30) Back in hospital again. The coat the soap and the small black dog that wasn't.

 30).  29.5.26

Here's a lovely photo of Barry Island. I went there for a walk with friends. Walks outside on an empty beach are refreshing and take your mind off thing

Friday 29th May 2026 - The man (I will not refer to him as dad), has been in hospital since Wednesday. I thought it may be nice for him if I went to visit.

I went straight from work to fetch Ant and we headed for the hospital. 

We finally found him. 

'Hello,' I said, moving all his stuff so I could sit on the bedside chair. How're you feeling?'

'Wat! Oh it's you. Where's Ant? Is Ant with you? Where is he?'

Ant pulled up a chair. 

'Ant - is that you? Oh don't sit there I can't see you. Come closer.' The man became irritated. 'You have no idea how exhausting it is having all these visitors all day. It wears me out, it really does.' He sighed deeply. 'Whatsisname from church has been in. Oh what's his name?' he flapped his hand in the air to try to remember the name.

'Arthur' I said.

'The man from the church...'

'ARTHUR.' I said

He carried on flapping his hand, faster now. 'What's the damn chap's name? Ant! What's his name from the church?'

'Arthur' said me and Ant simultaneously.

'Arthur!' said the man, as if he'd figured it by himself. 'Yes, Arthur. That's the one. He came in to see me. Lovely man, practically runs the church. Anyway I've given him a list of three things I need. He said he would call you later Izabelle, I said ten o'clock was a good time. Anyway I need, a shaving adapter and... Have you got a pen?'

'I don't need a pen. I can remember...'

'Wat?  Have-you-got-a-pen?' he used his monosyllabic voice.

'I don't need a pen.'

'you don't need a pen... right. I need a shaving adapter...' he clocked the look of total numbness on my face. 'Izabelle, are you listening? I don't know if you're listening. Look why don't you write it down? Go and ask the nurses for a pen.'

'If he's goung to call me then I don't need a pen. Just tell me, dad. I'll remember OK.'

'A shaving adapter and ... a shoehorn.'

'There. Three things - have you got that?'

'That was only two.'

'Wat? Have you written them down - the three things I need.'

At this point my mobile rang, - my daughter asking when I'd be home.

The man looked at me as I hung up. 'Was that a man about a lovely black doggy?'

I looked at him, confused. 'What doggy? What man? what are you talking about?'

He became frustrated, his face contorted and he slammed his fist on the table and spat. 'DAMMIT! Was that about the little black poodle type dog we're getting from the dogs home? For Ant - he's going to need a dog when I'm gone dammit.' he slammed his fist on the table again and demanded, 'Well, was it them?'

'No!' I said, and because I wasn't going to take him giving me that attitude, I asked why he thought they would phone me anyway.

His face turned purple, his fist formed again and I'm sure he would have hit me had I been close enough. 'BECAUSE YOUR MY BLOODY POWER OF ATTORNEY. THAT'S WHY!' His fist hit the bed instead and he pushed the table, tipping his water. He screamed the words with total venom. As he did so, he got a twinge of pain somewhere and grabbed his sides. 'You really have no idea how much it hurts when you make me shout.' 

I refuse to be spoken to like that, told him so and got up and walked out, tears of fury running down my face. I got as far as the nurses station and stopped to wait for Ant. The nurse asked if I was ok and it all came out and, once again, I turned into a blubbery mess. She said she was about to take him his medication. I enquired whether she could perhaps give him extra medication... turns out she wasn't open to bribery.

Ant came running after me like a little puppy, as if I was going to leave without him. I sent him back in but said I needed time to calm down.

After a lovely chat with the nurse I decided I'd have to go back in just in case it was the last time I saw him. As I appeared, the man acted like nothing had happened. 'Ah Izabelle,' he said. My yellow coat needs fixing, it's ripped by the pocket you see and things fall out, so when you have a minute could you take a look at it?'

'We've got to go.' I told him numbly. He reached out for a hug. He didn't get one. 

                                                                            ~

*    He knows I can't go in a house where there's a dog. Due to my years living in his disgusting mess as a child, I can't tolerate dust or animals. Highly allergic, not just a sneeze or two. How he thinks I'm going to manage to deal with all the crap in the house when he's gone with a dog living there I don't know. My health was never his priority.

29) Here we go again... 26/5/26 1 year since he was first hospitalised and diagnosed.

 Here we go again... (some ducks/goslings for cuteness - at Caerphilly Castle). It has nothing whatsoever to do with the blog other than getting me out in nature for the sake of my sanity which is rapidly doing a runner right now.

A note; I will refer to him as 'the man,' I do not mean as in Yeah! He's The Man. I just don't like referring to him as my father neither do I want to call him my dad as, in my opinion, he has been neither of these roles to me ever. Biologically, yes; otherwise, no. If you think this is mean, you haven't read enough of my posts, so please reserve your judgement for when you have. Thank you.

Today is a whole year since he was first hospitalised after being unable to swallow and having a subsequent diagnosis of oesophageal cancer which they couldn't treat or operate on due to his age (95). 

It was also my day off and the man's monthly City Hospice appointment.  I'd reminded him the time and asked him to be ready.

