Ten ways you know you grew up with a hoarder parent

 1. You never wanted your friends to visit but never really could explain why.

2. Nobody ever made a thing of putting out the bins, because nobody knew when bin day was, because nothing was ever thrown out.

3. You never got to slam a door when you were angry or wanted to make a point, because there was too much stuff for the doors to even move.

4. You thought all your friends were poor because they didn't have a fraction of the stuff in their houses you did.

5. You smelled of musty, dusty, neglect most of the time, except as this was normal you didn't realise until.years later when you left and revisited.

6. You wondered why other people had a single beige carpet and not an interesting patterned one. You didn't realise normal people are able to change their carpets every few years and the one in your living room dated back 25 years to a time when swirly patterns were normal.  

7. You realised losing a shoe for normal families was usually only temporary for a few minutes at most and not 20 years or so after yours were buried under piles of stuff.

8. You realised most people had a 'just.in case' drawer in the kitchen, not a 'just in case' house full.

9. You finally understood when people said they didn't eat out of date food, they were looking at the day on the label, not the year.

10. Once you move out you never, ever want to go back.

28) Further Woman-on-the-edge behaviour - 20.5.26 - The mouldy Ford Focus

 Today was a kind of nothing day. Nothing singularly spectacular happened, although also everything happened. I'm really feeling the pressure today and have a HUGE headache. I skupped my Rock Choir session and went to bed at 8pm. It's now 3am. I'm writing this to help me process things, to refer back to when (hopefully) life improves. Writing helps. 

On the surface, I'm coping well, trying to smile and wave (penguins - Madagascar). I worry if I stop, everything will implode. For tea I had a large bag of Doritos (chilli), a box of Maltesers and a slice of toast with Bovril. I don't care any more!

Dad's becoming more and more frail, more and more deaf, more and more unable to see, due to cataracts and more and more bloody obnoxious. He rang a few nights ago saying he needed eggs. In an attempt to avoid him asking me to take him shopping, because that in itself is mind-blowingly traumatic, I got the eggs and took them over after work. It was my intention to take them in and leave. If I don't get home for 5.30, my tea, cooked by my partner, is a dried congealed mess with the culinary appeal of a lukewarm cowpat. My partner cooks for 5.30 as he's home all day and is diabetic so has to eat at specific times. He's in bed by 8.30 as he's up at 3am.

Every time the hospital, doctor, social worker, district nurse, bank, chemist or ANYONE wants my dad, they call me. No matter whether I'm at work or driving, shopping or sat on the loo, I get a call saying they've tried to call him but got no reply and expecting me to jump to it. He can no longer hear the phone and even if he could, he wouldn't be able to hear the person on the other end anyway. I get MANY calls for him. 

He's currently waiting to have his cataracts done, an endoscopy and possibly, depending on what they find there, a second bigger and longer stent fitted. He had to go to have a blood test today and Ant said he'd go too. They both went ON THE BUS about 2 miles and when they got off the bus it was pouring with rain and they had to walk a good 10-15 minutes up a hill to their house. They were both soaked through and so dad went to bed for the rest of the evening.  I felt bad about them going on the bus but I was working. I have a job 9-5 three days a week, but of course hospital appointments and doctors appointments aren't flexible. Sod's law says they will usually be on a day I work. Yes, they could get a taxi, but they don't know how to book one, as neither has a mobile phone and dad's too tight to pay for one anyway. They both have a free bus pass.

So yesterday I took the eggs round after work and wanted to leave, however Ant became very panicky that he'd get shouted at because he hadn't woken dad when I was there, so I went up to see him in bed.  The first three times I tried, dad said 'go away and wake me at 6.30.' Finally he realised it was me and woke up. Ant had already told me they'd tried to cut the grass because it's now a foot high and has never been allowed to get this long before. They couldn't cut the grass because they couldn't open the garage doors to get the lawnmower out. They couldn't open the doors because the car was in the way. The car is in the way because it's been there since September when dad allowed the tax then insurance and finally the MOT to run out. The silver Ford Focus now has a lovely green furry coat of moss. Anyway, they couldn't move the car (which is on a backwards slope) because the battery was dead.

