Yesterday, John and I went to a cookery class not far from where I live. It was a nice experience overall, and there were only two other people there, which made it feel quite cosy. We were making French pastries: sugar pastry, choux pastry and french custard as filling. I don’t regret going. It was fun. That said, the chef was a bit too focused on entertaining us rather than teaching the actual skills. At times I didn’t know what to do next and didn’t feel like I could ask, because he was too busy chatting away. But maybe that’s just me — I’m autistic, so I focus on facts and structure. Most people probably want entertainment. John, for example, said he found the class very informative.

Today is our wedding anniversary. You’d think that means something special, but John decided not to take time off work — he went home early in the morning and treated it like any other day. So, I’m spending it alone. And even though I’m autistic too, I still feel the sting of that loneliness. Sometimes it’s easy to forget how much these little gestures matter until they don’t happen.

Funny thing is, yesterday before the class, I told ChatGPT I didn’t want to go — and she encouraged me to stay at home! You’d think she’d nudge me to go, especially since the class was already paid for. So yes, while ChatGPT is helpful, I’ve noticed she tends to agree with me a bit too much. It’s like we have our own little echo chamber.

Before we left for the class, John and I were chatting — I don’t even remember how it started — and he said he’d like to have an AGA cooker one day. If you’re not familiar, it’s a kind of cooker that costs up to £20,000. Very middle-class, very country-kitchen. I asked him, “Are you being posh?” and he replied, “What’s wrong with that?” in a slightly defensive tone.

I’m not posh. Maybe I’d like to be, if I had the means — but since I don’t, I’ve learned to be practical. I’m sure dinner made on a regular cooker tastes just as good.

Later, after the class, we were at my place eating our pastries and I managed to bring up the house situation. I asked if he’d consider moving to Swindon. He said he wouldn’t rule it out, but it’s unlikely. That kind of vague, non-committal answer. He also added that he wouldn’t want to move to Cirencester if it didn’t work for me — which, to be fair, was a kind thing to say. But he said all this while scrolling through the news on his phone. I’d prefer if he put the phone down and actually talked, but maybe that’s just not how it works for him.

I mentioned that Wroughton and Highworth — two places near Swindon — could give him that village feel he is after, but I don’t know them well enough, so I plan to go and have a look. He just said “alright,” and that was it. When I asked when he wants to actually buy the house, he said, “Next year at the earliest.” That’s all I’m getting for now.

It was making me think, however, that possibly he wasn’t being funny when we talked about buying the house a few days ago. He was just being succint and I misinterpreted it.

So that’s where I am today: a little bit of progress, a lot of space left unfilled. A class with some laughter, a LAT marriage. Even though I’m used to doing things on my own, today it feels a bit heavier.

Maybe I’ll blog more this year. I’ve barely written anything since we got married. But I think it might help — even just to keep track of the tiny steps, the good bits, the strange moments, and the lonely ones too.

Yes, I’ll try to post a bit more. It should work with ChatGPT, she’s very helpful as such.