Per Adua Ad Astra Zeneca

 Anti Vaxxers should be euthanised...

Saturday 20^th February, I took the bike out for a spin. Nothing dramatic; just a tootle up the Coast to St Mary’s Lighthouse and the inland route back.  A life-affirming ride out; lungfuls of iced air and the gentle salt kiss of a light breeze on my freshly shaved face. Stopped for a few minutes contemplation in Whitley Cemetery; pleasant time among the dead in as pastoral a tree and hedge lined avenue of death as you could imagine. Heading back was tough mind; leg-weary and limp, I battled a head-on wind and my lack of recent exertions to crawl home. Felt euphoric when I reached the front gate, though less so once I’d settled down with a coffee and final score. On the first weekend of the year that wouldn’t have seen blanket postponements, I should have been at football.

Wednesday 23^rd February, I sat in the house, bored out my skull. Despite the arcane joys of Preston 0 QPR 0, I suffered ennui. For the first time since I went back to work at the end of September, coinciding with the advent of Sky football swamping my television with games of dubious appeal, I felt trapped. Drink didn’t appeal. Nor writing, nor reading held my fancy.  I took to the sofa and moaned inwardly, with only the occasional blast of social media invective to restore my soul. On such a mild and temperate evening, The Northern League should have been my saviour, if only the games could have been played. Again, I should have been at the football.

Whisper it softly; there is light at the end of the tunnel, and we will be there again, though at a theoretically lower level with The Northern Alliance as my saviour, perhaps even before the end of March. True, it requires a sagacious, scholarly person to interpret what the FA’s statement that the season at steps 3 to 6 will be curtailed rather than voided actually means; is this the end of football at those levels for 2020/2021? Or will there be meaningful cup competitions at County level and beyond? The Northern League is open for consultation about potential knock-out competitions, so we must wait for clarification. However, my beloved Northern Alliance will be back from March 29^th onwards. Come on fellas, what are the fixtures from that date onwards? We need to know, because once I’m at the football, and even better the cricket after April 17^th onwards, watching and playing both sports, then I know we’re all heading towards normality and freedom once again.

Can you imagine what it’s going to be like once we are free again? Hugging your pals without fear. Pints indoors and out. A curry.  Being somewhere other than at home, staring at the four walls and refusing to paint them.  I’m dreaming about completing my Alliance set, including revisits to Bedlington, Burradon, Hebburn, Ponteland and Willington Quay Saints. Heading up to Scotland for gigs (imagine TFC and Mogwai on home turf after all this time?) and football; Motherwell are top of my list for new visits, but that walk from Waverley down Leith Walk to Easter Road has my eyes smarting sentimentally at the thought. Getting my Passport renewed and visiting Ireland. Seeing games in Cobh and Limerick.  Even Barrow has never sounded quite so romantic a destination.  Spurs: I’ve got to visit that ground for some cheese and a Camden Hells. Ossett; how did the merger between Albion and Town actually go? Felling, where I was born, and my parents’ grave. Just being somewhere else and doing things that involve an awareness of that essential sense of freedom. Yes, I’ll wear a mask if required, even after my vaccine, because I’ll do anything to bring the end of lockdown one step closer.

And that’s why I was so honoured to accept my first vaccine on Friday 26^th February (thanks Neil!) The offer was completely unexpected as my place on the list of tiers suggested a May appointment. Apparently, it’s because I’m a key worker that I was able to leap up a couple of tiers for my jab. I did look at health conditions, but I’m not too sure that any of the conditions other than severely mentally ill applied, which I would have found amusing before I accepted my diagnosis of being on the spectrum but reject out of hand now. That said, I wasn’t about to say no to a vaccine, mainly because it’s the kind of news Kevin Carling will object to. He is, despite his remedial work in deleting tweets, the only person who has been openly hostile to the extent of spreading hate speech about my revelations of being on the spectrum; I hope those of you who regard him his dog, his boss, his high horse and his schweinhund with such affection bear this in mind when football, and cricket, returns.

