15) The social worker visits. He can't come home - but he wants to come home...

A blog about myself, daughter of an extreme hoarder parent who fell over on Christmas Day 2025 and broke 3 ribs. He’s currently in hospital wanting to come home asap... However, he has terminal oesophageal cancer, kidney function issues, a bladder and a chest infection, asthma, diabetes, skin cancer and he’s 95. Meanwhile I’m running around like a blue-arsed fly trying to possibly make things safe at his house in case he comes home, yet being acutely aware he will have an uncanny ability to know if anything’s missing and will be furious. I have a job and family of my own. Slowly but surely, I’m losing the plot.

 

 The electric cooker from the 1960s

 

Today I was at the mountain for 10am. The lady from the social worker team was coming at 3 and I wanted to get as much sorted as possible.  Ant and I did as much as we could and filled all the recycling bags of glass, paper and plastic. I filled Freddie, my car and  attacked the bottom of the stairs and the kitchen plus some of the pile at the top of the stairs. I wore a mask the whole day as the weather was wet. However, there's SO much left to do.

The lady turned up with a chap from a cleaning company and as soon as they got to the front door they put on shoe protectors... I queried it and she said she did it with everyone.  Whatever, if those were the rules. She took a load of photos while Ant told her all about his Autism and all about himself. She went in the living room and asked - can this go? Can that go? I said the whole flipping lot could go if it was down to me... however, it wasn't and the person who it was down to was in hospital busting a gut to come home.

'Well he can't come home while it's like this.' she said. 'We need to have enough space for a Zimmer frame so - approximately half the contents have to go.  But he won't give permission for that and he wants to come home yesterday.

They suggested perhaps the 3 piece suite should lose the sofa and one chair. This is a brilliant idea although I doubt he'll agree. They found a lovely corner wooden 4 legged chair, which will be re-homed into my home when it can be dug out and steam cleaned. They want to switch his double bed for a single bed. I know he won't agree to that one. He's already said if they make him put a single bed in then I am to put the double in another room (where?). He will then throw out (yeah haha) the new single and put the double back in...

'All this will have to be moved,' she said, gesturing to a huge pile of boxes (about 9 hours labour by me) I can reduce them but I can't throw them out. She said the same about the kitchen, half the lounge, half the bedroom, all the stairs and all the hallway including the porch where a set of five bedroom drawers sits, full of paper. I estimate about 2000 hours by me. Which will have to be fit around my job, my family and my life. I am away with the girls this weekend on a big birthday adventure. I'm not giving it up for anyone least f all someone who won't even say thank you.

I will not receive any thanks for it, only accusations of throwing stuff out. I will likely kill myself if I try to rush the process as there's only so much a girl can do, especially one with chronic eosinophilic asthma and dust allergies. I have to look after my own mental health - this is of vital importance to me. There is no room to sort anything unless we use the groundsheet on the garden. There is only me to do it.

I couldn't face visiting him today. I will go tomorrow, maybe.

Freddie car trips to the tip - 1 - two old kettles, another small microwave sized oven, a pile of junk and a load of cardboard (the recycling bin was full of paper).
What is making me mad? The amount of stuff the lack of time, the red tape and the fear he will come home.
What is making me happy? the thought of the weekend coming up seeing Abba Voyage in London.
What is making me cry anything and everything and nothing. - and the pet-plan ad on TV
What have I done to relax? - I managed two hours sleep last night and a Rock Choir session yesterday.
Interesting finds A wedding invitation from 1964. 

14) Looks like they may send him home. I've only cried twice today - I'm doing really well

A blog about myself, daughter of an extreme hoarder parent who fell over on Christmas Day 2025 and broke 3 ribs. He’s currently in hospital thinking he can come home soon... He has terminal oesophageal cancer, kidney function issues, a bladder and a chest infection, asthma, diabetes, skin cancer and he’s 95. Meanwhile I’m running around like a blue-arsed fly trying to possibly make things safe at his house in case he gets sent home, yet being acutely aware he will have an uncanny ability to know if anything’s missing and he won’t be pleased. I have a job and family of my own. Slowly but surely, I’m losing the plot.

Above is the antenna which he thinks is a radio transmitter

Today I went to the hospital with my daughter to visit dad. She came for the sole reason of supporting me. At 9am I took a zoom call with Ant's bank for power of attorney for him which took an hour. I took my partner to town to go to the bank as he wanted to get cash out to buy a used car, came home, sorted out my son's car insurance as he'd been having issues with his direct debit and couldn't contact the company as it was online only. I went to the house to get some of Ant's stuff to take to the skip, took it in the car to see a counsellor, then took it to the tip. I came home, took my daughter out for a carvery and then went to the hospital for 6.30pm to visit dad.

