The Road To Wigans Feared

"Fuck and bollocks! I mean 'hello'. Ooh, look! A little bird."

So, you're introduced to one of your new bosses. He appears around a corner and he is a dwarf. He's not a small person, he's not even a very small person or a very, very small person - he is a genuine, 100 per cent, fully-signed-up dwarf.
He holds out his hand and introduces himself with the words "Hello Reg, I'm Steve." Pither, a little taken aback, offers his hand in return and what is the only word he can think of by way of a reciprocal salutation?................."Hi!"
Fuck and double fuck!! Like Homer Simpson, all I could hear at that moment was "Stupid brain!!"
It's known as "a Wigan", apparently. You know? When, for instance, you meet someone who has only one leg and your autonomic nervous system instantly directs your vocabulary to include every possible inappropriate phrase or comment in your chat, like "I was hopping mad", "I was legless", "not a leg to stand on" and "one foot in the grave" etc.
Wigans are becoming a big part of my life now I am back in gainful employment. You see, I work for an outfit which helps disabled people (not "the disabled", as I was told on my first day - too exclusionist). You try talking to a bloke with "mental health difficulties" and see how long it takes you to spew out the word "mad" in the course of your conversation. It took me exactly two minutes! "If legs were brains he'd be in a wheelchair" was doubly "bang out of order!" as well. My ill-advised use of the words "basket case" and "nutjob" on day two were also frowned upon and "the blind leading the blind" just had to come out, didn't it, when I spoke to a partially sighted guy? Perhaps the most cringeworthy was "harmless", which of course came out as "'armless", in a conversation with a Thalidomide victim! Oops, sorry, there I go again. No-one is a victim of anything, I have been told, nor do they "suffer" from a particular condition. They just "have" it, apparently. Learning all the time.
Pither is, deep down, a caring soul and would rather vote Lib Dem (nothing could EVER make me vote Tory!!) than cause offence unnecessarily but I am finding it hard going. Wigans apart, the language of disability is difficult to come to terms with, particularly when you are someone with the surface sensitivity of Michael Winner on a rhino in a shop selling Cape De Monte. "Mentalist" and "Spaz" had to go, I accept that, but out too have gone "retarded", "Ill", "affliction", "disease" and even "dying", believe it or not - that last one should, apparently, be "life limited", although that IS too ridiculously PC for me to ever contemplate using EVER!
No, it is a minefield but I am going along with it because, well, if you think about it in a quieter moment you will see that there is method behind the madness - sorry, mental health issue.
Still, I have yet to adopt complete idiocy in the field, unlike "Queen Jo" at my local pub. She got chatting to a black dwarf who used to pop in regularly for a pint while the pantomime was on in Small Town. My pals witnessed their first meeting. It went something like this (AND THIS IS TRUE!!):
Jo: "Hello."
Black dwarf: "Hello."
Jo: "I've not seen you in here before. What are you doing in town?"
Black dwarf: "I'm working at the theatre at the moment. It's panto season, you know?"
Jo: "Oh, really? What's your job?"
Black dwarf (thinking 'Is she real? She's not going to ask what I think she's going to ask, is she?): "I'm an actor."
Jo: "Wow! Great!! What are you performing in?"
Black dwarf (somewhat incredulous and thinking 'take a wild, fucking guess!'): "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs."
Jo......(I know, you can see this coming, but I swear this is true): "What part are you playing?"
Black dwarf (with just the tiniest hint of sarcasm): "Snow fucking White!!"
On that note, I shall conclude by sending Wigans (not the town, before you northerners get on to me) to Grantham.
P.S. For more on this topic I am advised by BGT you should look at this:

Thanks again, Bill.