I recently visited the Ford showroom in Maidstone. The staff were absolutely lovely - genuinely helpful, full of information about the cars, and the kind of people who make you feel welcome the moment you walk in. This isn’t a story about them.
It’s a story about their accessible toilet.
If you’ve watched the video above, you’ll already have seen the problem. I’m literally sitting on the loo, demonstrating how close the toilet is to the wall and how the grab bar ends up wedged under my ribs. It’s not glamorous, but accessibility rarely is. Sometimes the only way to show the reality is to show the reality.
And that’s the point of this piece: to explain, in simple terms, what an accessible toilet should be and why so many fall short, even when they’re technically “compliant”.
What an accessible toilet is supposed to do
Let’s strip away the jargon. An accessible toilet should allow a disabled person to:
get alongside the toilet
transfer safely
use the grab rails without contorting themselves
have enough space for a carer if needed
move freely without getting stuck between fixtures
That’s it. It’s not complicated. It’s about space, layout, and dignity.
⭐ Where the rules come in
There’s official guidance for all of this: Part M of the building regulations (2010 amended 2024). They set out things like how much space you need beside the toilet, where the grab rails should go, and how a wheelchair user should approach and transfer. The Equality Act (2010) emphasises the need for accessible facilities in public spaces. Interestingly, it specifically states that Accessible toilets should NOT be used as baby-changing or storage areas.
But the problem is that many places follow the measurements without understanding their purpose. You can tick every box on a diagram and still end up with a toilet nobody can actually use.
Why these features matter in real life
Many accessible toilets are designed with a “one‑size‑fits‑all” mindset. The problem is that disabled people are not one size, one shape, one condition, or one method of transferring.
Some people transfer from the left.
Some from the right.
Some need support on both sides.
Some need a carer to help them.
Some can’t twist.
Some can’t lean.
Some need space for equipment.
When a toilet is designed with only one type of body or one type of disability in mind, it stops being accessible and starts being a barrier.
The one‑sided transfer problem
Most accessible toilets in the UK are designed for a left‑hand transfer. That’s fine, unless you’re someone who transfers from the right, or someone whose condition affects one side more than the other, or someone who simply can’t twist their body into the required position.
Ideally, disabled people should be able to approach the toilet from either side. That’s what true accessibility looks like. That’s what dignity looks like.
But we’re not there yet.
What went wrong in the Ford Maidstone toilet
In this particular toilet, several things collide:
The toilet is far too close to the wall
The grab bar is exactly where your body needs to go
The sink is so close that a carer couldn’t physically assist
There’s no space to approach from the side
The layout forces you into a position that isn’t safe or comfortable
It’s not malicious. It’s not intentional. It’s just a layout that doesn’t work for real disabled bodies.
And that’s the frustrating part: the room is labelled “accessible”, but the experience is anything but.
Why I filmed it
Because accessibility isn’t theoretical. It’s lived.
And lived experience is messy, practical, and sometimes involves filming yourself on a loo in a Ford showroom to show the world what “too close to the wall” actually looks like.
I didn’t make the video to shame anyone. I made it because these issues are everywhere: in shops, restaurants, hotels and public buildings, and they’re often invisible until someone physically demonstrates the problem.
The staff were wonderful. The cars were lovely. The toilet just wasn’t accessible.
And if we don’t talk about it, nothing changes.
The bigger picture
Accessible toilets are not a luxury. They’re not a “nice to have”. They’re a basic requirement for disabled people to participate in everyday life.
But “compliant” doesn’t always mean “usable”.
And “usable” doesn’t always mean “dignified”.
We need spaces that work for real bodies, real carers, real conditions, and real lives.
Spaces that don’t require wedging yourself under a grab bar just to sit down.
Spaces that don’t force carers to perform acrobatics to help someone onto the toilet.
Spaces that recognise that disabled people are not a single category, but a whole spectrum of needs.
That’s what accessibility should be.
If you’ve had similar experiences: good or bad, I’d love to hear them. The more real stories we share, the easier it becomes for businesses and designers to understand what actually works.
If you work in a business with an accessible toilet, take a moment to check the layout. A few inches of space can be the difference between independence and impossibility.
