I already knew which pig I wanted next – Festive Pig. My support worker Will had mentioned that he’d seen a Christmassy pig a while ago, and the amazing Mr Rabbity had sent me a link to a picture of one, too. I got hugely excited at seeing this and commented that he looked a bit drunk. My tics immediately started calling him ‘Drunk Uncle Piggy.’
The moment Friday night turned into Saturday morning I sent Leftwing Idiot a text to tell him I’d got through the whole day without a fit. It read:
‘Bring on the pig.’
‘We’ll have to see what the Pig Fairy has to say about that.’
I got up on Saturday morning as normal, had breakfast with Will who’d supported me overnight and started on some work stuff with Zoë. I was working from home on an urgent funding application for one of the projects at work.
Zoë was really keen for me to put my seatbelt on while I was sitting in my wheelchair working, something I’m a little less strict about at home than at work. But Zoë kept going on about it.
Halfway through the morning, at the end of answering a particularly boring funding question, I looked up and caught sight of something outside in the garden. I squealed with delight and lunged at Zoë, excitedly gasping, ‘It’s drunk Uncle Piggy!’ over and over.
And there he was standing at the garden door, looking in. Zoë helped me calm down before going outside to retrieve him. She said he’d been there all morning and that’s why she’d been so keen for me to have my belt on.
I was so excited that the Pig Fairy had been able to make such a prompt delivery. It must have magic powers to have got into the garden in the night.
Welcome to the castle, you drunken Festive Pig, you’ll feel completely at home here because it’s an old pub.
“Make Santa pay for his mistakes”