The whole vaccination process was remarkably smooth. I cycled through indomitable NE7, craven NE12 and into hypocritical NE3 towards the race course. I knew the way, mainly because we used to train for the Over 40s at Goals, next door. However, I’ve only once previously set foot in the race course and that was because of some convoluted story that involved a load of us from Percy Main Amateurs being shoehorned into acting as stewards as part of some charitable 5k in aid of St Vincent’s Hospice. It wasn’t a great experience, but this was far better. From chaining the bike up to cycling away, it took me 20 minutes, with a fabulous set of volunteers to help at every step. How much more useful a life these pillars of the community lead when compared to the deranged conspiracy theorists who claim that these injections, Astra Zeneca or Pfizer, are simply a way for Bill Gates to spy on our lives. Now, quite frankly, why would the head of Microsoft be interested in the lives of tinfoil hat wearing psychos? We know they spend 16 hours a day writing baloney on social media and the rest of the time unsuccessfully tugging along to X-Hamster.

I even knew a couple of the volunteers; Phil Collerton from Over 40s football and Ian Hay, father of Richie from Tynemouth CC. Well done lads. Feeling proud of most sectors of humanity, I cycled home, with a slight headache around the temples and a churning gut; symptoms endured by 10% of those vaccinated. However, I slept for a while and the nausea passed. On May 17^th, I’ll return for my second shot which, fingers crossed, is me mostly safe and my duty as a responsible citizen exercised.

But what about those who won’t be vaccinated? I’d like to make it very clear from the outset that they are a completely different breed than those who can’t have the injection for medical reasons. It may seem harsh, but those who aren’t able to be vaccinated must remain indoors, self-isolating, until the medical experts judge it safe for them to mix with the general public again. Obviously, they must all be furloughed to enable their lives to be lived with as little privation as possible, for they are wholly innocent victims of circumstance and do not deserve to be punished for their biological misfortune. This is, of course, not the case with the wannabe attempted murderers who refuse to be vaccinated; they must, for the greater good, be emasculated and kept in a sterile environment.  In my opinion, all those who refuse to be vaccinated and do not have medical reasons for doing so, should be rounded up, taken into custody and kept away from the rest of society. Initially, I had thought of some rural encampment, such as a golf club, to store them but the chance of escape is too high, even with a no questions asked, shoot to kill policy for those who take to their heels. Instead, I have been persuaded that a decommissioned ship, moored miles off the coast of north west Scotland, is the place for them. Naturally, all of their worldly good and effects should be confiscated before embarkation and, if they try to escape, they should be executed. We cannot, as a society, afford to waste time and money on fretting over the so-called human rights of sub-human mentally ill survivalists like Dave Broadmoor from Stanley.  This is why my surgery’s offer of a vaccine was so warmly welcomed, even if slightly unexpected, because I value human life and the rights of those who do the same.

Regarding dates in the future, May 17^th, and the chance to have outdoor pints is one hell of an incentive, especially as I’ve got my booster jab booked in for that morning. The original time they gave me was 10.30, so I asked for a later appointment; 10.35 it is… Anyway, after that we’ve June 21^st when hopefully the world returns to normal. However, the earlier date of March 8^th frightens me; I am sincerely worried about sending the kids back to school. Definitely allow Years 13 and 11 to return, and perhaps 12 and 10 a fortnight later, but keep the young’uns from Year 8 downwards safe, by postponing their return until after Easter on April 12^th or thereabouts.  Let’s make sure enough of us have been vaccinated to make the world is safe before we expose the bairns to any risk. Oh, and fuck the idea of summer schools; this whole country has been hung up on regimentation, targets and classroom-based tick-lists since Kenneth Baker’s GERBIL back in 1987; let’s allow the kids to enjoy themselves for a while eh? I mean, it’s not as if there are any fucking jobs out there for them to go to. Well, apart from the vacancies created by making anti-vaxxers our own disappeared.

