Never Let the Saucepan Boil Dry Chapter Eight: Song of a Quenguin
By Melkur
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I was, and remain, very grateful for many things in my life in Culloden: for my landlord, David, and for my parents, who live on the other side of town. This was not the disaster that was living in halls at Stirling. Cromarty had been my ‘devolution’ period: now I was ready to be independent. Having enjoyed helping the partially-sighted student, with his theology readings in the spring, it became clear a computerised system would make me largely redundant.
I gradually removed my things from the Cromarty manse, continuing to go back for more after moving into the flat in Culloden. It helped to have a normal house-moving, after the appalling circumstances under which we had come there in 1999. I had a small episode of depression after another internet connection did not work out, seeing a counsellor about it. D the American, based in Florida, also commiserated. She was my closest friend, a natural confidant, with a clever and complex mind. I felt a sea change in April. I declared feelings for her, which she returned provisionally and with many reservations. She was crying out for help, and I returned it. I had become a distance learning student at HTC, interested in the materials I had been reading for Mike, but did not enjoy these much. I started drama at the local theatre and arts centre known as Eden Court in April, finally indulging a long-term ambition for acting. Initially apprehensive, I was soon put at ease by John the tutor and director. I even found I enjoyed two hours a week there more than the many more required to study for HTC.
I promised to visit D in the autumn with money I inherited from Great Aunt Helen. Caring for her to the extent I did, even long distance, was a considerable burden, more than I realised at the time. She cited her ‘great danger’ from her complex legal situation, among other things. I finished studies at HTC with great relief, and we welcomed my cousin James and his new wife Pamela from Canada on a visit. I then decided to take the OU’s ‘Advanced Creative Writing’ course over 2011-12. I enjoyed a surprising success in drama. We performed Shakespeare’s ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ show that June. I also took a summer course involving making a silent movie, which similarly proved to be a confidence booster.
The time finally came to go to Florida in October. This was rather a circuitous route, involving a train to Aberdeen, with flights to Paris, then to Miami, then to Jacksonville, in northern Florida. Muggy hot air. She said the weather would be ‘Not the October you’re used to.’ There came a week of enjoyable culture, tourism and friendship building, if not the level of intimacy we had had by email. St Augustine. Cape Kennedy. Alligator Farm. I still thought I had passed any test required, and that she was my girlfriend. I had a shock a week later when she informed me she was not in love with me. I struggled to accommodate her new terms, to stay friends, but could not, as per her own original advice about others. I was very upset at having to break with her in early November, and returned to my counsellor.
My new nephew Ruairidh eventually arrived that same month. I had temporary Christmas work sorting in Royal Mail. My next relapse into depression came in early 2012. I began a prolonged period of counselling. Jo my OU creative writing tutor suggested I self-publish a book of short stories, including those already published elsewhere, with Lulu. I continued to study, taking on Dundee’s undergraduate course in ‘Medieval and Early Modern Scotland 1100-1707’, in collaboration with the OU. It scratched an itch I had had for that period ever since Aberdeen’s Summer School in 1993.
In February 2012 I went to the Isle of Lewis, where Ross my brother in law was minister, for Ruairidh’s’s baptism. As it turned out, they left a month or so after. Looking for D on the internet in November 2012 at one point, I received a very great shock from some material she chose to write and place in that very public domain. It was the worst surprise I had had since the eviction of 1999. I physically went into shock, and did not eat or sleep for about 24 hours. The following day, my sister Irene and her daughter Abbi’s visit meant a lot. They left a toy penguin, which Abbi called a ‘quenguin’, as a present on the shelf. I struggled to find reasons for things. My whole past with D was thrown into doubt, my efforts to help her mocked by these revelations. I gave up internet dating, and continued with my success in drama. I enjoyed playing a German in our Fawlty Towers show in December. I was distinctly depressed, but did not mind going out on stage in the One Touchv Theatre at Eden Court in front of 250 people. This show sold out for three nights.
I also started LAMDA, another drama class at Eden Court involving learning monologues and working towards taking exams set by the London Academy of Music and Dramatic Art, in 2012. My worsening stomach problems and depression over D meant I missed a few of these classes and nearly gave up. I was pleasantly surprised to get a Merit, at 72%, for my Grade 4 exam, taken in April 2013. I went to work at Royal Mail that Christmas again.
I continued working on my writing. I completed a novel intended for children aged 9-12, but it got nowhere with publishers. I also continued studying. I completed my fourth degree with the OU, and began a Masters degree in Scottish History by distance learning with Dundee University with high hopes in September 2013. Our Canadian relatives visited again in summer 2013. My endoscopy and colonoscopy fell at the same time, that August. I was diagnosed with gastritis, and a hiatus hernia.
I have long since felt a need to move goalposts in finding paid work. Many employers are still on a learning curve regarding disabilities and equality issues. This was sharply exhibited by a short-lived job in Dingwall, where I had hoped for a suitable administrative job, involving repetition and routines, yet I was not kept past the first week in training. I graduated from the OU in Edinburgh for my fourth degree, with my achievements feted in an article published in the local newspaper, the ‘Inverness Courier’, in July.
I enjoyed a week’s holiday in the Orkney Isles with my parents in September 2014, ahead of my 40th birthday. There were so many old buildings and dead things to explore. I collected souvenir booklets with the aim of writing stories about the past.
2015 brought progress and regress in my studies, where I continued my initial success with Dundee’s Masters degree in Scottish History, but receiving a lower grade on my second taught course with them meant they would not permit me to take a thesis. I began to consider other Masters options, including starting all over again with another institution, such as Aberdeen.
I reached a real milestone with the self-publication of ‘Last Breath in Sutherland’ in March, as Jo my tutor had suggested. I felt emotional and proud, it was the book of short stories I had always wanted, distributed on Amazon and elsewhere. This was followed by two poetry books from my archives. I felt my studies, continuing commitments to two drama classes and writing were three points on the trident against the ‘dark’ of unemployment and potential depression. I made a trip to Edinburgh to do a public reading in a bookshop of a short story about St Kilda, published in a magazine called ‘Northern Renewal’. I found a new motivation and outlet for my writing, including writing this book.
I have been honoured recently in combining two of my great joys, drama and writing, in being asked by my tutor to write some plays for the LAMDA summer show in June 2016. These are on the history of Orkney, in different time periods. This project has given me a lot of hope and encouragement, and I may find my way to being a professional writer.
I will always say there are upsides to autism: to a large extent, it polishes my writing, sharpens it, keeps it honest. As an adult, it is possible to use it to advantage. I have overcome a great deal in my life, and will always face the prospect of depression when I do not fit in with others’ schemes. I am a square peg that some have tried to force into their round holes. More than in any other arena, I find myself in my writing.
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