Timothy Blossom - Officially Brilliant!

By Steve Slavin

A BOY WITH AUTISM

Timothy Blossom sees the world differently to other people.

Barbara, Timothy's mother, says this is due to his 'special wiring,' a concept he struggles to understand – as does Bert Blossom, probably the grumpiest dad in East Winslow.

Timothy is twelve years, three months and five days old. He also happens to be the brainiest kid at Highcrest Manor School, but only when it comes to science. When it comes to tying his shoelaces, well… that's another matter.

'Officially Brilliant' is about the year Timothy finds out he has the 'A-word.' It's also about his blossoming friendship with, of all people, Adrian Wilkes; the single most annoying excuse for a human on the entire planet.

How will Timothy cope with the complexities of making friends and becoming a teenager?

Find out in 'Officially Brilliant.'

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marshwood Books
• Release date: Jun 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201066246

Steve Slavin

Steve Slavin is the author of Looking For Normal, and Timothy Blossom - Officially Brilliant! Looking For Normal recounts a life spent in the shadow of his childhood emotional dysfunction, and later through a relatively successful career as a musician and filmmaker. The book culminates in his surprise autism diagnosis at forty-eight years of age. Timothy Blossom - Officially Brilliant, is about a twelve-year-old boy coming to terms with an autism diagnosis. It is the first in a series in which Timothy Blossom attempts to make sense of the world, in his own unique way. The Timothy Blossom books are heartwarming and insightful: relatable to children who think differently about life, and enlightening for their parents and educators. Contact Steve at: [e-mail]

Book preview

1 TIMOTHY JAMES ARTHUR BLOSSOM

Hello, I’m Timothy James Arthur Blossom, or Timothy, for short. I’m twelve years, three months, five days, and twenty-eight minutes old—or at least I was when I just said it. I’ve lived at 47 Eaton Drive my entire life. I share the house with my parents and best friend, Schrodinger. He’s orange and has only been with us since my last birthday. Before that, my best friend was Albert who had a long green tail and ate worms. But I don’t want to say too much about Albert because I’ve only just recovered from the trauma of watching Dad bury him in the garden next to a tiny cross.

Eaton Drive is in a place called East Winslow, forty miles from London. It’s pretty quiet here most of the time, at least it is in our street, although the Town Centre’s a lot busier than it used to be.

According to Dad, when he was my age, East Winslow was a quaint little village surrounded by farms and woodland. He said the streets were so clean you could practically eat your dinner off the pavement without a plate! Well, I can tell you now, it’s DEFINITELY NOT something I would’ve done, even back in the ‘good old days’, but I get the point. And that brings me to my next point. People think I’m way too fussy about stuff because I like things to be done in a certain way. But I can’t help it; it’s just the way I was born. And at twelve years, three months, five days, and thirty-four minutes old, I guess I’m far too stuck in my ways to change now.

There are lots of other things I’d like you to know about me as well. Let’s begin with my favourite place to be in the entire world other than Cornwall and 47 Eaton Drive. I am, of course, referring to the place where only the good dreams come true—AstroWorld, the store with a universe of galactic gifts.

I’m not entirely convinced that whoever came up with the strapline, the store with a universe of galactic gifts, actually knows the first thing about the multidimensional nature of time and space, but I don’t mind too much because AstroWorld is simply such a brilliant place. It doesn’t look like much from the outside—just a big grey warehouse in the middle of a car park. But inside, the shelves truly are stacked high with a universe of galactic gifts. The illuminated Earth globe above the main entrance, alone, is enough to pull me closer and closer with its powerful rotating magnetism. I could quite easily spend an afternoon browsing just the telescope section, or with a mug of hot chocolate covered in cosmic sprinkles in the Stargazer Cafe, admiring those magnificent hanging models of the Solar System. These, by the way, are currently on special offer at twenty per cent off. A bargain if only I could convince Dad to get his wallet out. Unlikely, I think.

We have a rule that we only visit AstroWorld on Sundays. There’s simply not enough time during the week after school, and its cosmic aisles are far too busy on Saturdays. And if there’s one thing I hate even more than tying shoelaces, Brussels sprouts, and clothes that are too tight, it’s crowded places. In fact, if it were down to me, people would be totally banned from all public spaces—especially when I’m in them. This would include trains, buses, libraries, pavements, schools, museums, beaches in Cornwall, and the Scottish Highlands—because I would like to visit them one day. In peace.

It may sound strange to people who don’t know me, but generally I like things to be left or right, up or down, right or wrong, black or white, round or square, fast or slow, hot or cold. I really can’t stand things that are in-between, like midnight and midday, and soup that’s thick enough to be stew.

Here are some more things that I don’t like:

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Revolving doors.

Crying babies.

People coming to visit.

School.

Plans changing at the last minute.

Sport.

Secrets.

