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Last week I travelled from home to London, and by the time the assistants had arrived with the ramp to get me off the late running train, and I'd managed to sprint past many of the customers who were heading towards the taxi stand, I found that there were at least 60 people ahead of me in the queue for a cab.

So here's the disability dilemma of the day. What would you have done? Would you have waited in line, or would you have used the 'special persons' entrance that allows you to beat the queue?

I briefly thought about queue-jumping, but decided that it wasn't for me and joined the line just like every other sheep. Then I sat and thought about all the other possible transport options I had in order that I get to my meeting.

The tube was obviously out - it's simply not accessible. I called a local car company to pick me up, but the waiting time was going to be at least an hour, and I was already an hour late. At least the London taxi queue was moving, albeit slowly.

Then, one of the station staff called over to tell me that I should move to the 'special' entrance. At this point the dilemma really took shape. Initially I smiled but ignored him; I felt pleased that I was being normal. He wasn't going to be deterred, though. He walked over, tapped me on the shoulder, and I found myself allowing him to escort me to the 'cripple' bit.

So here's the next question - would you have gone or would you have stayed?

The thing that swung it for me was when I looked at my watch - I was now very, very late, so I followed him. I cheated!

The time-saving advantage I was apparently entitled to was spoilt by feeling guilty. And I still feel guilty now. But why did I feel so bad? I think it's because I was feeling the sort of guilt that I want blue badge abusers to feel when they invent a limp, or when they say: "I was only getting a bottle of milk". But they don't feel guilty - and in this inaccessible world, why should I?

I wasn't the only person on the way to a business meeting. I wasn't the only person who took a bit longer than average to get off the train. So why should I be entitled to jump the taxi queue, especially when I fight so hard not to be considered 'special'?

I suppose I didn't want to be seen to be making a fuss by denying what other people see as an acceptable disability perk. Or even worse, having people think I am bravely trying to be 'normal' when obviously I never will be - the world will always see my chair as clearly as they see me.

I wondered about what the other people in the queue would think of me. The first reaction would be: "Ahh, there goes the poor disabled woman. She doesn't get out much, so she didn't realise that she could jump the queue". The second would be: "It's that bloody athlete! Who does she think she is? Now I have to wait even longer!"

The thing that most surprised me when I slipped past was that no-one gave me any kind of look that wasn't completely pleasant and friendly. I even had a couple of nods of recognition, but in a nice way. It made me feel even more guilty.

I wish there wasn't a system for trying to make it equitable for disabled people, because I don't think that it ever will be. Lots of other people blame being late on the trains, so maybe it's a good enough reason for me too.

Since last week, I've talked to friends about whether I was right and what they would have done. One argument put forward was that if I wasn't a wheelchair user, then I would have had the choice to use the tube, or that I could have run off the train and boosted my chances of getting further up in the queue. Another friend just laughed and said that the next time she was late she would nick a wheelchair from the station and see if she could get away with it.

So is it really ever OK to jump the queue if you're disabled? Well, if you go to Disneyland, it's considered perfectly acceptable, and 'normal' customers look at you as if doing anything else would be daft. But that's America, where disabled people are not allowed to be whiney but are also treated rather better. So I blame all my guilt on our sad British obsession with waiting in line - even if it takes 4 days, we wait in turn.

The most sensible answer to my dilemma came from my husband. I asked what he thought. He gave me a long, considered look, and told me to stop being so anal.