All in a Row - an autistic review

For those not aware of the play "All in a Row" or the furore around #Puppetgate I'll attempt to give a brief overview; this play first burst into my awareness a few weeks ago via Twitter when I saw someone's post about a puppet replacing an autistic child. This got me very confused at first until I read into the story and discovered about the existence of the play and the nature of the autistic character in it.


The play describes itself as thus:

Laurence likes pizza.
Laurence is about to go to school.
Laurence thinks it’s okay to wee on mummy’s pillow.
Like any couple, Tamora and Martin have big hopes and dreams. But when your child is autistic, non-verbal, and occasionally violent, ambitions can quickly become a pipe dream.
In a household brimming with love, resentment and realisations, meet Tam, Martin and Laurence’s carer Gary as they struggle to care for their beloved boy. On the night before social services finally intervenes, who is the victim here? Who was the traitor? And who do you blame when you can no longer cope?

The storyline is about two parents, their 11 year old autistic child and his support worker, and all the chaos that unfolds the night before Laurence is due to go to a residential school 200 miles away - something that it seems was triggered by Social Services getting involved after an anonymous call reporting bruises on Laurence.

Now, the storyline itself, to me, is incredibly thought provoking. It encompasses all the fear and rage that families battle as they try to do their best for their loved ones, I empathised a lot with the parents emotions during the play, not in relation to an autistic child but thinking about my own grandparents and the increasing possibility of them needing assisted living at some point and our growing fears over dementia and 'losing' them.

But, no matter how much I loved some of the script, salty language and all, or how much the heart of the plot line resonated I could not escape from the huge elephant in the room.

That damn puppet.

It was offensive, it was a man with a grey bizarre puppet body in front of him running around making non-verbal noises and, when heading into meltdown, biting the other characters.

I don't understand or agree with the statement from the artistic director:

To me this is a cop-out, yes a child actor may well have struggled with some of the language and volume levels to the adults screaming rows, and yes there would have been the need for caution when doing the physical restraint scenes (at one point the father is over the child pining him down after a full-blown meltdown where he attacked his mother from behind as she was screaming at the father) but that in no way means they should jump straight to using a bizarre half-puppet prop instead!

The fact of the matter is that there was an adult actor behind the puppet, controlling the movement and providing the vocal noises. Why could this actor not simply have been Laurence? Why the need for a grey faced puppet torso? Yes having an adult play an 11 year old may look slightly odd but most good actors are capable of making you forget those things with their performances.

And it makes me so angry that what could have been a wonderful opportunity for discussion about residential care and the fear of sectioning and mental health units has instead become all about a damn puppet.

I'm so disappointed that the people behind that choice still don't seem to understand why autistic people and our allies are angry, I attended with a non-autistic friend who works in the autism research field and she too was incredibly uncomfortable with the entire way Laurence was performed.

And it makes me sad, there was such a wonderful core to this play, a real understanding of fear about change and the terror over the power that 'professionals' have. There is a brilliantly nuanced conversation between the father and the support worker about how residential staff cant hold doors shut and how there is the possibility of sectioning to a mental health unit if Laurence is asked to leave the school.

It nearly brought me to tears because these are incredibly real fears being delivered in a very realistic style, its shouting and arguing and absolute heart-breaking devastation at trying to prepare for someone you love to move somewhere 200 miles away from you.

There were some odd moments and some "saw that coming a mile away" moments - a very strange, clumsy and out of place comment from the support worker about animal reincarnation that was quite offensive, although it was dealt with superbly by the parents, and the almost soap-like nature of the mother getting drunk and trying it on with the support worker - I was sat in my seat silently screaming "workplace harassment!!!!" during the whole cringe-worthy lead up.

And, of course, the obvious (to me at least) conclusion about the anonymous call to Social Services. It was cliched but there was still some beautiful dialogue from the characters in the build up, the raw emotion being displayed by the actors was honest and hard to watch.

