Sarah Dunn: Speaking Up for Today's Woman

But there's one that stands out – and for people who don't know me very well, it probably seems a bit strange.

A French street sign: "Si vous prenez ma place, prenez mon handicap".

Literally translated: "If you take my place, take my disability."

I thought it was a good one - something that might make people think twice about pinching parking spots that are there for people in wheelchairs and with mobility problems.

This time last year I wasn't on such a disability rights crusade. But since my mum has been confined to one for the last 12 months, I've learnt the hard way how difficult simple things can be when it's life on four wheels rather than two feet.

There is now a law – the Disability Discrimination Act – but to say I'd noticed its benefits in everyday life would be a lie.

There must be a hell of a lot of loopholes – or a severe lack of enforcement.

Everything becomes a military operation, planned in advance. So a trip to the shop to buy a pint of milk first involves checking the entrance – are there steps up to the door? If there is, are they too big for me and my dad/brother/boyfriend to be able to lift her up? Once we're in there, is there room to move around without sending the display of baked beans flying?

But just because you're in a wheelchair doesn't mean you don't get caught short with no milk for your brew and need to nip to the shop. Just because you're on wheels, doesn't mean you don't want to go and get your hair cut, or celebrate your birthday or anniversary with a meal out at a restaurant.

And being disabled definitely doesn't mean you don't want to go to your favourite boutique and find that perfect outfit for your daughter's wedding.

My sister gets married at Christmas and that was the task we faced the other week. We took a trip solo first to check out a few places – the first we had no hope of getting in, the second – when we explained what we were looking for and why (a trouser suit with a pretty top – it had to be trousers because they're much easier to manoeuvre in), we received such a look of pity from the pompous saleswoman that I walked straight out.

Thankfully we did get sorted – but only after a precarious minute, huffing, puffing, pushing and pulling her up the steps into the shop.

But back to the holiday – if I thought it was bad in England, then France was a whole different ball game.

Nothing fun about a game which involves holding on for the loo all day because there's no disabled toilet to be found anywhere in one of the south's major cities (Marseille FYI, if you're in a wheelchair and wanting to avoid).

What do you think? Post your comments below. Or arriving at the hotel (a major international chain – chosen precisely for that reason with expectation of standards), the overnight stop on the drive down, and discovering that we couldn’t actually get in the door of the so-called adapted room we’d booked.

But it wasn’t all bad – the gite we had to ourselves for two weeks was owned by a lovely French couple, the guy himself also confined to a wheelchair.

I know I was guilty of it before it all became such a major part of my life, but isn’t it sad that we only really seem to make an effort with things when they start to affect us personally.

I know we can’t all take on every single axe there is to grind in this world, but looking just a little bit further out of our own personal bubbles now and again could make a world of difference to some people’s lives.