A White Elephant

The son who must not be named had to go to the dentist, so I picked him up from school and drove him to the surgery. Our route took us past a large traffic island and the edge of Abington Park, the traffic island was planted with daffodils and so was a wide slope at the edge of the park. I pointed out that the daffodils were in full bloom and I said that when I see daffodils the words of a poem pop into my head. My son said "yes I know" and he promptly quoted the whole first verse of the Robert Herrick poem To Daffodils. "Fair daffodils, we weep to see you haste away so soon, As yet the early-rising sun has not attained his noon. ...................." He went on to say that he doesn't like daffodils because they flower so briefly and then seem to stand there looking dead for months. I know exactly what he means, daffodils always make me feel sad too and I agree with his sentiments about the display of daffodils in the park. It has a big sign saying "Field of Hope" but he says that it inspires the opposite of hope because the daffodils look dead for most of the year, with just a couple of weeks of colour in early spring. I still find it fascinating when he allows me little glimpses of his 'aspie' thought process, I may only give a passing thought to contradictions such as the field of hope, but such things really trouble him because they don't make sense.


On our way back we somehow got on to the naming of pubs. I told him that I disapproved of the modern trend for changing pub names because the old names often had historical significance. He asked what I meant and I said that The White Elephant was a good example of a pub whose name reflected it's history. He asked if a white elephant had once died there; I glanced across at him because I thought he may be teasing me but he was completely serious. He has always struggled with idioms because he trys to take them literally, but he learnt the meaning of most of the commonly used idioms long ago, so it was a bit of a surprise when I realised that he did not know what a white elephant was. I explained that we use the term white elephant to describe something that has value but is of no practical use and a bit of a burden to the owner. 

The pub in question was built as a rather grand looking hotel in the days when Northampton had a racecourse. I expect they thought that they would build a good business providing accommodation and refreshments for racegoers. However soon after it was built the racing stopped; there were public access rights across the course and a series of accidents between 1901 and 1904 led to the banning of all races. The last race took place on 31st March 1904 and the racecourse became a park (still known as the Racecourse). So Kingsley Park Hotel was left on the extreme edge of town (at that time) without an obvious clientèle. It became known locally as the 'White Elephant' and in due course the name was changed to The White Elephant.

It is odd, a simple trip from the dentist led to discussions about poetry, linguistics and local history. There are many times when that boy has me tearing my hair out, but I treasure these special times when we have interesting conversations. He couldn't resist pushing his luck, as he got out of the car to go back to school he said that I knew so much about 'the olden days' that it sounded as if I remembered them personally - cheeky monkey!

Being Anal

I was reading a thread on a forum the other day about the things that people are anal about, it made me laugh out loud because the very first post could have been describing Robbie.


"....he emerges from the bathroom holding the toothpaste asking who has failed to squeeze from the bottom of the tube!"


As I read on I realised that so many of the posts could have been describing Robbie. Someone wrote about their partner driving them mad by constant checking and commenting on railway and bus timetables. Surely there can't be anyone else as bad as Robbie for doing that - or do all train planners take their quail maps to bed with them?


Another common theme was having to have tea or coffee made in exactly the right way. Robbie is impossible about the way his coffee has to be made and he criticises me every time I make coffee for him, so I find it easier to let him make it himself.


Robbie even has strong opinions about the loo roll! According to him it unrolls more efficiently if the end is on top rather than underneath. I don't think I even notice which way round it is, why would anyone obsess about anything so trivial?


In the interest of fairness I should perhaps admit to the one thing mentioned that I am obsessive about - black ink! Blue ink should never ever be used, black
looks so much nicer. Robbie is into pens in a big way, especially Parker pens, he could talk forever about all the different designs - and if anyone borrows his pens it is a hanging offence!


When I first met Robbie I thought it was odd that he counted the stairs every time he went up or down, but I soon realised that was mild, Robbie counts everything. This evening I caught him counting the increasing revs on the washing machine spin cycle, he could tell the speed just by listening to it and when it reached the maximum speed of 1400 he got so excited - seriously weird and more than a little autistic!

The Trouble With Tea Bags! 16.07.07

Sam is in trouble again! He is not that keen on appearing in the blog but on this occasion his safety may depend on it. I am so frustrated that I want to go and wake him up and ask exactly why he chose to add a tea bag to my load of white washing! It isn't the first time that I have fallen victim to his bizarre laundry experiments, it isn't even the first time I have had the tea bag treatment, but he hasn't done anything like this for ages and I must have been lulled into a false sense of security. When I emptied the dryer earlier today I noticed that my whites were streaked and stippled with yellowish brown marks, I was mystified until I found the remains of a teabag in the filter. It didn't require the services of Sherlock Holmes to deduce that Sam was at the root of the problem and the deep tea coloured stain on one of his school shirts was proof positive. The time bomb had been concealed in his shirt pocket!

Do you know how hard it is to remove tea leaves from a shirt pocket, I was still working on it at midnight having failed in my efforts to remove the stains, I am crossing my fingers that a third cycle in the washing machine may do the trick. If not Sam will find himself seriously in debt!

Sam is 12, he is funny, clever and he has a wider general knowledge than anyone else I know, he is also obsessive, outspoken, frustrating, and completely unpredictable. He has Asperger Syndrome and I love him just the way he is - but I wish he wouldn't mess with the washing machine. Oh well it isn't as bad as the time that a couple of wax crayons found their way into the tumble dryer!

Introducing Sam

I think it is about time that I introduced you to my son Sam. He is a very unusual young man, bright, funny, knowledgeable and totally obsessive. He has Asperger Syndrome, it makes life hard for him because he struggles with personal organisation, he hates his routines to be disrupted and he is not good at calculating risk. At his worse he is like an angry troll, but at his best he is charming, friendly and interested in absolutely everything. Does that sound like anyone you know!
When Sam was a little boy aged about three, he went through a phase when he insisted on wearing a shirt and tie at all times. He looked like a mini professor. His nursery was doing a topic on food and they took a group of children to visit the fish counter at Safeway’s. The children were able to see behind the scenes and Sam was enthralled with the whole experience. He talked about it for weeks afterwards until I was in danger of dreaming about wet fish!
Sam’s passion for dead fish, grew and every time we went to Safeways he would head off to the fish counter, pick a likely looking victim and interview them in detail about the origins and intimate details of the fish. Before long Sam knew more than they did. When he approached the fish counter I kept a discreet distance and tried to pretend he wasn’t mine, while the long suffering staff ran for cover! My mum thought it was cute; she claimed it was in his blood because her father had been a fishmonger. I knew it was well weird!
Sam is almost 12 now and many obsessions have come and gone. Thankfully dead fish are a thing of the past, his present ‘mastermind subject’ is Superman – the extent of his knowledge is terrifying. So you see I have no problems coping with Robbie because after Sam Robbie is a doddle!