The Curious Incident of the Missing Car Keys

The house is on the market and this morning I had my first viewers; really nice people. I didn’t find out anything about them, but they looked interesting and would be an asset to the street. (Would like to know them better). When they left I noticed a box (just a fancy box that had sweets in it, which I think my granddaughters gave me) containing some of my jewellery, was slightly open. It wouldn’t close on account of something sticking out – I investigated and did a double take – triple take – in fact couldn’t believe my eyes. I just stood there, musing at the things in my hand – turning them over in awe and wonderment – only the car keys that I thought I’d thrown into the recycling bin before Christmas! Right at the top of the box were my red earrings that I wear regularly, so how can I have missed the car keys. It still hasn’t sunk in – all that time spent looking for them – the hassle trying to get a new key – not being able to get into my garage – and they were there all the time. But still remains the mystery – why would I put them in with my jewellery in the first place? It’s official, I am going mad!

Cancer, Colostomy (+ bikini shots) Colonic Irrigation and Tidings, the Colostomy Association Magazine

I’ve uploaded these images of me taken in 1988, 6/7 months after my colostomy, hoping to show new ostomates that it isn’t the end of the world. It may alter lives considerably, but think what I would have missed if I had chosen death instead; no Paul, no seeing my two children gain their four degrees, no seeing them get married nor the arrival of my five grandchildren, nor getting to know Paul’s eldest son and his wife and children.

I’m getting many hits on the blog Cancer, Colostomy and Colonic Irrigation, but no comments and no questions, so I’m guessing that the readers may be disappointed to find it is just a general blog, when maybe they were looking for more information.

Coincidentally, Tidings, the Colostomy Association magazine, is now doing a double page on irrigation, so I would advise interested parties to take a look at that, as they will find other people and their experiences. Otherwise, feel free to ask me any questions on any of the above as I’m fairly well versed, having been diagnosed with colo-rectal cancer in 1986, which recurred 18 months later. I first had a radium needle implant then the following year had to have the A/P resection (colostomy with excision of the back passage).

I tried various types of colostomy apparatus, finally settling on the irrigation method in 1989. Yes I do have problems, but it is the method I much prefer.

Further to the colo-rectal cancer, I was diagnosed with carcinoma in situ of the cervix and then secondary bone cancer in 1990, from which I wasn’t expected to survive. I was treated with more radiotherapy (of the conventional kind), then more surgery and chemo-therapy in quick succession. I was in the final year of my degree course at the time, so it was all rather stressful to say the least. But if I can get through all that – so can you….

British Red Cross

During our recent bad weather I received a telephone call from the British Red Cross, enquiring if Mum and I were okay and if we needed anything. Being really impressed with this kindness, this is the charity I have chosen to support in light of the recent earthquake in Haiti.

http://www.redcross.org.uk/emergencysite/default.aspx?id=88916

(click on blogroll)

Urine infection in the elderly

What a day 23^rd December was and I don’t really know where to begin; I feel I should write down, but already my mind is starting to blank it.

Mum got up shortly after I finished the previous day’s blog and it was immediately apparent that her demeanour hadn’t changed after her eventual sleep. Not only that, she was really smelly, as she didn’t appear to have had a bath at day-care over the previous couple of weeks. I tried to bathe her, but she has a bath seat, which means that little of her body is covered with water even when the bath is full to the brim. I decided it was time for drastic action, removed the seat and helped her into the warm foamy water. She appeared to enjoy it, but just then the phone rang and it was the new social worker returning my call. He wanted to come and do an assessment, so I ran downstairs for the calendar and rushed back up again with the other phone, so that I could keep an eye on Mum in the bath.

I washed mum’s hair and body and showered her off. Everything was going swimmingly until I tried to get her out. She’s quite hefty and couldn’t turn around to get onto her knees in order to stand up. I tied lifting her but it was impossible. With my DIY I have developed some noticeable biceps, but I’m really small, so don’t have the wherewithal to actually lift her high enough. I could have called for help, but fearing it would be a long time coming, I devised another plan. I put the seat back into the bath and managed, with her help, to lift her onto it. Then I got the top seat (the ‘plank’ that fit’s across the top of the bath) and managed to hoist her onto that. She wouldn’t take my advice to swing her legs over the bath from that seated position and insisted on trying to stand up and climbing out by her own means, this resulted in her scraping the thin skin of her shin till it started to bleed – profusely – and I had to get a plaster on it ASAP.

