Now on the train headed for Cardiff. The one thing I have noticed, this time around, is that there is an appalling lack of decent disability access. Sure, there is wheelchair access and service, but these are hidden and probably on a request basis. There is nothing for people who are mildly mobility challenged, like me. And you know how Aspies so hate to ask for help. A friend remarked that I should have no problem getting the attention of galant men to help me carry my cases around, but the truth is, I don’t even see them anywhere, I am so engrossed in my own bubble of anxiety, trying to figure out where to go, which platform to be at, and the strategy required to lift my load wherever I need to do so!
Well, after a kindly man told me I was sitting at the wrong platform and pointed me to the right one, I walked a long way to find a ramp going to where I needed to be. Then I had to lug my heavy suitcase up an almost three foot rise from platform to train carriage. My wrists are swollen and my back is aching terribly, and nothing is designed for ease of use or travel. Good thing is, first class on the First Great Western is, well, just about decent. At least, I am grateful, that there are no noisy, rowdy children, no smelly humans pressed against me, immediately in front of me or behind me, and I am sitting in a bay with four seats all to myself! Be grateful for small mercies, Bunny! Yes, it is worth the 54 pounds just to feel well. As it is, I am battling nausea just from the smell of the engine emissions, the enclosed space, and vertigo from BPPV, the motion sickness spectre hovering over my head.