I’ve lived at the castle for almost four years now, and in all that time my bed’s been in exactly the same place. My view from it has remained the same, too, except for the subtle changes brought by the seasons.…

My support worker Sophie lives in Cuba for half the year, to escape the winter here, and comes home for the summer. This year her boyfriend Lazaro’s come with her. They’ve been staying at the castle for the last few days and it’s been lovely getting to know him.…

This afternoon Will and I went to our local Town Hall for a meeting.

We passed a member of staff in the corridor and I found myself making the following three statements:

“You need a hair cut.”
“I like your shoes.”…

This morning I was sitting down minding my own business when an entire ticced poem suddenly burst out. I quickly pressed record on my phone and managed to capture this:

You’re cold, you’re wet, you’re dark,
You’re the end of a song and the beginning of a dream.…

In this morning’s session of the writing group we discussed story structure, and in particular ideas from ‘The Writer’s Journey’, a book by Christopher Vogler. Mark, who’s leading the sessions, explained that stories that are very different can be based on very similar structures.…

A few days ago I wrote about a conversation my tics had had with the sun-drenched roses outside my bedroom window and I’d wondered if these exchanges would continue.

Today I got my answer. When I opened the blind this morning the blossoming flowers were bathed in drizzle, not sunshine.…

I’m not going to work this week, and I’m glad to say it’s not because I’m ill or checking myself into a day centre post-election! No, this week I’m at the Royal Court Theatre as part of a writing group, hanging out with some very talented poets, playwrights and performers, and learning from Mark Ravenhill, who wrote Shopping and Fucking and The Cut.…

I’m just waking up. A moment ago I opened my blind and the early morning sun flooded into my room.

The roses in the garden have just come into bloom and when they caught my eye my tics came flooding out:

“Good morning rose heads.”…

This evening a new vocal tic burst onto the scene and has carried on for several hours so far. The last time I remember a tic arriving in such a flurry was “hedgehog”, a few years ago. Any new vocal tics tend to creep in gradually, gently embedding themselves in my repertoire.…

My tics love offering choices, so much that there’s a whole category dedicated to ‘choose’ tics.

My favourites include:

“Bass or space? Choose.”
“Geometric paperweights or roundhouses? Choose.”
“Beef or eyelashes? Choose.”
“Acrylic nails or TV sales? Choose.”
And
“Dogs in wolves clothing or sheep in a gale?…