I'm a 20-year-old student with cerebral palsy, and I've used a wheelchair all my life. I'm very fortunate - I have a strong and loving family, really good friends, and I'm currently having a great time at Southampton University. I like to think that I focus on the positive things in life: I look at what I can do, rather than what I can't. So when people ask me how accessibility (or lack of it) affects my life, I find it a difficult question to answer.

Throughout my childhood, my parents worked hard to make sure that accessibility issues restricted my choices as little as possible. If buildings had entrances unsuitable for wheelchair users, my parents would find ingenious methods of getting me inside. Their sheer resolve had some unexpected results: abseiling down a cliff in a wheelchair was an adventure I won't forget in a hurry.

But as I got older, having the same experiences as my able-bodied friends became increasingly difficult. My parents couldn't always be there to solve the problems, and I wanted to be more independent.

One of my GCSE exams was almost put in jeopardy when I couldn't get to my exam room because the lift broke down. Sorting out university was one of the biggest challenges of my teenage years. Any hopes I may have had of going to Oxford were dispelled when I inquired about St John's, its most wheelchair-friendly college. There, the TV room, the laundry room and the library were all inaccessible. So not only would studying be impossible, but I wouldn't be able to watch Neighbours (surely a student life not worth having). In the end, my choice of university - like my choices about so many things - was largely based on the access around the campus and the city. When I looked at Southampton, I was relieved to find that the university was well equipped for wheelchair users. (The fact that there was a level-access bar about 10m outside my room was only a minor selling point.)

Even some of the things done specifically to make life easier for wheelchair users are in fact confoundingly useless. Getting money out of a bank is almost impossible, even from the specially lowered counters and cash machines (thanks to a lack of legroom, wheelchair users like me can't get close enough to them). And I'm always amazed that many supposedly accessible toilets turn out not to have enough space to swing a cat. Lowered kerbs are often nowhere near low enough; frequently, too, they are obstructed by cars.

But the thing that bothers me most is that many of the places my friends like to go aren't open to me. Travel is a problem: I can't afford taxis, many buses are too crowded for wheelchair users, and often you can only find a disabled parking space with divine intervention. And if I do brave the journey, it is usually impossible for me to get through the door of many pubs and clubs unless a couple of friends heave my wheelchair up a step or two (not always the best idea, especially if they're the worse for wear). If I manage to get inside, there is little chance of matching the considerable drinking exploits of my companions: often, these places don't have an accessible toilet, so I'm limited to one or two pints. It's not always easy to be so disciplined when the party's brilliant and the beer's good.

You might think that the big questions of the future, such as where I'm going to live and where I'm going to work, would be the most troublesome access issues. Actually, I'm quite optimistic. I know these things aren't going to be easy. I will need a lot of patience, and a considerable amount of time to plan and research how I'm going to live my life in the future. But I'm confident that, in the end, I'll be able to sort things out.

The most frustrating obstacles for me are the everyday ones. It's the fact that I have to think about so many small things before I go anywhere that gets me. Spontaneity is never an option. Even when I think I've sorted everything out, I'm never quite sure if the step that I was told was "tiny" is actually negotiable, or if the pavements outside will be suitable for my wheelchair. If my friends are going somewhere new, I'm never quite sure if I'm going to be able to join them or not.

The Guardian asked me to travel to London to test out the capital's top 10 eating places, as rated by Time Out magazine. Surely the best restaurants in Britain's wealthiest city would cater for someone like me? I had my doubts. Only one of the venues described itself as providing disabled access. I find it shocking that - three years after the final stage of the Disability Discrimination Act 1995 came into force - so many restaurants could still pose a problem for wheelchair users. It seemed only fair to phone the restaurant 24 hours before my arrival to let them know I used a wheelchair. But even so, it occurred to me that I might end up going hungry.

The results of my experiment were disappointing. The attitude of the staff at all these places deserves praise. Yet all but two of these award-winning establishments fell short on even the basic essentials of wheelchair access - the entrance and the accessible toilet facilities - things that should be easiest to get right. Only the National Dining Rooms and the Tate Modern Cafe managed to address these things adequately. And while these two places deserve credit, they too had important things to improve on, such as table height and legroom.

Things have improved vastly during my lifetime. And yet it is still impossible for a wheelchair user to enjoy even simple pleasures, such as going out to eat. I can accept that my disability means that I won't be able to run a marathon, but I can't accept these unnecessary obstacles that so limit my everyday life. The law, which simply demands that people make "reasonable adjustments" for people with disabilities, is far too vague and needs to be strengthened.

Nice attitude, no accessibility: How London's top 10 restaurants fared

Skylon, SE1

The Royal Festival Hall's flagship diner. The bar and grill section of this restaurant was Time Out's choice for best design

The verdict: Not only did the outside lift not work, forcing my carer and me to go the long way round but, incredibly, the lift inside the building was too small for my wheelchair. My carer had to hoik the chair round at a ridiculous angle before the lift doors would shut. All this is particularly ironic given that the RFH recently underwent a multi- million-pound refurbishment programme. The restaurant was teeming with people. This might have made it tricky for me to move around, but thankfully the bar was close to the restaurant entrance. The table, however, was very low and had a ridge underneath that blocked my knees. The accessible toilet was fairly large, though, and the view of the London Eye was wonderful.