Dad also had to tell me all this as he feels the need to micro-manage everything, me and Ant included. He still sees us as 4 year olds. He yabbered on about all the above and that he'd run a cable to the car to try to charge the battery. The cable was still outside and the rain was hammering down.

'Why didn't you just let the handbrake off,' I asked, 'and let it roll backwards?'

Dad looked at me like I'd grown another head and shouted over me in monosyllables 'Be-cause the key is not a man-u-al key - it's mech-an-i-cal and won't work with-out the batt-er-y!' Now, I'm no mechanic but every car I've ever had allows you to use the key to open the door, even if the battery's flat. I had no energy left to argue any more. He asked if I could get my partner and son to take a look.  

I changed the subject. 'Dad your new stent appointment is a week Friday at 1.30. I'll take you there...'

he interrupted 'What? When? Why wasn't I told? Nobody told me that! What's going on? I haven't been told about that. What's happening?'

'They phoned me today. That's what I'm here to tell you!'

He looked at me in a moment's silence while he caught up. 'But why didn't you tell me? Nobody's told me about this. How am I meant to know if nobody tells me? I haven't had a letter. Anyway, I thought it was Friday.'

'No dad, Friday is for your cataract pre-op!'

'But you just said it was the stent. Make up your mind.'

'Dad. The stent is a week Friday, the cataract pre-op is this Friday.'

'But that's the same thing!'

After twenty minutes or so. I hoped he'd understood. He was silent again, then his long bony arms appeared from under the duvet. He was wearing his old gardening jumper. His arms did a kind of Tommy Cooper thing to each syllable, determined to be in control 'Right! if the appointment is 1.30 then you need to be here to pick me up at about 12.15...' 

Sick of his trying to micro-manage my time off needlessly, I turned to Ant and said we'd talk the day before to organise it all.

'Are you listening?' he snapped.

I told him I'd have to go, we'd sort it out nearer the time and told him to go back to sleep. I turned to leave and he muttered something about me never staying long enough for him to get any sense out of me. I'd been there an hour already, during which time, he'd told me to leave him sleep, snapped and shouted at me, told what to do, treated me as if I was an imbecile, tried to micro manage me picking him up for the next hospital appointment and generally been an obnoxious pig.

As I got into my car, shaking with frustration, a neighbour came up and asked how he was. I know she was being kind and clearly she didn't know him very well as she said how.lobely he was. I can't remember what I said to her because then she asked how I was and I lost it (again). One big snotty mess (again).

Knowing I'd have missed my tea (yet again), I drove to the local shops on my way home and parallel parked Freddie next to a huge Range Rover type thing. As I grabbed my bag to get out, I saw the passenger of the Range Rover, trying to squeeze between my car and hers to get in. The spaces were narrow, and her car was wide, so she was having a bit of bother. Her husband started moving the Range Rover forward so she'd have more space. As she passed my door, I heard her sneer 'Crappy parking by the way.' Wrong time, wrong place, wrong person lady.

Before I knew it the words 'Fuck off, Bitch.' had escaped from my mouth, loudly and clearly. Furthermore, I was more than ready to get out and give her more words of advice, physically even, should the need arise.

She, sensibly, took one look at me, and sensing that staying there wouldn't be her best option, gave me a half hearted look somewhere between shock, anger, fear and sympathy, got in the car and left.

For my part, I wasn't proud of myself. This isn't my usual form of greeting when encountering strangers in the street. Previously I'd have done virtually anything to avoid confrontation. Probably in a similar situation I'd have bent down to pick an invisible something from the car floor and locked the door. However, that was before and this was now. Good job she left. I got out of my car and realised my parking was a little out of line, although that wasn't the point. Instead of being ashamed, I was proud of myself for being assertive. I think though, that this is an example of me being a woman on the edge. I only hope my mad axe murderer tendencies don't surface and get me into serious trouble. Hide the axes please.

