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ā€˜My days are never the sameā€™

Gravedigger turned war poet Peter Street on his extraordinary life.

Peter Street started his working life as a gravedigger before becoming a gardener, running a restaurant and teaching in prisons.

The author grew up with epilepsy and a learning disability. But it was therapy for PTSD stemming from his time as a war poet in Croatia, which lead to an autism diagnosis aged 64.

Humorous stories about losing five inches in height in a forestry accident, reading fairy tales to young offenders and his two week stay at a brothel keep Robyn and Jamie entertained during this wide-ranging chat.

With Robyn Steward, her support bat Henry, Jamie Knight and Lion.

Produced by Emma Tracey.

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Email stim@bbc.co.uk

Release date:

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29 minutes

Transcript

This is a full transcript ofĢżthe 1800 Seconds on Autism podcast ā€˜My days are never the sameā€™ as released on 30 April 2020 and presented by Robyn Steward and Jamie Knight.

Ģż

[Jingle: 1800 Seconds on Autism. With Robyn Steward and Jamie Knight.]

Ģż

PETER - It was quarter to nine on 22nd March 1967, and I just went up to her and kissed her, not saying anything else, and that was it. Fifty years later weā€™re still together.

Ģż

ROBYN - Where did you kiss her?

Ģż

PETER - On the lips.

Ģż

JAMIE - I wish you were my grandad. You sound bloody awesome! If youā€™ve got a spare vacancy for a grandchild, you know, can I apply somewhere?

Ģż

[Music]

Ģż

JAMIE - Hello. This is 1800 Seconds on Autism, a podcast about autistic life with a pleasingly literal name. Iā€™m Jamie Knight.

Ģż

ROBYN - And Iā€™m Robyn Steward. In this episode we meet the extraordinary Peter Street. Now aged 71 heā€™s been a gravedigger, a war poet in Zagreb and a cook and restaurant owner. All of these were intense interests of his which he turned into successful careers.

Ģż

JAMIE - This guy has had an incredible life and is full of some awesome stories. His personality and varied experiences shone through from the moment we pressed record. So much so that on occasion even our producer, Emma, struggled to know if he was being serious or pulling our leg.

Ģż

ROBYN - Which doesnā€™t mean that your leg is literally being pulled, because that would be impossible, because he wasnā€™t in the same room as us. Pulling your leg means having a joke. Enjoy!

Ģż

[Music]

Ģż

ROBYN - Welcome in, Peter. Although youā€™re not actually in because youā€™re in Manchester, but welcome.

Ģż

PETER - Itā€™s wonderful to be with you.

Ģż

ROBYN - Letā€™s go through our usual opening checklist. How are we all doing for spoons today? Peter, do you know about spoon theory?

Ģż

PETER - No. Spoons?

Ģż

ROBYN - S-P-O-O-N-S. Jamieā€™s going to explain it.

Ģż

JAMIE - Yes, because itā€™s also good for the audience. Hello, audience people. The basic idea is that spoons are like a unit of measurement for energy. If I have a really good nightā€™s sleep I might wake up with say eight to ten spoons, and then everything I do during the day takes spoons from me, and a few things that I do gives me more spoons back. So for example the taxi ride this morning and getting dressed and trying to find my watch and my shoes and stuff, that all takes spoons, but actually sitting here, giving Lion a hug, having a chat to my friends, that doesnā€™t take many spoons at all. So when I get to the end of the day if I run out of spoons thatā€™s when I really start to struggle, thatā€™s when my communication gets really tricky and I start getting really muddled and spaced out. So thatā€™s spoons.

Ģż

PETER - That sounds really complicated.

Ģż

JAMIE - Iā€™m an engineer, so I like it because it puts numbers onto things and it makes things repeatable.

Ģż

PETER - I am to numbers as Hitler was to the peace movement.

Ģż

JAMIE - I donā€™t understand.

Ģż

ROBYN - Peter finds numbers like a chocolate teapot. Chocolate teapots arenā€™t very useful to him and nor are numbers.

Ģż

PETER - Yeah, numbers are a bit like paper wellingtons.

