Last night I celebrated my birthday with loads of friends. I had a great night with lovely people, and was given loads of wonderful gifts. I’ve written before about the big struggle I have with giving gifts, and how I find it almost impossible to avoid blurting out what I’ve got someone well before the event.

What happens when I’m opening my own presents is that my tics make suggestions, almost always ludicrous, about what might be inside the package: “It’s a book about home improvement” for a round squashy parcel or “It’s a cat” for a hard package with no air-holes.

But it was my tics’ surprising response to one particular gift that stood out. I opened a package from my friend Claire to discover a lovely birdhouse for my garden. My tics instantly started chatting about my new neighbours:

“I love my new neighbours.”
“Welcome to the neighbourhood birds.”
“Put your recycling out on a Thursday, birds.”
“It’s social housing for sparrows.”
“Next door are tits.”

I can’t wait to get it up and see if any feathered friends do move in – I’ll keep you posted.