7) Apparently the hospital staff are still trying to kill him.

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.

I went to see dad on 6th January with Ant. He was awake and quite perky. As I sat down he started to tell me he was lonely in the hospital so he was glad to see us. He said before he forgot he'd like to get me to pay his credit card.

'OK' I said. I have power of attorney so it's a simple phone call. 'I'll do it tomorrow. So how have you been?'

'It's the blue card you need to pay off,' he said. You need to nip into the bank and...'

'Dad. I know. There's no need to go in. I'll do it tomorrow.'

'You need to see how much is due and then get the other card and...'

I was getting a little irked by now. I have had my own bank account since I was 17 and have worked for two major UK banks. I know how it works. I told him so.

He put on his, Why are you being such a damn awkward imbecile child, face. held his hands up in front of his face and flapped them at the elbows which he does when he is annoyed with the person he's speaking to and determined for them to listen to his perceived wisdom. He then spent fifteen minutes explaining to me how to pay a credit card bill.

I listened - it was quicker than arguing. It always is.

'They have decided NOT to do the radio programme,' he said. I looked at him quizzically.

'What radio show?'

He looked at me like I was stupid. 'The one about the water of course.'

'But dad, that never happened. you dreamed that. Remember?'

'Oh,' he said. 'Another dream? I'm having difficulty knowing what's what. The dreams are so real.' He looked confused. 'So there was no pollution?'

'No. And no radio programme.'

'Oh.' he looked a little confused and was silent for a moment.

'So, how are your ribs?'

'What?'

'Your ribs dad. You broke three ribs, remember?'

Silence... 'Billy?'

'No, RIBS. YOUR RIBS.' I stood up and gestured to my own ribs. 'How are your RIBS?'

'Ah!' he said. 'You came on the bus - right!'

I had no answer and gave up trying.

He leant towards me and lowered his voice 'That chap in the bed opposite and the one in the bed next to me are conspiring to kill me!'

'What? How?' I looked at the men he referred to, one with a white wispy vicar haircut, fast asleep, mouth open, snoring gently, his head lolled slightly to one side. The other one, about 5ft "2, sitting on the edge of his bed in baby blue pyjamas, was chatting quietly to a white haired lady with a soft perm, wearing light blue polyester slacks and a beige roll neck top.

'And another thing, they keep stealing my glasses and I look for them and they're nowhere; then they suddenly reappear. Explain that. I know they all hate me because of what I did to the water, and I fully appreciate it's all my fault. At least some of it is as the food came from my freezer...'

'Dad. listen it DIDN'T HAPPEN!'

'Yes, so you keep saying, SOME of it maybe didn't happen but it's not all untrue. They're keeping the newspapers away from me so I don't know.'

'Dad. I can bring you a newspaper. Then you would see there's nothing in there.'

'But they would take the relevant pages out or just give me a different version. They don't even want me to see the clock. I can't make out what on earth that clock says as I can't see the hands.'

I glanced at the 'clock' on the wall to see it was some sort of digital device. If it was a clock, it was switched off.

After thirty minutes I could tell Ant was getting edgy and wanted to go. We stayed another 15 minutes and I told dad we'd see him on Thursday - in two days time.

I went back and dropped Ant home, loading my car with all the junk Ant had managed to throw out from his bedroom. There was a car-full, which I drove to the tip and went home. Ant is happy as Larry at the moment as he gets to throw his own junk out without being yelled at and without repercussions. It's taken him 3 days to move dad's junk off the top of the pile in his own bedroom to get to his own junk so he can reach all those old broken toys from his childhood (Ant is 59). I filled my car with his old TV Times magazines, old games, books, bags, old clothes and string, some old trainers and bits of rubbish.

For the past thirty years or so it appears dad has been choosing Ant's trousers for him - Debenhams best old man trousers.  Most have lasted decades but have thinning round the bum cheeks. I told Ant to bin them and I'd take him trouser shopping soon.

                                                                                ~

Freddie car trips to the tip - 1 of many

What is making me mad? That he's still treating me like I'm five and I'm putting  up with it.

What is making me happy? That he won't be home any time soon.

What is making me cry - anything and everything

What have I done to relax? went shopping and bought myself a whole box of Maltesers :)

Interesting finds A Radio Times from 2007 and a school photo of me and Ant

What stupid thing did I do today? Put my fresh salmon for supper in the freezer and not the fridge...