'Ah', he said. I haven't been this down since Ruth died. Had he forgotten Ruth had been my mother?! Weird, but I let it slide. 'I was just about to go and call you.' he said, (He probably wasn't). 'I've had enough of being here - the food is awful and someone a quarter of my age has told me I can't go home until they put a bed in the living room. I absolutely refuse to have a bed put in there. They said you've said they can sort it. You haven't told them that have you?.' I hadn't and I told him so. 

He didn't appear to listen as he said 'Because I will not look upon that kindly. nobody has the right to tell them they can do that and I categorically state right now.' (he banged his fist on the bed over-table) 'I will NOT have ANYONE in my house who I have not personally authorised to be there. I KNOW you have the power thing but I will have to overturn that if I find you have let anyone...'

'DAD.' I said 'I've just told you I haven't let ANYONE in the house apart from us two, Ant and Julie. You've said you trust us.'

'Well if I find you have, then the Dogs Home may do very well from this.' meaning he'll leave everything to the dogs home. I'm not doing this all for the house or the money or for me. I'm doing it solely for him as I have some crazy insane sense of duty as he's my dad and Ant and I are all he has. Him thinking I'm helping for the money didn't sit well with me. I said nothing - speaking up is totally and utterly pointless. I'm mainly numb when I see him. I can't look at him when I speak to him  I don't want to look him in they eye. I can't, as I see everything which makes me angry. I see his attitude, his narcissism, his total lack of respect and of love for me. I see it all missing in his eyes - all he sees when he talks to me is someone he can trust who he expects to run about like a headless chicken. 

Today he asked me again to chase his ear appointment for them to remove wax from his ears - they won't do this until he is out. Also his eye injection and cataract operation date and something about paying his income tax bill for self assessment by January 31st so he won't get fined. It's overwhelming the list he has for me without so much as a would you mind or would it be OK if. I sat there feeling nothing but despair. I squeezed my daughter's hand, He hadn't said a word to her yet.  He'd asked me all this and more before and I was doing my best to call these departments, but most of the time there was only an answer machine. It was pointless trying to explain. He started to go into details of what to do again. I'd heard it all before and remembered the medals in my bag, I thought I'd perhaps show them to him and see if he could actually tell us something interesting, something we wanted to hear rather than just the list of things about him and that he wanted us to do for him which is all he had talked about so far. I couldn't find them in my bag so started panicking.

'Well I don't know whether I should bother talking to you when you're not even listening...' he said.

'I am listening dad.'

'Well how do I know that if you're not even looking at me. It doesn't look like you're listening to me...' then turning to my daughter, he said the first thing he'd said to her since we'd walked in 'does it?'

He didn't give her time to answer, instead he answered on her behalf 'NO GRANDAD'. he said with a stupid expectant and snide smirk. She squeezed my hand, hard. I was with her not wanting to speak at all. There was a short silence.

'You see those two things sticking up from the wall over there?' he said (see photo above) 'It's the antenna they're using to talk amongst themselves.' They are still at it, mentioning my name over and over and over. I hear it you see in my hearing aid. I have feedback and there's definitely a female voice saying money money please give me all your money.'  He passed me his hearing aid which I put near my ear - all I could hear was a dual pitched high tone feedback. I told him so. I also said the two pointy bits were a medical device not an antenna. He said it most definitely WAS an antenna and it was just disguised as a hospital device. He said this was the way they recruited all the new people to spy on him and they asked each new arrival whether they wanted to make a few bob and then gave them instructions via the antenna. He was talking about transmission circuits and explaining again how they worked and saying they didn't have a licence to do this... Apparently when new people accept the offer to earn a few bob, they play the tape to let them know what they have to do.

He is still certain a policeman came onto the ward to talk to everyone except him.  He can't tell the nurses about this as they are also in on the plan to get him seen to. He says all the visitors he trusts and  has spoken to about this think it's 'quite feasible'. He said this kind of system is often used in advertising. He thinks the consultants are plain clothes police.

Thankfully 8pm came and we had to leave. 'Give me a big kiss' he said. The thought made me want to heave. I went to hug him - in case this is the last time etc etc. I leant in for a hug and he said 'I do love you you know but you really must stop turning everything into an argument.' It's the BUT which annoys/hurts. Saying but, after a positive thing, always turns it into a negative thing.

I came out and found the medals on the floor of my car. where they had slipped out of my bag.

He said he thinks he's been in the hospital 5 months then backtracked and realised it was 4 weeks today. 

• Freddie car trips to the tip 1 (3rd)
• What is making me mad? the usual
• What is making me happy? not a lot
• What is making me cry - eveything
• What have I done to relax? Eaten chocolate - far too much chocolate!
• Interesting finds an old clock which I am going to upcycle

13) One big snotty mess.

A blog about myself, daughter of an extreme hoarder parent who fell over on Christmas Day 2025 and broke 3 ribs. He’s currently in hospital thinking he can come home soon... He has terminal oesophageal cancer, kidney function issues, a bladder and a chest infection, asthma, diabetes, skin cancer and he’s 95. Meanwhile I’m running around like a blue-arsed fly trying to possibly make things safe at his house in case he gets sent home, yet being acutely aware he will have an uncanny ability to know if anything’s missing and he won’t be pleased. I have a job and family of my own. Slowly but surely, I’m losing the plot.