The Winter Game

 Enjoying the cricket? I am

You can just picture the scene can’t you? Saturday, soon after noon, the Last of Perennial Whine meet up; the Strawberry Blond Sturmabteiler on his high horse, the Bong Eyed simpleton doing it doggy style and the silent Schweinhund at the rear, conjoin for the rambling complaint Olympics at their usual rendezvous, outside a bijou, detached £400k pit cottage in proletarian NE3. A glass of flat, tepid Old Hogwash in their hands, they tramp the equine excrement carpeted lanes and moan.  According to them, the Labour Party, for whom they’ve neither delivered a leaflet nor attended a branch meeting, has betrayed them. In addition, lifelong medical conditions that do not affect vision or cranial size are by definition fictitious, especially if the person suffering is cleverer than them. Professional football is finished, though they’ve not seen a game in a dozen years, amateur football only exists in a place they’d have struggled to find with both hands a decade back and now cricket, whether it be the international game on the telly, a county they don’t live in or a club plagued by sugar apes, is far too accessible these days. This free to air broadcasting of the India versus England series doesn’t meet with their approval; after all, it’s far too easy to set your alarm then sit on the sofa watching it. Where’s the challenge in that?

The challenge is to wake up, get up and stay sentient during the day’s play. I have to admit, my initial commitment to the early stages of the Sri Lanka tour is not what it could have been. Influenced by the cancellation of both the tour of South Africa before Christmas and Tynemouth’s annual heroic progression to the North of England indoor 6 a side Championships, only to fall at the final hurdle a game before Lords, I left my alarm on its usual 7.30 setting, prioritising sleep over sport. The great thing for we office drones is top quality broadband and razor-sharp monitors mean you can follow it all on line, from the comfort of your desk, providing you keep the sound down.  Two tests won in a straightforward fashion, with captain Root back among the runs, solid slow (rather than spin) bowling by Bess and Leach and a ferocious cameo from Jimmy Anderson in the second test, sent the lads on to India in good spirits. Now I realise in all probability that the World Test Championship, as unwieldy and confusing tournament as her ever been imagined, will end up as a contest between the two rightful giants of the current test game, India and New Zealand, but maddening old England are an entertaining side to watch.

 Of course India had secured a stunning series win in Australia, once they’d got Kohli out the picture for the last 3 tests anyway, which was particularly enjoyable on account of Warner’s continuing wretched form. It couldn’t happen to a nicer bloke, could it? If his endless string of failures sees him replaced in the test side by Josh Phillipe, I’ll be more than happy. The lad had a wonderful summer in the NEPL with Newcastle in 2018 and his award of player of the series in the Big Bash is not only an amazing achievement, but surely an indication they’ve got a young lad waiting in the wings who can give the ball a more than respectable clout against the cream of the world’s game. Those of us who were there will always remember that sparkling 162* in the Banks final against the Hill at Jesmond. Some knock it was, even if he was desperately out of touch until he was in the 40s that day.

 

And so to India. I don’t pretend to be a scholarly student of the game, because you’d need a PhD in logic to understand the rationale behind the various squads that England have assembled and almost immediately demolished so far this series. Frankly, there’s players in there I’ve not even heard of and others I’d thought had packed in years ago. It’s more a case of rampant egalitarianism than the Benson and Hedges desperation of Mike Bassett, but the sheer complexity of the exercise knocks the Battle of Kohima into a cocked hat. Still, as they’re out there until the end of next month for a further two tests, half a dozen 20/20s and then a clutch of ODIs, they’ll probably need a few spare hands to check the laundry and help out with humping the gear. By the time England arrive home, the NEPL season will be almost on us. First games take place on April 17^th, but I’m getting ahead of myself and will timeously return to that in another blog that will detail the most exciting developments in recreational, midweek cricket ever recorded.