I arrived with a full twenty minutes to spare until we needed to leave. The man was sat at the kitchen table, head in his hands. It was the warmest day ever recorded in May. The man was dressed in a thick woolly jumper and a woolly hat. I asked wasn't he too hot? He said asked were we going or not.'  I was talking to Ant and suddenly we heard the front door go. The man had left the building and was headed to the car. I told Ant to lock up and went to help the man down the steps. He was extremely slow because he can't see the steps properly. He said 'Where's Ant? Is he in the car already? Where is he?' I said he was still in the house. 

'Has he got my bag and my hospital stuff?' He apparently had taken it upon himself to pack a hospital bag in case they kept him in. Hmmm.

Arriving at the hospice I parked in the disabled bay, I usually park in the normal car park, but today he was finding it a lot more difficult to walk. Ant and I got him out of the car and into the hospice and in the waiting room he twice tried to impale himself on the arm of a very small wooden chair he apparently couldn't see. The doc came out and as he walked in we chatted behind him, I said he appeared much worse and I thought perhaps his time was limited. 

The hospice doctor noted he was a lot more frail and checked him over. He was very dehydrated and needed to drink a lot more water, she said, and if he didn't he may well not be able to have his 2nd stent fitted on Friday. She said she would get the community nurse team to assess whether he was able to live at home. If they decided the house was too 'cluttered (disgusting) for them to see to his needs then he would have to go into an assisted care facility 'whether he likes it or not'. She said he was to take off his jumper and hat and instead get a baseball cap. 

Ant happened to have such a cap with him which he handed over. It was green with 'HAPPY DAYS' on the front. The man took it 'Is this a cap?' he asked.

'No,' said Ant, 'it's a fucking banana.'

Ant comes out with things sometimes and the doc and I creased up laughing which in my case was a well needed stress relief.

The doc and I walked the man to my car. The doc summarising she'd get onto it straight away - she didn't book another appointment as we'd 'see what happened and keep in touch.'

The following day (Wednesday 27th May) Ant rang me in work. 'Hello Izzy, sorry to call you at work. There's nothing to worry about but...'

Ant's sense of priority and urgency is entirely out of synch with the universe. I know this.

I'll be there now.' I said, dropping my pen and scrabbling for my driving shoes under my desk, my heart playing the bass drum on a roll. 'What's happened?'

'Well, he's fallen out of bed and he's sort of half out and I can't move him. And he's cut his head and his elbow and there's blood everywhere.

Fuckitty fuck!

Fifteen minutes later I was trying to help Ant lift him up the bed. He'd fallen and somehow was now resting with his top half on the bed and his bum and legs off the bed. He was still in this position. There was blood smeared everywhere but not a lot of blood volume. Ant and I managed to yank him far up enough that only his knees to his feet were off the bed and the rest of him on it. He didn't have enough strength to put his legs on the bed. This wasn't right. The huge gash on his elbow was seeping but not bleeding - I thought perhaps a sign of dehydration - no fluid, no blood to bleed with. I bandaged the elbow.

A lot of shouting later he says he needs to sleep for a few hours and then he'd have the strength to push himself up the bed.

Not right. I called 111. (In the UK 111 is a NHS helpline for non-emergency medical advise and queries. They can triage, book an appointment for an out of hours doctor or call an ambulance if they deem it necessary.) They ask a LOT of questions - is the patient breathing? - yes! Is there a dent in his head? I can't see one but he's lying down. Is he becoming agitated?' - yes but that's very normal for him... finally the adviser said her manager would call us back but she couldn't say when, hopefully within the hour. It was now 15.35. Realising the GP and Hospice close their phone lines at 5pm, options for help were declining fast.

Meanwhile upstairs the man is demanding to know what's happening and is anyone coming and why don't we get someone and how long is this going to take.

Eventually he fell asleep while I ran around trying to find someone who could help. I rang City Hospice. The doctor was in with a patient for an  hour but they would ask her to call us. Time was ticking slowly by.

At 15.55 the hospice doctor called, I explained and she said she was going to send her own paramedics out from the City Hospice. They arrived at 16.30, assessed him and called an ambulance. I suggested they tell the man he was dehydrated and they were taking him to get his sorted so he'd be fit and well for his stent on Friday, otherwise he'd refuse to go. Good plan. I said the male paramedic may be better speaking to him as he had difficulty in hearing/acknowledging women. 

The paramedic, Mike, said 'We're taking you in for a few days until you're...'

'Wat?'

He tried again. 'We'll take you into...'

'Wat?' said the man, scowling up his face in irritation.

Mike tried a third time. 'As you are dehydrated we're going to...'

'YOU'RE GOING TO HOSPITAL.' said Tina, loudly, with her face inches from his. No messing - Sorted! High fives all round.

Tina and Mike left at 5 and said they had no idea when the ambulance may arrive. We all know the NHS are struggling. We'd just have to be patient.

Being patient for hours on end with the man asking 'what's happening' every five minutes was challenging. I had a text from the 999 service saying we were on their list but they prioritised all calls so please be patient and don't ring them to chase.

Also, of course, being in that house makes me ill with all the dust. I also hadn't eaten since lunch time and  had come to the house straight from work.

Ant was happy to call me if anything happened and as the man had by then gone back to sleep, I went home at 20:30.

The ambulance arrived at 23.29 and took the man to hospital.

I slept for a full 8 hours that night. The pressure was off.

Ten ways you know you grew up with a hoarder parent

                                    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 2 lots of 15 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 and 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 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. After this it took six phone calls to organise it at a time when dad would be 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.