Oooh get me! A second post in 3 days! I'm actually suprised anyone still reads this thing. It does my head in when people only update their blogs twice a year and you keep clicking on it and the same old story comes up. It's like buying a daily newspaper for 3 months and finding the same news everytime.

I have just read my friend Jac's blog, which I have to say is one of my favourites as it always makes me wet myself laughing. She was talking about the dangerous combination of wheelchairs and husbands. A phenomenon that I know a little about seeing that I am in possesion of both.

There are two reasons why I only use my wheelchair when I really have to. The first is logical -I want to be getting as much exercise as possible (or rather as much exercise as one can get dawdling round the shops and stopping for regular tea and cookies) and so only keep it in the car for when I am really struggling.

The second reason is...well....I don't find it the most relaxing of experiences. Now my husband is many things - loving, kind, generous, supportive and amazingly good-looking (he's reading this I know....) BUT even he has just a couple of weaknesses (yes you do have darling....)

The first of these weaknesses could be described as a lack of spatial awareness and cooridnation. Or in politically correct terms "unique coordination".

I however call a spade a spade - he's clumsy.

The second weakness could be described as a lack of studied effort to achieve goals. Or in politically correct terms "time poor".

In other words - slapdash, which the dictionary describes as "in a bold, careless manner; at random."

Which most defintiely describes Brad's wheelchair-pushing technique.

The result of the irrepresible combination of clumsiness and slapdashness (or 'time poor unique coordination') is certainly interesting where wheelchair manouevring is concerned. Now normally when we go shopping (or even when we're not going shopping) Brad has to walk at the kind of pace normally reserved for those creatures that carry a house on their backs at the same time. On top of this, he also has to put up with constant stops as a I 'ooh' and 'aaah 'about anything sparkly or pretty. So it's really no wonder that as I sit down in the wheelchair I can sense as deep sigh of relief as the vision of an open road with no speed limit passes in front of Brad's eyes.

Which would be fine if the road was actually open. Which in a shopping centre or tourist attraction it seldom is. This small fact does not however hold Brad back. No, he has the wind in his hair and his eye on the far horizon. As we set off I can hear the faint sounds of "Born to Be Wild" playing in his head.

Doorways tend to rather ruin the momentum, as we crash through them with me almost flying out the seat. Shop displays present a similar problem as we career through Debenhams with me wearing half the stock on my head, leaving a trail of fallen naked shop dummies in our wake. But most serious of all is the dangerous combination of Brad+wheelchair+pedestrians+ankles. As I'm swept along, we leave a trail of people hopping on one foot clutching their ankles and uttering profuse apologies to us.

That's the funny thing about being in a wheelchair. The normal rules of society go out the window and in their place are put the "Polite Rules for Encountering Wheelchair Users". These are the unwritten rules that NWU's (non wheelchair users) must use when in close proximity to WCU's (wheelchair users).

1. In cases of close encounters with WCU's (e.g. when entering a lift together), a NWU must make exagerated smiling signals and become overtly friendly, chatty and helpful in order to show how open-minded and disabled-happy they are.

2. In cases where WCU and NWU's are not encountering each other closely (e.g. when sitting at seperate tables in a cafe or passing in the street), the NWU must make overt "I'm-not-looking-at-you" signals in order to demonstrate that they are so used to disabled people that they hadn't even registered the presence of a wheelchair (N.B: Exception to this rule is when the WCU is not looking).

3. If a WCU careers into the ankles of a NWU, the polite response is NOT "Oi! You F*cking idiot, watch where you're going, you've just taken all the skin off my ankle and it HURTS!" Instead you must simply stifle a gasp, limit the hopping, keep smiling and say "Oh I am SO sorry!" until WCU is out of sight, at which point you may then examine your wound and call an ambulance if appropriate.

This latter rule is taught to small children as soon as they can toddle. It ranks so high up on the scale that it is equivalent to the "no loud farting in public" rule. The difference is that not only must children of NWU's be taught to smile and apologise when they are mown down, but a new addition comes into play where small children are involved. This rule states:

"Where a WCU damages the child of a NWU, not only must parent and child apologise, smile and ignore the stream of blood coursing down the child's leg, but in addition the parent must commence extra-loud berating of small child for the incident"

Yesterday we went round a visitor centre of a stately home. I was in the wheelchair. It was rather dull which only added to the average speed Brad was notching up, as we really only wanted to visit the tea shop (but felt obliged to make some pretence of being cultured). We crashed our way through the true-life-scene-of-Tudor-kitchens, knocking a small milkmaid over as we passed by and leaving me with her mopcap on my head. We bashed our way through several doorways, removing the 15th century fresco in the process.

We decided to watch the film of the house in the little cinema even though it was already 5 minutes into the showing and crashed spectacularly through the doors into the darkness, with everyone turning to look (before realising the WCU rules stated them must only smile benignly at our interruption). 3 minutes after watching Henry VIII fly a kestrel in a field whilst talking to Ann Parr I got bored. But becuase of being a WCU I was allowed to break the rule of having to sit and behave and we went crashing back out the doors again.

We were so relieved to reach the tea-shop and stuff our faces with cream teas that at this point Brad careered into the ankles of an 8-year old girl. She had already learnt the rules. She held together her severed limb, gritted her teeth into a smile, apolgised profusely and was led away by a mother shouting at her "Sarah you MUST learn to look where you are going!"

The system works.

EDIT: On looking up "clumsiness" on Google I have found the solution to it. So dear husband, if you are reading this, here is what you must do...

"Animals are another image that helps people become less clumsy. "What is the most graceful animal that you can think of? A cheetah? An eagle?" Dr. Gersten asks. "Imagine yourself as that animal. Feel yourself as that animal. Feel how every muscle in your body works together. Feel the wind in your face as you run or soar through the air in perfect balance with yourself and with nature."

BORN TO BE WI-I-I-I-L-D.......................