We've been thinking of moving recently. The flat is on the third floor, The Boy is struggling more with the stairs, particularly at the end of the school day when he's tired, and he outgrew his bedroom about seven years ago.
So, I've been looking at houses while he's been at school. Today I messed up the timings, and arranged a viewing at 4.00pm. So, The Boy came with me. I would have brought him along earlier, but I was not sure if the homeowners were ready for his honest appraisal of how they lived their lives. However, I knew no-one was living in this one, so there was only the estate agent he could offend, and let's face it, they don't really count anyway.
The estate agent didn't get himself off to a good start by arriving three minutes late. Four minutes late by the car clock, which The Boy had decided to use to measure the time, as apparently that one was going the quickest.
"Feel free to wander", the agent said as he opened the door to the house. The Boy bounded ahead.
"Stinks!", he shouted over his shoulder as we walked in. Here we go...
The Boy made for the stairs. I'd shown him the floorplan of the house in the car, I'd shown him which room would be his bedroom, he went straight for that. I wandered into the lounge with the estate agent, thinking we'd have a few minutes before he was back. Twelve seconds later I hear him thumping down the stairs.
"Stinks and there's no bed".
The whole viewing lasted around four minutes. To be fair, The Boy was right. It stank. We got in the car and headed home. I asked him what he really thought of the house.
"I really actually quite liked it a little bit", he replied. Which meant he hated it. "We can't live there though", he said.
"My bedroom only had one plug".
This blog is about bringing up The Boy. He's 12 years old and autistic. It's written by The Dad. It's my words, my view. Other people will think differently and have different opinions. Good.