During all this fiasco she was reasonably cooperative, but after her breakfast it all started to kick off. She became really nasty and argumentative – and even more confused than normal. I started to think ‘this is it – the dementia /Alzheimer’s has moved on to a different phase’ and I wondered just how long I would be able to keep her at home.

I had to go out at some point to collect Mum’s repeat prescription from the surgery and do a bit of shopping. I also waned to go round to Paul’s aunt to deliver her Christmas card and gift. The road was like a skating rink, but it’s a long walk even in the best of conditions. I had to dig the car out, but before doing so I tried clear the snow and ice from the disabled parking bay, as I could hardly grumble at anyone parked in during my absence, if they couldn’t even see the markings.

I put that off till after lunch and it was then that I become aware that all was not right with mum. She kept leaping up to fiddle with things, didn’t want her lunch and was very slightly sick. Alarm bells started ringing – this was not the dementia – it was a urine infection – all adding up. I know it isn’t normal to issue antibiotics without seeing the patient, but desperate times call for desperate measures and so I called the surgery.

They needed a urine sample, but there was no way I could get one from Mum in her state of mind – and anyway – we had been advised not to venture out (they didn’t know that I needed to collect her regular prescription) – I am, after all, an old lady.  ‘The doctor usually needs to see the patient before giving antibiotics’. ‘I knew that, but even if he saw her it was highly unlikely she would provide a sample.’ With the roads and pavements so icy and being highly unlikely to find parking outside of the surgery, we would have to walk long distances, so it would have been totally irresponsible of me to walk my mother, but they didn’t offer a home visit (in fact, from that surgery I have never had a home visit). I said, ‘okay, if her condition worsens over Christmas she will just have to go to hospital.’ To which the receptionist replied, ‘Yes.’

Aunt Edna was pleased to see me and she hadn’t ventured out that morning, so after we had an emotional chat about Paul, I drove her around to the post office to collect her pension and to the paper shop. I asked if she needed anything from Spar, but she declined, saying her son would probably call and do her shopping for her.

I collected the prescription from the surgery and drove to the pharmacy, calling briefly at the Co-op, as I didn’t want to be away from mother too long. When I returned a feeling of foreboding swept over me. I realised Mother was in the bathroom and flew upstairs to find her on her hands and knees, sweeping the floor around the toilet with my toothbrush, inter-dental brush and a pen! The shock/horror didn’t end there as beyond her I could see her slippers poking out of the loo and upon further investigation I fished out her stockings and knickers. In the wash basin she had run water, in which she had put her teeth, all my make-up, nail scissors and more or less everything from the bathroom window – and in the bath was a couple of inches of water containing the bath mats and towels! The whole place looked like a disaster area, but still worse to come. Later in the evening I went to investigate after she was taking an inordinately long time in the bathroom. Her hands were covered in excrement, which she was contentedly wiping all over the wall and shelf!

I have been a carer for first my dad (since 1988) and latterly my mum as well. Without doubt, caring for someone with mental problems is the most difficult – and my dad suffered from dementia towards the end of his life. It is no comfort to realise I have the genes from both sides!

Dementia, Alzheimer’s – Mental Illness

My mother’s condition took a different turn last night. First of all she said someone had informed her that her uncle John had died – I wouldn’t know him etc. I said I did know Uncle John and he had died when I was a child, long before her mother and if he had lived till now he would have been at least 130! Then she was in the real world of thanking me for looking after her – and she didn’t want to be any trouble. The lull before the storm; it’s been one hell of a night with her in and out of bed, wrestling with me – she couldn’t get back in because according to her there were maggots and my dad in there! Now I’m not sure if this has to do with a rotting corpse (my dad died nearly 10 years ago) – or Dad’s fishing exploits! She was quite aggressive and in an attempt to stop her flailing arms I took hold of them at the elbows. She wrenched herself away, saying ‘don’t poke me with your elbows!‘ Hello!

