Yesterday, as Will and I travelled back from the writing group at The Royal Court Theatre I started having a ‘ticcing fit’. We were in a cab and Will quickly moved closer, holding me so I was safe and comfortable.
My head was angled so I could see out of the window. We were crossing Vauxhall Bridge and a moody-looking expanse of clouds dominated the view. The scene was very different from the sunset that featured in my last ‘crossing a bridge fit’.
The sky was two tones of grey – a dense dark grey on top and a lighter mottled one underneath. The line where the two met cut sharply across the view. I took it all in, moving my eyes (the only bit of me that could) across the sky. Will noticed too, and commented briefly before turning his attention back to my twisted body. Just as he did so lightning tracked thin and bright across the sprawling grey.
Neither the cab driver nor Will saw this, and part of me longed to tell them about how dramatic it had been. But another part of me really enjoyed bearing secret witness to an extraordinarily beautiful moment.