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.

CEWE Photo Books – Paul Derbyshire, Paintings Prints & Ceramics – Second Prize

In the midst of all the hard work of fitting the carpet and shifting furniture around, I got the very welcome and surprise news that I had won second prize in last months photo book competition. It really lifted my spirits. The book is a pictorial reference of my late partner’s exceptional work. I hope you might be able to access it at the website.

Carpet Fitting & Little Old Women

For many years I have been of the opinion that little old ladies should avoid fitting carpets by themselves. The events of last weekend have done nothing to change my mind!

You may be aware that the recent generation of carpet fitters (and probably with some directive from Heath & Safety) now require a room to be cleared before attempting to do their job. As my few rooms are cluttered with pieces of furniture (Mother’s included) all serving an essential purpose – even if they are only housing more clutter, the possibility of clearing a room is none existent. So, as usual, I had to tackle the job by myself. The room in question being my bedroom, which, apart from two large chests of drawers, two bedside cabinets and various visible bits and pieces, also (not remarkably) houses a bed – which has a metal frame (and therefore is not in two parts like a divan), under which is a fold-up bed, a large keyboard, a coffee table with three drawers (full), two large plastic containers for books and stuff, three small attaché cases (full), box file (full), large cardboard box (full), bags of shoes and sketch books – a job a carpet fitter would have run a mile from!

This daunting task I’ve been putting off in the hope I could live without it, but having had two estate agents around last week to value the property, I didn’t feel I could invite would-be buyers into my bedroom to see the hole in the carpet acquired when having a new radiator fitted – and the burn mark in the perfect shape of an iron!

Having tried to lift each filled drawer out of the old chest I found them too heavy so had to empty them and carry them through to Mum’s room. Then manoeuvre the chest through to her room, replace the drawers and refill them. The high chest is thankfully on castors and after removing a couple of the drawers I was able to wheel it into the bathroom with lots of pushing, dragging and shoving. The fold-up bed I wheeled out onto the landing. All free standing bits went into the office/bedroom and likewise everything from under the bed except the heavily laden coffee table/drawers.

Having removed the drawers of the bedside cabinets they were easy enough to move, but with great difficulty I then tackled the bed, taking every precaution of bent knees, taking the weight on my legs, arms and shoulders and being very much aware of my weak back. I managed to get the bed to one side of the room to lift the carpet and was dismayed to find large gaps under the skirting. In a panic at first, thinking the floor of this 18^th century cottage was falling away. I was relieved to remember that it had always been like that, as in fact the carpet and hardboard covering the floorboards were filling the gap. Also Paul had stuffed paper under the gap adjoining next door when there was a smoker living there and the smoke used to drift into our room. Feeling relief that I wasn’t about to fall to the lower level I then decided I should do something about the gap and went off to buy some appropriate materials.

It was the first time I have used expanding foam and so I was not very adept. At first I though it was going swimmingly as I heard the foam puffing out and travelling inside the gap, but then it began to metamorphosise, the green puffy slime oozing out from under the skirting like an alien creature. ‘Get back, get back!’ I cried, trying to stem its flow with my rubber-gloved hand, but it was like candy floss, all sticky and it stuck to the glove or whatever tool I used and was quite uncontrollable. I had read on the tin that it could be cut when cured, but then also ‘cured foam can only be removed mechanically’ (so what did that mean?). By this time the instructions were all covered by the foamy mess, so I just crossed my sticky fingers and hoped I could catch it at the right time to trim.

Moving on around the room I discovered that the hardboard pieces over the floorboards were slightly overlaying each other in a few places and so to prevent an uneven surface for my new carpet I decided to trim them to size. Whist they were up I filled the gaps under the skirting in that area. Good job! Unfortunately it was then that I realised that would mean that the hardboard was now too big at the outer edges as yes, you’ve remembered, the sheets had previously been under the skirting filling the gap! Talk about making myself more work! Ah well, might as well paint the walls while the furniture is giving access, so a further delay.

All this work had been started on Friday afternoon and it was then 2.30pm on Sunday. Just time to go and get the carpet, as I couldn’t buy it earlier with no place to put it. Fortunately I had already decided on one, so in the grand scheme of things it was a fairly easy task.

The carpet was 13ft 1ins x 10ft 10ins – except the guy had been very generous and giving me several inches extra on the 10ft 10. Very kind, but I had measured the room very carefully and already given myself a couple of inches spare to accommodate the room being misshapen. So the extra four inches or so made it rather more difficult to manage. Again, mindful of my weak back, I managed to lay one half of the room and heave the bed over the remaining carpet to the finished side to allow me to fit the remainder. The whole effort has certainly tightened up my bingo wings!

By Tuesday morning I had just about got everything back into place and so the room is looking much better. However, lying in bed last night I realised to have made a tidier job of the skirting I should have taken it off and lowered it!!!

Lady Godiva & some Plinth People

'Lady Godiva'

Willo & Lyn

4th Plinth, Antony Gormley, Mark Lawson & Willo in Trafalgar Square

Gormley, Lawson & Willo

Tempus fugit! I can’t believe that it’s a week since Lyn and I were back in Trafalgar Square for the last day of the Plinth. We arrived just before dawn to the very colourful sight of the penultimate figure adorning the plinth with pink balloons in support of breast cancer care.

The final person to appear was Emma Burns, telling us a little about each of the 96 fans who died at, or as a result of, the Hillsborough Stadium tragedy, as she freed a red balloon for each one of them. As a Scouser (even though I only spent my first few weeks there, I’m proud to be a Liverpudlian), I was deeply touched by the disaster and was studying at Liverpool Poly at the time, so was close to it and the sorrow that overwhelmed the city.

I was hoping to catch up with the homeless guys who made my hour on the plinth so enjoyable. Indeed some of them were there, but not the one I had a dialogue with and I was really looking forward to having a ground level conversation with him, instead of us yelling to each other, him on the  ground and me towering above (now there’s a first!).

It was good to catch up with Mark Lawson too, as it was he who selected my painting Lunch at the Natural History Museum (Darwin Ponders Evolution) for the 2004 Discerning Eye Exhibition at the Mall Galleries.

I hadn’t really thought about going for the reunion next year, but judging by my conversations with the homeless people, they are really looking forward to it, so I may go. I gather the whole event has brought much colour and enjoyment to their lives and I’m guessing they are feeling rather lost now that it is all over. They seem to have an amazing community and are very supportive of each other.

In the square I met the beautiful ‘Lady Godiva’, who, I can report, is just as attractive with her clothes on! She very kindly allowed me to take her photo.

Both Lyn and I are so glad we went and Lyn was able to take her first look around the British Museum – or should I say a few of the rooms, as it is so vast and would take more than an afternoon to look around. And what a delight to be able to travel around London free on our OAP bus passes!

Mark Lawson chats to Willo

Antony Gormley