I’m really tired and need to go back to bed now that she is actually resting, but I have things to do – like going to collect her prescription and looking at the weather, it may mean another long walk in snow and freezing conditions. Maybe I’ll just keep on walking…

The Mind, Alzheimer’s, Dementia, Mental Illness & Bereavement.

A week today my very dear friend was taken into hospital with what appeared to be a stroke. His daughter phoned to say he was on his way to hospital in an ambulance with his loving wife travelling behind in and ambulance car. I arrived just in time to hear her, in a very distressed state, talking to the doctor. They were in the room where Adrienne and I had sat with my partner after he died so suddenly in the early hours of 2007.

I hesitated outside of the room, but I knew I must go in to comfort my friend. Taking a few short breaths I knocked and walked in and was relieved to see no death-bed, but judging by the conversation the situation was very grave.

My friend whom I shall just refer to as ‘F’ was poring out her feelings for her husband (whom I shall call ‘M’), the love of her life, yet saying she would rather let go, rather than he be a vegetable.  She felt she must sound very hard and callous to the doctor, but he fully understood and thanked her for making their mutual views known. I knew exactly what she meant, because Paul would not have wanted to be a vegetable either. In his case I wasn’t given any option as the paramedics were unable to revive him and New Years Eve is not the best time to get sick.

The doctor left the room and returned some time later to say they were going to send M for a CT scan, but before doing so we could go in to see him. We hadn’t been with him long when he suddenly rallied, though his words were very jumbled. It was then that his daughter arrived and later her husband.

The story at this stage becomes more complex and during the week there are brighter patches where it appears M was making a recovery, but then there are darker patches, like today, when I visit to find that paranoia is setting in, he refused to eat or drink as he felt he was being poisoned. Neither would he eat the food I took in and he challenged me to drink the water, which with great difficulty I did, as I had supped a mug of coffee when I arrived at the hospital, so had no desire for more liquid.

I had to leave F wondering who this stranger was, lying in the bed in front of her. I didn’t want to leave her there under the circumstances, but I needed to get home to do my colonic irrigation before I exploded in the ward. Apart from the strain on her, F is also physically disabled and no way under her own steam, could she manage the long walk through the warren of a hospital. We are just hoping M will be back to his normal self tomorrow.

When someone who has suffered brain trauma becomes violent or sexually provocative – or swears, some people believe that it is their true nature showings itself, I disagree. Yes, that may be the case, but not in the case of friend M, neither was it the case with my dad when he had dementia, for a kinder, fun-loving man never walked this earth. Never would he have made sexual innuendo to his little girl – even if I was in my fifties at the time!

However, with my mum, who has a mixture of dementia and Alzheimer’s I do see a more ‘honest’ side of her, though she tends to be as nice as pie with everyone else. With me she can be nasty and argumentative, just as I remember her on many occasions from my youth. Resenting every bit of advice I give her that would in fact make life easier – for both of us.

So I arrived home at 8pm to find she had already gone to bed, hadn’t quite got undressed, so I just had to get her cardigan on again and lead her downstairs where I made her a cuppa and a snack. If I were to let her go to bed she would be up again at midnight and ready to face the day, Unfortunately, I am not just her carer – I have to lead an ordinary life that requires me getting some sleep.

From the moment I walked through the front door and found the lights on, television blaring and no mother, I knew it would be a rough evening – and it has been. She has argued every step of the way and so three hours on I have to get it off my chest before I go to bed.

The day after M was taken ill; I arrived home from the hospital to receive a phone call telling me that Paul’s stepdaughter had been found dead on the Sunday. There is a lot of history there, spanning many years – and even longer for Paul. Suffice to say we were all friends then one night around

1.30 am the phone rang when we were in a very deep sleep. It was SD. She was all hyped up, saying all sorts of things, said she had to call someone or she would go mad and also she had to share this with us. God had spoken to her and she was going to save the world. She asked if the Koran said God was the most important thing and my mind was a complete blank, so she asked me to go and find my copy. I went downstairs, but it took me three or four minutes to find it. When I came back to the phone she had gone, so I hung up to call her back, but she rang me immediately and said ‘wasn’t that strange? She asked me to pick any passage of the Koran and I would see it would refer to saving the world. I picked a passage and read it to her, which sounded more like the complete antithesis.

