Last night I wrote with nervous excitement about my appointment with NHS Wheelchair Services this morning. We got off to a wobbly start because the taxi I’d booked was 45 minutes late and the longer we waited the tenser I got.…

It’s nearly midnight and I can’t sleep. A weird mixture of pain, excitement and apprehension has left me feeling the sort of nervous excitement you get before the first day at a new school. But it’s not that sort of life change that’s keeping me awake – it’s because in the morning I’m going for a wheelchair assessment.…

I’m incredibly fortunate to own my home. I know that for many people the current crisis in housing makes this impossible, and is likely to do so for future generations. I watch people I care about being held hostage to increasing rents, being made homeless at a moment’s notice, and being priced out of their communities.…

Like all super villains and/or daft comedy characters, Theresa May has a catchphrase. It isn’t “Exterminate!” like the Daleks, although that would fit with her polices, and It certainly isn’t, “I have a cunning plan” like Baldrick in Blackadder.

Theresa’s catchphrase is “Strong and stable”, and she says it an awful lot, probably as much as I say biscuit.…

I can’t remember how old I was when I first heard the term ‘special needs’ or when it was first used to describe me. It’s been a persistent presence throughout my life – from when it was used about me to its use in the professional settings in which I work.…

Fran pulled the covers tightly across my body. She sat next to me on the bed, her hand applying gentle pressure to my head. Exhausted, my body moved erratically, my forceful, regular and rhythmic vocal tics punctuating the quiet darkness of my room.…

One way or another I’ve had quite a few medical appointments recently. Some have been OK, but some have been frustrating.

As someone whose body is noticeably different from what health care professionals are trained to expect, I’m aware that unthinking assumptions can often be made about my life and my needs.…

Yesterday something incredible happened – Fat Sister’s bump became a baby.

I’m now the exceptionally proud aunty of a beautiful wiggly niece.

Fat Sister, King Russell and the little wiggle are all doing well.

As I held her in my arms for the first time, I looked down at her and ticced:

“You’re parents fucked to make you.”…

A week ago I had a minor operation. It involved a general anaesthetic and a small incision in my chest not too far from the spot where my chest-thumping tic hits it hundreds of times a day.

I’m generally mending well but because the wound on my chest was struggling a bit and hadn’t closed properly, I went back to hospital a few days ago where they dowsed me with iodine and re-sealed and re-dressed the wound.…

It’s late, I’m in bed, and my body’s been exceptionally wriggly for more than nine hours. I’m exhausted and need to sleep, but despite several rounds of emergency medication I’m still just as wriggly.

But I’ve just seen a tweet on my phone that’s made me want to pause the battle to sleep and write something instead.…