I’m writing this article from a lovely cafe in Poole, Dorset, and a sweet man has just asked for a photo with me. He’s a fan, he claims. I of course say yes, but when he swipes to open his phone, it reveals that the last thing he Googled was “disabled comedian”. He is mortified. I, naturally, find it funny. It is clear he saw me from across the cafe, thought, “Oh, I recognise her mug” and searched the two terms he knew about me: “disabled” and “comedian”. I am not bothered that he had to Google who I was, or that he reduced me to my ability and my job, but I am bothered that, according to the world’s number one search engine, I am the only disabled comedian.

This isn’t true. In the UK right now, there are so many great comedians with disabilities and neurodiversities: Adam Hills, Chris McCausland, Lost Voice Guy, Tim Renkow, Ashley Storrie and Fern Brady to name but a few. But it does seem that recently I have become somewhat of a poster girl for disability. I think there are a number of reasons for this.

First, I am not afraid to speak openly and frankly about my disability and how proud I am to be a member of the disabled community. And I regularly use my platform to make people aware of systemic ableism in society – or, lately, my personal, internalised ableism when it comes to using mobility aids.

Second, and this is a tricky one for me, but I sometimes think I am the “perfect amount of disabled”. I am being facetious but hear me out. I look disabled and I sound disabled, but I am not too disabled. I can appear on a panel show without disrupting the whole programme. There’s no need for subtitles, ramps or additional needs. I’m a TV producer’s dream!

If I were being arrogant, I’d say a third reason for my success is simply my being funny. But God, even writing that made every organ in my body cringe, so let’s forget that for now. Anyway, I have a few more things to say about that second point. Even though I have cerebral palsy, I pretty much live an able-bodied existence. I travel everywhere on my own, I live independently, I do not take any medication and I am not in constant pain. I gig pretty much every day, all over the country and, due to my mad busy schedule and writing deadlines, I am currently functioning on an average of six hours’ sleep a night. In short, I’m an insomniac, a workaholic and a little bit of a psychopath – but in a cute way.

My life would not be sustainable for a lot of able-bodied people, never mind disabled ones. I feel as though I’ve covertly entered the comedy world in a Trojan horse, by pretending I am just like every other comedian. But now I’m inside the city walls I can reveal my true goal: I want to make the industry a more welcoming and accessible place for comedians with all different kinds of disabilities and additional needs.

This is a big goal and I am well aware that this will not happen overnight. I dream of the day when a panel show books more than one guest with a disability, and I hope for a time when I only perform in venues that are accessible and inclusive of all disabilities.

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