This afternoon I went to meet a friend who’s a TV news cameraman. He was working in Westminster but having a break between broadcasts. As we sat in Abingdon Green, a man came round the corner and I started shouting, “Dick, dick, dick!” at him. My mate said, half laughing, half panicking, “Not that man, not that man, he’s my boss’s boss!” (the political editor for the channel.) Obviously Tourettes didn’t care and I carried on shouting.

Fingers crossed my mate’s still got a job.

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