Sitting on the promenade at Barry Island watching the sun go down

Having worked all day and then driven from Cardiff to Caerphilly to collect my daughter, then to Swansea to collect my other daughter on the Friday, I was knackered so had an early night.  Woke up at 4am as a result and couldn't get back off to sleep. I got up and did a bit of sorting. I refuse to go to that house every day, but I bring boxes and boxes of stuff home to sort. My own house now smells of that house and so candles are the way to go.

A friend asked if I wanted to go for a walk. Of course, I did - I always do. Any excuse for a walk outside and a chat and I'm there. I'm missing the mountains like crazy this year, as this is the week I usually go skiing. The group have been updating social media with beautiful snowy pictures just so I can see what I'm missing. 😒 Ideally I'd love nothing more than a good blast down a few snowy mountains right now, but as things go I don't feel I can, in case things take a downturn.

  A walk on the beach at Barry Island

After the beach and some chips which were vile I'd promised to take Ant to see dad in hospital. Ant hasn't been for a week as he doesn't drive, so relies on somebody collecting him and dropping him back. He could take a bus but, he doesn't.

Ant proudly showed me a whole pile of junk he'd been able to sort from his room and which he wanted me to take to the tip for him. After so many years having dad's junk invade his bedroom, he's finally been able to use dad's bed as a sorting space and he's got busy digging out his own stuff and there's a pile of it at the bottom of the stairs waiting to go.

I have to continually reassure Ant that they won't let dad out of hospital without notice as he's terrified his clearing secret will be discovered and he will get yelled at. Ant repeats things to me many, many times. 

On arrival at the ward, dad was sat in bed scowling, 'Ah! There you are.' dad said, like he'd been waiting for us all day. We grabbed the cheap plastic visitor chairs and sat down. The tea trolley arrived and he ordered white coffee. After a sip or two he screwed up his face 'Eeuugghh, this is disgusting.' He looked at me. 'Do you drink coffee?' (I do - with whitener as I can't drink milk)You'd have thought he'd have known, after 50 years.

'Yes I do, but with whitener, not..'

'Yes or no?' he barked.

'Yes', I said, losing the will to live already.

'Try this then.' he said, nudging the cup towards me with his long bony finger.

'No thanks.' I said.

He raised his voice 'I haven't got the bloody plague.' he glared at me, furious.

We all sat there in silence. I just wanted to be somewhere else.

'Have you been clearing the house while ive not been there?' He asked me

'Yes we have,' I said. 'Just the kitchen like you said we could. '

'Oh God!' He sighed loudly, rolling his eyes. 'I dont want all sorts of people in there throwing out all my stuff!'

I told him it was only myself, Ant and Julie, a family friend  He chose not to hear that and repeated he didnt want every Tom Dick and Harry in there. He clearly doesn't trust us at all.

In truth, Ant's been hard clearing only his own room as he's petrified of dad's anger should he throw anything of his away. I've spent about 16 hours sorting stuff and more time driving to the tip with old broken junk. I've driven from Caerphilly to Cardiff and back 14 times. I've taken 6 days off work as well as weekends and almost put my back out while clearing. I've had to wear a mask every time I'm in the house. I've visited probably every 2 or 3 days. I've burst into a mess of snot and tears at the most random and inappropriate moments and I have a permanent headache and knot in my stomach. My appetite has gone and I'm afraid my mad axe murderer tendency may surface with very little warning.

Even so. Did dad ask how Ant or I was? No, did he heck as like. Did he ask how we're coping? No. Did he ask me how the family was? No. Did he say 'Lovely to see you' or 'thank you for coming? ' No. Did he heck.

'The police were in here earlier,' he said, lowering his voice again. They were in here at least three hours.

'What did they say?' I asked.

'Well I don't know do I - they didn't speak to me!' He snapped back.

'Why didn't they speak to you?'

'Because it's about me. I've told you! Why won't you listen?'

This hallucinating business is driving me mad. It's another layer which makes no sense. He's been talking about some plot to kill him and take all his money and something about him having a tin of ham which was out of date and somehow got into the local water system and killed all the birds and fish in the local lake. Half of it he realises can't be true and the rest he can't make sense of so I'm the one who's clearly stupid for not 'getting it'.

Trying to make some sense of it all I asked. 'Tell me again as I don't think you've given me the full picture.'

'Oh god, I've told you so many times. I can't tell you all at once because you don't listen and you won't remember all of it. I know you don't believe me but it's 100% true. I know it is. They're all talking about me and I can hear my name all the time on my hearing aid feedback.' So it's my own fault for forgetting what he's told me.

