Disability Bitch hates theme parks

Ha! Only joshing! Of course I HATE THEME PARKS and I wouldn't go to one if you paid me, even if they did let me to the front of each and every queue, even if they carried me around in a silk-lined sedan chair. Unlike everyone else who is proffering an opinion on whether or not hyperactive kids should be made to wait, I've actually read the articles. And if you read the articles you'll note that, not only has the chief exec of a national disability charity used the word 'cripple', apparently without irony, to draw a comparison with physically disabled people - goodness! - but that things aren't quite as straightforward as turning up at a theme park, claiming to be disabled, and magically being allowed to float to the front of the snaking lines.

At least one theme park is quoted as saying that 'any guest that can provide a letter from the DWP benefits people, or doctor, that describes their disability, and outlines why they can't queue, will be given a priority wristband. I'm not going to mention the attraction being talked about in the media currently because it seems they are not unique in this policy and indeed several of my Facebook friends have been muttering about similar experiences at other parks around the country. It's more widespread than is being reported.

I regularly get asked to prove I'm disabled; it seems my comedy walk and a stick to hold me upright are not proof enough for some. I often wonder what they expect me to do.

I have, on occasion, suggested I could attempt to stand without my stick and count backwards for a few minutes until I inevitably fall over. I rather gather this doesn't happen to normies and so surely should be accepted as proof of my infirmity. This idea is usually rejected on the grounds that I might hurt myself which would tend to suggest they do believe I'm disabled but are just being officious. They resort to asking for a doctor's note after I've stopped trying to be clever. Disability Bitch crip humour often doesn't work I'm noticing but it does seem to be the case that many, many people believe handicappers carry around letters detailing our medical history. I don't. Do you?

You could fall over on one of these if you're standing up

The last time it happened, I had been working all day, there was a problem with my train home, it was packed, there were no seats in standard class so I upgraded myself - which the train company's disability policy said I could do! I then had an interesting discussion with the conductor about why I thought I could sit in first class without a valid ticket, and he suggested I should get off at the next stop and visit the British Transport Police. He wasn't having my disability excuses but did hesitate when I agreed I'd very much like to make a statement to the police about the way he was treating me. He still insisted he wanted a doctor's letter from me.

Since I'd been at work all day and hadn't been planning to have a 'sit down row' with an officious ticket collector about whether or not I was a real cripple, I'd failed to pack a copy of my medical records in my handbag, and explained this to him. "Don't you have any written proof, though?" he asked. Er, no. Do you have any written proof that you're an idiot?

Meanwhile, last time I phoned the DWP to ask for one of those letters that proves I receive Disability Living Allowance - I don't know why I needed one, probably to get on a bus - they said of course I could have one but there was a backlog and I'd have to wait several weeks until it arrived.

I'll tell you what, it's a stroke of luck I do hate theme parks because yesterday my no-legged friend phoned me up and asked if I wanted to visit one. Naturally I didn't want to go anywhere near . He decided to go alone and then realised he'd need written proof he didn't have any legs and his lack of lower limbs wasn't just an optical illusion.

With the DWP unable to provide one on the spot, his only option was to visit his GP and beg her for the necessary documentation. He phoned and was told he'd have to wait a whole week to get an appointment.

Readers, I've often wondered why I have to wait so long for an appointment with my doctor. Now I know. It's because all the disabled people on her books want to visit theme parks and are getting her to write them letters saying they are really, truly wonky and broken, and not just making it up for a laugh.

I don't think this is NHS work, so she's probably charging them £20 a pop as well. At least, I hope she is. And we all know doctors are always right about everything, so it's a foolproof method of sorting the genuine crips from the fakers.

I've never even had a discussion with my GP about my ability to stand in queues - why would I - so if I asked her to write me such a letter, I'd have to tell her what to write anyway.

Take my advice, raeders: stay at home. Eat doughnuts. Everyone knows disabled people should never leave the house anyway.

Heather Mills is now a fashion designer. I am actually speechless.

You can be my Facebook chum by clicking here. But from now on I'll only accept friend requests from people who can prove they're disabled. I absolutely don't accept written confirmation from the benefits agency or any medical professional. Letters and emails confirming your status from Heather Mills, Stephen Hawking or David Blunkett will be received with thanks.