At this point, as I relayed this to my counsillor, he decided he should book me for another five sessions

During the past 2 weeks I have;

1) Taken dad to have his flu/covid jab.

2) Taken dad shopping (3 hours of hell) Lidl, Farm Foods and Morrisons

3) Received 23 e-mails from Ant saying how unhappy he is and how upset he is at being bullied constantly by dad.

4) Taken a plastic petrol can full of petrol for dad's lawn mower over. £13.11

5) Bought and taken eggs to him.

6) Arranged for his drains to be repaired.

7) Arranged for a rail to be fitted at the top of his stairs

8) sorted out his repeat prescriptions and driven to his GP to sort them

9) had a quote for replacement windows as his are misted and letting in ants.

10) Bought him some tablet sorting pill containers he's asked for, for daily use and taken them round (still in the packet 3 weeks later).

11) Cut his hedge after work

12) Arranged for rails to be put outside his house

13) met with his social worker at his house and listened while he told her he didn't need any help.

14) Met with Ant's social worker ... ditto

15) Met with Ant's support worker.

16) Taken dad to have his ears de waxed.

17) Taken Dad to his hospice appointments

18) Organised his boiler service

19) Paid all his bills (using POA) - I have to call his bank and go through MANY layers of security each time while listening to the bank answer machine on repeat, lying to me by telling me I can do it all online (I can't).

20) Spent MANY mind-blowingly frustrating evenings taking phone calls from dad who calls to tell me things I've already sorted and trying to micro-manage me and my time. He can't hear me and a kind of verbal tennis starts. Ant shouts at him from anothet phone in the same room 3 feet away, and thus also straight into my own ear to translate (in some fashion) what I need him to know.

Meanwhile my daughter has been in hospital having a major jaw re-alignment operation and is currently at home recovering but needing me. I have a job and a family of my own.

I spoke to another neighbour of dad's last week who I've known since I lived there in 1992, lovely man. Salt of the earth type etc. He said he thought I may as well live there as it appeared I was there more than I must have been at my own house. I said not effing likely and he agreed. I said I wouldn't mind if it had been an ordinary house where I could sit and have a nice relaxing cup of tea amd chat with the lovely father I wished I'd had and perhaps moved in for a while and looked after him while reminiscing about the good old days... Neighbour brought me down to earth... 'But your dad's a TOSSER.' he said.

Fair point!  Glad that one's been clarified.

Despite that, this Friday, I have to collect dad from his house at 8.30 to take him to the hospital for 9.15, then drive to work where I'm supposed to start at 9.  Then collect him again when the hospital call to tell me he's ready, thereby losing my lunch break.

Tuesday I have to take him to his hospice appointment.

The following Friday I have to take him to a different hospital a good 10 miles away, again on a work day, take him to the ward, and go back to work. He stays overnight and I go to collect him the next day. (a 30 mile round trip for me).

The following Thursday is his cataract operation, providing the pre-op went to plan. Again I have to take him and bring him back.

He rang me today to ask when his windows are to be done. I have called the window chap a week or so ago and asked for a rough quote based on my own measurements. If that was OK I'd have the survey done and the proper measurements taken. We did this and I had to make about six phone calls to make sure dad was in and awake when the window people came. They came and sent the quote. I then had to go round there (yet again) to check he was happy and could see the quote and explained it to him. He wanted the opening on the top window to be lower so he could reach it - by 4 inches he said. A lot more phone calls and emails and he says he wants to see a sample of the window (like the double glazing salesmen used to carry around in the 80s). He wants to see this because despite me telling him they are recommended by Which magazine and have all the trade stamps and a friend of mine works there, he still wants to see for himself. I asked why he didn't ask the window people when they were there measuring. He said they came and went so quick he didn't have time.

My partner, our son and I went to see dad's car to see if it could be moved for the lawn mower the next day. I got the key, we opened the car door with the key, released the brake, moved the car and I went to tell dad. He stareted to tell me the whole lawnmower tale - again how it couldn't be moved with a dead battery...

'We've moved the car. The garage is open!' I said.