I pointed out all the people he said were talking about him and plotting to kill him were NHS patients who had probably never met each other before. It was highly unlikely that all these clearly very sick or elderly people were all somehow placed there at the same time in the same place, with a view to finishing him off.

He looked at me as if I were stupid. 'I know the facts.' he said, 'and if you won't believe me then I don't know what I'm going to do. Why won't you believe me.'

'Because you've been hallucinating.' I said, I repeated the word as he couldn't hear me. He's in a 9 bed ward with 8 other people there. The whole ward became quiet. I repeated it again.

'You have a bicycle..' he said, clearly not understanding. I grabbed his white board and wrote YOU HAVE BEEN HALLUCINATING. He grabbed it and studied it.

'Yes, well I know some of it may have been a dream but I know most of it is true. He offered me his wax covered hearing aid and tole me to try it so I would know what he was hearing. Again I declined.

'Damn you!' he said. 'If I can't get my own daughter to believe me...' They have to have a licence to broadcast, and I'm sure they haven't got one.' He was back to where he thinks the tv/radio companies are trying to do a broadcast about him.

At this point I saw his knife sitting on his finished dinner plate and I realised I probably shouldn't be within reach of a sharp object (it was a hospital dinner knife so it wasn't really sharp at all, as I was highly likely to stick it somewhere it wasn't meant to go.

I went to find a nurse, leaving Ant to talk to him. I asked the nurse whether the police had been in that day. She said no, definitely not. I explained what dad had told me. She said it could have been one of the consultants who wears a business suit. He did spend time talking with all of the other patients but not with my dad because he was under a different consultant.

He won't tell the nurses or anything about these conspiracy theories as he believes they are in on it and he can't trust them. He wanted me to book him an appointment with 'the woman we've been seeing at City Hospice'. He means the cancer doctor. He believes we can trust her. He also wants me to book an appointment with the dermatologist, the ear people to sort out the wax and the eye people to sort his cataracts.

I went back to the bed and told him there was no policeman there today. His answer was he knows what he saw.

Ant was ready to leave after 15 minutes. I was ready to leave after 15 seconds but I felt we should stay a little longer. I'm just losing the fight to stay sane. I sit at the side of his bed and just have to bite my lip to stop myself from either melting into a sobbing snotty mess or grabbing some sharp or heavy blunt object and ending it once and for all. 

I made my excuses and left. I dropped Ant home and the moment he got out of the car I dissolved into another sobbing snotty mess. 

My dilemma - dad is in the hospital he wants to come home. He's a hoarder I struggle going into the house it's oppressive and it's nasty and dusty and I hate it. Social services haven't assessed it yet. They are highly likely to say it needs cleaning before he can come home. I can't clean it it's too much and he won't allow us to throw ANYTHING out. 

............................................

My cousin came round to the house - we were meeting there, then going for a cup of coffee. I asked her if she would be interested in a tour. I'd spoken about it a lot in the past and she had seen photos. I think it's fair to say even she wasn't expecting what she saw. There's no preparation you can do for it. She said it was so much more that you could ever imagine. Actually being in there is oppressive almost, like a cave with no air and stuff all around and the smell. I think she was relieved for us to get out and go have a much needed coffee and a chat.

What is making me mad? Three guesses, and people keep asking 'How's your dad?' I don't know what to say.

What is making me happy? Domino's pepperoni pizza with hot honey amd bbq sauce base.

What is making me cry.  Random stuff from unexpected kindness to a robin in my garden

What have I done to relax? Went for a walk down at Barry Island Beach. No Gavin and Stacey just horses and a gorgeous sunset. 😊

12) A welcome Day Off away from that house.

 

A blog about myself, daughter of an extreme hoarder parent who fell over on Christmas Day 2025 and broke 3 ribs. He’s currently in hospital thinking he can come home soon... He has terminal oesophageal cancer, kidney function issues, a bladder and a chest infection, asthma, diabetes, skin cancer and he’s 95. Meanwhile I’m running around like a blue-arsed fly trying to possibly make things safe at his house in case he gets sent home, yet being acutely aware he will have an uncanny ability to know if anything’s missing and he won’t be pleased. I have a job and family of my own. Slowly but surely, I’m losing the plot.

 13/1/26

A catalogue for state of the are cassette players

1960's electric cooker - still in service

Today I had to take Freddie (my car) for his MOT (He passed. I'm thrilled - that's one less thing to worry about) and then I had very little else to do all day. I'm taking a few days off work because I have many days to take before the year end (31st March). My work colleagues persuaded me to take a few days off and just chill. I can't do chilling but reading in a swing chair in my conservatory comes pretty damn close. Ideally at this time of year, I'd be hammering up and down some snowy alp with a couple of skis stuck to my feet. That's my idea of relaxing. However, due to circumstances beyond my control, I can't do that this year. so reading had to do.

I was halfway through chapter 2 when my phone rang - the hospital discharge team again. I'm not sure how this person differed from the one yesterday, but I explained again why I thought he should stay in and if he was coming out neither myself nor Ant was going to be there for full time care for him. 

