Smelling the Taste of Sound

This screenplay is based upon my book, ‘Smelling the Taste of Sound’, which covers the period when I trained to become a solicitor in a tough, gritty, inner-city Legal Aid law firm. ‘If I had to say that there was a noise or sound which was totemic of my time in the office, it’d be police sirens, police helicopters and mini-motorbikes.’ And if there was one smell of the locality, it’d be cannabis.

Aged 33, I’d just been diagnosed with autism, ADHD and other types of neurodivergence. While there, I encountered some bizarre characters, and as I was still coming to terms with my Smörgåsbord of diagnoses, I soon discovered how ‘invisible disabilities’ are not immune from discrimination.

I share my professional and personal journey and blend these two distinct narratives. I was in a chaotic environment which was both comical and outrageous, and all the while, trying to fathom my ‘new’ conditions, which had been hiding in plain sight all my life. Were it not for my change of career, which meant a return to the classroom, I may still be none the wiser.

As I learned about autism and how it affected me, I navigated my way through different departments of legal expertise, utilised by some of society’s most disadvantaged people, while managing the personalities I had to work with, alongside the new legal skills I needed to grasp.

The law says ‘reasonable adjustments’ must be made by employers for those with a disability, but I illustrate how it was the other way around for the most part; I had to adjust for others in the workplace, such is the limited understanding of neurodivergence. I also had to make adjustments for my clients, a number of whom were neurodivergent themselves.

The script starts by explaining how I came to be diagnosed, and what my Smörgåsbord consisted of. A general audience may be unfamiliar with the many facets and manifestations of autism or how it often sits alongside other conditions such as ADHD, dyslexia, dyscalculia and severe anxiety. It is important to grasp how many challenges I faced and the extremes of my conditions; that is, how I excel in some areas and struggle immensely with seemingly simple everyday things.

This provides a backdrop for the further struggles I then encountered starting a new career in a workplace ecosystem that even the most able person would probably have found bewildering.

On starting at the law firm, I was immediately flabbergasted by one of the main recurring characters: Brenda, who simultaneously built and butchered the firm in equal measure.

Brenda was afflicted with chronic ill health, which only exacerbated her inability to regulate her anger and emotions. This may explain why she liked to employ family and friends, whether they were required or not.

Her mercurial nature and vice-like grip on all whose P60 she completed and P45 she had the pleasure to dispense made life very difficult for many who worked there. Nobody questioned why a former administrator was running a legal firm, which I liken to a petri dish. Brenda did have an intellectual butler; however, Jeeves was often conspicuous by his absence, especially when needed most. This was a setting which cultivated and housed combustible characters in an extraordinary office culture.

Brenda regularly haemorrhaged the sensitive and personal HR information of staff as she trundled around the office, pretended to be psychic if she’d heard a rumour which she wanted more information on, and also held a stash of Sorry You’re Leaving cards for people who didn’t know they were going anywhere.

If staff members had a dispute, Brenda would brutally adjudicate on the matter, which was tantamount to Basil Fawlty giving hotelier tips to the likes of Sir Rocco Forte or Alex Polizzi.

On arrival at the firm, I was stuck in the Anne Frank room out of the way. This was aptly named because of its diminutive size, hidden location and limited natural light. One by one, I met the characters I describe.

I had to quickly grasp what coping strategies I needed to get through my time there. Although open about my neurodivergence, it was often safer to ‘mask’ where possible, and I noticed that neurotypical staff members ‘masked’ too, (albeit about accent or background and not disability), because the legal profession can be a judgemental one when it comes to class.

Reception was privy to a plethora of antics from one staff member’s debt collector making weekly collections, to ‘The Bookman’ who never sold any books because he left them by the photocopier and photocopies were distributed, and cooking competitions took place when cookbooks were part of the delivery.

Law school taught me about tax and land searches, but not how to deal with a tweeded client who lived in a high-rise council flat, who possessed staggering delusions of grandeur and would recall his regal lineage and links to the British aristocracy, as well as his being the reincarnation of St George every time he saw me.

I dealt with clients whose cases involved Voodoo, to clients who performed ‘dirty protests’ in prison. I saw Mental Health clients with a similar diagnosis from very different backgrounds strike up a friendship on a locked ward, which would never ordinarily happen, as their paths wouldn’t have crossed. I saw how disempowered these clients were, when one said to me, ‘Why is it that everything a doctor says is evidence while everything I say is a delusion?’

I encountered Mental Health clients who had Messianic delusions and thought I worked for MI5, and yet didn’t consider themselves to have a disability. Conversely, I and many neurodiverse people do consider ourselves to have a disability, and yet we don’t live on a locked ward.

I observe how in some families, generation after generation of children have a social worker who would even appear in the children’s drawings of their family, so normal was it to have social care involvement. Then there were parents late for the Family Court hearings, attributing their lateness to childcare issues, when their children were in foster care.

I conclude the script as I acknowledge that while there is still a lot of conscious and unconscious prejudice being faced by people with invisible disabilities, I had my own prejudices challenged by working with those who had the state involved in various aspects of their lives, because I’d previously been unfamiliar with their world.

I want to raise the profile of invisible disabilities and different attitudes towards them, as well as how my own perception of disability changed as I learned about my own Smörgåsbord. I also want to address prejudices relating to invisible disabilities which people may not even appreciate they hold.

My aspiration is that not only should society afford invisible disabilities the same credence as physical and obvious disabilities, but I also seek to demonstrate how certain features of those disabilities one cannot see, can actually bring real strengths and advantages to society. For example, I share how I got stuck in a glass security box in prison unable to attract attention, but when it happened the second time with someone who could use sign language, he could communicate to his colleague outside the box, showing how being able-bodied was of no use. I also demonstrate how some of the strengths of autism are to be prized, such as attention to detail and work ethic.

This is a story for everyone and anyone, whether diagnosed, undiagnosed, curious about autism or with an interest in the human condition, because it’s likely to make you laugh and cry from page to page. You’ll see a world few are exposed to.