BACK

Dear Loyal Reader,

I am back home, or at least, back in my home city. My actual home, the place where I spent most of my time before my accident, is still someway off. I hope to return there someday.

In the meantime, I will continue writing this blog, in the hope that it is useful to somebody. I kindly ask that if you have the means, it would be a great deal if you could support my writing by becoming a paid subscriber, and keep this show on the road.

Your loving writer, Hanif.

XXX

It was my first time travelling as a disabled person and I was keen to see what the experience would be like. The day had come; after six months, I was making progress, leaving at last, going back to London, my home city, for more treatment.

My heart sank. Outside the hospital in Italy, I saw they had sent what looked like a builder’s van to pick me up and drive me to the airport. It was rackety and old and looked a bit small. The driver put up a shaky ramp, got behind me, and tried to shove me inside the van. No one has ever described me as being tall, but it was clear I would not fit. My head would not go under the top of the van.

I wondered the previous day why Isabella had insisted on measuring me twice, unless it was for my coffin. My friends discussed removing my cushion to reduce my size, but there was no way they could remove it while I was sitting on it. And there was no way that I could fit into the van without serious damage to the vehicle or to my head.