After the first test, Joss Buttler, who had played a superb supporting role behind Root in that eye-catching win, went home, as planned, with Chris Foakes replacing him. Jimmy Anderson, whose appearance on the Sri Lanka tour was one of the more eccentric, if not incomprehensible selections we’ve seen in recent times but who bowled an over at Chennai in the first test that was worthy of an Oscar, a knighthood and the Nobel Peace Prize, was rested for Stuart Broad who predictably contributed Jack Shit (he isn’t a player btw). Dom Bess, despite taking 17 wickets at a shade over 25 in 3 tests this year was dropped, with a rather public admonishment to go with it. While this was a baffling decision, it didn’t exactly backfire as his replacement Mooen Ali, having spent most of the tour enacting a kind of cricketing tribute to Howard Hughes, self-isolating and then recovering from COVID, emerged from his hotel room, Kleenex boxes on his feet and a pint of Baskin-Robbins banana nut under his arm, earning a morsel of credit from the wreckage of a 317-run hammering. Having taken 8 wickets and made a breezy 43 from 18 balls as the second innings crumbled pitifully, he checked out at close of play and took a flight back home; probably not on the Spruce Goose I must admit. Oh, and he’ll also be back for the 20/20s next month. With Joss Buttler as well… Confusing innit?

Much of the noise surrounding the supposed dreadful strip in Chennai sought not to praise the magnificence of the Indian bowling, but instead focussed on the kind of patronising bellyaching that could have been spoken at the end of the Raj. This was unpleasant to listen to, with an element of residual colonial xenophobia at its heart. The idiots who emailed TMS claiming the Indian authorities had deliberately prepared an unplayable pitch and should be censured for this, obviously didn’t see the aforementioned Kohli, now extra grumpy on account of the parental insomnia occasioned by the presence of  a new bairn,  or Ashwin playing beautifully in the second innings. It’s a fact of life. Other loonies on Twitter who say it is beholden of the ECB to try and prepare our players for Indian conditions may like to reflect on the fact that climactic alterations are beyond the gift of any administrative body. Otherwise, gusty winds, 14 degrees in the shade and blanket cloud scraping the rooftops of Burley and Hyde Park wouldn’t be the sole preserve of the legendary Yorkshire experience at Headingley, would they?

The series moves on to Ahmedabad for two further tests, the first of which being a day / night contest with a pink ball. Whether this was added to the schedule as a sop to England, who knows, but I’m looking forward to it. We should also welcome Jonny Bairstow and Mark Wood who (I think) went home after Sri Lanka who are joining the party. If anyone asks you what is the essential difference between test cricket and 20/20, you can point out that in the former England have a player called Jonny Bairstow, while in the later we have Jonathan Bairstow.

32 County Lines

 Erin go bragh 2021... dedicated to Jordan Moore

Saturday February 6^th started off pretty good. With Test Match Special on the laptop and C4’s coverage on the telly, I passed the Keir Starmer patriotism test by remaining glued to England’s innings as they batted beautifully to amass 555/8 at stumps on day 2. The noise we heard for the next 16 hours was the ghost of David Shepherd jigging the quintuple Nelson. By teatime, the weather outside was frightful, while my ears were burning from the poisonous mumblings of a pair of virtue signalling gobshites in St Pauli bobble hats, one of them on his high horse and the other a bong eyed sycophant in possession of a dirty sex dog. They still think they're delightful, slagging off rugby, the disabled and the Labour Party, despite never having delivered a leaflet in anger. Thankfully, this did not matter, as I had witnessed a miracle. Not 9-man Newcastle United’s victory over Southampton, though that was largely incredible, but the news that Boris Johnson was planning on doing something good for the National Health Service. As ever, the Devil will be in the detail, but outline plans to abandon the corrupt and wasteful tendering process as a way to get local authorities working closer with NHS trusts can only be a good thing.