She went on about the voices having spoken to her and kept asking if there was anything I wanted to ask her. She asked what was the main point of the news last week and also that Monday. After trying to get my mind into action I told her that last week India and Pakistan nearly went to war and on Monday the Americans said they had arrested someone for almost planting a dirty bomb, but that apparently happened last month, but they only disclosed it that day. To that she said something like, ‘There, that shows you’, but what exactly wasn’t explained to me. She kept flipping from one thing to another, without really explaining anything, kept writing things down and then reading the words back to me and asking if that sounded alright and if I had a question about it. She would change it and ask again for my opinion. She asked what I would like to say to Saddam Hussein. I replied that I would ask him why he was killing so many of his own people. She wrote something down like: ‘God loves Saddam Hussein’, so I asked her another question and she changed it to, ‘God forgives Saddam Hussein’ etc. She asked if I would promise to do something for her and I edged around the question until she made me promise. She wanted me to help her find John Cusack. I said if it was the actor, John Cusack he would be easy to find, but if it was another John Cusack it may be more difficult. She mentioned him dozens of times, until I wondered if he was the leader of some religious cult.

At one point she said I thought she was angry and didn’t understand and said she was going, but I managed to prevent her from hanging up. In the meantime she kept asking to speak to Paul and then back to me. She said that someone had slipped a note through the door, but it was all in Arabic. Much of the time she would start on one train of thought and then stop, saying it was too dangerous for me to hear and then go off on another tack. She said, ‘Remember when someone commits suicide and they go to their room afterwards and find they have been writing notes, well it must have been the spirits talking to them in just the way they are talking to me now, but they don’t know how to act on it and cannot cope, so they kill themselves’. She hastened to add that we were not to worry as she wasn’t going to kill herself; she knew how to handle it and was going to bring about world peace. I cannot remember most of it, but it went on for about an hour and a half and Paul had already got dressed in anticipation of going round there.  Having heard the mere mention of suicide I said it would be better to talk to me in person, rather than over the phone and Paul would come round to get her. First she said okay and then said it was too dangerous. She asked to speak to Paul and said he could only come if he brought me. I said I would come too, but by the time I got dressed and got around to her place it would take about 20 minutes. I told her to get the kettle on for a cup of coffee and to look out of the window when we knocked and only open the door if she saw it was us. In the 5 minutes it took me to get dressed she kept phoning – until we just went.

She let us in and tried to explain this feeling inside that kept stopping her from explaining fully. We stayed there for awhile, trying to get her to pack a few things to bring with, but all the time she was just concerned about tearing up the bits of paper she had been writing on.

We brought her back and she had a couple of hours sleep and started off all over again, getting violent (punched and kicked Paul) and weepy/ demanding/ loving/ obsessed with the actor John Cusack and Paul had to go and post a note she had written to him, telling him she was ready and waiting. She told me she was married to him. She went to see (in her bare feet) if Paul was posting the letter and I followed her, she then tried to lock me out of the house and I put up a terrific fight and managed to get back in – not before she rapped me on the nose with her knuckles.

I was getting more and more panicky, as I had to be at the hospital with Adrienne who had just been diagnosed with HIV, as she sometimes passes out when having blood taken and she really needed the support. It’s as much a shock to her as it is to us, as her last partner died 4 or 5 years earlier of what she was told was liver cancer (and it probably was – but possibly/probably AIDS related). She had to go and have lots of blood taken to see how advanced the infection was and Paul was going to take us there and leave us as usual and then collect us when we were finished.

As SD appeared to be undressed apart from a dressing gown, I knew I couldn’t leave her alone with Paul, as she may have accused him of anything. She was so scary that while Paul was trying to reason with her, I went and hid all the kitchen knives.

