Back in December, the BBC failed to get its act together and provide wheelchair-bound sports star Tanni Grey-Thompson with access to the podium at the Sports Personality Of The Year awards. This gaff highlighted the way people with disabilities can be discriminated against. This occurs not just at prestigious events but also in routine, everyday life.

At this stage in my children's long march to adulthood, my routine involves the taxi runs to clubs, etc., escorting them to sports activities and "walking" the youngest to school. The taxi-runs can be irksome at the best of times, but I encounter more barriers to access at kids' clubs than anywhere else.

Similarly with sports events: we frequent venues that require a trudge across a partially-flooded park in January for Toddler Thome's or Fledgling Festa's footie practice - more quad-bike than wheelchair territory. Similarly, we find karate class in a school gym across acres of darkened playground. No ramps, no automatic doors, just the assault course of the changing rooms using the clothes hangars for support, walking sticks akimbo.

Then there is the journey to the local shops, park and school. Most pavements in our area of suburban Stockton are just about wide enough to take two people abreast particularly when one is in a wheelchair or similar. But narrow this down by bringing a car parked on the pavement into the equation and it is a case of "dodge the wing-mirror". Many kerbs are now "dropped", allowing easier access on and off four wheels, but our council seems to follow something like the engineering equivalent of a knitting pattern - leave one, drop one. The random nature of this is very trying.

The list of everyday places I attend with my children that pay little or no regard to the fact that some parents may have a disability is a very long one. This sends out a message to those of us with disabilities that we are low down on society's list of priorities. Closer inspection of two such places will further highlight how tricky things can be at times.

The Sunday hockey run is now a regular activity, but it began when my son was introduced to the sport at a council-run sports activity event. Arriving at the car park for the first time, we were both captivated by the autumn sun as it glinted on an impressive steel structure that reached high into the chill air above us. Unfortunately, this was not a stadium for spectators we were staring at but the footbridge we were expected to cross. The car park and hockey pitch are separated by the Stockton to Billingham railway line and access to the pitch involves a hefty climb.

It is at times like these that some sort of acknowledgement that this may be, for some, a problem, would be welcome. A notice apologising to people with disabilities that the sports centre forgot all about them would be a good start. Instead there is a plaque proudly stating that the bridge was opened by a local MP in 1997.

We got by - in the way you do in situations like these - but when I phoned the council to see if there was a more direct and flat route, the answer was sadly that there was not. I climbed it for the last time on our next visit complete with my fold-up stool, trusty flask, a blanket and some Kendal Mint Cake so that I could hang around while I recovered.

My ability to walk short distances with the aid of walking sticks makes me mindful of any non-ambulant parent who would simply be cut off from the pitch here and would probably not return to try again. Now the arrangement is that I do not leave the car; my son climbs the bridge to where he can see me and the hockey pitch, gives me the thumbs-up and I then drive away knowing he is safe. It is saddening that such facilities as these are designed not for all to use, but only for those only lucky enough to be fully mobile.

The provision of wheelchairs in public buildings is another area with as many vagaries as the weather. Sometimes they greet you proud and pristine like cars in a showroom - eager to be admired and keen to be used. But, more often than not, they are forgotten relics, skulking round corners covered in boxes or merchandise and acting as a makeshift shelf. Requesting a wheelchair at such places can be downright embarrassing. Recently, at a nearby church, my wife did just that on a day when I needed to get quickly to an adjoining Youth Centre. We were presented with the wheelchair equivalent of an East German Brabant. It moved like a discarded supermarket trolley and its tyres were flat. The response to our cries for help was an inquiry as to whether we had had the foresight to bring a pump with us.

Churches, and other public buildings with serious intentions to include people with disabilities, could take a look at any of the big supermarkets which, by and large, seem to have got their acts together when it comes to access and assistance. This year it would be nice to think that people organising events likely to be attended by parents with children would stop and think for a minute. Think about whether everyone is genuinely welcome and then, if they are, make sure that information and facilities are in place to allow this. So often it is not the case.

Published: January 30th 2001