Over the last few weeks I’ve been experiencing a strange new phenomenon, which I’m calling Sophie Fits.
During almost all my recent ‘ticcing fits’ I’ve talked about Sophie, both my old friend (and former support worker) Sophie who recently moved to Cuba, and more bizarrely Sophie Dahl former model and granddaughter of the well known children’s writer Roald.
Why, when I’ve lost all other discernable speech and am in considerable pain, my brain’s prioritising the communication of this name is anyone’s guess. Or why on earth after emerging from fifteen minutes of uncontrollable shaking I’ve immediately asked “How many times do you think Sophie’s thought about her elbows today?”
It’s utterly baffling, but strangely funny.
I wonder what the two Sophies would make of it?
“Reindeer-themed foam party.”