The careers advice

Pip has been turned down for next year's college course. It's not good news.

He was studying a first diploma course in computer software development, whatever that means, on a college day release course. His tutor, Ali proudly boasted his ignorance of Asperger's, which was surprising given his own poor communication skills.

We spent most of this spring listening to Ali changing his mind about Pip's ability in software development. Finally he told Pip that he was capable of the course and should sign himself up immediately, which Pip did. A month later, when it came to interviewing Pip for the course, Ali refused him a place, arguing that Pip was too disabled and recommending a design course instead.

Maybe Ali has discovered a talent in Pip which everyone else is ignorant of. Maybe Pip has some latent design skill waiting to be discovered but somehow I doubt it.

We are now left to search for a new course for Pip. And the courses are filling up fast so there is no time to lose. I spent this weekend with a college prospectus trying to find a suitable course.

Computer courses? He might come across Ali, and end up screaming at him.

Uniformed services? He likes the routine and order but can't cope with people telling him what to do.

Catering? He won't let his sister eat Haribo sweets because they contain gelatine, how would he cope with preparing meat?

Childcare? He wouldn't understand the needs of a small child and is too selfish.

Car maintenance? He couldn't work in a garage with other people.

Accountancy? It's mathematically based, he could work from home but he doesn't even understand the basics of finance.

Beauty? He doesn't even wash his face, hates the smell of perfume and dislikes women with make-up.

Tourism? He hates holidays and is too bloody selfish.

A levels? He's barely got any GCSEs.

I'd crossed out every course.

I picked up another copy of the prospectus and another pen and started at the beginning again, arguing that I was being too fussy.

On Monday I drove over to our local Connexions office in the nearby big town, to meet up with Susie, Pip's dedicated disability officer. The reception area was busy with posters, radio 1 blaring out from a tinny radio and the inevitable sexual health advice given prominent place. I looked around the walls, hastily searching for information which could be useful. Susie walked across the room, a young, fresh faced hippy with long, blond hair and no make up. Maybe Pip could cope with her, if he could just manage her simpering, patronising voice.

She led me into a prison cell, with high windows which filtered out the warm strong sunshine. I perched on an awkward chair pushed into the corner of the room, trying to balance a folder on my knee. 'Why've they not offered him a place on the course?' she simpered. I handed her the college letter and she argued the points one by one. 'No, you don't understand, it really isn't the right course for him, the lecturer doesn't like him and can't be bothered to help him, Pip won't ask for help and doesn't understand what they are asking of him,' I reasoned. She went back to arguing against the decision of the college. I tried another tack 'isn't there some software that can tell you what he is suited to?' 'The internet's down, I can't show you. But, there is a drop in centre in your town, he could go there and access it. Hang on,' she made a quick call, turned her beaming smile on me and announced that he could attend the centre on a Wednesday afternoon. 'Thanks, I'll make an appointment for the summer holidays,' I quipped, 'in the meantime is there something we can do sooner? I have to find a college course as soon as possible before they've all filled up.'

'What about this?' she triumphantly plucked up a flyer printed on glossy paper for a computing course in the nearby city. I looked at the paper in horror, trying so hard to look interested and enthusiastic. My eyes fell on the title 'Customer Service in Computing'. Without comment, I turned the page to discover that she was seriously suggesting that I take Pip out of his caring, organised, specialist school and throw him into a 20 week course training him up to provide support and excellent customer service. How could I explain to her that Pip couldn't provide support to anyone? How could I tell her that Pip didn't want to work with other people, let alone work for them? I put the flyer in my folder, mumbling 'very interesting, I'll contact them tomorrow morning and ask if they can modify the course so the emphasis isn't on support and service for a customer.' If she recognised the irony then it didn't register.

Bugger it, I'd have to solve this problem myself.

That evening Pip came home and I broached the subject to him. 'Oh, it's easy, I know exactly what I want to do. I'm going to study politics at A level, go on to University, then join the army for a few years. I'm not physically fit so I'll chose a non-combat role like intelligence. Then I'll work as an investigative journalist for a few years before becoming an MP. I think I'll be an MP in the North East. I can see myself settling down there.' I took a deep breath, ready to explain to him that he couldn't study A levels without five GSCEs, he had never written an essay in his life, couldn't see the other side in any argument, wouldn't be accepted by the army, had the wrong temperament for a journalist and had such poor communication skills that he would never make an MP. Apart from that, it was a cast iron plan. Hell, I couldn't upset his plans so I just left it.

Two days later I was on the way to Pip's school, to an appointment with a real Connexions officer, with a bag of notes and plans beside me.

Glenn sat there in a corner of the sixth form centre, confidant in his knowledge of the children and their disabilities. 'I've already spoken to Pip, he's a charming young man who knows exactly what he wants to do. Very communicative, considering his disability.' I handed him my sheets of half baked plans and ideas, he scanned them before the room suddenly flooded with sixth formers. 'Let's go outside and have a walk round while we discuss his plans' he suggested.

The school grounds are surrounded by trees, some remnant of an ancient forest. I confidently trotted around at his heels as he poured out his valuable advice. Damn, I couldn't make notes out there. 'What are your ultimate plans? Have you looked at life skills colleges? He's a fine lad but he could do with some intense independence skills.' I nodded in agreement, glad to show I had done my homework, worrying about finance. 'Of course you would have to get your home Connexions officer to plan out a case for Pip to attend college. That's why it would be best for him to study politics at A level, don't let him study too many A levels or he will be considered too able to attend a life skill college. One, maybe two A levels should be enough. Did you say maths as well? Is he good at maths?' 'But..but... he's useless at essay writing and he hasn't got the GCSEs for A level and the college says he has to sign up for four A levels, which he really can't do.' 'Don't worry, he's keen on politics, your education authority is paying for the course so results don't matter and you are right, he can't do four A levels, I'll get his teacher to negotiate about that and if they still say no then we can sign him up to four and cancel two of them the next day. Don't worry, leave it with his head of department.'

By that time we were halfway round the field, coming up to the group of dyspraxic teenagers practising their running skills. 'He won't make an MP of course but it's good to have a plan and he can always work in politics without becoming an MP. We can get him supported employment. I'll send a report to your Connexions officer, detailing our plans.' We were walking back to the sixth form centre by then 'just time to fill Pip's speech therapist in with the details, then I'd best be off.'

Minutes later, Pip and I were walking back to the car. I had a spring in my step and the sun was beating down on my back. I suddenly realised that all my worries about Pip's future were somehow sorted.

The next morning, as I was tidying up the table I came across my folder. As I lifted it up a sheet of glossy paper fell out. Picking it up, I shook my head, how was I going to tell Susie that this boy isn't going to take up her kind offer of customer service training?