Ah yes, well, there is really only one way to say this. There is too much stuff in the Print Studio. I’m at a bit of a loss as to how to capture this visually – maybe some sort of collage might do the trick but at every turn, once I am away from the calm oasis of the computer corner I seem to spend half my time asking folk to move things out of my way. I tried to get through to the kitchen on Monday for a glass of water and gave up when I got to the big screen bed. So as not to disturb the artist working there, I headed off down the dark little corridor past the paper racks and had a moment of panic at the end when, faced with a door, I thought I couldn’t turn around and was stuck. Some nifty manoeuvring and the proximity of the screen wash-out space saved me but I was really worried for a minute or two. This illustrates a real problem for the Access Audit. It doesn’t matter how helpful people are – and everyone is really helpful; the staff are excellent, if any user were as disabled as I am they would be unable to use the studio facilities unaided. I don’t know how much this matters in my case or that of other existing members but it may well be sufficient discouragement for new disabled members to join. An issue then. I think I will speak to the staff and see what ideas they have.
This week has gone quite well though; my film is making progress, I am managing to recall things which I didn’t know I’d remembered, which together with a couple of fortuitous accidents mean that it is starting to look quite interesting. I have halved the running speed to 12 fps, so it no longer looks quite so frenetic and I have plans for the next stage. Ambitious plans of course, so it remains to be seen how attainable they will be.
On Wednesday, I bumped into two friends from the M.S Therapy Centre in the cafe and stopped for a cup of tea and a chat. As soon as they found out what I am doing here they started telling me their own horror stories about the building, and more specifically about the toilets. I know we must all seem obsessed by toilets but when you have M.S., or many other conditions for that matter, they inevitably take on a new compelling significance. So; both of them had been disturbed by interlopers in the level 3 loo – it happened to me last week but apparently, is a regular occurrence. Investigation has shown that the lock actually goes around about half an inch more than at first appears. You need to give the door an almighty pull and turn the lock as you do it. Then you are safe! Unfortunately, it’s not the easiest of things to achieve.
One of them, who always uses the level 2 facilities; underused and quiet, was left marooned down there when the lift refused to stop for her. Her mobile couldn’t get a signal so she eventually pulled the disabled alarm cord; to no avail apparently as no-one at the other end knew what it was! I didn’t ask her how she eventually got out, but was immediately reminded of why I am always reluctant to go down there myself – the same thing once happened to me and I had to hammer on the VRC door to be rescued. Thank heavens it was a weekday but since then, I have had an uncomfortable vision of a pile of bones and a wheelchair any time that a visit there seems unavoidable.
Before I go, don’t forget to check out the latest additions to the ‘Wall of Shame’.