Necessity is the mother of invention
Lady Bracknell, for example, does not limit the use to which she puts her handsome walking sticks to that of supporting her in her perambulations. When reversed, the crook of such a stick can be fed through the handles of her ladyship's reticule, thus obviating the requirement to bend down in order to grasp them.
Bending being a particularly difficult and painful action for her ladyship, she remains barefoot when in Bracknell Towers (despite the cries of horror at such recklessness from the medical professionals who treat her for her diabetes) the better to utilise her toes in such tasks as switching electric sockets on and off, and placing small items of rubbish in waste paper baskets.
Unequal to the task of trimming the toe nails on her left foot by standard methods, Lady Bracknell sits on her left leg to do so. (This results in her having to trim her nails from underneath: a procedure which, it must be admitted, is fraught with some degree of risk.)
However, Lady Bracknell's own minor successes in adapting everyday tasks to suit her own physical limitations pale in comparison with the following.
Lady Bracknell's friend Mrs C has not been upstairs in her own house for many years. Her children, however, continue to occupy the upper rooms. Mrs C considers that one of her duties as a mother is to ensure that said children keep their rooms clean and tidy. And she cannot trust their word on this matter.
(Before continuing, readers - particularly those who have no problems with ascending and descending the stairs in their own homes - may wish to pause for a moment and cudgel their brains to come up with a solution to the quandary in which Mrs C finds herself.)
Displaying an admirable degree of cunning (or, if you will, "lateral thinking"), Mrs C demands that her children take photographs of their bedrooms on a weekly basis and bring them to her as proof of their labours. When first told of this scheme, Lady Bracknell asked Mrs C how she could be sure that she was not being shown the same photographs every week.
"Ah", said Mrs C, "It's my digital camera. And I delete the photographs as soon as I have seen them".