Parties.

Having friends.

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I could go on, but I think you get the idea.

Mum said that the list of things I don’t like is so long, it could reach all the way to the moon. She obviously doesn’t have a clue about Einstein’s Theory of Relativity—or gravity, for that matter. If she did, she wouldn’t make such statements. In any case, she was smiling when she said it, and I read recently on 10 things to know about people.com, that if a person says something that isn’t true, while smiling, they are almost certainly telling a joke, and jokes are things that baffle me the most. I mean, words are nothing but sound waves interrupting the air in which they vibrate. What could possibly be funny about that?

Dad tells jokes sometimes, to make me feel less stressed out on train journeys. They usually begin with the words, ‘Knock, knock’. And after he’s recovered from the embarrassing laughing fit that begins before he’s even delivered the punchline, he’ll say, ‘Why aren’t you laughing? Didn’t you get it?’

To which I’ll reply, ‘Get what, exactly?’

Then he’ll say, ‘THE JOKE, TIMOTHY… THE JOKE!’

To which I’ll respond, ‘Yes, I did, actually, but no one knocks on doors anymore. They use doorbells and social media.’

Then Dad will say, ‘Come on, Son, lighten up. Have you had a humour bypass or something?’

I’ll inform him that it’s not medically possible to have a humour bypass. Then Dad will stop smiling and say, ‘Blimey… I wish I’d never asked! Never mind, read your book. We’ll be there soon!’

Another thing I’d like you to know about me is that I have rules. Lots of rules. Obviously, I can’t mention all of them, because that would take too long. But here are a few examples:

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Lunch: first I eat the greens, then the potatoes, and then the carrots. Each item of food must be separated by at least two centimetres to avoid cross-contamination.

My bedroom: no one, other than Mum, Dad, and Schrodinger are allowed in there. It’s where I keep all of my special stuff, and I wouldn’t want any of it to go missing.

Socks: must be worn inside out so the ridges don’t dig into my toes.

Personal contact: I do not shake hands or give hugs. I do not share seats with strangers on the train or talk to people on the phone.

Conversation: I must always begin my sentence again from the beginning if I’m interrupted.

Time: I will not get up in the morning until the numbers on my retro-style LED clock add up to an even number. 07:01:34, for example, is okay, because it makes forty-two. Then I must jump out of bed with my eyes closed to avoid seeing the numbers tick over to the next digit.

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Like I said before, some people might think I’m strange. But it’s just the way I am—the way I’ve always been.

I must admit, though, rules really stress me out. But I get even more stressed out if I try to ignore them. They follow me everywhere and force me to do things I don’t want to do. But worse still, I never know when a new rule is going to appear. They creep up on me during the night when I’m fast asleep; and for some reason, the next day I will no longer be able to walk on a paving stone if it has a crack in it. Or I’ll need to touch the doorknob eight times before I can put my key in the lock.

I wish I could get rid of my rules and be like a normal person who doesn’t care about things so much. Sometimes I even wish I could be a bit more like Adrian Wilkes. He sits next to me in class and doesn’t seem to care about anything. Not unless you include aspiring to be the most annoying person on the entire planet. In my opinion, he hit that target the first day I met him. But that's enough about Adrian Wilkes for now.

The biggest problem with having so many rules is remembering which ones will get me into trouble if I don’t follow them. For example, I wouldn’t be in trouble if I ignored the rule that forces me to leave a space between each colouring pencil on my homework desk. But I would be in SERIOUS trouble if I ignored Mum’s rule about not leaving the freezer door open after putting the ice cream back. I wouldn’t get into trouble if I forgot to count the cartoon planets on my bedroom wallpaper four times over, before going to sleep at night. But I ABSOLUTELY-DEFINITELY would be in trouble if I didn’t stick to Mr Willowby’s rule about completing my homework on time. He’s my science teacher, by the way. I’ll tell you more about him later.

But, anyway, that’s enough about rules for now. Even talking about them is stressing me out.

And now for the thing I’ve been saving till last to tell you, the thing I’m most proud of, the special thing that everyone needs to know about me. It’s that I am, without the slightest shadow of a doubt, the brainiest kid in Highcrest Manor School. And quite possibly all of East Winslow. At least when it comes to science in general and astronomy in particular. It’s not an exaggeration to say that I know more about space than anyone I’ve ever met. Even more than Mr Willowby, who’s supposed to be the ultimate expert on these things—not including Einstein, of course.

Dad says that one day I’ll probably work for NASA and be the first boy from East Winslow in orbit. ‘I can just see the headlines now…’ he always jokes… ‘Timothy Blossom of 47 Eaton Drive pilots the international space station to the edge of the known universe!’

‘But that’s impossible. The universe is too vast. I’d be dead by the time I got there!’ I remind him every time he cracks the same stupid dad joke. The