I’ve always been drawn to the mysticism of a David & Goliath battle and turning the odds on their head. Perhaps it goes back to when I was wee bairn fighting chronic asthma or maybe it’s a reflection of later life and my on-going battle with MS. Either way I’m always drawn to fighting for the oppressed and looking for that telling sling shot that could turn the tide. Years of holding my own line and helping those people who need it, means it is rare for me to blink first when the call comes.

Since I stopped working for a local disabled charity a couple of years ago, I’ve kept sharp by always chatting to people when I’m out and helping share their burdens by listening and offering a friendly face – it’s amazing how therapeutic it can be for not a lot of effort. Subsequently I was asked to act as an Estate champion for where I live in Fulham. My development is one of these new builds split between part private and social housing. I exist in the latter and represent 2 blocks and all disabled residents on the estate.

There is a nice feel good factor about the place, everyone pays respect to one another and the place is a glowing example of multiculturalism working at its finest. Of course we have our issues: Hooray Henry’s from the White Horse urinate in the bushes and we show a zero tolerance to any adverse drug abuse or grafitti, but I often feel like Mr Benn from the old 70’s cartoon tipping my imaginary bowler hat to people as I meander past in my wheelchair.

My immediate neighbours, who live in the flat opposite are an Iranian family. They keep themselves to themselves, but are always very affable when I see them. I helped smooth it over with the housing association (our landlords), when they wanted to get a cat for their daughter and have advised the husband on his application for a blue badge – he suffers from Crohn’s disease.

I hadn’t seem them much over a hectic Christmas period and new year and was settling down to watch an Everton game when the door bell rang. It was not the perfect timing – Ross Barkley was about to kick off but I duly traversed myself to the door. Upon opening it I was met by a distraught looking Farshad (my neighbour), clutching a number of letters. He’s not a big guy, always softly spoken but can become quite animated when trying to explain things. He had received a parking ticket and was clearly upset about it.

Due to the fact he cannot get a blue badge or a parking permit for the estate, he has to park his car – which he is reliant upon because of his condition, around Parsons Green. He agonisingly explained to me after returning early morning Christmas eve he had become ill and soiled himself, a danger many living with Crohn’s disease face. Not wanting to face the indignity of walking home – who would, he parked the car on the estate meaning to move it later after he had cleaned up. Sadly his condition became worse requiring hospital treatment.

Upon his discharge the following day, he returned home to move his car and saw a PCN on the windscreen. Despite providing evidence of his hospital admission and his condition, accompanied by a personal letter explaining the night in question, but crucially omitting the raw details, the enforcement agents ignored his application for dismissal. Besides of the standard puerile letter, they even upped the ante – threatening to double the fine and bring in the baliff’s.

Now, I’ve not got a problem with them handing out tickets to the Chelsea rent-boys parking up when they have a home game, or yummy-mummies in their imposing tractors popping into Waitrose to get Tarquin’s lunch, but the agents heavy handed approach had freaked him out. He appeared to be wilting under the pressure, preparing to throw in the towel.

A sense of ‘Not on my watch’ began to envelop me as I scanned the documents. What caught my eye was not the fact he was technically guilty, but the agents refusal to acknowledge ‘mitigating circumstances’ as a legal defence. Let alone he was a first time offender the whole thing really started to rile me. I immediately volunteered to step into the breach and conduct proceedings and all contact from then on. I was determined to win this one for the ‘little guy’.

He trusted me and agreed to my proposal with a little reservation, fearing it could all go tits up and cost him more money, but I reassured him that I had plenty of form over the years dealing with related matters..

Returning to the Everton game which was still nil all, I was already formulating the way forward. It was time to bring the old tried and tested, ‘Touching Cloth’ defence into play. It had served me well over the years and I was confident it would do likewise for Farshad.

Ironically it’s origins were supplied to me by a police officer at a Merseyside derby, but its telling weight came from the need for a shit a few weeks later, whilst driving through Northumberland. The match at Goodison Park was fondly remembered by some for Gary Mcallister’s late winner for Liverpool – endured by me and my mate; both dressed in blue and sat in the away end but it was an earlier event that had more impact long term.

I could just about walk back in 2001 but was prone to extreme urgency from my dodgy bladder – one of the wonderful symptoms of my chronic disease. I’d been careful on fluid intake all day and when I saw a toilet I’d make use of it. However maybe it was thought of being in the Liverpool end, the warm spring sun shine or perhaps the back to back terraced streets, soon had me thinking about the need to urinate.

As I walked at the back of the Gwaldys St surrounded by a sea of people still a good 150 yards from our entrance on the Bullens Road, I knew I wasn’t going to make it. I quickly scanned my options and immediately went up to a steward explaining that I had MS and my predicament. He was soon panicking too, pointing at a policeman 50 yards away standing in one of the exit gates, steering me in his direction with his other hand screeching, ‘Over there la! See that Bizzie? He’ll let you in the ground’

The stress of the impending disaster had me soon dragging my left leg (another symptom) as I hobbled off towards the ‘Bizzie’ with James my buddy in toe. By the time I reached him I was literally holding the end of my penis stemming the impending flood. He cop quickly grasped the situation (not my manhood I might add) and frantically started to un-lock the gate, but by then I’d reached the point of no return.