He made a face like I'd just thrown water in his face, making it clear he wasn't happy I had dared to speak before acknowledging his words. 'You can't open the door because the battery...'

'Dad! The car is moved and the garage is open!' I said loudly and clearly.

'Listen will you girl!' he said, 'You need to get another battery to be able to run a cable to the car in order to get...'

'DAD! THE CAR IS MOVED ALREADY!'

He rolled his eyes at my insolence at daring to talk over him.

'We moved it with the key - we didn't need to start it. I said that yesterday.'

There was a silence. He finally understood. In an attempt to save face he said 'Well I couldn't get the door open.'

My son appeared and said, in a normal voice. 'We opened the door with the key and let the handbrake off. You didn't need to start the engine.' 

As I stood there, they both had a conversation man to man. Dad heard every single bloody word. I had to walk away.

Within 10 minutes, my son had persuaded my dad to sell him his clapped out Focus for £75. My son is a mechanic and will get it to MOT standard and sell it. Otherwise the car would only be good for scrap with no MOT or Tax.

Today, when everything got too much, I asked my partner of 28 years if he would help take my dad to some appointments to take the pressure off me. 

'No' he said.

'Why,' I asked - knowing the answer of course but wanting to hear it.

'Because I hate the man and I don't want to!'

Does anyone else ever want to just walk away and go live in a mountain shack by themselves forever?

Answers/comments welcome.

I need a break - and a pint of alcohol - and a box of Galaxy chocolate and some sleep.

27) He was doing WHAT?? The boiler man and all the others.

 

A blog about the daughter (me) of an extreme hoarder parent who's 95 and extremely frail. He has many health problems and now sleeps a lot. Meanwhile I’m running around like a blue-arsed fly trying to sort out his bank, HMRC, a boiler service, a drain repair, new  windows (his current ones were installed in the 1980s and although they are double glazed, they have wooden frames and have misted up badly, a nurse visit, 3 hospital appointments and shopping trips. I'm afraid I’m losing the plot.

This is 'Christmas' the poor starving and skeletal (ahem)  woodpigeon, who didn't get the brief this year from the RSPB saying we're not supposed to feed wild birds from 1st May until 1st October due to some bird disease transmitted by bird feeding tables. This has nothing to do with the blog...

I went round to the house last week unannounced as I was passing. Dad and Ant were nowhere to be seen so I went inside. I found dad asleep on top of his bed and heard Ant in the bathroom. Ant began to panic 'Oh no, you've ruined the surprise He'll be angry!' Ant started to have a panic attack. 'Dad Dad Izabelle's here...'

Dad started to stir 'What's going on? What's happening?' 

Ant pointed out they were fitting a new shower - they appeared to have done the pipework and were trying to fit the shower to the wall but hadn't managed to get the shower onto the keyhole shaped hole. I got into the bath and stepped onto the stool in the bath to see if I could get it in. I couldn't do it either.

Dad appeared saying he'd had to go to lie down as he was shattered as they'd been doing the shower for 2 hours. He wanted to look. 'Help me get my legs over the side will you Ant.' he said. I watched as Ant lifted one leg, then the other over the side of the bath and then help him onto the stool. I was horrified. Dad was shouting at Chris that he had 'spoiled the surprise'. Apparently dad had wanted to show me he was still quite capable of doing what he'd always done and now the surprise was ruined and he was blaming Ant and Ant was having a panic attack.

I think I have blanked the incident out because I really don't know what to do. If I get a tradesman it will take a while - this is a bank  holiday weekend and dad will be furious and take it out on Ant. I hate to be taking their independence away from them but I'm really horrified.

Among many other things dad has asked me to do for him recently, is to find someone to have his boiler serviced. As anyone over the age of fifty probably knows, time appears to speed up as you get older, you are horrified to find things you thought happened ' a month or so ago' were actually four years ago... or more...

Dad says his boiler has been installed for about four years, and now needs its annual service. I rang the supplier who say the boiler installation warranty was registered in 2017. The last service was 2020.  I rang the guy who installed it in early April. He said he was free the following week Thursday or Friday. Fabulous. I said I would check with Dad when was convenient and call him the next day. 

