Crippling burden

There is something a little reckless about having a go at the disabled lobby. I can happily question the zealousness and rectitude of the Commission for Racial Equality, Stonewall and any of a multitude of women’s groups, safe in the knowledge that I am not about to be rendered black, gay or female in the foreseeable future. But disabled? Hell, who knows? This is one lobby group not to be messed with. Disablement could happen at any moment; there but for the grace of God, etc.

In fact, when you study the qualifications required in order to call oneself disabled, it seems almost impossible that it won’t happen in the next 48 hours or so – or, indeed, has already happened. I may well be disabled right now. Because – like television comedy programmes, parliamentary democracy and the England football team – disablement ain’t what it used to be. In the good old days, disablement meant paralysis, blindness, chronic limblessness and so on.