Crikey! The world’s gone mad, John Ellsmoor asleep on Christmas Eve? “Never!” I hear you cry. It’s true; I tell you its true! He was spark out by 11.00 pm and there wasn’t a peep out of him all night. I fully expected him to be up and about at 4.00 am shrieking and laughing with the excitement of the day to come. However no sounds of an excited giggling John could be heard.
At six o’clock I stood with my ear against his bedroom door hoping to hear signs of life; suddenly it burst open and John with eyes still half closed lumbered out, headphones still on with the cable wirey thing attached to them dragging along the floor behind him. He looked startled to find me stood there, mumbled “Wee! Door!” and barged me out of the way as he made his way into the bathroom.
I pointed to the cable wirey thing and motioned to John to pick it up; afraid he might step on it and break it. He needs his headphones on at all times to block out the everyday sounds of life which for you and I aren’t a problem but for John are a painful assault on his senses. He would be unable to function without his head phones. I knew Father Christmas hadn’t brought him any new ones because they weren’t on the list that John had been making since Boxing Day 2016!
However every other conceivable toy, whether it be noisy, musical, singing, giggling and vibrating, was indeed on the long and much amended list. This included as last minute entries, two Tinky Winkys and one Po. Rumour has it that Father Christmas had checked himself into the Priory for New Year due to the stress induced anxiety resulting from said list
I hopped about outside the bathroom, all excited and waiting for him to finish and rush down stairs to see if Father Christmas had been. The door eventually opened, John still half asleep yawning as he spoke. “Beeeeh. Doooor. Weeeet.” and pointed to the headphone cable thing. I guessed it must have fallen into the toilet when he let go of it to …er…to er …well you know. Then he disappeared back into his room. What was he doing? Had he forgotten it was Christmas? I followed him in to more shouts of “Door! Seep! and then he got back into bed and pulled covers over his head. I went back to bed too but it was hopeless, there was no way I would be able to sleep now, especially after a night wandering up and down the landing and lurking outside John’s door.
So I waited until 7.30 convinced he would now be wide awake and eager to start opening his many noisy presents. I knocked on his door and entered into pitch darkness. He was fast asleep, snoring loudly, with an A4 laminated photo of his favourite boyfriend stuck to the side of his face.
An aria from Madame Butterfly was playing at full volume through his earphones and not, as I would have expected, Christmas carols. How could anyone sleep through it at that volume? beautiful as it is.
John has fully immersed himself into opera over the past few months and between us we have even mastered the first few lines of ‘La donna e mobile’ from Rigoletto. It’s his current favourite so we sing it when he is in the bath, however our version tends to lapse in to rude rugby song lyrics every few bars. Goodness knows what the dog walkers on the common think is going on but our singing does seem to stop the cats from crapping in the flower beds.
I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he took his annual S Boat trip to Glyndebourne instead of Belfast this year
However this was Christmas eve, a time for carols sung by the Muppets, and all those Disney characters with loud irritating voices and quacky lisps that John loves so much. I poked, I prodded and I even blew a raspberry on his cheek but he remained fast asleep.
Last year he had been a bit quieter than previous years but was still up, happily unwrapping presents and generally in the Christmas spirit by 8am. Such a difference from when he was a few years younger and none of us slept for days.
Christmas was always something of an endurance test for me and for the turkey. Could I stay awake for four days and nights and could the Turkey cope with having its legs pulled off to be hidden in the most unexpected places? It was like a gruesome Christmas treasure hunt. Goodness knows why he did it, I think he liked the look of horror on my face one year when I opened the box containing the crackers only to find most of them had disappeared; in their place was a huge turkey leg with bite taken out of it and the parsons nose still attached. We eventually got wise and opted for beef and pork as our Christmas roasts; the anticipation of finding vital bits of the turkey hidden on the toilet seat became too traumatic.
John still called the roast joints turkey, or “Toyey” as he pronounces and it took him a while before he eventually gave up looking to see if there were any legs on these weird looking birds that mummy called “Bee and Poor”.
It looked as if Christmas 2017 was shaping up to be the quietest on record, at least for our family of three. I wandered downstairs, switching the fairy lights on and generally trying to make everywhere look magical, just as every Christmas morning should look. Bing and Nat were crooning in the kitchen, Dean had started well but had clearly found the Martini and was barely able to join in but hey, it was Christmas. The dining room table had been laid on Christmas eve by order of John who always insists on the full monty. It all looked beautiful, the silver was shining and the crystal glasses were sparkling.
