Posted on July 25, 2025

If you’ve ever tried to pack a wheelchair, a pushchair, three excitable children, and a sense of humour into a single car — congratulations, you’ve already earned your parenting badge of honour.

Friday, 25 July — one of those gloriously British summer days. 26°C, sun blazing, and the scent of fresh coffee wafting through the house. A leisurely start for the grown-ups, but the kids? Practically vibrating with seaside anticipation. Sheringham wasn’t calling — it was shouting.

🚗 Operation Load-Up commenced with military precision.
Wheelchair? Check.
Pushchair? Check.
Children? Loud and accounted for.

Off we rolled through the lush North Norfolk countryside, tablets chirping in the backseat while my wife and I soaked in the scenery — and the fleeting silences between sibling squabbles.

Arriving in Sheringham, the sea greeted us before we even saw it. That thick, salty air hit like a nostalgic slap to the senses.
First financial casualty of the day: £11 for parking. Cheers, council.
But no time to dwell — the troublesome trio were beach-bound, and nothing short of a tsunami was going to stop them.

We found a charming little café on the promenade with the perfect vantage point. The beach access, however, was via steps — a bitter pill for my wheels and a reminder of how easily accessibility is still overlooked. Watching my wife and kids splash in the surf while I stayed landlocked was tough. But the sun was shining, I had a decent coffee in hand, and my camera was ready. So I snapped away, soaking up the joy from the sidelines and reminding myself: presence matters, even if it’s from a bench.

🍟 Lunchtime brought the usual seaside ritual — chips.
£27 later (yes, really), we were perched on the sea wall, tucking into sausage and chips while a young lad strummed his guitar nearby. His tunes floated on the breeze, adding a soundtrack to our salty feast. It was one of those rare moments when everything just... fit.

The afternoon meant trinket hunting in tiny shops and a pilgrimage to the amusements. Gone are the days of 10p slots — now it’s more like selling a kidney for a go on the claw machine. But the kids were in their element, and I could join in too. That’s a win in my book.

🍦 Ice cream o’clock was next. The kids went full chaos mode with strawberry sauce and sprinkles, my wife opted for a milkshake that defied physics, and I chose rocky road — because why not?
The challenge? Eat fast enough to avoid a puddle, but slow enough to dodge brain freeze. It’s a delicate art. One I’ve yet to master.

Close-up of a rocky road ice cream cone held over a wheelchair joystick, with a colourful ice cream parlour counter in the background.

Back at our café base, Hallie nodded off in her pushchair, leaving two more to wear out. As they played, my wife and I actually talked — a rare treat in the whirlwind of family life. She insisted on a selfie to mark the moment, and I’m glad she did.

Now, as I sit here reflecting, I’m grateful. We’re still learning how to adapt to my disabilities and how they shape our adventures. There’s frustration, yes — but today was a win. When my son hugged me and said, “I’m so glad you’re my daddy,” it hit me right in the heart. That’s the stuff that matters.

So here’s to more seaside chaos, more chips, and more moments that remind us why we do it all. If you’re navigating family life with a few extra wheels or challenges — keep rolling. The view from the sidelines can still be spectacular.