I called back the next day to book and the engineer asked the address. There was a silence. 'Hello'... 

'Ah yes' he said 'erm, I'm on site at the moment without a pen could you call me tomorrow morning.

I called him the next day. He said 'Ah, yes. Sorry I don't have a pen and I'm on a building site. COuld you call me next week.

I called the next week, the guy says he's free Friday and then changes his mind. He says he has a few contract jobs he has to complete. Can I call next week.  

I called the following Wednesday. He says he's awfully sorry but as he's been so busy, him and his wife have booked a 2 week holiday and won't be back until 2 weeks time. I say I will call him then. It's not mega urgent as it is a service not a breakdown. I also have doctor appointments, a drain issue, new windows to get sorted and everything else dad has put on the back burner for a the past I don't know how long. Dad asks me every day what's happening.

I call the guy after the 2 week 'holiday'. He tells me he will call me when he has his diary.

The following morning I have a call on my way to work on hands free while I'm driving. The reception isn't good. He says something about being called in for a knee operation he has been on the list for and he will be out of action for 6 months. 

Right!  Sometimes I can't believe how naive I am. It's now so obvious the guy just didn't want to go to the house - plain and simple. I understand that - and I understand the reasons. Trust me, if I didn't have to go to the house, I wouldn't go either but FFS he has strung me along like the trusting idiot I so clearly am when he should have just said he wasn't available/didn't want to do it.  As it was I had to try to palm my dad off with his bullshit and excuses and try to explain why he hasn't come yet when he asked me to sort it months ago. 

He wasn't the only tradesman to do this to me - people who promise to call round and don't. I have to make sure I'm there when they come in case he doesn't hear the bell or is asleep. I KNOW he is awkward, cantankerous, obnoxious, narcissistic, rude, picky, stubborn, thinks he knows everything and is an unpleasant character at the best of times but by lying to me, these tradesman make my life harder.

And it's hard enough at the moment.

(26) Karen Bashing activities- (sorry if you're a genuinely nice person whose name is Karen). Don't push me.

 

A blog about my current life. I'm the adult daughter of an extreme hoarder. He is 95, very frail, he has oesophagael cancer is very hard of hearing and has cataracts. He is also the most obnoxious, bad tempered, impatient, rude man I have ever met. Please don't think this part is recent - he's always been like that. It makes it very hard to be the patient, kind and loving daughter society expects me to be. I run round like a blue-arsed fly trying to possibly make things safe at his house and take him places he needs to go. I live eight miles away and have a job and family of my own. Slowly but surely, I’m losing the plot.

         Afterwards I went into the woods for an hour. The Bluebells are gorgeous right now.

Despite taking dad to Morrisons on Tuesday (today is Saturday) while he fannyed about trying to spend £30 so he could get £5 off, he somehow forgot the twatting voucher and managed to guilt trip me into going today.  He rang me last night and said his voucher expired on Sunday and if I couldn't take him he supposes he'd have to see if he could get someone else to take him... He is well aware I live 8 miles away and Morrisons is 3 miles from him so a round trip of 22 miles. My time and diesel are never taken into consideration. On the way I filled his petrol can up with unleaded for his lawnmower £9.11. I took the can and put it outside the back door. I said it was £9.11. 'What for one can?' he said. Since he's stopped driving he has no idea what anything costs.

We got outside Morrisons - dad, Ant (my brother) and me but there were no disabled bays to park Freddie in. I dropped them both outside Morrisons doorway and they shuffled inside. Eventually I saw a car pulling out of a disabled bay so I waited patiently - we'd need the bay after the shopping. As I prepared to move into the bay, I spotted a large karen-like creature, wedged into a white Range Rover Vogue. We locked eyes. She was daring me to park in the only space. I parked in the only space. She abandoned the Chelsea tractor and stormed over as I got out. Bear in mind I'd just had an hour of dad and was facing an iminent shopping experience with him too..  I'm a woman on the edge. 

'Do you have the RIGHT to park y'ere' she says, coz she's a bit common. 