By 9 am she walked out of the house with the dog. Paul said he would take her in the car. She tried to grab the car keys off him (she doesn’t drive). He managed to keep hold of them. She dropped her things in the middle of the pavement and walked off, leaving the dog. Paul put the dog inside and then went after her, but couldn’t get her to come back. When he dropped Adrienne and I at the hospital he was able to contact SD’s mum and her sister and they came over. We knew she had gone home, because her grandma had phoned her. SD hung up, but then returned the call and asked if it was God calling. (She’s never shown any interest in religion until that night). We were worried for her safety, as she had mentioned suicide. We, her mum and her sister went to the house, but she wouldn’t let us in. We all waited round the corner from her house for 3hrs for the doctor to come, together with a psychiatrist and social worker. They had to wait for the police who took another hour to get there. They tried to gain access at around 4.30 pm and had to break the back window. One policeman went inside and then SD appeared at the window and said ‘hello’ in her usual sweet voice. I asked her to unlock the back door and with that she launched herself out of the broken window, with Paul and two policemen unable to stop her. They then had to cuff her (with Paul and me feeling like Judas). Needless to say, she was sectioned and was taken to the mental unit of the local hospital – and we were temporarily left with the dog.

None of us saw the breakdown coming and she had been at work as usual. The previous week we had booked our holiday with SD coming with us.

It’s been worse than a nightmare and this is just a fraction of it. We went to visit her in hospital and didn’t recognise the SD we once knew. It was heartbreaking.

SD couldn’t allow herself to admit there was a problem and fought every step of the way to be discharged from hospital. They did discharge her, but the following month it all kicked off again when her sister and American friend were with her. Who did they phone, but us? Alas, on account of this SD always resented Paul’s involvement and actually blamed him for her illness, saying he was ‘sapping her energy’ and didn’t want to see him and by definition, us, again. So that was the way it was.

The family were glad to see me at the funeral and without exception they all conceded that had it not been for Paul and me seven years ago, then we might have been at her funeral then. Her father thanked me for the seven extra years.

Bah Humbug! – And the Grumpy Old Woman. Lost car keys. Social Services. Freezing weather. Colon Cancer & the Bag Lady!

______

Bit of double entendre in the title -

since my radical surgery my sons have referred to me as ‘the bag lady’!

The fact that I always use carrier bags for everything is incintental.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

This will probably turn into a rant, but I have to unleash it somewhere otherwise I’ll go completely off my head (already part of the way there).

It’s been brewing for some time on the run up to Christmas. Such a bad time of year for me – New Year’s morn being three years since Paul died.

Every year I ask myself why I make things more complicated by making my own cards. Well, I don’t really know, other than it seeming more personal and interesting for the recipient. I certainly don’t save money, in fact quite the contrary with the cost of printing ink and paper, but most of all it’s the time they take. This year’s card was almost ready made, in the sense that the photo Lyn took of me when we went back to Trafalgar Square for the final day of the 4th Plinth was hilarious, as it looked like I was suspended from a corkscrew. (The corkscrew actually being the edge of the safety net receding into the distance). I say it was ‘ready made’ but I still had to eliminate the woman on the phone just behind the bags and remove the ground from beneath my feet.

Then there are the gifts – heaps of them, most of which have to be posted, as I don’t usually see family at Christmas. The Scottish family come down for a couple of days between Christmas and New Year, so their presents wait till then. The Hong Kong gifts are a nightmare and I keep saying I will send money instead, but never do. All the gifts packed in one parcel would have cost over £80 to post, so I broke it down to three parcels to go ‘small package rate’ at just over £50! So that’s three lots of wrapping weighing and custom declarations on top of the individual gift wrap with more than one to each member of the family. The irony is that probably most of the gifts were made in China!

Tuesday I was expecting two heating engineers at 9am to come and fix my central heating – the two downstairs radiators haven’t been functioning since July and mum and I have been freezing. At 10.30am they still hadn’t pitched up, so I phoned the company. They had previously told me it would take five hours to flush the system and I needed to be out at around 5pm for the Thrivine meeting and Christmas party. The guys came soon after and I managed to get off to Thrivine around 5.30 and how nice it is to come back to a warm house!

