Well in my past two columns I have been dealing with life and death, which all feels a bit melodramatic, so I thought I’d take it to a more contemplative place. Before my now infamous dip in the river I was intending to write about my trip to the Reading Festival.

I’m lucky that I have a brother who works for a large corporate company. That means there are the odd freebees that come my way and a few weeks ago I managed to get guest passes to the Reading Festival. This means you get a backstage area with no queues at the bars and nicer food than the masses. I quite like the feeling of being a pseudo VIP and regular readers will know that I bag my way behind the scenes as often as chance allows.

On this occasion it was all legit. To be able to fully enjoy the festival you do eventually have to leave the comfort and enter the fray, which is all part of the fun – to me at least.

As a whipper snapper I did Glastonbury a few years in a row. This was pre-accident and I recall (although not vividly) being amongst the pushing and shoving and fist pumping for pretty much every act. Nowadays I could of course push my way to the front but as someone who is no longer practically 6ft I’m guessing the experience would be somewhat diminished, especially as there isn’t a sober person amongst the 90,00 strong crowd.

Trust me, drunk people don’t see wheelchair users.

Luckily the festival organisers take this into account and build raised areas so that we can see the acts in relative comfort and protected from the craziness. But for me therein lies the problem. It is an odd felling as it is kind of special in a nice way and also in a not so nice way. I feel like an individual who can’t walk but in some ways that’s where my similarity with other disabled people ends.

I’m Niall first and foremost and in order to enjoy the festival I was grouped with others who ‘look’ like me.

It had a feel of rehab and false community. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful as it definitely augmented my experience. But in the days after the festival I had a slightly glum feeling. Perhaps it was a trigger to times gone by where all I knew was 100 other wheelchair users or perhaps a reminder that I am different.

It may have also been jealously that I can’t jump about and be silly like the thousands of others. It’s odd.

When I am with seated people I forget I am disabled. But in a standing or even a dancing environment the feeling of difference becomes more acute.

But then all you walkers out there don’t get to sneak into the Cannes film festival, half price theatre tickets or hassle free parking so maybe the grass isn’t always greener.