But again, through all of this I was distracted by the damn puppet. That and the facial responses of the front row of the audience on the other side of the 'stage' as this whole saga played out in a 'living room' on the same level as the first row of seats, with only a small raised platform area at the back of the space, representing the 'kitchen' area (complete with stocked cupboards and an openable door to a 'fridge').

I can't help wondering just how powerful this play could have been if there had been a proper actor used to portray Laurence, then all the furore and anger would have been replaced with meaningful discussions about family situations like the one presented, about residential schools and ATUs, about the procedures support workers and social services are supposed to follow, about other people's pity and outrage as the father describes when telling a tale of a trip to the park.

There were some elements separate to the puppet that I didn't like, I objected massively to the cliched scene between the mother and the support worker that follows a conversation about online dating, and I really disliked the fact that the father was implied to have smoked marijuana whilst out of the house buying cake - by the end of the play the support worker has left and the two parents are either stoned or drunk, neither in a truly fit state to be responsible for a child as vulnerable as Laurence.

To be honest there was a point towards the end, during a massive argument scene, that it did cross my mind that the only reason I wasn't worrying about Laurence ending up dead somehow was because I knew that would have been mentioning in all the criticism of the play going around already.

The final ending was vaguely sweet, I'm not a fan of social stories really but having Laurence between his two parents on the sofa as they sobbingly read one to him to prepare for the move to the school was the right way to end the play, there were massive implications throughout that their marriage is not going to last once Laurence isn't in the house holding them together anymore so to see them united around him was a nice way to close.

I wish I could see a performance of the same script with a young adult actor playing Laurence, and I wish more than anything that the storyline I watched wasn't realistic, that there aren't families out there going through the exact same things.

It was hard to watch (both content wise and sensory as coloured lighting is used along with several instances of shouting and screaming) and hard to process my thoughts on but overall I'm glad I went, that I saw it for myself and made my own judgements. I hope it can be a step towards the play I want to see, the play the autistic community deserves to have put on.


Overall score: 3/5 - huge potential ruined by one offensive choice.

Ten Years On - my diagnosis anniversary pt1

Time is a funny thing, I've written before about the passing of time and how it brings forward an odd sense of curiosity and anxiety.

When considering the events of the past decade I'm almost overwhelmed by the sheer volume of memories and emotional attachments to things I barely spare a moments notice to normally.  I find that as I reflect on the ten years that I have lived since my diagnosis in 2009 I almost can't recognise the person I was then, so much has changed. And yet so little has really, core personality and values haven't altered in any fundamental way, just matured and shifted with my growing understanding of the world around me and the solidifying goal of the person I want to be.

My journey to diagnosis was not nearly as long or difficult as a lot of other women's, I was very lucky to be supported so well by my incredible family and have a solid network of friends at the time (to my sorrow these haven't lasted the trials of adulthood and geography). But that doesn't mean it was simple. My journey technically started at 15, got kneecapped at 17 and took until a soul-searching holiday at 20 to recover and start the nearly 2 year process to finally see those immortal words in print "I believe that she does meet the formal diagnostic criteria for an Autistic Disorder" - it's slightly clunky medical terminology but it was from a clinical psychologist and that was what was needed!

I remember vividly the days leading up to the appointment- the terror that clutched at me over not being believed, being called a liar or attention seeking as I had been so many times in childhood. I desperately wanted the validation of the diagnosis (I'm still at scientist at heart and want empirical evidence to support any theory!) but the overwhelming feeling on entering the assessment room was pure fear.

I don't recall much after that. My mother has told me some of what happened as she was in the room with me answering questions about my childhood and reactions to things. I'm told my responses and actions where that of someone trying to hide - curling myself into my chair in an almost foetal position, turning my head away from them and getting very lost in my memories, there were so many that I had buried away. It also took a lot of work from the psychologist to get me to drop my mask and start responding as I would instinctively instead of as I had trained myself to, so many years of masking had made it such an ingrained habit that I was struggling to not edit my responses even though I knew that I needed to show this professional the raw real me if she was going to diagnose me properly.

After the 3 hour appointment was over we travelled the 15 miles home and I went to bed. And stayed there for the next 3 days basically!

