17) Still in hospital six weeks later.

 After a few visits over the past few days, I have not updated as my mojo has buggered off - skiing probably - which is where I belong this time of year. That I haven't been and have nothing booked is nigh on killing me in itself.

After dad had the diagnosis in June 2025, I was under the impression he had months not years left and so I didn't book my regular jolly to the mountains. He has now been in hospital 6 weeks, with no sign of him coming home any time soon, I'm slightly waffled - knowing I could have gone. However the hospital give the impression he should be home really soon. Here lies the problem - his 3 broken ribs were healed enough for him to come home after 2-3 weeks, however, as the paramedics had to report the house due to safeguarding issues, there are now about 37 people involved in the discharge process - and none of them know what the others are doing.

Four times he has been told he can go home by staff who don't know the full picture. He has been told many different things by many different people and he's still there asking me what's happening. And I don't know.

I do know that an assessor came to the house and she said there was no way he can go home safely to that house. 'There will need to be a path wide enough for a Zimmer frame at the very least.' she said. 'Perhaps we can take out his double bed and replace it with a single bed.' She also suggested the 3 piece suite sofa and armchair could be chucked out leaving just his chair. The space would then be able to be filled with other stuff currently lining the hallway, stairs etc etc.

I'm surprised she knew the other sofa and chair were there - you can't see them - they're buried under mountains of stuff.  I was quite happy for them to get rid of the sofa and armchair - they're flattened and a nasty pale blue velour. However, it's not the getting rid that's the problem, it's the digging them out which would take days. Many man hours. She had brought a man with a van round with her. He said he was used to doing this kind of work. He was only there to assess so he could prepare a quote.

The assessor put her findings to dad in hospital. He refused to have anyone in there he didn't know. He also told her he wouldn't be using one of those damn frame things to walk. She persuaded him they weren't allowed to throw anything out he had not specifically signed for and even without the frame she would have to make it safe.

He finally agreed they could throw out the mattress in the spare room and they could move things into 2 spare rooms if they had to.

Now they need to provide a quote, if he can't pay, they will need to apply for a grant. This is likely, I assume, to take weeks.

When I went to visit him last night he asked me to look at Ant's bed as he said the leg had fallen off and it was probably just a screw that had come out. I asked Ant - he said it wasn't a screw - the leg had snapped. On further inspection, Ant has two mattresses on his bed and has had these since 1986. We think it was when my grandad died and the 2 mattresses came from his flat. No wonder Ant has had a bad back - there's no support and the leg is in two halves. I asked if we should ask them to get rid of the oldest mattress while they were getting rid of the other one. He said 'NO! they aren't concerned about this one it's the other one they want to throw out. We can put that one in the attic...'

'No way!' I said. 'Absolutely no way! Why can't we throw it out - why would we need a spare mattress which is 40 years old? A mattress only has about 7 years shelf life. No we're not keeping it.'

'In case we need a single bed for someone to look after me! a mattress lasts as long as it's comfortable. Seven years! That's poppycock! Ludicrous! No way - that's just a rumour from bed manufacturers wanting to sell more beds! That's a RIDICULOUS thing to say.'

I reminded him of the horsehair mattress I had in my room. 

'Yes, but during the war we didn't have much choice you see. We had to take what was available.'

I reminded him I was born over 20 years after the war ended.

'So?' he said - clueless.

'I'm highly allergic to horses.' I reminded him.

'Yes.'

'So this is the reason I was so sick when I was young. Twenty years sleeping on a horsehair mattress full of dust and house dust mites, and it was at least twenty years old when I was born!'

He fell silent for all for a few seconds, then 'Maybe. It's possible of course... Anyway let's not discuss that now.'

16) Belligerent and Obnoxious - and new things to collect.

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. 

Can I tidy the house? Can you eat an iceberg? 

 

 1 of 14 kitchen cupboards

I went to the house on Thursday 22nd January and spent 5 hours there sorting and clearing. I took a car load to the tip and then went home for a shower. I came back to Cardiff to see him. Dad was sitting in bed complaining about the food he'd just been served.

He didn't ask how I was.

He didn't say 'Lovely to see you.'

He didn't smile when I walked in.

He never does.

He demanded I tell him what was happening. I said I didn't know - surely they'd told him already. Apparently not. I said I'd called them many times and everyone said the decision had to be made by someone else or a team of people. 

He told me again he wanted to go home. I said 'Your house has to be tidy before you can come home.' After him looking at me like I'd just crawled out of a sewer, he demanded 'What? What? WHAT? as he couldn't hear, I was forced to say it a 4th time, very loudly. I saw the other eight men on the ward were listening along with 4 staff and 5 visitors.

