As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve recently developed a strange fixation with ‘pig stickers’. This obsession usually emerges during ‘ticcing fits’ when I know I’m no longer in the running for one of the highly decorated rubber dog toy pigs that tradition dictates I’m given if I have a fit free day.

When I was out with Fat Sister this afternoon I had fit. She caught my chair just before I ploughed into a wall and held me still until my body stopped wriggling erratically. At that point I said I’d finished and Fat Sister let go of me, but just as we were about to move off I started talking about pig stickers. She looked at me quizzically and asked me several questions to test my speech. Each time, my answer involved sticky pigs. She stood in front of my wheelchair and said ‘I don’t think you’ve finished, and we’re not going anywhere until you can talk about something other than pig stickers.’

Three minutes and a lot of sticky pigs later the rest of my speech returned and I was able to talk about other things again – at last we were able to continue on our way.