Why Blindly Wheeling?
The origin of Blindly Wheeling
It’s a fair question.
At first glance, it sounds a bit odd. Maybe even a little reckless. The sort of thing you might say just before heading off in entirely the wrong direction.
But like most things worth doing, there’s a story behind it.
The name that made me pause
When I first thought about calling this Blindly Wheeling, I hesitated.
Not because it wasn’t accurate, but because I knew how it might land.
“Blindly” can sound like a lack of direction. “Wheeling” can sound like limitation.
Put the two together and you might reasonably wonder whether I’ve lost the plot entirely.
But the more I sat with it, the more it felt right.
Because in many ways, that’s exactly what exploring the world can feel like when accessibility isn’t quite there.
Not as in careless, but as in unknown. Blindly is not about recklessness.
It’s about uncertainty.
It’s about arriving somewhere new and not quite knowing what you’re going to find. Whether the step free route really is step free. Whether the lift works. Whether the “accessible entrance” leads somewhere useful or somewhere quietly out of the way.
It’s that moment of pause before you set off: will this work?
For many people, that question never even occurs. For others, it’s part of almost every journey.
And “wheeling” is just getting on with it. The second half is simpler.
Wheeling is what I do.
It’s how I move through the world along towpaths, through cities, into museums, across distillery floors, and occasionally into places that clearly weren’t designed with that in mind.
It’s practical. It’s everyday. It’s not particularly dramatic.
But it does give you a different perspective.
You notice things. Small things. The camber of a path. The weight of a door. The placement of a sign. The tone of a welcome.
Things that, taken together, shape whether somewhere feels easy, awkward, or completely out of reach.
So what does Blindly Wheeling do?
At its heart, Blindly Wheeling is about one simple idea: seeing the world as it is and helping make it better.
That plays out in a few different ways.
I visit places. I share experiences. I talk about what works and what doesn’t. Not to criticise for the sake of it, but to highlight the difference that thoughtful design and genuine welcome can make.
Sometimes that’s through stories. Sometimes through practical insight. Sometimes through the occasional gentle nudge that says, “This bit could be better, and here is how.”
Alongside that, I write. I speak. I work with organisations who want to understand accessibility in a way that goes beyond tick boxes and into real, lived experience.
Because accessibility isn’t just a technical exercise. It’s a human one.
It’s not about perfection
One of the biggest myths about accessibility is that you have to get everything right, all at once.
You don’t.
Most places I visit aren’t perfect. In fact, very few are.
But the ones that stand out, the ones people remember and return to, are the ones that are trying. The ones that listen. The ones that are open to learning and improving.
That’s where Blindly Wheeling fits in.
Not as an inspector with a clipboard, but as someone who can say, “Here’s what this feels like from this side, and here’s what might help.”
A slightly different lens
If you follow Blindly Wheeling, whether that’s through the website, the blog, or the videos, you’ll start to notice a pattern.
It’s not just about access features. It’s about experience.
How easy was it to plan the visit? Was the information clear? Did the welcome feel genuine? Could you enjoy the same moments as everyone else?
Because inclusion isn’t just about getting through the door. It’s about what happens next.
Why the name matters
In the end, Blindly Wheeling stuck because it tells the truth.
Not the polished, brochure version, but the real one.
That sometimes you set off without knowing exactly how things will unfold. That you figure things out as you go. That you adapt, improvise, and occasionally laugh at the absurdity of it all.
And, importantly, that it shouldn’t have to be that way.
The better we understand accessibility, the less “blind” those journeys become, and not just for wheelchair users, but for everyone navigating a world that is not always as straightforward as it could be.
Let’s see where it goes
So that’s Blindly Wheeling.
Part exploration. Part storytelling. Part practical insight.
All grounded in the belief that small changes done well can open up the world in ways that really matter.
And if along the way we can make a few journeys smoother, a few experiences better, and a few organisations think differently about what “welcome” really means, then it’s a name that’s done its job.