Men at work: Day 105

LB went to the farm yesterday for the first time in weeks. He’s timetabled to go every Monday and Friday but has consistently refused. Even though he always enjoys it when he’s there and works hard.

Apparently he’s been interested in the decorators, carpet fitters and electricians who’ve been working at the unit for the last few weeks. Yesterday it was turn of the gardeners.

“You hear that sound LB?”, asked his support worker.
“Yes,” said LB.
“What is it?”
“No, it’s the sound of men at work.”

And that was it. Bowl of porridge (or two) and off to work. Beautifully done.


The Unit. Day 42

The excitement of the trip to the bus museum had worn off by the time we visited yesterday evening. LB was in his room, subdued, having chosen not to go to the farm (again).

Choice eh? Very, very important that learning disabled people can make these choices, we’re told. Unlike many other people, who have no choices in their everyday lives. Yeah, it’s so much better that LB is able to choose to laze about in his bedroom all day (again), than get a good day’s exercise, sunshine, fresh air, hang out with different people and be productive. My arse.

Of course loads of people would choose the room-laze option over working. But they wouldn’t be given that choice on a daily basis. They’d have to (if they could) do something productive. And more than likely want to after a few days.

I’m getting pretty naffed off with this choice charade as you can probably tell.

Anyway. Back to yesterday evening.  LB’s bedroom was snug and comfy, with the evening sun shining in. He sat leafing through his Yellow Pages, with bus magazines spread across the floor. Jug of squash on the desk. It was calm and peaceful.

“Do you like it here, LB?” Asked Rich.

“Not really, no”, he replied, without looking up.

The farm and the alpacas

On Saturday we decided to go and visit the farm/cafe/campsite that LB works at with his sixth form, two days a week. It was near a local village.  We set off, got to the village and there was a sign to the farm. Easy peasy.

“What animals has the farm got, LB?” asked Tom, sitting in the back of the car with him.
“Alpacas”, replied LB.
“Alpacas???” we spluttered.
“Has it got any sheep?” asked Richy.

We kept driving along the narrow lane and reached another village. Weird.

“Are we going the right way, LB?” I asked.

We carried on driving till we reached a crossroads.

“Which way now, LB?”
“This way,” he said, vaguely pointing to the left.

Five minutes later we crossed back over the dual carriageway.

“This can’t be right…” Richy said, “We’re nearly back to Homecity”.
“Is this the right way, LB?” I asked, beginning to chuckle.
“Yes, Mum.”
“Are we near it, LB?” asked Richy, getting exasperated.
“Dunno,” said LB.
“I can’t believe we can’t find it”, I said, “there was a sign way back..”
“I can’t believe we can’t find it when we’ve got the bloke who works there in the car with us,” growled Richy.
“Which bloke?” asked LB.

Alpacas at the farm