Do You Have to be Mad to Live in Dartmoor?

"I'm autistic", my mate's 25 year old son announced proudly the other day.

"I've just been diagnosed with ADHD!" said Rob, 60, delighted, at last, to have his lifelong difficulties explained.

We need the neurodiverse (a term I have only recently learned) to help us progress. People who stick their necks out, take risks that the rest of us wouldn't, who have wild, crazy ideas that might just work.

I was fascinated by David Beckham's sock drawer in Netflix's latest bluckbusting documentary, 'Beckham'. We can only assume that OCD was critical to his becoming arguably the greatest footballer England has ever seen.  

And whatever else you may think of him, wasn't it great that Dominic Cummings was specifically looking for people with ASD to help him improve things?

Meanwhile self-defined autistic Elon Musk is the absolute hero of every remote country dweller, with his introduction of Starlink. My very survival relies on air, water, and functioning broadband, in that order.

 My daughter reports that 92% of Exeter's physics students are defined as autistic - they all have to take a test when they arrive. She is proud that every one of her best friends is ASD and is disappointed that she only scores 60% in the test.

How totally absolutely wonderful that the stigma is disappearing, and it's becoming rather cool to be slightly nuts.

Although I've never understood quite why, when my B&Bers get lost trying to find my house and ask some local the way, they always get "Oo arr, ye be lookin' for Mad Mary's place then?"