My life’s been bereft of swearing at inanimate objects recently.

I stopped sticking my finger up at Leftwing Idiot’s geranium when I became its carer, and even my night time bombardment of the lamp-post has a more affectionate tone these days. But don’t worry, my tics haven’t completely turned the corner and gone all soft, as they demonstrated at lunchtime when they turned viciously on… my support worker Will’s left knee!

Sure, Will’s left knee isn’t technically inanimate but my tics’ attention to it was weirdly specific. What I hadn’t noticed, between mouthfuls of humus and salad, was that I’d been repeatedly sticking my finger up at this inoffensive ball and socket joint. I was oblivious to this until Will asked what it’d done to deserve such treatment. I couldn’t give a coherent answer – I was as bemused by this as he was.

We carried on eating, but the abuse soon intensified when my vocal tics joined in:

“Will, I’m sorry about your left knee.”
“Will’s got a dicky knee – his knee’s such a dick.”
“Get a knee replacement Will.”

Will found my harassment of his knee very amusing. I found it strange, and who knows what his knee thought.