I woke up relaxed and happy after a laid-back weekend. Since July all my weekends have been packed full of performances, festivals or work. It’s been an amazing time, but having a proper weekend off has been lovely too.

Yesterday I hung out with Fat Sister. She and King Russell are living pretty much across the road now, just a couple of minutes from the Castle. Having them so close is great, and it’s making it much easier for them to support me, too.

Last night I went to their new house for dinner. It’s the first time I’ve been there since I got back from Edinburgh, and it’s changed so much. They’ve painted it, got new carpets, and put all their furniture in it.

We sat in their new TV room. It’s quite small and I’d been sceptical about using it as a chill-out space. But I was wrong – it works really nicely and it’s very cosy. After a delicious dinner, we hung out watching comedian Tim Minchin on telly.

Halfway through the programme I had a ‘ticcing fit’. Fat Sister and King Russell dealt with it in their trademark “relaxed” style. King Russell grabbed me and pushed me back onto the sofa and Fat Sister held my head still.

My jaw was locked open and Fat Sister tried to shut it but couldn’t so King Russell stepped in and managed to close it. Fat Sister commented on how much like a crocodile I was because of the strength of my jaw. And the two of them then had a fairly protracted and pedantic discussion about crocodile characteristics and anatomy. When that finished, King Russell pointed out to Fat Sister that one of her breasts was resting on my head. She responded by saying, ‘I’m just sitting here.’ This reminded me of a Dizzee Rascal tune which then played in my mind for the rest of the fit.

All of this made me smile even though I couldn’t speak – at least not coherently. I was shouting, “Put the safe in the bath”, but like almost everything that  gets said during a fit, it was completely irrelevant.

As soon as I recovered the power of normal(ish) speech my tics announced:

“I’m just a tit table.”