“I fucked an armadillo in custard.”

“I was raised by a biscuit, Elton John and a Norman.”

It’s true.

Leftwing Idiot’s got a new Adidas top. I’ve become obsessed with pressing the small trefoil logo with my three middle fingers and saying, “Boof.” It’s harmless but strange, like my previous fixation with the safe.

I can make myself not do it, but for some reason ‘Boofing’ the logo makes me laugh.

While Leftwing Idiot and I sat on a wall this morning waiting to meet someone, I asked him to time how long I could hold in my tics and keep quiet and still.

We had three goes, and the result was exactly the same each time.…

Please welcome, “Apples.”

Are we destined to spend the whole summer together, just a few weeks, or will you be a fleeting visitor just for today?

Fat Sister told me that yesterday, during her night shift at her hospital, one of the nurses was offering people biscuits. She kept saying “Biscuit?” “Biscuit?” “Biscuit?” Fat Sister started laughing because she found it so odd to hear this very familiar word without me being around.…

My longstanding ‘Happy Christmas’ tic evolved a few weeks ago when I started ticcing ‘Happy Birthday’ as well. Today this mutation was exactly appropriate as it’s my actual birthday. Although, Laura pointed out earlier it’s not customary to wish yourself a happy birthday.

The Mr Otter saga continues. This evening I announced:

“I fucked a biscuit, Mr Otter died of jealousy.”

It’d been one of those standout days when I’m unusually calm and my tics are much less intense. But it didn’t last. In the afternoon my tics suddenly and dramatically intensified, and like the other day, I was stuck on the floor, unable to get up.…

I’ve got a new regular tic and it’s a nice one – “Happies!”