The other piece of good news that slipped out is their intention to have all of us over 50s vaccinated by May. I’ll say this now and I’ll say this only once; anyone refusing a vaccine should be tagged, tattooed with their National Insurance Number, sequestrated of all benefits, property and possessions then forcefully quarantined, without any possibility of release, away from the rest of the population. Somewhere like South Moor Golf Club seems appropriate.

I’m approaching the as yet undefined day when post lockdown freedom arrives by spending a lot of my time on line, doing a bit of self-improvement you know. Learning things my teachers couldn’t teach, like the nugget of knowledge that the French word for the avian swallow is le hirondelle, which suggests to me that the generic, sickly sweet 80s white wine was given a punning title. Getting slightly darker was the translation sequence that consisted of le muguet –Lily of the Valley - la grive – thrush -  infection vaginale par des levures…

Quickly closing that browser, I logged into PayPal in a consumerist frame of mind. Having collected all 51 issues of the Rothmans’ Football Yearbook over the past 6 weeks, I’ve purchased a 1978 Brasil Adidas tracky; just the top as if I got the yellow and green strides, I’d look like a white Rastafarian synthesis of an ageing LL Cole J and a sprightly Nelson Mandela. Got myself some Boss New Trabs (© Twitter); Karhu Albatrosses from Size? no less. Culturally, I visited www.rockaction.co.uk and reserved copies of Arab Strap’s As Days Get Dark and Mogwai’s As the Love Continues, then continued to www.monorailmusic.com to reserve goodies from the further distant future; Teenage Fanclub’s Endless Arcade is out at the end of April and David Keenan’s fifth novel Monument Maker which won’t be out until June. David Peace’s Tokyo Redux and James Ellroy’s Widespread Panic are slated for publication at the same time, which will teach me patience is a virtue.

So, what can I do to keep my head busy? Irish sport of course!! A decent performance in the rugby, even if it ended in defeat against Wales. As regards the GAA, 2021 is looking like the shortest season on record; a foreshortened campaign in th’oul League that even the Kilkenny footballers could get into bed with, followed by an All-Ireland Championship that’s over by mid-July. While Sam will be presented to one of 31 counties (Mayo are not welcome) July 18^th, the Liam MacCarthy Cup will be presented to one of 18 competing counties, after the usual intractable and incomprehensible Championship, on July 11^th, giving the Donegal lads a chance to march the day after with the 26 members of Newtowncunningham True Blues, Loyal Orange Lodge 1063, to Rossnowlagh. Certainly, it’s not as abhorrent or unsavoury as image as Cork GAA togged out in Sports Direct sponsored jerseys. Hopefully the second Burning of Cork will see a bonfire of Ashley-influenced leisurewear aflame by de Banks. Actually, I’m carrying a flaming torch for Lovely Leitrim this year, as I’m hoping Woven Skull can get the Amhrán na bhFiann gig ahead of the Artane Boys Band at Croker this year.

Of course, with the GAA being allegedly amateur, this means they aren’t an elite sport according to the lads at Leinster House, so they’ll not be starting training before Easter. Mind they’ve no interest in doing so just yet, so all eyes must focus on the League of Ireland. Scheduled to begin in earnest on Friday March 19^th, after the preludial President’s Cup between the Shams and Dundalk at Tallaght the week before, which is a month later than usual, clubs have been told to budget for zero crowds in the first instance, while fixtures for a 36-game season for the Premier Division have been set in stone. Dates for FAI Cup ties and the seemingly superfluous mid-season break have also been announced, as has the second annual suspension of the EA (League) Cup. Where we are still in the dark, as ever, is the composition of the zany and incomprehensible sporting enigma that is the League of Ireland First Division, which is the destination for my sporting love this year, as I’ll explain.

The 10-team Premier Division is populated by Bohs, Drogs, Dundalk, Shams and St Pats from Dublin and surrounding areas, Derry, Finn Harps and Sligo from the North West, Longford from the Midlands and Waterford from the South. I’ve been to every one of those and while I could be easily persuaded into having another sojourn for blaas and Helvick Gold in Port Lairge, that isn’t my current priority. In the same way that the fact I’ve never set foot in Kerry, having visited the other 31 counties, is a constant irritant to me, the fact I’ve yet to complete my First Division set also irks me.