Quickly moving into the recess to the side of the gate – giving some privacy, I unfurled the beast and let rip with such force against the wall that I feared for the structure of the iconic stadium. To be honest I didn’t care about the consequences, it was just such a relief. The police officer who was still struggling with the gate had by now heard the torrent and uttered ‘Ar’eh mate….I’d was just opening it lad’

I turned my head slightly, continuing to flood the area, as I saw James begin to sneak off expecting my imminent arrest. He was then grabbed and dragged back by the cop, who was shaking his head. ‘No mate’, he said ‘ You stand there on his left’, pulling James into position, ‘and I’ll stand here on his right’ as they both gave me further cover.

As the flow slackened, I blessed my luck, staring at a mural of Bob Latchford the 70’s striker I’d idolised. I was touched by this guys compassion and his understanding of the situation, although as I zipped up he gave short shrift to a passing scally desperate to join me, barking in his face ‘No! This is a medical emergency – Now bail it you divvy’, ushering him away.

I’d utilise his priceless line there after. We jokingly chose not to shake hands as I thanked him, wandering off to face the impending derby defeat.

Two weeks later after a fishing trip with Connor my son, I was caught short in Northumberland, having to find a secluded layby to pull off too. A period of constipation (another symptom of my MS) decided to end itself as we were travelled down the A68. Metal touched metal that day as I desperately searched for a somewhere to pull into, flashing past a speed camera, oblivious to my plight.

A few days later the speeding fine arrived with its allocation of 3 penalty points – I immediately saw the injustice in it all – not unlike Farshad must have soon after Christmas. I thought back to the Bizzies frantic efforts to save my dignity at Goodison and his put down to the scally and my own clenched buttocks a week before motoring near Gilsland. I was never going to pay so over the next few days I coined my reply unleashing the ‘The touching cloth’ defence.

Ok, I’ll admit over the years I might have stretched the truth a little by using the template to defend a number of speeding fines and other misdemeanors, but when seduced with emotional linguistics and the clear intent of being prepared to go ‘All in’ with the backing of medical evidence – it’s impact was devastating. Few authorities were prepared to challenge my defence, dismissing the alleged offences, probably wanting to avoid a messy and costly encounter. The one that did fancy a pop saw its case beaten down before it had a chance to start.

Summoned to a Victorian court house in the Midlands I was subjected to the indignity of having to wait outside in the freezing cold as  there was no wheelchair access to the building and forced to piss into a coffee cup as there were also no toilet facilities. It was poetic justice then that the prosecution lawyer appeared just as I was finishing off my business. Gracious enough to shake my hand, which this time I offered, but appearing somewhat bemused, she scanned my ‘Touching cloth’ defence in the papers she held,before dismissing the case and wishing me good day. Turning tail she disappeared back up the stairs as I high fived my sister in a victory celebration, laughing at the look on her face and whether I should have claimed travelling costs.

Farshad’s case subsequently took a similar path to ones before it. I gave the parking enforcers the opportunity to re-consider their decision and call of the baliffs citing his ‘Medical Emergency’, but they played hardball, suggesting mitigating circumstances were hard to judge, so they refused them all. Questioning the legality of that reply and the thousands of people who may have been unfairly charged on estates they police, I got a mate who is a solicitor to do a legal letter demanding a day in court in front of a district judge with reference to Farhsads case and that under no circumstances would we pay, cc the baliffs so there was no confusion. It was now time to see who would blink first.

As estate champion I also got the housing association involved reminding them of their duty of care to vulnerable residents and the lack of compassion shown by a company employed by them. It didn’t take much to draw them in. What with the threat of the bad publicity and me at the helm, they were soon in our corner requesting the issue be looked at again. Although Farshad continued to be stressed out by the whole proceedings, I was certain we were going to win and maintained the pressure on all parties involved especially the landlord whilst dusting Farshad down after his weekly briefing, that we’d be holding the line at all costs.

Inevitably the pressure paid off and Farshad received a letter withdrawing the case as a gesture of goodwill. He was delighted like he’d won the FA cup knocking on my door expressing gratitude and thanks, offering some gorgeous Iranian pistachio nougart which I gratefully accepted. It felt good to see his happiness and to know fighting for something you believe in is generally rewarded.

I’m still going to be keeping a close eye on the parking enforcers making sure they don’t unfairly discriminate against  anyone on the estate. I appreciate they have a job to do, but  still suspect they have hoodwinked and bullied a lot of people who have been unfairly sanctioned like my neighbour. I urge anyone in similar circumstances to keep fighting and believing – The ‘Touch Cloth’ defence is a formidable weapon so use if appropriate,  you won’t regret it.