When I returned I found my mother in bed – fully clothed! I woke her and asked if she would like a cuppa to which she replied ‘yes’, so as she was still dressed I suggested she come down for it. Off I went to make the tea – still no mother, so I went back upstairs – she’s fiddling with her slippers, I go down – still no mother – I go back – she’s fiddling with her cardigan – I go down – no mother – she’s back in bed! And so it goes on till eventually she materialises. In the meantime I’ve been back to the cards and the parcels. More of her excrement to deal with (and I don’t mean metaphorically) before she is safely tucked up and I’m really tired so decide to call it a day, gather up a few things to put in the dustbins for collection in the morning and as I’m multitasking I also pick up some things to deposit in various places en route.

Next morning I go down to unlock the doors, only to find I haven’t locked them! No sign of car keys and after turning the place upside down I can only conclude that they have gone into the dustbin and off to the tip!

I go to the dealership to order a new key, only to be told that I should have a ‘key card’, but as Paul wasn’t planning on dying he had never informed me of the whereabouts (or existence) of such a card.

I return home very disgruntled and on the narrow parked-up roads repeatedly wait patiently for oncoming traffic – not one of the drivers gave me an acknowledgement! Entering the house to the pile of ‘wonderful’ Christmas greetings I also find a slip left by the postman at 1.30 – ‘parcel too big for letterbox’. ‘Goody, I wonder who that’s from’, I exclaim to myself, but don’t have time to go back into town to collect it, as Mum will soon be home from day-care. When she comes in I have to take newly serviced car back to garage as the washers aren’t working!

Back home I turn the place over again, looking for the key card. I find a key card for the crook-lock, but none for the car, so it looks like another £30 on top of the price of a key.

Realising my stress levels are rising, I phone Wayne, my mum’s social worker, to ask for some more respite vouchers as I’m currently without. ‘Oh, Wayne left this department months ago. Your mother currently doesn’t have a social worker; you’ll have to have another assessment!’ ‘But my mum is almost 92; she has a mixture of dementia and Alzheimer’s, so you think she is going to improve?’ ‘Does she have anything else wrong with her?’ ‘Yes, she has arthritis and carpal tunnel syndrome (I forgot to mention the cataracts and glaucoma).’ ‘Does she live with you?’ ‘Yes’. ‘What do you have to do for her?’ ‘Just about everything!’ ‘Okay, I’ll notify the department and ask for a referral. Let me see which area you are in. Oh it’s the West and I know they are very busy, so if you haven’t heard by midweek, next week, give them a ring on this number … .’ When Wayne issued my last lot of vouchers he indicated I could just phone again for the coming year. The lady who runs the care-home my mum occasionally goes in, said I have an entitlement, so why must I go through this ritual over and over again. Exactly the same thing happened with Karen, my mum’s previous social worker. Why aren’t we carers told when they move on, then there can be continuity? I’m saving the local authority thousands a year. Because I’m on Pension Credit, my carers allowance is literally a few pounds.

Yesterday afternoon a visit from a nice man who is going to attempt to sort out the TV, which no longer works on ITV nor several other channels. I know he thinks I haven’t got it tuned properly, so to his surprise, I have – and my theory of an insufficient signal is confirmed. He arranges for a man to come and see to the aerial today. Would I prefer morning or afternoon? Afternoon would be best as it means I can pop into town in the morning and call and get my parcel.

Later in the evening I’m still making cards and I stamp some of them, but one that requires posting is still missing an address. My friend Shahla has moved, but if I write her name on the envelope and stamp it, I can ask a mutual friend for the address when I’m in town. Sorted!

8am ready for town, but will just take the stamped addressed cards around to the box before I leave. Done! Right – got parcel to take to PO, shopping bags, Shahla’s card. Where? I’ve only gone and posted it (un-addressed) with the others!

Town. Desperate need for coffee. Stop at little van in the precinct. ‘Sorry, not open yet!’ Go to market to see if I can find ‘old lady’ dress for mum. ‘Sorry, don’t think you’ll get any in the market’. Since TJ Hughes was pulled down last year it is impossible to get a dress for my mum. She doesn’t like anything waisted as she is narrow in the shoulder and broad in the bum, so dresses that hang from a yoke are the best. I would normally make them, but no time and no room.’ Go to buy new baby gift/card/wrapping and a few groceries in M & S, leaving by the side entrance as a ‘mature’ man is entering. I stand back and rather assume he will hand the open door to me when he has entered. He doesn’t, muttering something along the lines of ‘don’t think I’m holdin’t’ doo-er for you!’ Thank you! Shaking my head.