Because that was how long I needed in isolation, away from any responsibilities or external inputs to rebuild my walls and shore up my defenses again.

And that’s what I continue to do ten years on, rebuild my defences after a difficult experience in the peace and safety of my own space. Because if there is one thing I’ve learnt over the past ten years, it’s that I need that time to recover and get back to my baselines; if I don’t go through a proper recovery protocol after a negative experience then the damage will build, resulting in a fairly catastrophic breakdown that can take days to even begin to recover from.

But it’s not just negative experiences that need recovering from! Social Hangovers are a part of my life I’ve become used to but they, along with general Autism Fatigue, can still have a large impact on the capacity for me to function in the days following. I’ve learnt over the decade to adapt my expectations of events and how long I can be at them, as well as working out key exit strategies and having different recovery plans based on the type of event in question (ie a night out at a pub will involve a more quiet and sensory plain recovery where as a busy family day event may lead to sensory seeking the next day with a large dose of free flowing rudely-honest commentary aimed at the TV as a result of having had to keep my speech family-friendly all day!)

Its been a long ten years looking back at everything that has happened, both in personal terms and the wider globe! But the more I reflect on what has changed the more I become hopeful for what still has the potential to change, what our world might yet become.

Everything I have learnt over the past ten years can effectively be summed up by two things;

my beloved Saracens values:

"Work Rate, Humility, Discipline, Honesty" 

and my favourite Henry Fraser quote:

"Always look at what you can do"

I'm going to keep working hard but be disciplined with the energy I have, keep being honest about my limitations and have humility about my achievements, and no matter what keep focusing on what I can do, even if today I'm struggling.

After all, who knows what the next ten years hold?!?!

Friendly acquaintance vs friend

At what point does someone you know become classified as a friend? It's a question I've long struggled with, not knowing if it's something I can classify myself or if it needs to be a mutual thing - if you consider someone a friend but they don't see you as any more than an acquaintance then can you truly say they are a friend? Should the relationship be classified by the lowest common denominator?

I try to make myself be pragmatical and honest about classifying people as friends; there are many people I know and interact with in my life but I would consider myself to have very few friends.

I think this is a self protection thing, I will only let myself fall a person a friend if I truly trust that I can depend on them being there for me when I need, a so-called "fair weather friend" is not a friend in my opinion.

And so I find myself classifying most people in my life as "friendly acquaintances" - people I like and interact with in wonderful ways but not people I could call for a chat when walking home or who would show up at my bedside if I landed myself in hospital.

I used to use markers of knowledge as a way of determining friendship level - did they know my siblings names, my favourite meal, the film moments that make me cry?

But I've come to realise that there are people out there who know those answers, or did at one point, but who have drifted away from me and are not now what I would consider to be a friend any more.

It's hard to admit sometimes that a friendship is over, it's not like leaving a job or a relationship break up when a clear conversation or action occurs, friendships can simply fade away and die due to neglect - ghosting in unintentional format.

Different types of acquaintances require different "litmus tests" for friendship - there are a several work colleagues who I get on really well with and have a huge amount of trust in, but I still don't consider them friends. They are wonderful people but our relationships are circumstantial and "in the moment" - were I or they to leave our current workplace I sincerely doubt I would ever intentionally hear from them again, interaction would be reduced to odd social media exchanges and the occasional reunion at another colleague's event (weddings, birthdays, leaving dos for example).

And while I would like to explore the idea of actual friendship with some current work folks I know that it's not that simple, friendship is a two way street and a lot of people already have enough friends in their life and not a lot of time for more.

But the thing that strikes me the most about this whole concept is that we don't have more classifications of friendship. We have them for romantic relationships - you can be seeing, dating, living with, engaged to or married. A single relationship with someone can go through all stages and it's mutually decided, there are even times when it can be reclassified down - a couple can decide to call off a wedding and return to a non-engaged status but still be in a relationship.

I guess in the very confusing world of social relationships I'm just looking for more clarity in a world where someone can have hundreds of Facebook "friends" and yet be incredibly lonely.