When my overnight support worker Ruth woke up this morning she put the heating on because the castle was a bit chilly.

When my carer Catherina arrived a little later she said how cold it was outside.

And Sophie, who I’ve been hanging out with all day, complained that her hand had frozen within just a few moments of using her phone outside.

So I knew it would be cold when I made a quick dash into the garden to fetch a box from the shed. But I didn’t realise quite how cold, and it gave me a shock. As usual when I’m taken by surprise my tics set off a very physical, overexcited flap. But this time it was my verbal tics that reacted most strongly to the cold air:

“The air is colder than your mother’s tart.”
“The air is colder than a limbo-dancing bear.”
“The air is colder than a doorway to an ancient ship.”
“The air is colder than the mind of an antelope.”
“The air is colder that the Tory heartland.”

This carried on even when I was back indoors. If only I had some way to describe what a cold day it’s been!