demand, travel logistics or not having the option to book online, to name just a few. Well, from my perspective: I’d love to see a change in the way these PR companies work in the sense that they could reach out and ask about any access needs before they tell us about the event, thereby you immediately establish the circumstances and whether we can be accommodated, and thus pre-empt the disappointment, and in that you can also do what the PR company did for me and say: “we’re so sorry you can’t come, how about doing this as an alternative?” I’m not for a moment suggesting that it’s feasible for me to be accommodated at every matinee if I can’t attend a press night or event and I understand that no PR agency has a single client (especially in London) and huge lists to reach, but trust me: acknowledging the issue and trying to tackle it will go a long way.

I know that change takes time, and is something I’m not capable of bringing about on my own. That’s why I’d love to turn this piece and experience into a bigger project, and I’d like to start that with a round table type discussion on my podcast: so if there any keen accessibility advocates out there, especially disabled theatregoers or creatives actively working in the industry who’d be interested in talking with me for that and how I can take this further, please reach out, because I think I’m about ready to take this on…