Kiasu, W2

A Singaporean and Malaysian restaurant, winner of the best cheap eats category

The verdict: Five steep steps confronted me as I approached. My carer went inside and asked if the manager could come and talk to me. I informed her, politely, that I had already notified a member of staff that I used a wheelchair. The manageress apologised profusely, saying that her staff had limited English and probably hadn't understood. Nevertheless, her response to my predicament was impressive. I was offered a meal at the restaurant on the other side of the road, which they owned, and I could order from the Kiasu menu. The last part of the message did not reach my new hosts, but they too were very helpful. So, overall, despite Kiasu's dreadful accessibility, their handling of the situation was commendable.

Wild Honey, W1

Trendy Mayfair establishment, winner of best new restaurant

The verdict: When I phoned, they told me they had wheelchair access but no accessible toilet, though they would sort something out. There was one very small step at the entrance, which could be a problem for some wheelchair users. Staff were welcoming. Manoeuvrability for my wheelchair was good, given the small size of the place, and the tables were high enough, with sufficient legroom. When I asked for the toilet, the manageress informed me they had made arrangements with Sotheby's estate agents to use their facilities and that she would escort me there. Sotheby's was two streets away. Mercifully, the rain held off. At the end of a superb meal, the owner came over, worried that I might have been put out by my loo excursion. Surprisingly, he tried to talk to my carer first. I asked him if they had plans to install an accessible toilet. No, he said, because the venue is a listed building and the council make it difficult to get adaptions done. But while the Disability Discrimination Act recognises listed buildings as difficult cases, they are not exempt.

Fernandez and Wells, W1

Best coffee bar, according to TO

The verdict: Fernandez and Wells had a fairly large step and narrow doorway. I asked if they had a temporary ramp. There wasn't one, but the manager assured me that she would look into it. My carer lifted my wheelchair up the step. The inside is viable in a wheelchair if you are lucky enough to get a table close to the entrance. Otherwise, it could be tricky.

National Dining Rooms, WC2

Part of the National Gallery; TO's best British restaurant

The verdict: Getting into the gallery and the restaurant posed no problems, and the restaurant also had an accessible toilet. Amazingly, this was the first venue to get the basics right. However, the tables were too low, forcing me to sit further back than I would have liked. Staff were friendly and manoeuvrability was acceptable, provided you weren't seated in the crowded area.

The Rosendale, SE21

Dulwich venue, awarded best gastropub

The verdict: Wheelchair access was round the back, through the garden. The ramp had a lip at the start, and there was a small step at the end to get through the doors. Even small obstacles can be tricky for electric wheelchairs, so you don't put them at the end of ramps. Inside, manoeuvrability was never going to be an issue. The place is enormous. Uncovered tables were high enough to get underneath, but it was impossible to go to the bar without leaving the building and coming in through a different entrance. An accessible toilet was available, and of a decent size, although it had no alarm. The staff were very friendly. A few problems to sort out, then, but a proactive attitude that was good to see.

The Rake, SE1

Voted London's best bar

The verdict: The front entrance has a large step, but entrance is possible though the back. There's not much room inside the Rake - but then, it is the smallest bar in London. It manages to squeeze in an accessible toilet, though this is tiny and doubles as the ladies'. The range of bottled beers is astounding, and a wheelchair user can just about manage to get to the bar to order one if you don't mind asking people to move. Once you've got your pint, you're better off outside, if you don't mind the smoke, as the tables indoors are very high.

The Grocer on Elgin, W11

Best traiteur (deli)

The verdict: Like the coffee bar, this had a step and no temporary ramp. Once again, the staff were incredibly helpful. Inside, there was plenty of room. The guy at the till was eager to investigate getting a ramp.

Trinity Restaurant, SW4

Best local restaurant

The verdict: The entrance was fine and the restaurant looked pristine and inviting. Once again, it was small, so manoeuvrability was limited. The staff were all attentive and helpful. My waiter saw me struggling with a small bowl of soup and promptly offered to put it in a cup. Unfortunately, the accessible toilet had no grab rails or alarm.

Tate Modern Cafe, SE1

Best family restaurant

The atmosphere in the Tate Modern Cafe was markedly different from the other establishments. Gone were the smartly dressed adults in suits; this place was crammed full of mothers and toddlers. Manoeuvrability across the shiny black floor wasn't bad, though the number of prams didn't help. The tables were too low for my wheelchair, possibly due to the numbers of young children who eat here. Staff were very polite. The accessible toilet could be tricky to get to if there is a queue for the ladies or the gents. But the necessities are there in this establishment. Like the National Dining Rooms, the Tate Modern Cafe at least has an adequate entrance and accessible toilet, and so many other places seemed to fall short on these simple criteria.