'Can we perhaps tidy a bit. Maybe put things out of the way into another room?' she said, hopefully.

'Well we could... if there was any space in any of the other rooms to put it.'  

'Ah! Could we maybe push things to one side?'

'Things are pretty much already pushed to one side. That's how we have the goat tracks...'

'Er...'

'Tell you what,' I said, 'Let me send you photos and a video because I don't think we are on the same level of understanding hoarding here - it's like expecting to clean a sand-pit and finding a beach...' I sent the photos but my phone wouldn't allow me to email a video.

I had a text reply, she'd pass the photos on.

So, do I leave the inevitable until Social Services see it for full impact or do I nibble away at it because I will have to do it myself anyway so the sooner I get started the sooner it will be done. However bearing in mind if I start now it will have to be done twice; once making sure nothing is thrown out which may be missed by him if.or when he gets home and again... later.  I decided either will not make the slightest ounce of difference so I'm going to look after myself first and when I feel the urge I will do a bit of sorting. Today I decided I will not go anywhere near the house and I will enjoy my day off and do nothing. That is exactly what I did.

Freddie car trips to the tip 0

What is making me mad? This huge storm cloud sitting over my head.

What is making me happy? Adam Kirtland video blog about gardening. He's a foxy fella with a velvetty voice who blogs gardening tips. He said "If your joints are aching after a spell in the garden, rub lavender on them. It won't help but at least you'll smell good". Gave me a hoot. Cheers Adam 

What is making me cry bloody everything I'm like a walking snot machine

What have I done to relax? Went for a walk

Interesting finds - the cassette player catalogue above found in a box I brought to my house for sorting.

11) The War Medals and Vintage Sweetcorn,

 A blog about myself, daughter of an extreme hoarder parent who fell over on Christmas Day 2025 and broke 3 ribs. He’s currently in hospital thinking he can come home soon... He has terminal oesophageal cancer, kidney function issues, a bladder and a chest infection, asthma, diabetes, skin cancer and he’s 95. Meanwhile I’m running around like a blue-arsed fly trying to possibly make things safe at his house in case he gets sent home, yet being acutely aware he will have an uncanny ability to know if anything’s missing and he won’t be pleased. I have a job and family of my own. Slowly but surely, I’m losing the plot.

 

Before 

After

I'm both horrified and disbelieving of the two pictures above. For those of  you who love a good Spot the Difference test, the difference is three people, four hours and a LOT of graft and it looks virtually the same. Things are cleaner though and there is less of it.

I bought a 5ft tarpaulin on my way over and spread it on the ground. The plan was to take everything out and sort it outside. Chuck out everything which was a duplicate or was rubbish or broken, reduce the boxes and put the rest back. We didn't touch the kitchen table at all, However while my daughter and I started sorting into piles, Ant was meant to bring the boxes out, He brought out one box then disappeared. After we had finished 2 boxes, still no Ant so I went in to find him. He was curiously moving things around the counter and had moved things all over the rest of the kitchen. It's clear he's TERRIFIED of throwing dad's stuff out and so was moving everything onto the table, the cooker, everywhere. 

I said it was best to take it all out but again he did the same. My daughter and I did the clearing and Ant did churning - moving everything around the kitchen - not throwing anything out and stuck in a circle of fear. It's common in hoarders. We threw out a whole black bin full and 3 recycling bins full of papers, glass and plastics.

Finally we finished after 4 hours and had to take up and fold the tarpaulin again. As soon as we left the house, it began to rain. Immaculate timing - I am now trusting my late mother with the weather - it seems whenever I need it to be dry so we can sort, it is - and with a bit of a breeze to blow away the dust for good measure. When I need a day off, I know, because it'll be raining. I can't sort inside - there's no space and I can't breathe so if it's dry I will attempt a few hours. If it's raining then I have a day off. This is going to take YEARS to clear. I refuse to kill myself doing it.

I was on box 13 of about 17 of the day and having sorted out pen lids, bits of old stamps, paperclips, sticky elastic bands, crumbs, old discoloured coins and general shite, I was about to empty the final dregs into the bin when I spotted an old kind of ribbon thing. On closer inspection I found the following...

They are tiny medals.  I know my late Grandfather was awarded the Air Force Cross in 1918 aged 19 and this medal is dated 1918 and appears to be the Air Force Cross. I'm livid it wasn't given more respect than being left to rot in a box in the kitchen but am grateful I found them. Having googled little medals, it appears they are 'dresswear medals' so when someone was awarded a medal, they had the option to also have a mini version for wearing day to day on a pin on their jacket.  So although this isn't the original medal it's a damn good find. I have to find out how to restore it properly without damaging it and maybe have it mounted.  According to Google there were only 660 of these awarded between 1919 and 1932. I'm not sure where the original is.

