It’s Wednesday evening, it’s cold and rainy, it’s a terrible time to go on a literal journey.

So how about you go on a figurative journey with us instead? Imagine, if you will…

Your name is Steve and you’ve always been an adventurer — climbing mountains, cycling cross country, running marathons — but last year, just before your 70th birthday, you suffered a stroke and lost the ability to walk.

Since then you’ve been working hard at your rehab and physio to build up your strength and learn how to use a wheelchair. You’ve got a long way to go — turning and reversing are still beyond you — but you’re getting more confident every day.

It’s that confidence which has led to your decision to take your first post-stroke adventure!

The sun is shining, there’s a sweet smell in the air — and you’ve chosen today to go for your first walk outside in over a year.

You spend over an hour getting ready, working with your wife to pack a bag of all the things you might need, getting rugged up to make sure you’ll be warm enough, telling yourself you can do this.

Then finally, you’re ready!

Your family helps you out of the house and you start wheeling down the street. You can feel a light breeze on your face. There’s a blackbird singing it’s song on a fence to your left.

You’re happy.

And then you round the corner and your heart sinks.

Just ahead of you, blocking the pavement, is a car.

There’s not enough room for you to pass beside it. The road is narrow and busy, it’s too risky to try and pass the car that way.

Your wife and son start talking about a solution.

What if we just turn around and try a side street? Could we go to another destination? What about that other park, it’s a bit further away but we could still get there?

“Forget about it,” you say.

“We’re barely 100 metres away from home and we’ve already hit an impossible barrier. The streets around here aren’t built for people like me. Let’s go home.”

And you do.

Imagine, if you will…

Your name is Victoria and you’re a proud mum to twin boys who are turning one next week. Where does the time go?

Times have been hard since your partner left, but you’re finally getting the swing of looking after two boys on your own.

You’ve build a network of supportive friends who keep you going.

You’re off to meet them now actually! It’s time for your regular Friday mums' group.

You have a slice of cake, a sneaky glass of Prosecco, and a good natter about all the challenges you’ve overcome this week.

And hooo boy, don’t you need it this week!

The boys have been even more difficult to handle than usual.

They just won’t stop crying, one starts and then the other and then it doesn’t stop!

It’s your third time trying to leave the house in the past ten minutes (the first time you left the nappy bag, the second a crucial rattle) but you’re confident you’ve got everything this time.

You open the door, you step out onto the street, nothing can stop you now!!

Except something does.

Parked just outside your front gate is a van.

And while you can still get the gate open, there’s no way the double buggy is getting through that gap.

You call the number on the side of the van in the hopes the owner is nearby and can come and move it.

But it just goes to voicemail.

You head back inside and sit in the living room, with an eye on the van out the front.

Maybe it will leave in time for you to get to the cafe?

But as time ticks by, you accept the fact that there won’t be any cake this afternoon.

Imagine, if you will…

Your name is Radhya. You’re on your way to meet friends at a protest and you’re running late. Today just hasn’t been your day. You missed a deadline at work, had a fight with your mum, you’ve got your period.

Basically — you feel like crap.

But you’re hopeful today will be different.

After weeks of rain, the sun is poking its way out from behind a cloud. People are mobilising about something you really care about.

You feel hopeful.

All you have to do now is get there.

You’re on the move, ducking and weaving between slow pedestrians.

No one is social distancing. No one is wearing a mask.

Everyone is driving you mad.

Up ahead, a car is parked on the pavement and the route past is super narrow.

Pedestrians are queuing on both sides.

This is going to take forever.

You make the split decision to take the road instead of the path.

You step down from the kerb and *splash* — your foot descends into a puddle so deep your shoe immediately fills with water.

You make it to the protest on time, but you’re uncomfortable for the rest of the day. A blister forms on your foot. You’re distracted.

When a friend suggests a walk in drink in the park to end the day you refuse. You’re not in the mood.

See the common denominator? Pavement parking might seem like an innocent and convenient way of making sure you don’t lose a wing mirror — but it has a real impact on the people around you.

It can cut off access to communities, families, friends, green spaces.

It stops independence.

It’s dangerous for kids.

It can just plain ruin your day.

Luckily, it’s not something that’s allowed in Lambeth. But the rest of the country can't say the same.

If you agree pavement parking should come to an end, please fill out the consultation and ask your mates to too: https://twitter.com/livingstreets/status/1301202110088908800