Ģż

JAMIE - Chocolate fireguards. There we go, Iā€™m following the trend. You see, Iā€™m awake, I know what you mean.

Ģż

PETER - Excellent. Tip top.

Ģż

ROBYN - So how many spoons have you got, Jamie?

Ģż

JAMIE - Right now?

Ģż

ROBYN - Yeah.

Ģż

JAMIE - Iā€™m going to say five or six. Itā€™s pretty good.

Ģż

PETER - I have soup ladles.

Ģż

JAMIE - Oh, small, medium and large?

Ģż

PETER - Large.

Ģż

ROBYN - How many have you got?

Ģż

PETER - Oh, at least half a dozen.

Ģż

ROBYN - Well, thatā€™s a good start for a podcast. [laughs]

Ģż

PETER - That was more of a joke really, because I donā€™t understand the spoon things. Iā€™ve not a clue what youā€™re talking about.

Ģż

JAMIE - So, you know on an iPad or a phone itā€™s got like a little battery meter?

Ģż

PETER - Right.

Ģż

JAMIE - The same idea, Iā€™ve got a battery meter, and because I have quite a routine life I can quite well gauge how much energy Iā€™m going to have. So the same way that if youā€™ve got a mobile phone you might turn off wi-fi or bluetooth to make the battery last till the end of the dayā€¦

Ģż

PETER - My days are never the same.

Ģż

JAMIE - That sounds chaotic and crazy and scary, but also I knowā€¦

Ģż

PETER - I am chaotic and I love change.

Ģż

JAMIE - Like Alan Gardner. Heā€™s the same. He likes loud noises and change.

Ģż

PETER - Iā€™m not good with loud noises but I like change and I like chaos.

Ģż

JAMIE - How are you for spoons, Robyn?

Ģż

ROBYN - Ermā€¦ I donā€™t know. What are your stims at the moment, Jamie?

Ģż

JAMIE - Right now Iā€™m bouncing my foot because when I bounce my foot the little pop shield in front of the microwave bounces up and down which is incredibly satisfying.

Ģż

ROBYN - Oh, I canā€™t see a microwave in front of you.

Ģż

JAMIE - A microwave? Did I call it a microwave? I meant a microphone. Oh, god.

Ģż

EMMA - So Robyn, you said you donā€™t know how you are for spoons. That doesnā€™t sound great to me. Are you low on energy today?

Ģż

ROBYN - Iā€™m a bit sleepy, but I think itā€™s because I have heavy periods and I take a painkiller that makes you sleepy.

Ģż

EMMA - So youā€™re actually tired and in pain?

Ģż

ROBYN - Yeah. Going to sleep doesnā€™t necessarily help because Iā€™ll still be in pain when I wake up.

Ģż

JAMIE - Would a Lion hug help?

Ģż

ROBYN - Oh, thatā€™s very kind. Iā€™ve got Henry.

Ģż

PETER - Whoā€™s Henry?

Ģż

ROBYN - Heā€™s my support bat.

Ģż

JAMIE - Small plushy bat. Heā€™s lovely.

Ģż

PETER - Gosh.

Ģż

ROBYN - Peter, do you have anything that you carry around with you as a support?

Ģż

PETER - Yes, my rucksack. I have it everywhere I go.

Ģż

ROBYN - Does it have a name?

Ģż

PETER - Yeah, itā€™s Bert.

Ģż

JAMIE - Does it have a personality? Because when we were stood waiting for the lift and the door was sneaking and Ollie the support person went, ā€œJamie, donā€™t give the door a personality,ā€ because all of the inanimate objects around me get personalities. So does Bert have like a backstory and does he have like preferences?

Ģż

PETER - I like the backstory. How you said back, as in on my back. But no, it likes to leap onto me every so often, [laughter] and we catch the bus together. Gosh, me and Bert do go on some adventures.

Ģż

JAMIE - Love it.

Ģż

ROBYN - Someone asked me recently would I marry Henry if I could. And I said, ā€œNo, heā€™s a support bat. Thatā€™s a job.ā€

Ģż

[Jingle: email stim@bbc.co.uk]

Ģż

ROBYN - But some people marry bridges.

