Afternoon

I'm sitting here, waiting for my programme to start. I've got all I need on my little wheelie-table in front of me. There's a can of Fanta – the kind without sugar, because I like to at least attempt to fool myself that I'm healthy. This is balanced by the packet of custard creams that I'll probably have finished before the first commercial break. Actually, no. Damn it! The biscuits are still in the kitchen.

I have “mobility issues”. I've deliberately put that in quotes because it's one of their buzzwords. Why don't they just call it what it is? I'm disabled. It's not even allowed to call it handicapped any more. But a handicap is what it is. I can't bloody walk around my own flat. I'd say that was a pretty big handicap. Every time I get up it takes a lot of effort. Sure, I've got my two sticks, but it takes it out of me.

Anyway, my programme is about to start and I'd normally be crunching away on my third biscuit by now. I wish I hadn't left them on the worktop. I'll get them in the break.

I can't concentrate on the programme knowing the custard creams are calling my name. I'm going to get them now – to hell with my programme. I've seen it before anyway. I might even get that big bar of Fruit and Nut out of the fridge too.