We arrived in the custom hall and I busting for a pee. We found the loos and it was immediately evident that we were back in the UK. I love the accessible toilets here, it’s one of my favourite things, as a disabled person, about the place. Nice, though medical looking, toilets. I made use of the facilities, and got back in my chair several pounds lighter. Joe met me, also looking relieved, and we headed off to find the queue that we belonged in.

A woman, looking like she’d never been to a training on disability or any other form of disability, pointed at us and then at a line and said, “You, medical, you go to medical, it’s number one. Number one, medical. That’s you. Medical.”

I was caught up short and said, “Medical?” I was concerned because I thought that she thought I had some condition that I needed to be grilled about. She nodded and said, “Wheelchair, is medical, you are medical, go there, line one, medical.”

I got in line one behind two wee, small, buses with people with canes and walkers in them. The were questioned and then the buses moved on and it was me. I rolled up prepared for medical questions, I didn’t get any, my disability wasn’t mentioned at all.

We left and went to get our luggage, which we were relieved, wasn’t on a belt with a sign over it saying, “Medical, You, there. Medical here.”

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