Another vintage find - a tin of sweetcorn dated September 1996

Freddie car trips to the tip 0

What is making me mad? The amount of work put in with so little by way of a result

What is making me happy? Finding the medals

What is making me cry - anything and everything :(

What have I done to relax?  I watched skiing videos from my group in Cervinia Italy

Interesting finds The mini medals, some cufflinks given by my mum to my dad with a sweet note.

 

10) The Hunger Strike

A blog about myself, daughter of an extreme hoarder parent who fell over on Christmas Day 2025 and broke 3 ribs. He’s currently in hospital thinking he can come home soon... He has terminal oesophageal cancer, kidney function issues, a bladder and a chest infection, asthma, diabetes, skin cancer and he’s 95. Meanwhile I’m running around like a blue-arsed fly trying to possibly make things safe at his house in case he gets sent home, yet being acutely aware he will have an uncanny ability to know if anything’s missing and he won’t be pleased. I have a job and family of my own. Slowly but surely, I’m losing the plot.

                                          

Today I had a phone call from the social worker from the hospital discharge team. Wtf?? They understood that we wanted to be involved in the discharge process and that we may have a few concerns...

Yes. We do. 

I went through all my concerns. To be fair she listened politely, making all the ooohh and aaaawwww noises. Is it very cluttered?' she asked... I then described it and started blubbering. Again. Although this time, possibly, it was to my advantage, because she grasped I'm a woman on the edge and not to be ignored. 'Could we possibly help tidy up a bit?' Yes she said that. I said if she had a spare few years and Im sure the poor NHS shouldnt be stretching to that. She will bring up everything I mentioned in the meeting with the team...

I took my other daughter to see dad in hospital.  We decided to go after tea as it was easier to park. We arrived at 7pm in the car park and went up to the ward.

He was sitting in the bedside chair. He saw us and said 'I'm on a Hunger Strike!'

'Ah!' I said. 'Let me get a chair a minute.' I went to the corridor to take 2 of a stack of plastic chairs and we sat down. 'Why are you on hunger strike then?' I asked.

'Well the food is diabolical. It's dreadful, the rest of the ward had sausage and chips but they wouldn't let me have any because of my stent. Ridiculous. Poppycock. I've never heard such rubbish. They gave me damn tuna sandwiches - dry and awful - there they are. See.' He pointed to a mainly eaten pack of sarnies - see above - only the crusts were remaining. 'Do you want them?' he asked, pushing them at me.

'Er no! I'll pass thanks,' I said.

'Well they'll go to waste as well then.' he said, grumpily. 'You have them.' he said to his granddaughter - the first time he'd acknowledged she was there. She politely declined the offer.

He carried on about the food was too spicy and gave him oral thrush - then proceeded to explain what thrush was. He then hacked up a few greenies, spitting them into a tissue, which he dropped in the sandwich packet. Disgusting.

He went on talking about how he was 100% sure they were plotting to kill him and how he kept hearing his name via feedback through his hearing aid. They were, he said, finding everyone with his name by their net worth and saying some were not worth finishing off because they were worth under £2000. He again mentioned the drain and needing his chimney swept. He wanted to be there himself so wanted to wait until he came home.

Not wanting to go back to that conversation again, I asked him if he was going to eat his yoghurt as that was surely easy to eat and he said he hadn't eaten much for tea.

'Well once you've got my spoon then I can eat it, but you haven't got my spoon yet have you?'

'Well you haven't asked for a spoon.' I pointed out.

'Yes I did. Of course I did. When you first came in and I asked you to get one from the table and you went to get one.'

'No dad.' (Yes I know it's a small thing but seriously, why make me out to be the ignorant one. He's done it all my life and I'm not putting up with his shit anymore. no matter how small.) I said 'you didn't ask. If you had, then I'd have found you one.' I didn't point out in fact the first thing he'd said was he was on hunger strike. 'You definitely didn't ask.' I said adamant he wasn't going to bully me anymore.

He threw his arms up in the air in dramatic fashion 'YES I DID ASK' he bellowed, 'Oh WHY must you turn EVERYTHING into an argument ALL THE TIME!' He then turned to his granddaughter and said 'I did ask didn't I?' She, worried what to say, said she didn't know.

Infuriated I went off asked for a spoon from the kitchen and handed it to him.

'There you go,' he said 'Not so difficult was it?' I sat on my hands to prevent them doing damage. My daughter instinctively grabbed one hand (like her sister did two days ago) and squeezed it firmly in a 'mum you've got this. Don't worry I'm with you.' kind of a way. I took a huge lungful of air as he ate his yoghurt. I looked at my daughter and she blew me a kiss. 

Thank you God for daughters.

'Look dad,' I said, in a stupidly vain attempt to get him to say something meaningful to her, to communicate with her, to ask her about herself. 'Your other granddaughter's come to see you today.'

He glanced at her. 'Yes, is she going to a party?'

