Author Archives: sarasiobhan

Breakfast scrap

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Family breakfast this morning to celebrate Rosie returning to Manchester. Regular readers will be relieved to know I’ve not blubbed (yet), unlike the first time.  LB is currently obsessed with scrap. This obsession began yesterday evening when his new carer, Kevin, took him bowling in his car.  His old car. LB got in the car, asked Kevin what kind of car it was – a Ford Focus – and why it wasn’t in the scrapyard. [Shudder] Within half an hour of getting back, a scrapyard was set up in his bedroom and the rest of evening, and a lot of the night, was spent dropping buses and lorries from some height. And talking about scrapyards.

So, back to breakfast, before the toast was even out of the toaster;

“What’s a scapyard, Mum?”
“You know what a scrapyard is, LB. Don’t ask me what it is.”
“What’s a scrapyard, Richy?”
“My friend’s sister’s hamster, Scrap, died,” interjected Tom.
“Awww,” we chorused.
“She’s got another one already.”
“Scrap 2?” asked Rosie.
“More Scrap?” I suggested.
“MINI SCRAP!” said LB, unusually animated for him.
“Mini scrap..” Richy chuckled.
“It’s called Squeak,” said Tom.
“What’s mini scrap, Richy?”

The Killing

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We started to watch The Killing last week, about 12 years after the rest of the country. On Monday morning, after 11 episodes over five nights, Rich realised he could do cracking impressions of the main characters.  Given that he only does two other impressions (Mick Jagger and Jeff Goldblum in The Fly) badly, it was very funny.

That evening, I was in the kitchen when I could hear some distant shouting outside. We live in a lively area at times, so I didn’t pay much attention to it.

Tom appeared in the kitchen doorway, hovering nervously.

“What is it?” I said.
“I think there’s someone at the door.”

I went into the hall and could see a very short figure shouting something through the letterbox in a very deep voice.

“EEEEEEK…” I thought, “Maybe someone’s been stabbed or something.”

I quickly shut the dogs and Tom in the living room and opened the front door.

It was Richy, bending over.

“WHATTHEHELLAREYOUDOING?????”
“Shouting “Troels!”* through the letterbox,”
“WHY?”
“I thought you’d find it funny,” he said. “You laughed this morning.”

Shrek modelling my Sarasiobhan Lund Christmas jumper

*Troels Hartmann is the key murder suspect at the moment (no spoilers please).

A (de)clutter new year?

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I got to thinking this week that I really need to seriously declutter.  Instead of farting around, producing tiny wins and pretty pictures, I had to confront the big stuff.

Today, I started with our bedroom.

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LB and the ‘c’ word

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“Hey, LB. Tell Mum what you called me when I came in yesterday,” said Richy.
“The ‘c’ word Mum.”
“What?!!! What did you do that for???”
“Dunno Mum. It just came up and out of my mouth, Mum. I’m sorry Richy. I won’t say it again, I promise.”

Postscript: We ain’t made him stand in the corner. He’s peering at the bus depot through the park fence. Honestly.

LB and Stan

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Well this is a biggy. And will make all you dog lovers feel warm and fluffy.  Stan hasn’t featured much in this blog so far (though his paws play a starring role).  Stan is the treasured member of our family.  He is a little bit of a chunky, doting, loyal Jack Russell who likes nothing more than hanging out with us.

After a shaky start – he was Richy’s 40th birthday pressie without us realising how much Richy did not like JR dogs, but lets not dwell on that – he has become a central character. Everyone loves Stan.  Not least, LB.

LB has an unusual relationship with Stan. Though maybe typical for dudes like LB.  LB will confide in Stan, discuss his day with Stan and seek Stan out more than anyone else. If we ask LB about his day at school, or elsewhere, he will disclose nothing. If we say that “Stan wants to know…..”, LB settles down with him and retells his day in detail. Using the voice he always uses when interacting with Stan.  LB’s ‘Stan’s voice’ is a bit of a mystery given how good he is generally at impersonating people. It’s a sort of high pitched, slightly sing song voice, that has stayed the same for many years.

