I was in an exceptionally cheerful mood when I woke up this morning. I washed and dressed and did a bit of work at the kitchen table, singing tics all the time. Ticced songs are nothing new and I’ve written about them before. I’ve re-worked all sorts of established classics, as well as inventing completely new ones. Apart from when I’m ticcing I don’t usually sing at all.
This morning’s happy batch included a strange version of ‘Happy birthday to you’, followed by ‘Who ate all the pies’ – which Tourettes morphed into “Who fucked all the sheep” – and a very odd song with the lyric “There’s a little bit of light between your eye and your piss and it’s called Samuel L. Jackson.”
These sung tics are often very complex and some people might not recognise them as tics, but they are and I’m not able to stop them bursting out. This morning, though, I didn’t even want to stop them as I was happy and enjoying them. I just went about my usual routine to a sung accompaniment.
It wasn’t just me who enjoyed this musical morning. Every now and then Leftwing Idiot or Poppy, who were having a lie-in, would shout an interjection from the bedroom.