Athlone, Bray, Cabinteely, Galway, Shelbourne, UCD and Wexford have all benefitted from my patronage over the years while, shamefully, Cobh and Cork are yet to be added to my sporting memories. Last year, which saw Cork shamefully relegated in last place, I had plans to visit my ancestral home by the lovely Lee, ready to take in a trip to Turner’s Cross on the Friday and St. Colman’s Park on the Saturday, until COVID intervened and the whole world changed. Of course, there isn’t a single weekend when the two of them are at home in the coming season. However, the weekend of September 24^th and 25^th has possibilities. Cobh host Bray on the Saturday and Cork are slated for an away game the night before. Who are their opponents? Good question…

At the time of writing, there are 9 teams in the First Division, with Shamrock Rovers B left in limbo, following their participation last year when they stepped up to replace the previous iteration of Limerick who failed to obtain a licence to operate from that beacon of fiscal rectitude, the FAI. With 5 weeks to kick off, which is ages in the FAI’s view of things, there is no indication as yet whether the Shams stiffs will be required to fulfil the role of footballing crash test dummies for this campaign. Somewhat amazingly, there are other potential outfits wanting to pull in the slack by filling the vacancy. Applicants have been told they may have to wait until February 23^rd for a decision and, while there is a fixture list for 10 teams already out there, it remains a possibility that this will be torn up and a new one issued, potentially featuring12 teams if all of the entities in the hunt get the green light from the Independent Club Licensing Committee, although this is looking very unlikely now.

The odds-on favourites for the final berth are Treaty United, where former Limerick FC manager Tommy Barrett is now central to the project. Treaty United are hoping to revive senior football in the Limerick area and already have a senior women's side as well as an active underage section. Perhaps the main thing in their favour is that they have secured the exclusive use of Market's Field for home games. Until the other week, they were set to face competition from a revived and revised version of the old Limerick FC, with their owner Pat O'Sullivan looking for a route back into the league after financial issues contributed to their exit at the end of a turbulent 2019. However, the financial realities of the world we live have intervened and it appears they are concentrating on the underage section for now. Anything that reduces youth crime in Moyross and the wider Stab City area has to applauded.

The other party in the mix for a First Division berth is a new creation, Dublin County FC, who are backed by a disparate group of investors in the US and UK who were previously linked with a takeover of Cabinteely. Perhaps the most important thing to note about the outfit who are yet to kick a ball in anger, is that Morton Stadium in Dublin has been flagged as prospective home ground. Two words; Sporting Fingal.

In utterly unrelated sporting news, Tynemouth Bad Boys have merged with Tynemouth Cricket Club, throwing 174 years of sporting integrity out the window (I jest). This appears to me as being a win-win situation. We get to play on the main pitch and have taken a place in the NTSCL Midweek Open Division, meaning our games are 100% certain to be on Thursday nights, if the Good Lord’s willing and the R Number doesn’t rise. As the newly installed Tynemouth CC Press Officer, I’m happily obliged to watch the whole season through until it ends on September 12^th or thereabouts. If, and only if, the world returns to some semblance of normality, I hope to get across to the Four Green Fields at some point before the season ends on November 28^th with the FAI Cup Final at the Aviva. Friday night in Limerick and Saturday in Cobh look positively alluring to me…

 

Craigness

 Am I autistic? Well, it's like this.....

