Dreading the wedding

My parents, bless them, wanted to make my unfulfilled childhood dream come true, so after a little secret, 'friendly' persuasion, my brother and his fiance asked me to be their bridesmaid. The only problem was, by this time, I was no longer a cute seven year old, but a nineteen year old crip with a chip who viewed marriage as an oppressive and patriarchal institution.

Needless to say, I was less than thrilled. I wore a ring of flowers on my head, ballet pumps on my feet and a pink frilly meringue of a dress. I did indeed look like a princess but all I wanted was to look like Prince.

There were also a few practical hiccups; I had to wedge the posy of flowers between my thighs because I couldn't drive my wheelchair and hold it at the same time. The only ramped entrance to the church was through the altar so I arrived at the front before the bride. Unable to throw, my attempts to cover the happy couple in confetti resulted in my lap being covered. And I'm not even going to mention the wheel tracks over the wedding dress train.

I decided that I didn't want to be a bridesmaid, bride or even a wedding guest ever again. And then, Earlier this year, I received a cream parchment envelope through the post. Just like receiving exam results, as I tore it open, I felt a queasy mix of excitement and dread. There was both bad news and good news inside; it was, as suspected, a wedding invitation, but at least this time I wasn't being asked to be a bridesmaid.

It was a family wedding, so I accepted, expecting the worst in terms of access, attitudes and aunties who would inevitably try and cure me, dance with me or insist on telling me about their various ailments. However, I was about to have all my 'glass half empty' assumptions smashed .

On the wedding day, all my family were staying in a hotel local to the church and reception. A coach had been laid on so that no one had to worry about drinking and driving there. Since it obviously wouldn't be accessible, I was going to travel to the wedding in my own car. As we all gathered in the car park, dressed in our finery, the coach arrived. I was right, it wasn't accessible, but the smaller mini bus that pulled up beside it was. I was stunned. I am the only wheelie in the family, so surely this bus with a lift wasn't just for me?

It was. I was chauffeur driven to the church and then to the reception which was being held in a marquee in the bride's family's garden. I anticipated a big tent on muddy grass but the reality was more like something from the pages of OK! magazine. There was a huge ramped entrance hall, with cream carpets, six foot high flower displays and silk fabric swathed from the ceiling. Not a step or a bit of mud in sight.

After a few champagnes, I needed the loo and whilst I expected a stinky old portaloo, I never imagined we'd be treated to 'conveniences of distinction' – posh portacabins fitted out with proper toiletries, luxury soaps and even quilted toilet paper. There was a men's, a women's and - just as I was ready to complain that they hadn't thought of everything - I turned around and spied a catwalk-like ramp leading to my very own wheelchair accessible toilet. I was overwhelmed.

I thought the last thing on most engaged couples' minds would be organising a Disability Discrimination Act compliant wedding. How wrong I was. I have never been to any wedding, christening, funeral or even a disability specific event that was more wheelie welcoming than this.

They, a non-disabled couple, have raised the bar on accessible weddings so high, however, that most of us are going to need an extendable gripper stick to reach that far. We'll have to provide things like braille invitations, subtitled vows, extra wide aisles, a touch tour of the bridesmaids, ushers who double up as PA's, ventilator charging points, drinking straws on every table, cake for the guide dogs, a non-reflective glitter ball for those with light sensitive epilepsy...

I think I'll just live in sin instead.