Ģż

PETER - Hmm-hmm.

Ģż

JAMIE - I donā€™t know how to respond to that.

Ģż

ROBYN - Shall we go back to the script?

Ģż

PETER - Itā€™s probably to cover something up.

Ģż

ROBYN - Do you have any stims, Peter?

Ģż

PETER - My stims are watching programmes or listening to music over and over and over again. One of my ones for years and years has been ā€˜The Magnificent Sevenā€™, and IĢż first saw it in 1963 and I must have seen it hundreds and hundreds of times. And I watch it and then spin it back and then watch it again.

Ģż

ROBYN - How does it help you?

Ģż

PETER - One, with me being a writer it takes me away from writing for a while and sort of relaxes me. And sometimes I get quite agitated, sometimes for no reason at all, and so I put the film on.

Ģż

JAMIE - I do something kind of similar, and the way that Iā€™d phrase it is that if the environment isnā€™t very structured I can make the environment more structured and predictable by putting on something that I know and like, like music or a certain episode of ā€˜Thomas the Tank Engineā€™ or whatever. Iā€™m not even necessarily watching it and enjoying it but it makes my home feel more familiar and that can help me feel more settled. I also get this sensation of the words from the show flow through my head without being processed in a way thatā€™s actually quite nice.

Ģż

PETER - Well also for me itā€™s that I like listening and watching and picking things out whether theyā€™veā€¦ I know they wonā€™t change, but I like to see whatā€™s in the background of films and sort of see if anythingā€™s moved. And sometimes when you see people talking in a film and thereā€™s a clock in the background I like to keep an eye on that after theyā€™ve done one cut and I like to see if theyā€™ve missed something out by moving their fingers.

Ģż

JAMIE - Continuity. One of the autistic people I know who works in the film industry is a continuity specialist. She does things like make sure that the creases in peopleā€™s coats are in the same place from scene to scene when theyā€™ve been shot three months apart.

Ģż

PETER - Thatā€™s right, yeah. I like that sort of thing.

Ģż

JAMIE - Maybe thereā€™s a thing here about intense interest as well, because I get a similar thing with mountain bikes. I do digital accessibility work. If thereā€™s a problem that I canā€™t solve itā€™s actually quite useful for me to go and do something on the bike. That might be take off a piece of bike thatā€™s perfectly fine and put it back on again, for no other reason than itā€™s enjoyable and it gives my brain time to focus on a thing and then a solution to the problem will pop into my head.

Ģż

PETER - Well, I canā€™t fix things. Iā€™ve no logic in that sense, and putting things together, a lot of people think that people on the spectrum like Lego and all them sort of things. Taking a wheel off a bike, and then taking the tyre off and doing all the business what youā€™ve got to do, thatā€™s horrendous for me.

Ģż

EMMA - I think Robyn, itā€™s time for you to say your regular thing. When youā€™ve metā€¦

Ģż

ROBYN - When youā€™ve met one autistic person youā€™ve met one autistic person. Peter, do you have intense interests that you havenā€™t mentioned already?

Ģż

PETER - Yeah, Iā€™ve had massive interests with trees and plants and cooking, I love cooking. The same with photography, some of my photographs, theyā€™ve had exhibitions, especially when I was doing photojournalism for the disability movement in the late 1980s. I like intensity at some stage, and then they just seem to fade away. But the trees, theyā€™ve been with me for a long, long time, they donā€™t fade away completely.

Ģż

JAMIE - Youā€™re in your 70s and only discovered youā€™re autistic three years ago. How did that happen? Weā€™d love to hear the story.