In late 2015, as part of an ongoing course of behavioural psychotherapy, intended to explain exactly why it was that, for the vast majority of my life, I had often struggled to fit in with the rest of society and why I was uncomfortable with so many social interactions and situations that the rest of humanity seem to take for granted, I was offered the diagnosis that I was autistic. Considering I was 51 at the time, you may think this is a very late age to be told that, in their opinion, I displayed the classical characteristics of a lifelong behavioural spectrum disorder, though I prefer the gentler, less judgemental term “condition.” To be honest, I was shocked and astounded by this conclusion. The main question for me was exactly how on earth this condition hadn’t been diagnosed or at least become obvious earlier in my life? Well, similar to how I only discovered I was allergic to wasp stings in August 2009, because I’d never previously been stung by a wasp, I’d never been tested for autism and so most of the evidence that could point to such a diagnosis had been explained away as simply a case of me “being ian,” however odd such an explanation was.

After a highly public and hideously distressing public meltdown in June 2020, a second and entirely separate mental health professional also expressed the opinion that I was autistic, which caused me to sit up, do some research and take the whole thing seriously. Immediately I discovered that The North East Autism Society describes the condition as follows; (autism is) a way of processing events and phenomena; sights, sounds and so on. It affects how a person perceives and interacts with other people. There will also be noticeable differences from the norm in how a person plans and manages activities, to the extent that organising information can translate into different behaviour that can appear contrary or bizarre to “ordinary” people. In essence, an autistic person will see, process and understand the world in a different way from someone who isn’t autistic, for all of their life… What is known for certain is that autism is not caused by a person’s upbringing or their social circumstances and is not the fault of the individual.

My research into finding a satisfactory an explanation for how my mind is “wired” is a serious and in-depth course of study, involving medical and psychological text books that offer no rapid cures of easy answers. This is why I am almost obsessively opposed to people glibly diagnosing other people with medical conditions, often related to mental health, as if we are all qualified medical professionals. Such conduct is, in my opinion, both wrong and dangerous. It is with no lack of contemplation, having given a detailed examination and profound consideration of all the indicators of adult diagnosis autism in response to the medical opinions I received, that I concluded that not all of them were relevant to how I think, feel or react. Consequently I have, with a full understanding of the import of my words, thoughts and deeds, chosen to reject the diagnosis of autism and instead I am happy to refer to myself as “on the spectrum.”

One of the most fundamental ways in which I divulge from classical autism is in my fundamental inability to interpret numbers or think in a mathematical or scientific way. Also, I am utterly unable to read maps. However, there is an incredibly positive counterbalance to my functional dyscalculia; indeed, something that has constantly provoked joy and delight when I retreat into my head and think. For me, the written word, whether it be poetry, prosody or journalism, is something I have been and still am obsessed with. Being immersed in creative writing is a place where I feel completely engaged, relaxed and utterly at home; it explains why I spent 30 years lecturing in English Literature I suppose.

For almost my entire life, I have felt that I’ve arrived here from Mars and have somehow missed out on my copy of the manual explaing how to be a normal human being that everyone else seems to be working from. When considering literary representations of my personal situation, the poet Craig Raine’s 1979 composition A Martian sends a Postcard Home has had a profound impact on my relationship with lrejoiceife and my different interpretation of how the world works. For instance I mentally when considering the following lines -:

 

Mist is when the sky is tired of flight

 and rests its soft machine on ground:

then the world is dim and bookish

 like engravings under tissue paper.

Rain is when the earth is television.

 It has the property of making colours darker.

The behavioural and emotional indicators for why I chose the specific terminology I did to explain my social difficulties, which account for about 75% of all classical autistic symptoms, are listed below, although I have removed references to sensory hypersensitivity (noise, light and temperature) and an obsessive interest in hobbies (cricket, football, outsider music and craft ales in my case), as they aren’t that relevant to this article, even if they are the key to my personality.

