Come in if you can get in

In the access lottery, tickets to music and sporting events often make disabled people losers says would-be gad-about Lisa Davies

As an outgoing socialite whose primary mode of transport is a wheelchair, I have attended a significant number of concerts and sporting events throughout the UK. I have visited both small venues and large arenas and while access to many places has improved (these days I can at least get through the door of most buildings), there are occasions when I am still made incredibly nervous when making an enquiry about access. My previous experience of so-called accessible venues includes, but is not limited to, the use of an interior door as a ramp; this was scary even for me and is not an experience I will be rushing to repeat!

I have also on occasion attracted the attention of several security guards when the person I was with dared to help me out of my chair in an attempt to make my experience more enjoyable. He failed, we left early.

More recently I have dared to go out alone; this is due in part to economic constraints, and also to the fact that no one who loves me can stand my taste in theatre. My request for a single ticket at the exclusion of a carer space is usually greeted with mild shock by the operator. I dislike the generally adopted use of the word "carer" as a descriptor for anyone who may be with me on a given evening. The language does not even entertain the idea that I just may have friends.

My personal irritations do not end with the booking process, there is of course the evening itself to navigate. I can no longer even pretend that references to "convoys", or "wacky races" are remotely funny when two or more wheelchair-users just happen to occupy the same space. However, several arena event stewards seem to think it is. A recent trend in arena design has meant that I have paid a considerable sum of money to stare at famous people through plate glass. This rather takes the shine off the "live" experience, and I hope this trend doesn't continue.

While many of you may upon reading this be thinking the obvious, I do of course have a choice which can be concisely summarised as, to go or not to go. In my mind this is a stark choice. Access, where it exists, is so standardised that as a wheelchair-user I know I will be closer to the ceiling than is usually sensible.