We often think of Autism as something really blatant, full on, tragic, but sometimes it's the simple things.

I have a young friend, an artist, and I am very supportive of what she does as she's been through lots of challenges.

She was having her first art exhibition and Chris and I as valued adopted aunt and uncle people were invited.

I was gripped with the usual social phobia challenges as we got near the door... the rising squeal that nowdays usually don't pop out, that body tension where your gut is gripped and you feel the need to run, but no, that's manageable now... so anyway, we go inside. It was held in the school hall, a fabulous community atmosphere but unfortunately under fluorescent lights. Still, I handled it and walked around in what was a much more fragmented room for me than it probably was for most. Finally, I saw some mosaics I wanted to buy for our garden and though acute shyness was ever present I enquired quietly about them from one of the teachers who was helping sell the art. We negotiated a price and agreed I'd wait till after the exhibiton to collect them. Somewhere there the woman walked off and I found myself standing next to someone else. I looked at my watch and said, 'so what time do you think that might be then'. This woman looked confused. "To collect them", I said. She was still confused. 'To collect what?", she asked and I figured, gee you've got a poor memory. 'The mosaics' I said. Then I realised from her reaction she had no idea who I was or what I was on about. 'Sorry", I said, "I was diagnosed with Autism in my 20s, about 15 years back, these days I'm more ARTy than Autie but..." She interupted me surprised, 'Autistic?', 'really?'. I continued, saying, "I'm sorry but I seem to have continued a conversation with a different body to the one I started with, I've got the wrong head'. She said, 'wow, that's really interesting'. The original woman I'd spoken to suddenly returned and said, "you can take them now". I looked at the pregnant short haired woman with the straight hair in the red top who I'd been speaking to, then at the long curly haired woman in the brown top who looked nothing like her and with whom I'd had the original conversation and said, 'oh I can see the similarity, you two are the same height'.

At home today I got out my favorite cup. It was sent to me by my friend Bev when I wrote the screenplay for Nobody Nowhere and has 'Screenwriter' written on one side. I placed it on the bench with the word facing toward me and looked at the handle which was on the left side. I don't know left from right well but I do know my left hand. Hmmm, I mused, this is a left handed mug. How did Bev know I was ambidextrous/confused? Then I realised that the wording, 'Screenwriter' was intended to face outwards, for the benefit and understanding of others watching, not purely for the benefit of the owner who should already know they are a screenwriter. I realised that in fact it was not a left handed mug after all.

Then I mused, that whilst I have treated the mood, anxiety, compulsive disorders underpinning most of the severity of what was diagnosed my 'Autism', that there is plenty of Autism left and its there in many ways, often the simple, less blatant, less tragic things, like a left handed mug which reminds its owner what she does or the fact people can have the wrong bodies and heads.

Diversity... I love it.