1.     Social interaction

Those of us who are on the spectrum often have difficulty 'reading' other people, recognising or understanding others' feelings and intentions. This can make it very hard to navigate the social world. I have long said that the older I get, the smaller I need my social gatherings to be; it’s why I go to obscure gigs, non-league football and micro pubs.  On buses and in cinemas, football grounds and theatres, I must have an aisle seat or I can become profoundly agitated. I simply cannot bear it when someone stands behind me, finding their ominous presence absolutely terrifying. Additionally, those of us on the spectrum may -:

-          appear to be insensitive

-          seek out time alone when overloaded by other people

-          appear to behave 'strangely' or in a way thought to be socially inappropriate

2. Repetitive behaviour

With its unwritten rules and implied cultural norms, I have always found the world to be a very unpredictable and confusing place. This is why those of us on the spectrum often prefer to have inflexible routines to cling onto, so that we can predict and, to an extent, control what is going to happen in ordinary circumstances. We may want to travel the same way to and from work, wear the same particular set of clothes on specific days), or eat exactly the same food for breakfast, porridge with blueberries and a strawberry yoghurt in my case.

This reminds me of the famous anecdote about Ludwig Wittgenstein. In 1929, already Europe's most celebrated philosopher, Wittgenstein came to stay with John Maynard Keynes ("God has arrived. I met him on the 5.15 train") in Cambridge. The economist’s wife Lydia Keynes gave Wittgenstein rye bread and Swiss cheese for an early supper, which he liked. "Thereafter," John Maynard Keynes wrote, "he more or less insisted on eating bread and cheese at all meals, largely ignoring the various dishes my wife had prepared. When questioned about this, Wittgenstein declared that it did not matter to him what he ate, so long as the food on offer remained the same."

Any change to routine can be distressing and make me very anxious. It could be events that other people relish, such as having to adjust to big events like Christmas or changing schools, facing uncertainty at work, or something simpler like a public transport disaster that can trigger a full blown panic attack.

3.     Anxiety

 Unbearable, crippling anxiety is the most distressing of all the behaviours I suffer from that I associate with being on the spectrum, particularly in social situations or when facing change. It can affect a person psychologically and physically, as well as impacting on the quality of life for people on the spectrum and their families.  One thing I have had to work on over the past 5 and a bit years since I was offered the diagnosis of being autistic, even if I reject the terminology, and that I continue to struggle with, is learning to recognise the triggers that provoke anxiety and develop coping mechanisms to help reduce my anxiety. However, any growing sense of anxiety causes difficulty in recognising and regulating my emotions, similar to how a person with severe asthma is unable to regulate their breathing when suffering an attack.

4.     Meltdowns and shutdowns

When everything becomes too much for me, and my triggers are mainly sensory overload or not being listened to when I’m referring to something, seemingly trivial to others, that is important to me; I can go into meltdown or shutdown. These are not just tantrums or sulks; they are very intense and exhausting experiences that can have a long lasting negative impact on mood.

A meltdown happens when someone on the spectrum becomes completely overwhelmed by their current situation and loses behavioural control.  In my case, this manifests itself as a verbal outburst, characterised by shouting, screaming or crying and can end with me vomiting uncontrollably. Thankfully, that has only happened twice in my life and I’ve never responded in a physical way by kicking, lashing out or biting, which is a classical indicator of autism, especially among non-verbal members of the spectrum.

A shutdown appears less intense to the outside world but can be equally debilitating. Shutdowns are also a response to being overwhelmed but may appear more passive as this is characterised by going quiet or 'switching off'. One autistic woman described having a shutdown as: just as frustrating as a meltdown, because of not being able to react at all; the mind feels like it is past a state of being able to interpret.

In short, this is why I am the way I am. At 56 and a half, it seems unlikely I’m going to fundamentally change how I deal with the world. That said, I do not seek to use my appearance on the spectrum as an excuse for unacceptable behaviour. Like all humans, I am imperfect, a flawed work in progress. I constantly seek to recognise triggers and to modify my behaviour, language, and reactions to events. However, I don’t want to fundamentally change the person I am, as I’ve become attached to myself over the years….

P.S. Please don’t use capital letters for my name. My birth certificate has lower case letters and if I see capitals, I don’t see it as my name.