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Weird Pride Day #WeirdPrideDay 4 March 2021

Some things I do which are normal to me, but may be considered weird by others.

This blog may grow over time, as it is a stream of consciousness, so I may keep adding to it as I think of things.

When it’s foggy, I stand in the middle of a mown field, so I’m in a perfect hemisphere.

When it is misty, I walk up a big hill and take many photos of farm fields getting fainter and fainter into the distance.

In torrential rain, I go out for an off-road run, splashing gleefully through all the muddy puddles.

When I was a kid, I once spent an entire weekend jumping into the car through the door window, pretending to be in the Dukes of Hazzard.

I memorised all the lyrics to all the songs in Charlotte’s Web and acted the whole film out solo in the garage.

When Iggy was a baby, I would talk back to him in his own language, echoing all his urgle murgle noises like we were deep in conversation. I’d take him grocery shopping and talk to him about every item I put in the trolley. When he was a little older we would sing “Mahna mahna” together while grocery shopping, usually with me singing “mahna mahna” and Iggy responding “Do doo do do do” etc. We attracted some funny looks, but we didn’t care.

This blog wasn’t going to be about Iggy, it was going to be about me, but that’s what happens when you lose someone you love. You can be doing anything, thinking about anything, and your loved one butts in.

Don’t feel sorry for me. These memories are precious, not painful. The fluffy white vapour trail is not jagged, it doesn’t spoil the clear blue sky, it is a beautiful part of the picture.

Anyway, I couldn’t write about Weird Pride without mentioning the weird and wonderful Iggy. He always said “I like being weird”, but he wished the bullies wouldn’t target him for it.

As a baby, he didn’t crawl. He bum-shuffled at amazing speed, one hand helping propel him along, the other out stretched to grab things. He didn’t pull himself up on furniture like other babies, but turned his back to the furniture and gradually reversed himself upright.

He was hypermobile, and regularly grossed out our friends at karate by showing them weird things he could do with his body, like turning his elbows inside out.

Ok back to me. I enjoy singing. I love songs. I’m not a talented musician, but what I lack in talent I make up for in enthusiasm.

Some songs have to be belted out, both publicly and privately. This includes, but is not limited to: Vienna, Gold, You’ve lost that loving feeling (this I’ve belted out in ASDA. Sorry, not sorry), The sun ain’t gonna shine any more…

And my particular favourite, the wonderful dynamics of Bridge Over Troubled Water. It’s against my law not to belt out the crescendo. It feels like a message to me and my fellow weirdos everywhere.

“Your time has come to shine, all your dreams are on their way”

P.S. It delights me that by holding your thumb over Paul Simon’s eyes, you can give Art Garfunkel a handlebar moustache


Author: Charlie Hart

Late-diagnosed autistic working mum, attempting to write an amusing semi-autobiographical novel with a twist.

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