What does being disabled mean, I hear you not asking? Well, let me tell you, my little vertical uprights.

Last week, without any warning by dwarves with flashing boobs and alarms, my wheelchair broke.  One minute it’s fine, the next it’s causing that sinking feeling in my chest.  The feeling I always get when knowing that my already limited and very shit independence is about to become non-existent.  A feeling that is about as welcome as Jimmy Savile at a youth club.

So, it’s the 30th April, my wheelchair is broken and I’m being quoted £540 to replace the part. At least the sun was finally shining and a bank holiday weekend was coming up.  Okay family, we won’t be able to eat for weeks but at least we can spend some quality family time outdoors.

Silly me, I actually expected the manufacturer of my wheelchair to have stock of the part somewhere on this fucking planet.  Faced with the fear of being without my wheels of freedom until after the bank holiday, I get the good news that another company will be able to fix the actual part.

The company would hold it, turn it, poke it, then tut at it in a professional manner for a few minutes until it’s fixed and only charge me £250.   They will then return the fixed part after the bank holiday.  Oh bee bollocks.

With no options I had to agree, whilst my wheelchair was in the back of a white van crying somewhere, I was in bed plotting an evil plan to destroy………

You see, I’m not one of these crip wannabies, I’m the hardcore kind of cripple.  I’ve had 37 years practice at this and I’m rather damn good at being a burden on society.  I can do hardly anything for myself and I’m in pain daily, this is when I’m in my own wheelchair.  So with no wheelchair I could either stay in bed, (which gets rather painful too) or I could sit in a basic manual wheelchair that’s completely wrong for me.

I’m bored typing this now, so let me rush this on.  My wheelchair broke on the 30th April, I got it back on 7th May at a cost of £250.   I had to spend 80% of the time in bed due to severe pains from being in a wheelchair that is totally inadequate.  My body is still aching from this and I have bruises from ankle to hip on both legs.  But more importantly my wife (why she’s married to me I have no idea) has had to deal with much more pressure than she should and, as a family, our kids missed out yet again.

If you think that this country provides for the most vulnerable in society, then take it from me that you are as wrong as the fuckwit serving bacon sarnies at a bar mitzvah.

How often do you feel guilty that falling in love and starting a family was a selfish act?