I’m Autistic: What’s Your Excuse?

January 23, 2007

Christmas

Filed under: General — rainmanlite @ 1:57 am

Bleurgh. I am not big on the holiday season; it involves spending money I can’t really spare, spending time ‘as a family’ when I’d much rather they just left me alone and lots of other stuff I can do well without, thank you very much.

I thought I had it all sewn up this year; a blazing row with my stepfather has ensured that I am no longer welcome in the family home, and I stocked up on ready-meals and cans of beer with every intention of spending a nice peaceful Christmas in my flat in Luton. All my flatmates were guaranteed to have buggered off home (I’ll blog about them later), so there’d be no loud music or horrible messes in the kitchen for at least a couple of weeks…

But instead, and much against my better judgement, I allowed my Uncle Chris to persuade me to come and visit my grandmother’s house, where he was staying with his family. Wouldn’t be so bad, I figured. Uncle Chris is probably the only member of my extended family that I have anything in common with to speak of. But first, I had to get there.

My grandmother lives in a tiny village in Warwickshire with no bus service. The nearest railway station is in Coventry, which isn’t especially easy to get to from Luton; I have to get a bus to Milton Keynes then a train to Coventry unlesss I want to change trains in London, and there were ominous rumblings that the bus drivers were going to go on strike on Christmas Eve. Fortunately it never materialised, and I was able to get to Milton Keynes without hassle. Fifteen minutes on a rather chilly platform later and I was on the way to Coventry.

Which was where things went fruit-shaped.

The original plan had been for me to ring my grandmother from the station and let her know I’d arrived, at which point she’d drive over and pick me up. I’d carefully copied down her phone number from an email, and was making my way to a phone box (I don’t have a mobile) when I discovered that the piece of paper with the phone number was still on the desk beside my laptop in Luton. Oops! I didn’t have the cash for a taxi, and phoning home was out of the question (it’s usually my stepdad who answers and he’d probably just laugh at me), so I settled in to wait. They’d have to realise what happened sooner or later, wouldn’t they?

Four hours later, Uncle Chris finally decides to have a loot for me at the station. Needless to say, he found the whole thing highly amusing. But the litany of disaster does not end there, for when I arrived at Granny Greta’s house I discovered that the bottle of wine I’d brought with me had smashed and soaked the entire contents of my holdall. My oldest sister’s birthday present was ruined and all my clothes were soaked. Look, if the witchdoctor to whom I still owe money is reading this, will you just give me your address so I can send a cheque? Please? You’ve made your point.

Still, at least it turns out that Granny Greta is on my side in the blood-feud between me and Steve.

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