Here’s the deal. I have a blue badge – I love it, it’s one of my favourite possessions. Not because of the feel of the cool blue plastic on my hands, but because it helps get me nearer to destinations I would think twice of visiting because of the distance I would have to walk to get to them, and, the other reason which most average-heighters don’t seem to grasp – space.

Like most possessions that one takes affection to, there is a downside. How?

Well apart from making you feel like a social leaper for having such a privilege, of late I’m finding it is the inconveniencing of work colleagues who appear to have their own imaginary blue badge and insist on parking in the only disabled parking space at my place of work. While half of me is bloody-minded and wants to get mad and thinks hey that’s my right to park there and I need that space to get my door wide open enough to be able to get in and out without scratching the adjacent car. The other half of my mind is of the usual disabled-mindset of not wanting to have to deal with any confrontation and being very very wary of which battles I choose.

What’s surprises me most is how many colleagues are willing to take on the crusade for me. Willing to have a word with said people, but then that doesn’t look very dignified or adult on my part – why don’t I have a word myself?

It was mentioned again today and someone has had a word with someone else. Needless to say there was an atmosphere and I kept my head down.

So the love-affair with my blue-badge has waned somewhat of late, but then there’s a funky sports car just parked in a disabled bay in the local supermarket car-park without one and I’m on the subdued offensive once again to anyone who will listen – moan moan, rant rant, grumble grumble…