'I do' I replied, stuck my nose in the air and strode off with an exaggerated spring in my step. 

'Where's your badge?' She demanded, loudly. I ignored her (the badge was in the window from the trip to Lidl 10 mins before).  'Oh excuse me! EXCUSE ME...' She yelled after me. I may have actually told her in an unofficial sign language that she'd said that twice... 

I walked into Morrisons and found Imelda faffing at the bread display, squidging each loaf with his bony fingers. About five minutes later Karen appeared with a member of staff, pointing me out. I grabbed dad's arm and smiled sweetly while the member of staff said something curtly to her and walked off leaving her all wound up with nowhere to go. Her face was a picture.

The shopping lasted 45 minutes today as I took charge of the adding up and he used his voucher. I took him home.

I went for a long walk in the woods on the way home to sit by myself with the trees and the birds and the bluebells afterwards which calmed me down a lot.

(25) Morrisons - you can stick your voucher where the sun don't shine.

In their wisdom the folk at Morrisons have been distributing their marketing mags through the door of unsuspecting folk in the neighbourhood.  The magazine has a £5 off when you spend £25 or £6 when you spend £30.

Dad had one through his door.

Dammit!

It's not the voucher that's the problem, more that I have to take him shopping as he doesn't trust me to go for him, yes I have offered. I can't take him on my own so I take him and Ant as Ant knows what brand, how many and what he may have forgotten.

So, I have to drive seven miles to pick them up. I then have to wait 45m for him to get ready and ask me stupid questions like would I like a box for his shopping (like he's doing me a favour). We then fiddle with his seatbelt and make sure the car door is closed and off we go.

We park, get a trolley for him to lean on and Ant shoots off with it, eager to get the ordeal over with. I call Ant back and give the trolley to dad who holds on to it. They have made a list (hurrah), however, the list bears NO resemblance to the layout of the store so I get my 3000 steps in trying to work out the quickest route.

Dad shuffled off to try to 'spend at least £25 plus a little bit more so we can use the voucher'

They find a stand with reduced Easter Eggs on - 'ALL £1.50' the foot high, neon sign screams for the 200 or so eggs left on the stand, probably because Cadburys has decided to abandon its glass and a half advertising faff and replace it with palm oil, which surprisingly, they haven't advertised at all.

'D'you work here?' he asked the man in the Morrisons uniform. Without waiting for an answer 'How much are these eggs?' He bought 3.

He then shuffled over to the milk 'Which one do we usually get Ant?'

'The blue one.' said Ant, loudly.

'What? he snapped with an evil snarl. 

'The BLUE one...' Ant handed him a blue top milk, adding 'They're 2 for £4.'

'What? he snapped again. Ant pointed to the sign. Dad wrote it down.

I won't bore you with the rest of the intricacies of the shopping trip but it was a good three hours before we all got home. Yes he did hit his £25 but he'd forgotten to bring the twatting voucher, clearly having lost it in the house somewhere.  

I'm keeping my fingers crossed he can't find the bloody thing before it expires or I'll be guilt tripped into going again so he can spend it.

I'm Right! He called me just now. He's found the #*&#ing voucher and it expires on Sunday so he wants me to take him. So on my weekend off drive 8 miles, wait for him as he's never ready then take mim 3 miles back to morrisons. Wait 3 hours for him to faff then take him 3 miles home and drive 8 miles back to my house. Ant will have to come too so 3 people 3 hours 22miles to spend a *&#*ing voucher £5 off when you spend £25. Morrisons I hate you.

24) Easter - a religious occasion - or not!

A blog about myself, daughter of an extreme hoarder parent, aged 95, who fell over on Christmas Day 2025, breaking 3 ribs. He was in hospital 9 weeks and is now home. He has terminal oesophageal cancer, kidney function issues, asthma, diabetes, skin cancer cataracts and is extremely hard of hearing. Meanwhile his narcissism, and controlling behaviour, downright nastyness and sense of entitlement runs wild. I have some stupid sense of duty which means I’m running around like a blue-arsed fly trying to make things safe at his house and get his prescriptions, take  him to many doctor and hospital appointments, take him shopping and sort out his boiler service, and tradesmen and everything else. I have a job and family of my own. Slowly but surely, I’m losing the plot.