John meanwhile was still upstairs snoring away while Maria Callas bellowed ‘One Fine Day’ in his ears, breaking hearts and shattering precious glassware for miles around. I sat in the kitchen wondering if it was too early to accept the company of Mr Merlot, I looked at my watch, 7.45 am, hmm maybe just a tad early. I declined his advances and put the kettle on to enjoy a nice cup of tea while I waited for the star of my Christmas to appear.
His dad phoned at 8 o’clock “So what’s the plan? I need the timings of phase one, phase two and the eta to back at base” He made it sound as if we were about to invade Poland. “John’s still asleep” I explained, then debriefed him on the mornings manoeuvres. John’s grandfather on his dad’s side had been a military man so I was used to this odd way of communicating. My Uncle had been in the Royal Navy and used to drive his old car up and down the roads as if it were a ship. He would travel by going Fore and Aft, turning Port or Starboard at crossroads and honking his horn 3 times shouting “vessel coming astern.” as he reversed. But I digress…as always.
Right, let’s get back to The Christmas Story and the reluctant star, still snoozing away with Maria Callas.
John did eventually make his way downstairs, hair standing on end like the bloke from Beetle Juice. He peered through the crack in the door, I guess he checking to see if the pile of presents was big enough to warrant him entering the lounge or whether he should just take himself back off to bed. It seems father Christmas had done well, John came in plonked himself down and finally entered into the spirit of the day.
He pointed at various boxes shouting out what he thought was in them. When he pointed at a very long thin present he looked at me and said “Big Clock” and went into fits of giggles. It was a five foot sports kite, or ‘Big Kiy’ as John calls them. He thought his joke was hilarious and proceeded to guess ridiculous items that may be in his pile. He picked up a small box, “Mu-ha-ha aipoo” squeaked the by now hysterical John, shaking the tiny box which apparently contained Manchester airport. By the time his dad arrived for the start of the invasion John was still playing the guessing game and having a fine old time. He didn’t show any disappointment when he opened a present he claimed was The S boat in Belfast and it turned out to be a tube of milky buttons. He just bonked me on the head with the tube.
Christmas was finally being played out as it should be in Chez Elmo.
The rest of the day went to plan, well sort of. I managed to avoid any invasion of Poland, John’s dad managed to successfully get John to his Grandmas…Phase one… and then to my dad’s…Phase two… and arrive back at the house…..base…..in time for the one o’clock gun. Christmas lunch would be served at 1400 hours . John’s dad was well pleased that his plan had worked. We all breathed a sigh of relief.
My dad however not feeling at all Christmassy said ” Let’s not have any fuss, we can eat our lunch in the kitchen and watch the squirrels out of the window.” He has become obsessed with the squirrels and gives me a running commentary of their comings and goings whenever he is in the house. I have to confess I love them too but dad is starting to turn into David Attenborough with his constant whispering narrations.
“Dad, for goodness sake” I wailed “It’s bloomin’ Christmas day, the table is laid, the candles are lit and I polished the flippin’ crystal. Can we just leave the squirrels for today?” I stared in disbelief as he completely ignored me and settling himself down proceeded to point out every time a squirrel came to the feeding station. “I’ve counted 10 up to now” he whispered, nodding his head to emphasise the total. “Oh for god’s sake! It’s the same Squirrel dad and it cant hear you because you are inside and it’s outside!” I shouted in exasperation as I plonked two plates and some knives and forks on the table. Then I felt guilty, what did it matter, if he was happier sharing his Christmas with the wildlife then so be it. Twas the season of good will and all that. I looked around to check Mr Merlot was still there to keep me company for the next few hours, I am sure he winked at me.
John decided it was time for lunch. He delivered his order “Sausies, toyey,beas, tayos peas mummy” then ran off down the hall shouting “Up dare peas mummy” and I heard the computer room door bang. I did as I was told and followed John up stairs to see if he would maybe come down and have Christmas lunch in the kitchen with us. John was sitting patiently waiting for it to be served upstairs, he was pointing to the desk to make absolutely sure I knew it was non negotiable. He was watching one of his favourite a videos on YouTube, it’s of a Boch washing machine going through its wash cycle with a commentary by a Dutch bloke, very obviously under the influence of some very wacky baccy. John loves his chilled out friend and clearly preferred eating his Christmas lunch with him instead of with his mum, several squirrels and David Bloody Attenborough.
And so it was that Christmas in the crazy house again produced the unexpected, the unpredictable and was as always unmissable. Johnelmo and his mum hope that yours was too.
Close Encounters of the Autistic Kind 