Ģż

PETER - I was 64. Iā€™m almost 71, and weā€™d had some trauma within the family, but also I was suffering from PTSD when Iā€™d been in the war in Croatia in 1993. Iā€™d been a war poet, and the blood and all that sort of business didnā€™t bother me. Well, I didnā€™t really see anything like that. What did bother me was the emotions of people in a state that they were almost dying. That traumatised me. But also when I was in a village called Lipik in Croatia and weā€™d been, believe it or not, the whole convoy, the UN had been funded to make us steak and chips in this community centre, like a town hall. And we were being served by teachers and lawyers and things like that, and we had sandwiches, we had army rations in the wagons, and there were two or three little boys outside who were looking through the window, and you could see they were suffering from malnutrition. And I didnā€™t have the guts to get up and go and give them my meal. And so it was that really that started the PTSD, and then I went to my doctorā€™s, and Iā€™d had this over the years, but he said, finally, ā€œYou need to go and get some real therapy.ā€ So I went and I was there for maybe six or seven sessions, and she said, ā€œI want you to see a colleague of mine.ā€ So I had a few more sessions with her and she said, ā€œI think youā€™re on the autistic spectrum.ā€ And she was a specialist consultant who diagnosed older people. And thatā€™s how it came to be, but one of the things that came out of it was all the jobs that Iā€™ve done over the years, ranging from being a grave digger to being a writer in prisons, a poet in residence with Greater Manchester Radio to owning a restaurant ā€“ have I said that? ā€“ and it came out that one of my traits is I donā€™t have a fear of failing.

Ģż

JAMIE - Since the diagnosis howā€™s that affected your sense of identity or how you feel about your place in the world?

Ģż

PETER - I cried happy tears on the way home. But itā€™s made me who I am. Iā€™ve had an incredible, exciting life. Yes, sometimes itā€™s been brutal, sometimes itā€™s been turbulent, but overall Iā€™ve had an incredible life and thatā€™s all thanks to my autism.

Ģż

JAMIE - One of the notes I have here from the producer is that you say that your stint as a gravedigger early in yourĢż life was one of the best jobs you ever had. Could you tell us a little bit about why?

Ģż

PETER - [laughs] These were guys who you wouldnā€™t want to meet in a dark alley. They were all on the outside of society, and so they didnā€™t bother about whether I knew maths or English or anything; as long as I could dig a grave that was okay. And they saved my life a couple of times. There was one episode where I was digging a nine foot grave and it was in sand. When they mentioned sand I thought of kiss me quick hats and donkeys and things like that, but this grave was sand and it was all seeping down and covering my legs up and I had to be pulled out. But there was a kind of freedom in it, they supported me in every way. Nobody knew I was on the spectrum. Yes, they knew I had epilepsy but that was about it. It was one of the most humorous jobs you could ever do.

Ģż

JAMIE - I have a vaguely similar experience. So I was homeless for a short while, living in a homeless shelter, and again, nobody around me knew I was autistic. They could very much pick up that I was different, but they didnā€™t mind, I didnā€™t mind, people had things they had to do this form or that, or this needed dropping off there, or, ā€œOh, Jamie, could you pop upstairs and grab me a kettle?ā€ I was helpful, they liked me, I liked them, they made me feel safe, we got productive things done together because we were all in the same kind of situation and there was no pointā€¦ By collaborating we could get stuff done and make life happy for ourselves, even if the situation we were in itself wasnā€™t exactly the thing that people would want to be in.

Ģż

PETER - Yeah. I ran away from home when I was 18 and the guys, the gravediggers, they all played tricks on each other. And they knew Iā€™d run away from home and I was sleeping in the gravediggerā€™s cabin because it was nice and warm and things like that, so they gave me an address to go and stay that they said Iā€™d be looked after. Oh, I was looked after all right. I was told to go into this little room, to stay there, not to go down the corridor. If I went down the corridor I would be thrown out the building. It was a brothel. I stayed there for four weeks. Finally my mum found out where I was because she went to the same church as the brothel owner, believe it or not, they all knew each other. I had to leave because I dislocated my shoulder, and I came out of gravedigging and landed in society again, which I hated.

Ģż

JAMIE - Hmm-hmm. A little bit like I did the transition from being homeless back to being housed and theyā€™re two completely different universes. One is on the edge of society, one is part of society. Itā€™s a weird feeling.

Ģż

ROBYN - When you found out that you were autistic did youā€¦? Like some people, they look back on their life and it all makes perfect sense, but sometimes people feel sad that they feel like, well if Iā€™d known I was autistic maybe my life would be different.

