Because of my tonsillectomy I’ve spent most of this week in bed during the day, too sore to sleep but also too sore to do much beyond lie and look out of the window.

The view isn’t buzzing with activity but I’m very fond of it. There’s the castle’s large, empty garden and the red brickwork, giant windows and redundant TV aerials of the youth hostel next door – and the three large, bare trees that criss-cross the sky. Behind all this, solid and static, is a 1960s tower block. On sunny days its patchwork of muted colours is lit up dramatically, on mistier ones it vanishes from the scene completely.

Then of course there’s the lamp-post.

Normally when I’m looking out at night the lamp-post dominates the scene, leaning slightly and dutifully glowing. I’ve written about it countless times before because it’s a regular focus for my tics.

Over the last few days I’ve been seeing the lamp-post in a whole new light – daylight. Naturally, my tics have responded with their own observations, advice, and even some words of affection.

“Lamp-post, I can see a bird shitting on your head.”
“Lamp-post, don’t take that shit from the pigeons.”
“Lamp-post, are you sleeping?”
“Lamp-post, I’m sorry if I wake you up.”
“Wake up lamp-post!”
“Lamp-post, you look paler than a mini-milk.”
“I love just hanging with the lamp-post.”

I’ve felt cheered up by these strange tics. It’s also entertaining to watch the lamp-post’s understated role in the mini drama being staged by several feisty pigeons all jostling for position on its head.