When Fat Sister called earlier to say she was on her way round for dinner, she asked me to turn the oven on. My tics had three questions for her:

“Shall I rub my clitoris on it?”

“Shall I give it a lap dance?”…

Well not literally.

Following all the unexpected publicity over the last few days I’ve had loads of amazing messages of support. I’ve read incredible comments online, and many other disabled people (with and without Tourettes) have been in touch to share their experiences.…

Gemma, Leftwing Idiot’s friend who’s staying with him for a few days, recently completed a massage course. This afternoon she offered to give me a massage.

I had one once a long time ago, but that was before my tics were as severe as they are now, so I wasn’t sure how it would work with me moving about all over the place.…

Leftwing Idiot, Poppy, and I were watching TV. Someone on the programme we had on mentioned something about having three wishes. My tics leapt at the opportunity of making three of their own:

Wish one: “A bin”
Wish two: “Latvia to be conquested by a bear”
Wish three: “For history to be repeated”

Leftwing Idiot laughed and said ‘You’re the last person on earth who should be given three wishes.’

It’s a bank holiday and I’ve spent most of the day hanging out with Poppy at the castle, each of us doing our own thing. She’s in her final year of a costume design course so she’s very busy making her final pieces.…

Tonight Channel 4 aired the first episode of a new series about disabled people, with various conditions, who join a dating agency looking for love. We then follow them on their subsequent dates. It’s controversial because of its name – Undatables – and because of the advertising campaign leading up to tonight’s show.…

I went to hang out and watch some TV at Leftwing Idiot’s this evening. When I arrived we sat in his kitchen and had a drink. While he did making the tea my tics had a chat with his geranium.

It’s been almost a year since this plant arrived in his flat and our turbulent relationship first began.…

Fat Sister’s a hospital doctor and at this stage in her career she has little control over where she works. In August she was due to start a new job, which would’ve involved her living outside of London most of the time because it was so far away.…

I phoned Laura earlier but she didn’t pick up so I left a voicemail. So far so normal, but my attempts to leave voice messages often descend into chaos and this evening’s message was completely crazy. I kept ticcing about her baby daughter’s toy duck and my message was wrecked by my repeated requests to speak to ‘Duck’.…

Fat Sister got her tic name a long time ago, when she was on a diet. Leftwing Idiot thought it would be funny to say ‘Fat Sister’ to me over and over until it became a tic.

This particular bit of tic-programming came back to bite him today when he told me he was worried about putting on weight.…