LB loves Stan without question. Stan, on his part, is remarkably tolerant of  LB. Patiently listening to his chatter, sitting with him when he plays with his football guys (with his carefully arranged Playmobile crowd), putting up with some awkward handling.  Funnily enough, LB doesn’t engage with Bess at all. He has got a ‘Bess voice’ when pushed (much squeakier and higher) but he has no real engagement with her. He is a one dog dude.

There are some (schmulzy) books written about how autistic kids’ lives have been transformed through their relationships with their pet dog.  I don’t subscribe to a rescue/cure discourse at all, but there is definitely something remarkable about LB’s relationship with Stan, and the window it offers us into his life.

His literal (intolerant?) side remains constant though. His two most consistent Stan related questions are;

“Mum, is Stan fat, Mum?”
“Has Stan got a small head, Mum?”

I’m ain’t saying anything.

LB and the reversing lorries

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LB was in his favourite place this morning. Sitting at the kitchen table, watching lorries rolling on and off cross channel ferries on youtube.  A cacophony of relentless grinding metal, reverse beeping lights, blaring horns and revving engines.

“Christ LB. That’s just noise,” said Richy, making a cup of tea.
“IT’S NOT JUST NOISE RICHY!!!,” shouted LB, angrily. “It is NOT.JUST.NOISE.”

Richy left the kitchen, leaving LB mournfully talking to himself, and shaking his head.

“It is not just noise. It is not just noise. It is not just noise.”

“Mum, it is not just noise, Mum,” he said, looking at me sadly.
“Well it is really,” I said, as another lorry started to slowly reverse.
beep.beep.beep.beep.beep.beep.beep.beep….
“It.is.not.JUST.NOISE, Mum.”
“Well what it is then?”
“It’s a way of life, Mum.”

The blocked toilet

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Eight hours left of 2011, so here is a toilet tale to round off the year.  I’ve always been a bit scatological.  This is defined by the Oxford Dictionary as “an interest in or preoccupation with excrement and excretion”. OK. I find the topic interesting, sometimes funny, diverting and love the taboos surrounding all things pooh-related/matter out of place. More harshly, the Cambridge Dictionary definition is “showing an extreme and unpleasant interest in solid waste and sex”. Wow. A lovely example of pejorative, value laden, interpretations of words and language, wrapped up in an authoritative, comprehensive (‘neutral’) text.

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The Christmas jigsaw

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Every year we do a family Christmas jigsaw.  Well, it’s not really a family jigsaw. Rich hates em. Owen, Tom and I have always been at the puzzle frontier. The others used to drift in towards the end when the bulk of the work had been done. The puzzle late-comers. After the glory.

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London, Chris Moyles and Christmas

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I know this post will be hated by those (many) of you who hate Chris Moyles but anyway.. here’s what happened.

Richy and I spent two days in Central London combining Christmas shopping with a very good hotel deal. In the pub, after a fab meal at Busaba Eathai, I randomly commented that it would be funny if Chris Moyles came in for a drink.

“Why?” asked Richy.
“Cos I’d say hello,” I said.
“Why?” asked Richy.
“Well, he seems that sort of guy. You know, chatty, cheerful, man of the people?”
“You’re mad,” said Richy. “He’d just tell you to fuck off and leave him alone.”
“No way!” I said, “Not Moylesy.”
“Course he would,” said Richy. “Why would he want to be bothered by you?”
“Well if he comes in, we’ll see.”

The following afternoon, we were battling along Regent Street, in the sleet, with a billion or so other last minute shoppers, when Richy, who was ahead of me, made a bizarre, jabby gesture to the left.

“What?’ I said, catching up with him.
“Chris Moyles,” he said.
“Whaddayamean Chris Moyles????”
“Chris Moyles just walked past.”
“NO WAY! Quick, let’s find him. I can ask him if he’d have told me to fuck off in the pub.”

I turned back and looked down Regent Street. A sea of people.  About a million people looked like Chris Moyles from the back. Man of the people and all that.

“Nah, we ain’t gonna find him,” I said, disappointed.  “Next time you see him, let me know a bit sooner.”
“Ok,” said Richy.

Frankie, Benny, Kevin and Terry

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Part of LB’s new care package includes a 12 week course with a buddy. This buddy will take him out and about, to help him increase his independence, encouraging appropriate behaviour round the ladees and road safety.  I told LB this morning that Terry, his new buddy, would be coming to meet him this evening, then promptly forgot about it.

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