Today I went back to Bristol to spend some time with my brother, his girlfriend, and my two darling nephews.

The journey was exhausting. The rumble of the road for nearly two hours was painful. I do not have the ability to tolerate it any more. I couldn’t even drown it out with music my tolerance for sound was so low.

I spent an hour with my dad before I drove over to their place. MY dad will be eighty towards the end of this month – time is catching up with this once strong and energetic man is slowly wasting away – waiting for God, now that the love of his life and his dog have both passed on. However, this was a flying visit, as I’d not seen my brother and his family for ages.

The boys were up and playing in the lounge, my brother was in the garden laying a patio (he’s a stay-at-home dad and gets zero time to himself and has jobs to do when is girlfriend is around to take care of the little ones). She made we a cup of tea and we had a natter for a bit.

I played catch with the older nephew – he has a wonderful personality and the most beautiful smile! The younger doesn’t quite get playing with somebody else, which is odd in some respects because he’s thought of as being the more neuro-typical of the two. I think that he feels neglected sometimes because of his older brothers greater sociability around his uncle.

I gave the two lads a little beanie cuddly toy each, while I went and had a chat with their dad. The older’s laughter is infections – and he gets infected by any laughter around him. If you start laughing, he will join in simply form the joy of it.

One worry about the older, is that he often bumps himself and doesn’t seem to register the pain accurately. Sometimes he says “ow” and smiles.

My brother gave me a prolong ed hug – very intense – it felt awkward until I relaxed and leant into it. A funny thing with ASD people is that some can not speak to each other for ages, and yet reconnect as though no time has passed. Maybe that’s what it is between us, and the “typical” view that I’ve picked up from my husband isn’t helpful. I thought for years that my brother apparently blew hot and cold – ignoring that I am exactly the same.

I gave my brother a copy of “Untypical” and explained that I bought it because I thought that it would give me some insights into my nephew (the older is thought to autistic, but is too young for a formal assessment), my brother has already said that he thinks that he is autistic, and there’s our shared view of our dad. I then said that I identified very strongly with it and believed that I was autistic – and then went on at some length about the book and my insights into myself.

He knew straight away that I’d related to the book. He asked whether it was English, which it is (written in the UK by an ex-school teacher). I then talked about various parts of the book that I identified with – talk about talking about Special Interests! I know that I lit up – and so did he.

He asked what the purpose of being diagnosed would make. I said that autism is counted as a disability and that it might help him get help with looking after the buys. I also said that it might help others to relate to him (thinking of his rather volatile girlfriend). I said that a lot of non-binary people are ASD … but also a lot of addicts are also ASD. My brother said that sometimes he feels that he isn’t an alcoholic. Then he remembers: it has worked and is working – it saved his life and gave him a family: he will do nothing to jeopardise that.

We talked a bit about our mum – how she alone was able to restore our energy – and was one of those rare people from whom you went away with more spoons than you had at the start.

We both miss her enormously. I went to the churchyard, where her ashes are buried, and placed a sprig of rosemary on the stone. As my nan said “rosemary for remembrance”.