Leaving town I see an old man with a stick struggling on the icy pavements (apparently it’s okay for pedestrians to be slipping and sliding all over the place these days). I stop the car, get out, slide over to him and ask if he would like me to drive him into town where the pavements were less slippy. By his reaction you would have thought I was trying to mug him. He all but shook his stick at me!

Drive out of town via the parcel sorting office. As soon as I saw the box I realised what it was because I have had several before. Energy saving light bulbs – which never fit, because they are bayonet and all my lights are screw fittings! Happy Christmas!

Call in at Aldi and Iceland on the way home. Aghhhhhhh! The car park hasn’t even been gritted (courtesy of ‘Euro Car Parks’, I suppose). Outside of Aldi they had made a bit of an attempt, but directly in front of Iceland entrance was like a skating rink – even by their disabled parking! Well, I’m sorry, but I really think they could have done better for their customers – or maybe they would say, ‘well – we are a freezer company!’

Now for my last port of call – into Mill Hill to post my parcel and face the most miserable sub-postmaster – ever! You may ask why I didn’t post the parcel in town – answer – the snaking queue about 30 metres long! What a bonus to find Sour-Face must be taking a break, but on the downside more queuing on account of it.

Got home to find two cars nose to nose in my disabled parking bay!!!

Plenty of time to receive the aerial man, except as the afternoon wore on; I began to wonder if he was coming, so phoned the company. I actually thought the weather might be too bad for him. ‘Oh – he came this morning at 10am. No access and customer not answering her phone!!!’ ‘His visit was specifically arranged (by the man who came yesterday) for this afternoon. 10am is not this afternoon – it is morning – and I have an answer machine – no messages on it!’ ‘Very sorry, I’ll put you through to someone else and you can rearrange.’ It beggars belief!

HIV/AIDS: listen to Adrienne Seed with Stephen Lowe on BBC Radio

Adrienne was on the panel (above) with Stephen who was standing in for Sally Naden. It was a great show and Stephen makes everyone feel so relaxed. Just a pity it wasn’t on TV as Adrienne’s fellow panellists were lovely too. Nic (who is looking for women of all ages & sizes to dance naked in her production at Lancaster University) was, like Adrienne, very animated. Such a pity you weren’t able to see then – all with blue eyes, including Stephen! You can listen to the programme for the next seven days at:   http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/p005cwwf/Sally_Naden_07_12_2009/

Nic’s website is: http://www.nicgreen.org.uk/

Also on the show was Ruth Schofield who has a shop in Clitheroe named Precious Little Treasures.

BBC – My Story – Survival – Kiss of Life – Willo

The Long Walk to Myrtle Street

Hurray! My story appeared on the BBC My Story website yesterday.  If you like, you can read it by going to www.bbc.co.uk/mystory then look for Survival – Willo – Kiss of Life.  It was so difficult editing it into so few words. Of course the rest of the story still isn’t written. Maybe one day…..

Adrienne Seed, Annie Lennox & Kenneth Kaunda, World Aids Day – This Morning – Dr Chris, The Spider & The Fly

Hello, just a quick note to tell you that my friend Adrienne (see my time on the 4^th Plinth) is at the houses of Parliament today, at a Stigma Index ‘do’ where the speakers include KK and Annie Lennox.

Then tomorrow Adrienne is to appear on This Morning with Dr Chris, so tune in if you can, where you’ll be able to watch/listen to the person I was celebrating on the plinth.

Yesterday we were at a fund-raising event for Thrivine, our HIV/Aids support group and I would like to thank all the people and locals of the Swan in Accrington, who pitched up to the event and supported us so generously; also a big thank-you to all those who donated prizes for the raffle.

Now is a good time to let you know that Adrienne’s autobiography, The Spider & The Fly is now available on Lulu.com

On a more somber note, it’s a sad day for me – it would have been Paul’s birthday today.