It was a normal Friday afternoon. I was finishing my work and getting ready to head home when the silence was suddenly interrupted by my own voice. I was singing my own version of ABBA’s Dancing Queen at the top of my voice:
“Biscuit sheep, young and sweet, only seventy three.”
There was no time to be surprised by this as a flurry of tics followed, all to the same tune.
“Dancing with sheep in the dark.”
“Hampstead heath, Disco-loving Mary Poppins Sheep.”
“Luggage dog, mummy bear, biscuity, oh yeah.”
Moments like these really intrigue me. Why this? Why now? Why sheep?
As usual I have no answers to offer, just a relentless, distorted Abba soundtrack.
Tourettes, you’re a mystery to me.