The Sickie

“Mum? Mum is it school today Mum?”
“What if I didn’t feel well Mum?”
“Don’t you feel well?”
“No Mum.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Dodgy stomach Mum.”
“Well you look fine to me.”
“I can’t go to school Mum. I don’t want to infect the other kids.”
“You’re going to school.”
“Mum! I’ve got a dodgy stomach Mum. And I feel sick. That’s what I feel like today.”
“School LB.”
“MUM. I’m knackered Mum. And I’m seventeen. I HATE school.”

The adult social worker

“LB, your new social worker’s coming to visit me today. Then she’s coming to meet you at school.”
“She’s already been Mum.”
“Eh? Wha?”
“She’s already been Mum.”
“Oh. What did you talk about?”
“Being sociable Mum.”
“Oh. Ok. Can you remember her name?”
“Anita Mum.”
“Ah, that’s your current social worker. You are going to meet your adult social worker today.”
“Adult Mum?”
“Yes, the one who will be your social worker when you’re an adult.”
“She’s already been Mum.”
“No, that was Anita. You’ll meet the new one today.”
“I don’t want to meet the social worker Mum. I don’t even know her. She’s probably racist Mum. And… And.. she’s on placement Mum. She’s not coming to school.”
“Don’t be silly LB. You’ve got to meet her today. She’s your new social worker.”
“The law’s the law Mum. She’s not coming back to school.”

My diary

Found my diary from when I was about 15.  Blimey. It is hilariously awful.  My teenage self was clearly on an autism spectrum related path before that path ‘existed’.

I googled ‘diary’;

1. A daily record, usually private, especially of the writer’s own experiences, observations, feelings, attitudes, etc.

2. A book for keeping such a record.

3. A book or pad containing pages marked and arranged in calendar order, in which to note appointments and the like.

Well. My diary is a big fat fail on most of these criteria. About the best I can claim is that I had a book. A book in which I kept a brief, daily record of what I did. Excluding any feelings, observations or attitudes.

A random example entry (verbatim);

Thursday 16th October

M took us in car. Double English – test on Act III. Break. Maths – Essex numeracy test till 12.00. French till lunch. After lunch, library. Miss Martin told us about Merch of Venice trip. R.E; discussion about whether ‘decent’ people should get divorced. Geography; essays back. Walked home. Cooked pizza. Butterscotch Instant Whip. Watched Change of Sex part two. Julia/George bust operation. Slept.

Each entry is pretty much the same but substitute different lessons, teachers and flavours of Instant Whip. And interject a lot of “bored” and “borings” into the lesson descriptions. I suppose there maybe a glimmer of interest for my Southend High school mates. Maybe. But probably not. I find it so random now, looking back, that  I detailed ‘break’, ‘slept’, ‘walked home’. What was the purpose of it? It kind of pre-dates the Ronseal ad campaign. It does what it says on the tin. But the tin says ‘tedious life timetable age 15’.

All I can salvage from it is that I put quotation marks around ‘decent’ in the divorce discussion. Maybe there was a hint of a sociological imagination there.


LB came home with his Individual Education Plan today. The first target is;

I will introduce myself at the beginning of a conversation with new people.

“Ooh, that’s a good first target, LB. So what are you going to say when you start a conversation with new people?”
“Dunno Mum.”
“You’re going to introduce yourself….”
“… how about me and Mum show you, LB? Pretend we don’t know each other and we just bumped into each other in a shop….”
“Hello, I’m Sarasiobhan.”
“Hello, I’m Tom. Pleased to meet you.”
“Your turn, LB. You bump into me in a shop. What do you say?”
“Hello Mum.”

French Onion Soup

“Hey LB, how was cookery today?”
“Good Mum.”
“What did you cook?”
“French onion soup Mum.”
“Wow! How did you make that?”
“With onions Mum.”
“Ok, onions. What else?”
“Just onions Mum.”
“What else? There must have been some other ingredients.”
“No Mum.Just onions.”
“So you got the onions. Then what did you do?”
“Made soup Mum.”
“No, you’ve missed out something. What else did you do?”
“Ate it Mum.”

Bunking off (a first)

LB was off for a lot of last week with a nasty cold.  This week, he came down for breakfast on Tuesday complaining of a stomach ache.  I told him to eat his breakfast and see how he felt. “Got a bad stomach, Mum,” he groaned.  After a bit more questioning, he stuck to his story and though he ate his breakfast, he held his tummy throughout groaning realistically.

“Ok, back off to bed,” I said, “I’ll call the taxi and let ’em know.”

He disappeared, I called the taxi and went to make a cup of tea.

I turned round to find him sitting in front of the laptop.


“I’m better now Mum.”

Yer mum jokes

Tom was telling us at breakfast about how, in a science class, there was a description of a blubbery, hairy animal and someone shouted “That’s yer mum Tom”.

“Oh,” said Richy, “that’s not very nice”.

“It’s a yer mum joke”, said Rosie and Owen in unison, chuckling into their pancakes.

Richy and I sat there with blank faces.

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Waiting for the the bus

This morning I was desperate to go to the loo but couldn’t. Because I was waiting for the bus.  The bus that isn’t a bus at all anymore. It’s now a car. The car that takes LB to school each morning.  I can’t nip off to the loo because there is a risk that LB will open the front door if the bus arrives.  The escort at the mo’ is a little person and I’m worried that our dog, who is totally intolerant of difference (I know.. the irony, eh?) may run out and nip her. So I wait. Continue reading