 

I took dad shopping 8 days ago to Morrisons where he bought 5 chocolate eggs. 

I had asked him Why 5 and he said 3 for my kids (in their 20s now), one for me and my partner and one for himself, in case nobody else got him any. I'm not sure where poor Ant came into his calculations.

He's been calling me every few days asking me to pay a bill, get an estimate for work or do something else for him and each time he asks 'Will I be seeing you over Easter?' I've replied I'd see what I could do. I live eight miles away, not too far but I seem to be over there about 4 times a week already and each time is extremely stressful. EXTREMELY stressful. Currently just walking through the door makes my blood pressure rise.

Easter was no different. I went round on Easter Day after he'd been to church to take him and Ant a chocolate egg each.

For the sake of it I asked all 3 of my kids if they wanted to come to visit grandad. They all said an emphatic 'Not a &$&$&$&$ chance you've got to be ****ing joking. Sorry mum No way!'

Having already told them when they were 13/14 that I'd never force them to see him once they turned 18, I had to respect their wishes.

I went alone.

I turned up at his house and gave him and Ant the eggs. 'Happy Easter,' I said.

'Right', he said, looking at the eggs with his judgy eye. 'Right!' The first part of the annual egg swapping was done and he was satisfied.

As far as I was concerned that was it. I'm not a child any more and don't care if I receive an egg from him or not. In fact I'd prefer to just skip all the faff to be honest and buy myself a bar of Galaxy and not have to feel like I'm being judged. However Ant appreciates having a chocolate egg and so we do the egg swapping palaver. 

'Are you by yourself?' dad asked, although it was clearly obvious I was.

'Yes.' I said, although I felt the answer wasn't necessary and was merely a springboard for the speech I could feel him brewing.

I was right 'Well no chocolate eggs for them then if they aren't here.' he said, in a kind of what do you think of that kind of tone.

'OK' I said.

It wasn't the answer he anticipated.

'Well because if they can't be bothered to come and see their grandad at Easter, they don't deserve to be given eggs!' he said.

'OK,' I repeated.

'Well, don't you agree?' he said, pushing his point and trying hard to push my patience.

'Dad, I don't care. Really. If you don't want to give them eggs, it's fine.'

'Right then. No eggs for them this Easter!'

'OK. It's up to you dad. If that's what you want!'

I wasn't playing ball so he needed a different tactic.

He thought for a moment, 'Easter is an extremely important day in the Christian calendar and I think you'll agree they haven't been brought up particularly well regarding the important dates for the church!'

Woah! Now he was questioning my parenting skills. He was questioning my parenting skills... the cheeky twat!

'Dad. Don't start preaching at me. My kids are fully aware of the significance of Easter and all the other dates important to the church. They're all adults now and so it's their choice whether they want to acknowledge and celebrate those dates as they see fit.'

'So why aren't they here then?'

What? What on earth was he talking about - he was clearly just baiting me for a reaction. Much as I was tempted to tell him it was because they didn't want to see him. Ever. I can't say that and feel good about it.

I told him they were in University in Swansea.

'Well if they don't come to see me then they don't get any eggs. I'll keep them here.' He said it like it was a threat or like he wanted me to beg for them.

'Fine!' I said, 'They're all over 20 now dad, they really won't mind about the eggs. It's not a big deal.'

'Right!' he spat, yelling and thumping his fist on the kitchen table as if he was telling me some huge important point. 'I'll bloody keep the bloody eggs and throw them in the bloody bin or eat them myself!.'

'Whatever! I said. I don't care. Keep your stupid eggs, and stop with the yelling or I'm going home.'

Don't you want your egg?' he said sarcastically.

'If it means I have to put up with your attitude and you yelling at me, then no, you can keep the damn thing. I'm going.

