Describing exactly what it feels like to have a ‘ticcing fit’ to anyone who’s never had one is always a struggle. It’s something that comes up a bit in Backstage in Biscuit Land as well as elsewhere in this blog.

The other night I was trying to convey a specific sensation to Leftwing Idiot.…

Autumn’s well and truly settling in and I love it. A few years ago it was the time of the year when I’d get grubby and covered in leaves because I was falling down all the time. Now, though, my wheelchair means that my relationship with the season is less intimate.…

I was in the car with Fat Sister earlier, driving back to the castle, when a new song burst in completely out of the blue to the tune of Jason Donavon’s ‘Too Many Broken Hearts In The World’:

“There’s too many hipsters,
There’s too many bears,
There’s too many dogs wearing cats’ underwear.”…

I know it’s not Saturday, but it was yesterday and my tics seemed aware of that when they chose to repurpose Whigfield’s 1994 classic ‘Saturday Night.’ The tune stayed the same but the lyrics were given a radical update.

“Saturday night and your dog is getting high,
With your mummy.…

This afternoon my tics made me blush. They very rarely do this, but for a moment my face was hot with embarrassment.

Will and I were in the office along with Leftwing Idiot, and our colleague JP.

We were all working away when suddenly, in response to a question about the location of a specific spreadsheet, my tics announced that it could be found in Will’s mothers groin!…

I was chatting to my friend Laura on the phone this evening, sitting on my bed looking out of my window. A familiar flicker in the middle distance caught my eye, and my tics responded instantly

“Good evening lamp-post.”

I’ve been away from the castle for much of the summer and since I’ve got back I’ve been better at remembering to shut my blind at night.…

Yesterday I wrote about how my tics have been changing – my body certainly has been doing some odd stuff recently. Today’s newcomer was a horrible screeching noise that I was making for most of the afternoon.

My phase of saying “I’m a baby” was annoying enough, but this high-pitched screech is a lot worse and I’m not even sure how I’m making it.…

This afternoon I let out a gasp of frustration and shouted, ‘Arms, stop being dicks!’ Moments later I apologised to them, but they’re really behaving badly at the moment.

The other day I mentioned my new elbowing-things tic: walls, tables, doors, the bath, other people.…

A few days ago Chopin and I had a late-night rendezvous with two men, two puppets, and a camerawoman. We’d received a mysterious text from Henry, the puppeteer who created mini-Touretteshero who appears in Backstage In Biscuit Land.

Henry asked if we’d be up for being interviewed about our show by some puppets, in the back of a taxi.…

This afternoon as we relaxed after today’s performance of BIBL, without any reason at all, my tics turned their attention to a place down south – Huntingdon to be exact. Here’s the strange song in all its glory:

“The rafters of Huntingdon are calling out your name,
The rafters of Huntingdon are burning in shame,
The rafters in Huntingdon are the nesting place of bats.…