Ģż

PETER - No. In the 1950s the teachers could do whatever they wanted. I was beaten around the head with the board duster because I couldnā€™t do my maths and the rest of it. And I was also made to stand in the waste basket. But, saying all that, in a way itā€™s made me the person who I am. Yes, when I found out I was autistic everything made sense, but most of all I then realised all that time none of it was my fault. Because I couldnā€™t do any maths or anything or learn to read and write properly, and they used to beat me because of this, because they thought I was just wagging it, so none of it was my fault, and that for me was the biggest thing.

Ģż

JAMIE - Yeah, that sense of relief. So we do this thing at home where we are interested in finding the root cause of a problem so we can engineer around it, but thereā€™s no point apportioning blame. If I canā€™t do something I canā€™t do it, thereā€™s no point getting upset or someone going, ā€œWell Jamie, try harder, try harder,ā€ that wonā€™t work. And when I started to understand the autism stuff more and I could say, ā€œHang on a minute, itā€™s not that Iā€™m a defective lazy person, itā€™s that my body is set up this way, not that way.ā€ I can exploit my strengths while working round my weaknesses and I can still get on and do stuff. Itā€™s not my fault, itā€™s not that I am making a decision to be a bad person. Iā€™m a good person, this is how my body works, so I need to get on and make the most of it rather than keep trying to be someone Iā€™m not.

Ģż

PETER - One of the things that came through after my diagnosis, a lot of my friends said, ā€œWell, we all kind of already knew that,ā€ but also it made a difference to our marriage as well. Because Sandra, thatā€™s my wifeā€™s name, she likes things stacked up in the cupboard and all nice and neat and she likes maybe stacking things up maybe four and five, but I canā€™t cope with that, I like everything landscape. So we came to a compromise once Iā€™d been diagnosed that we just stuck to two cans high. So thatā€™s a very simplistic bonus, if you want to call it that, from being diagnosed.

Ģż

ROBYN - I was going to ask about whether you were married or not and I was trying to work out whether that was an appropriate question or not, so Iā€™m really glad you mentioned it becauseā€¦

Ģż

PETER - Oh yes, itā€™s my 50th wedding anniversary in two months.

Ģż

ROBYN - Oh. How did you meet Sandra?

Ģż

PETER - Oh, gosh. We met at a dance hall, and dating for me had been an absolute nightmare, I didnā€™t know what to say or do or anything. So I donā€™t know how it clicked but it was quarter to nine on 22nd March 1967. Weā€™d talked to each other, sheā€™s very introvert, and I just went up to her and kissed her, not saying anything else, and that was it, 50 years later weā€™re still together.

Ģż

ROBYN - Where did you kiss her?

Ģż

PETER - [laughs] On the lips.

Ģż

ROBYN - Thatā€™s really nice.

Ģż

[Jingle: Send any questions or thoughts to stim@bbc.co.uk]

Ģż

ROBYN - I realise that a war poet is someone that goes to a war zone and writes poetry about it, but like is that something that the United Nations pay for? Is that something...? How does that work?

Ģż

PETER - I was poet in residence for Ā鶹Ō¼ÅÄ GMR.

Ģż

JAMIE - What does GMR stand for?

Ģż

PETER - Sorry, Greater Manchester Radio. And the war had started, and I was noticing like everyone else, all the newscasts and radio programmes, they were all about what I call the bang, bang of war, and nothing was being mentioned about the women and children. So some police officers were coming in, they were building a convoy, and I said, ā€œCan I come?ā€ Sandra absolutely freaked, she shouted, ā€œDisabled peopleĢż come back from a war, they donā€™t go to a war.ā€ And so she noticed things already, she said, ā€œYou canā€™t cope with the sound of the Hoover and blending food, how are you going to cope with the sounds of war?ā€ But I was away from all that, I started writing about the women and children there, the problems that they were having, and that really no one was caring about them. So I had to sort of hitch a lift with the convoys and then once there I would walk around, sometimes on my own, and write about what I saw.

