Welcome to British Summer Time, that dreaded moment when the clocks ‘leap forward’, we lose an hour’s sleep and the digs are as confused as hell that breakfast is early and dinner is just confusing.

As I sit here waiting for the DVLA (driving licence people) to answer the phone, I was pondering on my decision to change the page I have used to date just for promoting my books to something a bit more.

Four years ago, I discovered that I scored quite high on a questionnaire to determine whether I was on the autistic spectrum. I wasn’t surprised. Too many things started to make sense. For some, late diagnosis meant being diagnosed in their 20s or 30s. I was 51 years old. Of course, I still had people who didn’t believe that this was possible. How could I have not known for 50 or so years? Both strangers, colleagues and my own family reacted differently.

My employer at the time, The Works, said it wasn’t a problem. After all, the son of our HR Partner was autistic. His father had about an inch of paperwork to prove it. Did I have such a document? That was problem #1.

Then my sister said I shouldn’t tell anyone. She was concerned that people would look at me, and her, differently. Problem #2.

Then there was how total strangers perceived the word ‘autistic’. One female customer sympathised with me, saying she worked with autistic people. I mentioned having a neuroscience-based degree. She decided to remain silent. Such perceptions made Problem #3.

Related to that was the perception of colleagues, those with whom I worked on a daily basis. Problem #4 could be summed up in a colleague saying how much she admired how much people with autism could achieve. Well, ouch!

See the whole series of the Diaries of the Cwn Annwn here: https://smile.amazon.co.uk/dp/B08WL17FTX