I love swimming! I’ve got into a good routine of going to the pool twice a week now, once with Poppy and once with Zoë. Swimming’s much safer for me than most other forms of exercise and I love the tired feeling I get afterwards. It’s great to feel exhausted from something other than ticcing.

The stroke I do would be best described as freestyle. I think you’re unlikely to find my unruly, chaotic, wiggle being taught by any instructors. My head goes under the water a lot, and though Zoë says that’s what all the pros do, I doubt they shout “Biscuit” as much as I do in the process.

For the last few weeks I’ve been doing twenty lengths at a time. Last week Zoë told me 32 lengths was half a mile, so I decided to set that as a target and work up to it bit by bit. But this evening I was enjoying myself so much, when I got to twenty lengths I wanted to keep going, and when I got to 26, I still didn’t want to stop. It’s at times like this that my slightly obsessive brain can be useful in helping me reach a demanding goal.

I can announce with pride that I swam half a mile tonight.