Fat Sister and I were hanging out together yesterday afternoon. We’d planned to go to the park but because it had clouded over we went for lunch in Brixton instead. After we’d eaten we went shopping.

I was keen to move myself about in my wheelchair so I could choose what I looked at and at what pace. Fat Sister agreed to this, albeit reluctantly. But in one particularly large and busy shop, filled with rack after rack of clothes, she said ‘You must stay close to me or make even more noise then usual because you’re so low down in your chair that you disappear completely underneath the rails of clothes.’ I agreed, but it turned out our ideas of ‘Close’ varied slightly.

Five minutes later she rushed up to me in a panic and burst out ‘Right, I’m staying next to you from now on.’ Still panting slightly from the exertion, she said ‘I genuinely thought I’d lost you. I know how mums feel now when they lose their child in a supermarket. I had visions of you quietly having a ticcing fit buried under the garments.’

Fat Sister stayed true to her word and didn’t let me out of her sight again for the rest of the afternoon.