Ģż

ROBYN - Did you ever worry that somebody might try and shoot you or something?

Ģż

PETER - It never entered my head, things like that donā€™t, but itā€™s a double headed sword, because I can get into trouble without knowing Iā€™m getting into trouble. I felt quite privileged that I was seeing it, I was given the chance to write about it, but also because I could go along on my own and sometimes lead the convoys and I wasnā€™t afraid. I was traumatised by what I was seeing but I wasnā€™t afraid, if that makes sense. And Iā€™ve always been able to keep separate from things, even when I worked in the prisons. I was writer in residence in a prison working with both category A and category B guys.

Ģż

JAMIE - What does that mean?

Ģż

PETER - Category A is the very serious, like murders, and category B is more sort of drug takers, car stealers, burglars, that sort of thing. And they were only 16 to 21s, and one of the things that I was noticing, and why I was safe, is a lot of these guys had never been told childrenā€™s stories before. So I used to tell them stories about ā€˜Jack and the Beanstalkā€™ or whatever, and I was treated like god. Also, Iā€™d told them that Iā€™d left school barely able to read and write, and I really only learned to read and write, well not properly, [laughs] I still canā€™t do it properly now, but I only really learned, or began learning, when I was 32. That gave them a kind of hope, but also because I was disabled in a way itā€™s quite similar to being in a prison because youā€™re out of society. They thought I just had learning difficulties, not being diagnosed then. They knew about my epilepsy, and so we were almost on a level in a way.

JAMIE - Iā€™ve got that thing now, weā€™ve got so many questions I donā€™t even know which ones to shortlist.

Ģż

EMMA - Weā€™re going to run out of time.

Ģż

PETER - We could do it all again another time.

Ģż

EMMA - Oh, I think we could get three programmes out of you.

Ģż

JAMIE - Oh yeah, definitely. We could do the Peter Street special subseries at this rate.

Ģż

ROBYN - Do you have any children?

Ģż

PETER - We have two daughters and six grandchildren.

Ģż

ROBYN - Oh. How old are your daughters?

Ģż

PETER - My eldest is 45 and the other one is 43.

Ģż

ROBYN - Do you get to see them and your grandchildren?

Ģż

PETER - Yes, we do. My youngest daughter, Suzanne, sheā€™s very poorly with epilepsy, so weā€™ve brought the two boys up, Thomas and Ryan.

Ģż

JAMIE - Are they autistic?

Ģż

PETER - No.

Ģż

JAMIE - How did you find the experience of being autistic raising neurotypical kids?

Ģż

PETER - Crazy. They watched me and sort of theyā€™ve got used to me now. And one is very logical, heā€™s doing a PhD at the moment.

Ģż

JAMIE - Oh, what in?

Ģż

PETER - Chemistry.

Ģż

JAMIE - Nice.

Ģż

PETER - And so the other one, heā€™s done his degree in sports coaching, so when I talk about poetry or writing itā€™s completely alien to them. One of the things that I canā€™t cope with is the sound of the boys playing certain music, especially high pitched music, it drives me absolutely crackers, and I have to cover my ears up or go out into another room, but theyā€™ve come to terms with it and so if they want to listen to loud music they just put the headphones on and leave me to be free.

Ģż

JAMIE - Did you find it difficult to find that balance of your needs and their needs? Because if need something, like for example, a quieter environment but somebody is enjoying something Iā€™ve always found it very guilty and difficult to ask them to change what theyā€™re doing, I tend to remove myself instead.

Ģż

PETER - Yeah, I do. We have a large garden with a large shed in and itā€™s my man cave. So I can escape when things are on and theyā€™ll leave me there and let me be on my own, and I like that.

Ģż

JAMIE - Iā€™ve got so many questions, I canā€™t pick which one to answer. Weā€™ve only got nine minutes.

Ģż

EMMA - I know, and well do you know what, weā€™ve got nine minutes, but that includes a poem and weā€™ve also not asked him how he became a poet which is an interesting story.

Ģż

ROBYN - How did you become a poet?

Ģż

PETER - Oh, gosh. I had a forestry accident and broke my neck in Manchester.