When he'd thumped his fist on the table, the egg he was about to ceremoniously present to me (a Maltesers egg), fell to the floor. As I turned to leave before I did or said something I regretted, he kicked the egg across the kitchen floor. 'Don't walk off again girl damn you!' he yelled as I shut the door and left.

Happy Easter Everyone.

22) Hide the Axe

A blog about myself, daughter of an extreme hoarder parent who fell over on Christmas Day 2025 and broke 3 ribs. He came out 9 weeks later... 

                                         Found in a box - newspaper from 1987 - 39 years ago.

Since he came home, he's been calling me, asking about taking him shopping and to his numerous hospital appointments almost every night since I took him home from the hospital.

On Thursday I went for a meal out with a friend after work and went to his house afterwards, even though I'd had a lovely night, his house was about 5m away from the dinner venue so I nipped in.

After pleasantries - me asking him how he was and him ignoring me and then telling me about his problems, I told his there was an antiques valuation company coming to Cardiff in a week or so and I wondered if he'd let me take a few of his items to be valued.

'WHAT!?' he snapped. I repeated myself three times.

'Something about a dog...?' he said staring at me as if I had just crawled from under a rug.

'No dad, I can take stuff to have it valued for you.' 

He carried on staring at my mouth long after I'd stopped talking, with an expression of annoyance and irritation. I looked away; I can't look at him when he does that.

'What d'you want me to do about it?'

Figuring he couldn't hear, I repeated, louder. 'I'd like to have some of your stuff valued by a dealer.'

He frowned and glared at me. 'Why can't you speak to me without shouting. I can't understand when you shout...'

'I tried that first but...'

'When you shout it just sounds loud and nasty and I can't understand...'

'OK dad I'll talk slower for you - the valuation people are comin...'

'Stop mumbling. I don't know what you're talking about when you...'

I grabbed the whiteboard and got my pen out. He flung his hands up in despair; 'Oh DON'T write everything down, dammit what's WRONG with you girl? Just speak properly.'

I finished writing and passed him the whiteboard. While he was reading it, I spoke to Ant, asking him if he knew where various antiques were. Ant had a fair idea, but there were different parts of different pieces all over the house.

While we were talking together, Dad piped up 'Do you remember your Aunty May?'

'Yes. Why?' I asked.

'Well she had a very nasty, malicious and vindictive streak and I rather fear you two may have inherited it!'

Ant and I looked at each other in dismay - where did this come from?

'What d'you mean dad?' I asked him, wondering why he'd say such a thing.

'Well,' he said 'you both have nasty and vindictive traits, and I suspect you have inherited them.'

What the heck? 'I asked for examples, but he pretended he hadn't heard. I asked again.

He threw his arms in the air 'Oh DON'T you start now, I've got enough on my plate. Don't you realise I've just come out of hospital, girl. Why must you treat me like this?' He was playing the victim now, and as for calling me 'girl', well that was never going to end well really.

'Dad, you can't say something like that without examples. Give me an example. What're you talking about? That's a horrible thing to say.'

'See - you're doing it now and you can't even see it!'

Luckily the axe was in the shed as my fuse is miniscule right now. I said, 'I'm not letting you speak to me any more like that. No way! I'm going home!'

'He stood up and shouted as best as he was able to me, 'Don't you DARE leave the room!.'

I carried on walking, and as I got to the main door he yelled 'HERE!' in the way you may raise your voice loudly to a disobedient dog.

I said a few things which I won't repeat here, and went out to my car and sat in it shaking, furious and just trying to calm down before I drove off.  Ant scuttled out, clearly having a panic attack so I got him to sit in the car. He was trying to apologise for dad's behaviour and I apologised for shouting in front of him but I wasn't going to put up with being treated like that any more. Ant said Dad always spoke to him like that. He ate one of his sweets he always carries with him, to calm him down.

A figure appeared at the door of the house. 'Dad wants to say something,' said Ant seeing him there. 

'Whatever he has to say, I don't want to hear it!' I said.

Ant said he'd just check and went to the house, returning shortly after with something in his hand.

'Dad says can you sew up his pyjamas for him by the fly and he needs the legs taken up two inches...'

No words.