He refuses to have anyone he doesn't know in his house. I am the only one who can, or is willing to throw things out. Ant is terrified of throwing anything out which may be missed. I have promised Ant I won't throw anything out that he isn't comfortable with. 

As we sat there he said he could hear people talking about him through his hearing aid. He said they were saying his name over and over. I believe this to be odd - if you're going to talk about someone you don't use their full first and last name over and over. You use 'he'. There's no need to repeat the name over and over. Weird and one of the reasons I don't buy it.  He fiddled with his hearing aid in an attempt to change the battery. I found the card with new batteries in it and passed him a new one.  As it was small and fiddly, I helped, peeling off the sticker and fitting it for him.  I passed it back to him. 'Damn' he said, 'it's dead'. I pointed out it was a new one. He said it may be an old one as he had a few of them at home (so he has been hoarding the batteries and so they're now out of date and therefore dead.)  He finally handed me the hearing aid, with a lump of earwax on it. I held it near my ear but not touching it. I couldn't hear anything other than very loud feedback.

I opened the hearing aid case to replace the card of remaining batteries and inside were bits of paper. I worked out these were the plastic film used on top of  his hospital meals. I asked why he was keeping them. He said it was in case anyone wanted to know what he'd been eating. That made me think - what kind of person saves labels from hospital food? It's just plain weird if you ask me - especially for someone in his position. Just WHY?

He asked would I be taking him home over the weekend. I reminded him I was having a weekend away in London this weekend with 7 friends for a big birthday treat for one of us. It had been booked since October and we were going to see a West End show one night and then the Abba Voyage show on the afternoon of the 2nd day and then home. It was to be my 3rd visit to Abba Voyage and I was incredibly excited and determined not to talk about home at all for the whole weekend.

'Ah,' he said and reminded me he needed clean pyjamas when I next came in, along with more hearing aid batteries and some underwear.

The tea trolley arrived and I said I wanted a chat with his nurse while he drank his tea. His nurse is lovely and she said she wasn't sure what was happening as there is a palliative care team and a doctor and a team and she wasn't sure what was going on either. She said I should take a break - she could see I was stressed. she said she thought I could use a hug and she hugged me and I cried. Again. She suggested I talk to my GP. I told her I was going away for a well needed girly weekend this weekend and we had a lovely chat. She said she hoped I enjoyed my weekend.

I went back in to see dad and say I was going now. I went to give him a hug - always aware this may be the last time and just in case it is I hug him. He grabbed me for a hug and said 'I do love you you know but we really must stop arguing.'  This always upsets me because saying something and following it with a 'but' negates everything just been said.

I had my weekend away and it was EPIC.

26th January 2026

I was back in work and I had a call from dad's consultant. He had a foreign accent so there may have been something lost in translation. He said 'Your father he have a major problem!' Well that was true, i said, he has cancer, broken ribs, diabetes and asthma...

'No, no,' he said, 'he has far more bigger problem...'

Was this they way I found out the inevitable, I wondered... what was I about to find out. 'Um, how'd you mean?' I asked.

'He have far bigger problem with his house...'

'Ah! Yes. He does.'

'He don't need to be in hospital and he has finished his care. I don't need to keep him here any more!'

So...

The doctor wants him out. He wants him out. I'm sure the nurses want him out. It would make sense for him to be out.

But he can't come out, because now social services are involved and they say it isn't safe. It probably isn't safe - but it's what he's used to and it wasn't the clutter which caused his fall. Furthermore the longer he stays in a hospital bed, the more likely he won't be strong enough when he finally does come home. 

'Can you tidy the house?' the consultant asked me.

'Can you eat an iceberg?' I asked him.  My unintended sarcasm was lost in translation. We decide I will speak to the nurses on the ward and he hangs up.

I went to the ward that night.

Dad was asleep. I woke him gently. 

'Ah!' he said, 'Is Ant with you?' I confirmed he wasn't. There was a long silence as he got out of bed and sat in the chair. 'Is it raining?' he asked.

'Yes. It's been raining all day.' I said.

'Ah. Right!'

Silence. With his hearing issues it's really difficult to have a normal conversation. Even if he could hear, conversation isn't his thing - at least not with me. I sat, silent, wondering whether to bother telling him about my weekend away. I decided against it - I knew he wasn't interested. He couldn't even fake interest. He never has.

His nurse came over. 'Hi Izabelle - hey how did the weekend with the girls go?' I was thrilled she asked and that she remembered. I told her all about it and she told me about a similar experience she'd had. Fabulous. She had to go then and I sat there with a smile on my face.

The silence continued. 'Could you pass my coffee over?' dad said. I passed him the cup. More silence.

Freddie car trips to the tip 1

What is making me mad?   Everything

What is making me happy?  My Abba weekend memories

What is making me cry - Everything

What have I done to relax? had a weekend away with my friends

Interesting finds

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.