My festival was accessible on paper – but not in practice

A few weeks ago, I went to a music festival. Like hundreds of other people, I was looking forward to spending time with family, enjoying live music and escaping everyday life for a while. But as a wheelchair user, my enjoyment was gradually chipped away by one accessibility barrier after another.

I live with a service-related injury and I attended using my mobility scooter, alongside a friend who is a full-time electric wheelchair user. What I didn’t expect was that the biggest talking point of my day wouldn’t be the music – it would be accessibility. Or rather, the difference between providing accessible facilities and making them genuinely accessible.

Accessibility starts before you arrive

Before I had even entered the festival, there was no clearly signposted accessible entrance. To be fair to the security team, they couldn’t have been more helpful. They quickly found a solution and allowed us to enter through the VIP entrance. I was grateful. But it also made me think: accessibility shouldn’t rely on the kindness, discretion or quick-thinking of individual members of staff. It should already be part of the plan.

The Equality Act 2010 places a legal duty on service providers, including event organisers, to make reasonable adjustments for disabled people. Importantly, this is an anticipatory duty. Organisers should think about barriers before disabled people arrive, rather than waiting until someone encounters a problem on the day.

Accessibility shouldn’t be reactive. It should be designed into the event from the outset.

Accessible… but only on paper

Inside the festival there was an accessible viewing area. At first glance, that was encouraging.

The reality was different.

The space was small, exposed to the sun during one of the hottest weeks of the year and almost completely filled with empty chairs – assuming users would be ambulatory and not wheelchair dependent.

There simply wasn’t room for me and my mobility scooter, so I stayed just outside instead. The area quickly filled up with more chairs because event organisers on the day decided festival goers bringing their own chairs would have to use them in the accessible area and not the main arena.

Inside the accessible area were two portable toilets labelled as wheelchair accessible. Unfortunately, they weren’t. The cubicles were too small to comfortably accommodate a larger electric wheelchair and would have made it incredibly difficult for someone needing assistance from a carer. Even reaching them presented an obstacle.

People had naturally settled around the entrance with picnic blankets and chairs, meaning a wheelchair user would first have needed to ask several people to move before even attempting to get inside. The accessible toilets had become inaccessible.

Eventually, I found another toilet that I could use. The only problem? It was inside the VIP area. Despite explaining why we needed access, I found myself having to justify using a toilet because I hadn’t purchased a VIP ticket. Thankfully, after several minutes, common sense prevailed, but we were escorted to the VIP accessible toilet presumably so we wouldn’t make use of the bar!

Accessibility should never depend upon someone’s confidence to argue their case. It should simply work.

It’s often the little things

As the day went on, more barriers appeared. Food and drinks were served entirely from catering vans with counters well above my seated eye level. Ordering became harder than it needed to be.

At one of the bars, staff removed the lids from water bottles before handing them over. Ordinarily, that’s not something most people would even notice. For me, it meant making two journeys. I only have one free hand. The other is controlling my mobility scooter. I politely explained this and asked whether the lids could remain on so I could safely carry drinks for both myself and my guest. The answer was no. So I made two trips through the crowds instead.

The queuing barriers around the bars created another obstacle. There simply wasn’t enough room to comfortably manoeuvre my scooter without reversing, making multiple turns or asking other people to move.

None of these things, in isolation, ruined my day. Together, however, they became exhausting. Accessibility is often not about one major obstacle. It’s about dozens of small ones.

This wasn’t an isolated experience

Sadly, this wasn’t the first time I’d experienced this.

Only a few weeks earlier, I attended an Armed Forces Day event. Again, I believe the organisers genuinely wanted the event to be accessible, and in many ways it was. But large parts of the event were only accessible by mounting a step of around one and a half to two inches from the hard standing onto uneven grass.

I was using my larger, more robust mobility scooter and managed to negotiate the terrain. Many people using wheelchairs or smaller mobility scooters may not have been able to. Unfortunately, the uneven ground damaged my scooter, leaving it needing replacement front bearings at a cost of £60.

The point isn’t the repair bill. The point is that accessibility doesn’t end at the entrance gate. It continues throughout the entire experience.

This isn’t just my experience

Reading media reports afterwards, I realised how common these experiences are.

The BBC has highlighted disabled festival goers struggling with accessible toilets that were too small for larger wheelchairs, lacked space for carers and left some people avoiding drinking altogether because using the facilities was so difficult. Others described becoming trapped inside accessible toilets because they couldn’t turn their wheelchair.

The Equality and Human Rights Commission has also reminded organisers that accessibility is about enabling disabled people to enjoy events with dignity and independence, not simply providing facilities that appear accessible.

The message is clear. Providing accessible facilities is not enough. They have to be genuinely usable.

Why this matters to me

In my role at Bolt Burdon Kemp, I support members of the Armed Forces community whose lives have been changed by serious injury. Many of our clients never imagined they would one day rely on a wheelchair, prosthetic limb or mobility scooter.

One day they were serving their country. The next, they were navigating a world that suddenly presents barriers they had never previously noticed.

Those barriers are rarely dramatic. They could be:

• A doorway that’s just too narrow.
• A queue with no room to turn.
• A counter that’s too high.
• A toilet that technically exists but cannot actually be used.
• A route that looks accessible until the ground changes beneath your wheels.

Individually they might seem insignificant. Collectively, they chip away at something much more important. Independence.

Most disabled people are not asking for special treatment. They simply want to enjoy the same experiences as everyone else. To attend a concert, buy a drink, use the toilet with dignity, spend time with friends, and make memories.

Accessibility is about people

One thing is important to say. Every member of staff I encountered genuinely wanted to help. This isn’t about blaming individuals, but about recognising that accessibility starts long before the gates open. It starts during planning. It starts by asking disabled people what works.

It also starts by testing routes using mobility aids, considering how someone using a wheelchair, mobility scooter or walking aid will move around the site, and by remembering that accessibility isn’t simply about complying with legislation.

It’s about creating experiences that everyone can enjoy equally.

The Equality Act provides the legal framework. But true accessibility goes beyond compliance.

It is about dignity. It is about independence. And it is about ensuring disabled people don’t have to negotiate, justify or overcome unnecessary barriers simply to enjoy the same experiences as everybody else.

Perhaps the most important question every organiser should ask isn’t:

“Do we have accessible facilities?”

Instead, it should be:

“Can a disabled person enjoy this event from arrival to departure with the same freedom, dignity and independence as everyone else?”

If the answer is no, there is still work to do.