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When it comes to housing, I appreciate that I have the basics: a roof over my head and heating (although, these days, that is not a given due to the extortionate rise in costs). These things should never be considered a privilege for any human being - but the most basic of rights.

Yet, in the dark labyrinth of this hypocritical capitalist world in which we are all trapped, there is no equity or equality in housing. And it hasn't been this bad in a very long time.

It was in my late teens that I knew I did not want to stay at home with my mum forever. I loved her and everything she had done for me, which included reinforcing my defiance, but I knew I had to get out. It was not merely a rejection of the old, tired 'triumph over tragedy' model that is imposed on disabled people - it was more simple and more human. I wanted freedom, something I was told I could never have as a wheelchair user - at least not something near that which non-disabled people take for granted.

In 1981, I started with small efforts to determine what was out there. I sent hand-typed letters by post - as this was before the internet, mobile phones, Independent Living. Before housing for disabled people was a reality.

There were a few specialist housing associations - John Grooms Housing Association (of he who invented the 'Crippleage') and the more progressive Habinteg - but there was a lack of appropriate buildings.

I will never forget the shock I felt when the main option put forward for living outside of my family home was to go into a care facility.

So I took on the long challenge to ensure this would not be the direction of my life, aided along the way by writing a letter to Ken Livingstone.

Oedipus and the 'Other' Within Us All

In our theatre of social media, the modern chorus has become a cacophony of competing rights and opposing certainties where the contemporary curse is that of othering, writes Jake Arnott

Jake Arnott

I now live in a beautiful social housing flat, adapted from a large Victorian property built in the 1870s.

The repurposing is clunky and I'm doubtful that any disabled person was involved in the redesign. There is mould in my bedroom, there have been leaks through the ceiling, and there is poor insulation. The ramp to my property is not appropriate and seen as a fire risk. I have no other exit, apart from a narrow hallway in which my wheelchair cannot turn.

Sometimes issues are resolved within a reasonable timescale, but often not. The space is tiny, so this flat is all about ceiling height - not much use when you're a wheelchair user.

I moved here in a house swap from London - a gargantuan effort of constant communication and the familiar pattern of having to prove who you are and why you qualify for such a 'right'. While it is hard for humble tenants to prove anything, I believe the home swapping system is deeply flawed and suspect - another get-out clause to fob off tenants stuck in dreadful and inappropriate properties. In such situations of desperation, people may lie and complications will occur.

While housing associations need to give you permission to go on home swap sites, there is very little checking, which leads to more confusion and disappointment for many.

At my age, I know the system and what we're up against. Naturally, it's usually about money. Yet again we are merely numbers on spreadsheets, seen as costing too much with little opportunity for profit.

I marvel at the sheer audacity of housing associations (as with many older charities), with their big fundraising junkets, expense accounts, team-building weekends in nice little hotels - while another ageing disabled tenant is stuck on the third floor because steps are no longer viable for them and the lift keeps failing. No nice little hotel for her - while others use her as a statistic in another posh pres...