Last week I was lucky enough to spend an evening at
Westminster Abbey in support of Scope for Change, a campaign to encourage young
disabled people to speak up about the barriers (both physical and attitudinal)
that they have to face. Having tried to navigate London’s tube system with a
baby in a pram I have had a tiny glimpse into how inaccessible much of our
capital city is for wheelchair users and those with limited mobility. It’s slowly
improving and is unbeatable as long as you’re trying to get from Hounslow East
to Hounslow West, and don’t want to stop off at Hounslow Central.
The crazy thing is that disability is an issue that
could easily directly affect any of us at any moment, whether though accident, terrorism,
illness or age and yet most of us pass it off as someone else’s problem. I once
asked a wheelchair user what the correct term was for someone who wasn’t
disabled, as non-disabled or abled seem clunky or inaccurate (I may not be
disabled, but I am certainly not very able). She said, “We call you the
“not-yet disabled.” I don’t think a harsh truth of existence has ever been so
succinctly and eloquently expressed.
Anyway, we were lucky enough to get an after hours guided
tour around the spookily empty Abbey. I was hoping it would be like Hollyoaks
After Hours and be a bit sexier than the daytime tours. And I wasn’t
disappointed. It wasn’t sexy for most people, but luckily I get off on being in
close proximity to the dusty bones of ex-monarchs.
What an amazing building it is, both in terms of
architectural splendour and history but also as a monument to poets,
scientists, reformers and other Great Britons. The tomb of the unknown soldier
is particularly moving. An anonymous and unidentified Tommy from World War One,
representing all those regular citizens who fell in our many wars, past and
future.
I knew about Poets’ Corner but was surprised to see a
section of the Cathedral dedicated to science. There’s a massive monument to
Isaac Newton, celebrating his formulae and his ordering of the planets (if
Westminster Abbey had any style there would be a giant marble apple that
descended and bonked you on the head every time you stood in front of it). Newton
was at least was religious, if unconventionally so. Stranger to see Darwin
buried here, given his life’s work was a huge challenge to the church. But there’s something wonderfully British
about that sense of fair play and acceptance.
They don’t bury bodies in the Abbey any more (because
it’s already full to the brim with sexy dead king femurs), but vowed to my wife
that they would make an exception for me. One day my bones will be laid to rest
amongst the great and the good and the frankly wickedly awful. She seemed skeptical,
but I still have time to become Prime Minister. Or write some era-defining
poetry. Or save the planet from an alien invasion. Perhaps I could be interred
as the Unknown Comedian. Not anonymous, just unknown. “Here lies Richard
Herring, the Unknown Comedian. Just another death in a long line and by no
means the worst”.
Anyway, my final resting place will be Westminster
Abbey, even if I have to sneak in at night and bury myself. I’ll probably hide
in the tomb of Edward Longshanks – it’s a cliché I know, but for me the longer
the shanks the sexier the snuffed monarch. It’d be nice to hammer the Hammer of the Scots before I go.
In a doomed attempt to get fit my wife and I are giving up
drinking alcohol for 100 days. It’s been easy and I couldn’t even tell you how
long we’ve done. But it’s roughly 18 days, 10 hours and 43 minutes.
I don’t feel better. In fact I been quite poorly with a
stomach bug. I’m no scientist or Noel Edmonds but this PROVES that alcohol is
good for you and kills all diseases. Fact!