She replied she wasn't. He said as she had come home from Swansea, he assumed it was for a party. That was the only thing he's said to her since September when she went to Uni. She said she felt like he was just looking through her for the whole hour we were there.

We left shortly after that. She grabbed my hand and we walked out. 'Mum, you OK?' she asked. 'That was SO weird wasn't it? What planet is he from? - I couldn't make any sense whatsoever of what he was talking about... He thinks the doctors want to harvest him for parts... What the f...'

I agreed.  We drove home trying to make sense of everything, but we couldn't. She said if she hadn't heard it herself she wouldn't have believed it. 😏 

 What's making me happy? Garfy - a young cat who I've not seen before, sitting outside my window demanding I pet him.

What is making me cry? The social worker from the hospital discharge team...

What's making me furious? Narcissistic idiots who are needlessly very, very rude.

What have I done to relax? Taken the day off work to do nothing at all and staying in bed until 09:03 :).

Interesting finds the mini oven in the pic above of my car, Freddie - found on its side in the living room at the house, being used as a coffee table. 

9) Why do I even bother? 10 Jan 26

A blog about myself, daughter of an extreme hoarder parent who fell over on Christmas Day 2025 and broke 3 ribs. He’s currently in hospital thinking he can come home soon... He has terminal oesophageal cancer, kidney function issues, a bladder and a chest infection, asthma, diabetes, skin cancer and he’s 95. Meanwhile I’m running around like a blue-arsed fly trying to possibly make things safe at his house in case he gets sent home, yet being acutely aware he will have an uncanny ability to know if anything’s missing and he won’t be pleased. I have a job and family of my own. Slowly but surely, I’m losing the plot.

                                                                            A view from the University Hospital Wales (UHW) aka Heath Hospital.

 10th January 2026

The thing with Generation Z, and I have 3 members currently living with me on an on off basis, is that they know what they do and don't want. They know what they like and don't like and who they do and don't like and they're not afraid to speak out about it. My three, now 22, 20 and 20, believe in fairness and respect. As with myself, everyone gets respect in the beginning, or at the very least, polite indifference, until they do something to lose that respect or turn that indifference into dislike. Family is no exception. I'm old enough and wise enough now to know who I like, who I can tolerate and who I'd happily never speak to ever again if I didn't want to. I have a lovely group of loyal and understanding friends and I have a perfect groups of understanding and fabulous cousins (you know who you are). Even though it is said you can't chose your family, I'm happy I have 99% of  them.

As I hadn't seen paternal parent (PP) for 2 days, I figured I should go and visit again, even though my previous visit was because he'd told the nurse he thought he only had a day to live. (What if, by some strange quirk of the universe, that had been true and I hadn't visited...). I took my daughter with me. She'd offered to come for moral support and also to go to the mountain on the way to collect Ant, and to see if we could spend just thirty minutes or so doing something.

For the first fifteen minutes, we both walked around in disarray and swearing, wondering how exactly to tackle it. Imagine standing at the bottom of a huge rubbish tip, knowing there are items in there which have to be kept as the person who owns the tip is a giant ogre who will shout, scream and get very very nasty if you move anything of his, while also knowing that when and if the ogre returns home with little or no notice, he will likely not be best suited to living in such an environment and you will have to run around while he barks orders at you. It's easy to watch the messy house cleaning videos and I've watched so many, trying to trick my mind into thinking dad's house will be done that quickly so I don't worry (especially the ones done on fast forward).😁

I absolutely know I don't have to do it, however I also realise there is nobody else who could do it. Only those who know hoarders, know that a savings book, share certificate, old family photograph, house deeds, car log boog - anything in fact, could be in a box of empty envelopes. an apparent empty envelope on the floor and covered in rubbish and dust and dirt could have ten £20 notes in there (yes it happened last time, more than once). The throwaway comment I hear on a daily basis 'If it was me I'd just get a skip and chuck the lot in there!' is HYPER unhelpful, shows a complete lack of understanding and is extremely dismissive.

Also the programmes showing a team of 'helpers' together with a hoarding psychologist specialist person wouldn't help. If there are too many people, things will go out which haven't been sorted.

The cleaning videos - the ones where they offer a free clean to help those with issues. Mostly these appear to be in America or Canada. I'm in the UK and if anyone knows one of them willing to help clean while I do the sorting, please let me know.

I'm not a control freak, merely a realist. I'm also not a hoarder. I merely have, possibly imagined sense of duty to make the house as tidy as it can be in case they send him home. 

We managed to get a small pile of stuff ready to go to the tip the following day and then drove to the hospital for a visit.

Dad was awake, he looked at me as I walked in 'Ah! Izabelle. Izabelle? It is Izabelle isn't it?' I had a mask on but was only about two metres away. I sat next to the bed, Ant sat the other side and my daughter sat next to me. 

