Dusty Wentworth

I grew up surrounded by open skies and quiet lanes, the kind of Norfolk landscape that gives you room to think. Out here, life moves at its own pace. You notice things, the rhythm of the sea, the slope of a ramp, the way a path suddenly becomes too narrow for a pushchair or a wheelchair. It is in those small, ordinary moments that the idea of accessibility starts to feel less like policy and more like simple fairness. Disability is not a distant concept that belongs to a handful of people. It lives close by, in our families, our communities, and often, in our own bodies. One in six people around the world live with a disability, although most of the world rarely notices until the absence of something, a ramp, a subtitle, a kind word, draws attention to it. What strikes me most is that disability is not the trouble itself. It is the lack of empathy, understanding and access that turns difference into difficulty. Rethinking What Disability Means For years, society...

For most, saving for a flat or a car represents a key milestone—a significant step towards independence. But for many disabled people in the UK, that same sum represents the cost of their freedom.  A reasonably priced, custom-built wheelchair—the kind that enables a full and active life—can cost around £5,000. It is an essential piece of equipment that many must fund out of their own pocket, a sum that could otherwise have been a deposit towards their future. A Week in the Life of a Free-Wheeler Chloe is a graphic designer in her twenties. She loves gigs with friends, navigating London’s busy streets, and building a creative career. But every day she faces a silent battle. The wheelchair provided by the NHS, while functional, is heavy and cumbersome. Trying to board a crowded bus, she feels the eyes of passengers as she struggles with the weight. Her shoulders and wrists ache with every push. It is a daily battle between body and chair—a battle she cannot win. This is n...