Ģż

ROBYN - Wow.

Ģż

PETER - And my vertebrae completely collapsed and I lost five inches in height.

Ģż

JAMIE - Blimey! What was the forestry accident?

Ģż

PETER - I was climbing into a wagon and it was a big joke within the hospital that I fell off the back of a wagon. Which I did.

Ģż

JAMIE - Because thatā€™s a metaphor for getting a knock off isnā€™t it? Like getting somethingā€¦

Ģż

PETER - It is indeed. The guy in the next bed to me, I was in nine months and he was an English Lit teacher, and he tried to teach me how to write in prose. So he said, ā€œTry poetry,ā€ and I didnā€™t really know what it was because I canā€™t write poetry in rhyme. Thatā€™s what I thought it was all about until he explained. The humour is one thing whatā€™s kept me going on all the time. When theyā€™d come round and they had to bathe and wash me and all the rest of it, on April Foolā€™s Day I thought I have to get them back. So I got into my wheelchair and the urine bottle from underneath the bed, I went to wash it out and got back in bed and put some orange juice in it. [laughter] When the nurse was coming round, ā€œCan we do your obs, Peter?ā€Ģż

Ģż

JAMIE - I know where this is going.

Ģż

PETER - So I flipped the blankets back, got the urine bottle and started drinking it. And they hit the emergency bell and all the doctors and everybody else came rushing up and I shouted, ā€œApril Fool!ā€ These people werenā€™t impressed, but it got a laugh.

Ģż

JAMIE - I donā€™t know if this is appropriate to say, I wish you were my grandad, you sound bloody awesome! If youā€™ve got a spare vacancy for a grandchild, you know, can I apply somewhere?

Ģż

[Jingle: 1800 Seconds on Autism. With Robin Steward and Jamie Knight]

Ģż

ROBYN - I want to ask what happened to the poems that you wrote when you were in Croatia?

Ģż

PETER - ITV made a 12 minute documentary about me being a war poet. That was the first thing that happened in 1994 on a Remembrance Sunday special. But theyā€™ve also been published in the book that Iā€™ve got in front of me, called ā€˜Thumbing from Lipik to Pakrac, New and Selected Poemsā€™

Ģż

ROBYN - Can we hear the poem please, Peter?

Ģż

PETER - Yeah, this is from in Croatia, Zagreb camp, and this was an incredible experience. Zagreb Camp. ā€˜Our wagons rock, jerk, through lines of potholes a foot deep in a cinder path where children walk barefoot. Itā€™s a ride down into something I donā€™t understand, a dog shelter where at least 100 families live who beg out their hands on cough loud barking coughs. Naked kids swapping boredom for disease under a tap thatā€™s splashing cold silver into mud pies. Our interpreter, an English Lit student, his family wiped out, is talking of Shelley in a wasteland, such as Eliot never saw.ā€™ Thatā€™s it.

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JAMIE - Wow. I think we need to start wrapping up, and this has honestly been a pleasure. I hope in one day live long enough to be half as interesting as you are.

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PETER - [laughs]

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JAMIE - Well, the producerā€™s blind but Iā€™m waving at her with a thumbs up, two thumbs up. Lion doesnā€™t have any thumbs and heā€™s giving you a thumbs up.

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PETER - And Iā€™ve got my thumbs up as well.

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JAMIE - Sweet. Robyn, can we borrow your thumbs? Robyn, thumbs up too.

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ROBYN - Yeah. How about, has Bert got his thumbs up?

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PETER - He has indeed.

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ROBYN - Oh, thatā€™s good.

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JAMIE - What a character Peter Street is. We really enjoyed hearing his stories and I still want him to be my grandad. Just imagine what it would be like getting an autism diagnosis in your 60s.

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ROBYN - Thatā€™s almost it for this episode. If you have a story to tell or an idea for 1800 Seconds do please email us on stim@bbc.co.uk. Stim is spelled S-T-I-M. Itā€™s our word, although itā€™s not actually, itā€™s the autism communityā€™s word, and itā€™s our email address. Bye.

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