Dad tried to talk but started coughing - a very nasty cough, clearly some form of infection going on there, he hacked and hacked while we watched in dismay. He said usually when that happened, he would have asked for his reliever inhaler and he would be ok again. I asked if he meant his blue inhaler. he said no - his reliever inhaler - he brought it in with him, he said (he hadn't brought it in - he went in from home by emergency ambulance and didn't take anything with him). I asked him a further 7 times did he mean his salbutamol blue inhaler and each time he yelled at me impatiently NO. Finally I got the nurse, she said he wasn't written up for one but finally brought him a Salbutamol blue inhaler. 

'That's the one!' he said.

Crisis averted, he sat in bed saying nothing.

'So how are the ribs?' I asked by way of starting a conversation.

'What?'

'Ribs, Dad. How are the ribs?'

He put on his annoyed face. 'Biscuit?' he said.

'Ribs dad RIBS.' I stood up pointing to my ribs. 'You broke your ribs. How are they?'

'Yes well I suppose we can if you want to.'

I wrote RIBS? on his whiteboard and gave it to him. He studied it carefully.

'Yes ribs - what about them? It's my eye appointment I need you to chase. I had a series of 5 injections and...' he went on to tell me the same thing he's told me already about 5 times so far. I've already looked into it and he's on the list for a cataract operation.

'I know dad.' I said. He carried on explaining. 'I know.' I said, again. He started talking louder at me, shutting me down.

I sat there and looked at my daughter with a resigned look. She reached down and held my hand, a small but meaningful gesture - she got it. My eyes started burning with the first prickles of yet more tears. I bit my lip to hold them back. Dad continued 'Are you even listening?'

'I know dad. you've told me four times. I've phoned them already. I've also cancelled three of your other appointments with the optician, podiatrist and hospice...'

He raised his voice 'I have to tell you four times', he said, 'because I can't be sure you're ever listening and I have to make sure you've understood.' My daughter squeezed my hand and a tear rolled down my cheek. 'I've also asked you to get your drain man friend to have a look at the drain outside the house but that hasn't happened.' I told his I had asked the drain guy to take a look but each time he had suggested coming, dad had either been going out or the drain man hadn't turned up. It's difficult trying to organise a tradesman to turn up at exactly the time that's convenient. I had contacted the guy twice and now I had taken photos that day to see if we could get a quote that way. I was waiting to hear back. 

'I have got a chimney sweep quote for you dad. £75. If you like we can get this done before you come home.' Perhaps this would make him happier.

'Well I know it's probably gone up. It was about £50 last time...'

'it's £75 dad. I can be there and get it done next week if you like.'

'We'll get it sorted when I'm home so I can be there.'

I wrote in the whiteboard I CAN BE THERE. He took the board and studied it. 'You can be there. Right. well I want someone there so we'll get it done when I'm home.'

I tried to lift the conversation. 'Look who's come to see you dad.' I gestured to my daughter - his grand-daughter who he'd not seen since September as she'd been in University. 'Why don't you chat to her?' 

He looked at her 'yes I see her. I'm chatting aren't I?'  He turned to her, 'Is it you or the other one who's doing the medical thing?' (She has a twin sister, and they look very different).

'It's me.' she replied.

'Well this eye thing you see - I've told you mother but I doubt she's listened or understood...' and he went on to explain about his eye. My daughter is a first year student for a respiratory disease degree - but he wouldn't know that - he's never really bothered to find out. He's never really been interested enough. He knows nothing about her life, her interests, her friends, her ambitions - in fact he knows virtually nothing about her. He hasn't forgotten, he's simply never bothered to find out. Never, ever asked her or her twin anything about their life, not since they were born. He's their only grandparent.

She listened politely. I just looked at her, apologetically. She squeezed my hand and whispered 'It's OK Mum.'

After he'd finished, Ant cut in 'I'm ready to go when you are.' He had said nothing at all and dad hadn't spoken to him either. We'd been there about 30 minutes, which I think is about right for a hospital visit. However, I was cross because he'd not once asked my daughter how she was, how was university, how was she enjoying the course, how was she finding it being away from home? All basic things a normal grandparent would already know. I pushed - 'Dad, she's going back to university tomorrow so she probably won't see you for a while.' I was trying to get him to engage in conversation with her.

'Ah yes. right!' he said, 'Could you pass my coffee before you go.'

Freddie car trips to the tip - 2nd of many

What is making me sad?     PP's lack of interest in his grandchildren

What is making me happy?  I went to the Rock Choir Christmas Party and sang and danced all night, only cried once.

What have I done to relax? Fell asleep on the sofa and planted some bulbs in the garden.

Interesting finds - Plushie toy Clifford the big red dog - about 15" high, which dad had won back in 2002, the year before his grandson was born. He'd chosen it for his grandson. I found Clifford, covered in dust, still sitting in the hoard. His grandson was born in 2003, his granddaughters in 2005. 

What else made me cry?  A facebook skit of a chap giving random little old ladies bunches of flowers  (I'm not usually that soft)