Wow! Today I have reached a landmark with the book 'Diary of a Hoarder's Daughter' and 500 copies have been downloaded or bought as a paperback. This does not include any kindle member free deals or promotional free copies.
The thing which has surprised me is that it is selling even better in USA and the blog has stretched as far as China, Australia, Canada and a little country by Japan that I can't even pronounce.
I'm very chuffed with this figure and have finally decided to expand from Amazon only to Goodreads, Lulu and various others - providing I can work out the formatting issues. I've never been an expert at the technical stuff where computers are concerned, preferring to hit my pc with a big stick and cross my fingers. I spent about three hours last night trying to re-size the pages to fit in with the required different book size criteria. I needed to amend my page sizes by about .83 of a cm which, apparently makes a HUGE difference to how the book looks.
Hopefully it is now done. :)
Although the book has sold that many copies and even more in free promotional copies, I still note I only have 12 reviews which kind of confuses me. I guess it is one of those things nobody ever gets round to. However if you have read the book and you liked it, please leave me a review, I would be ever so grateful and I really do read them all.
I have had lots of emails from readers as well which is lovely. People seem to be suffering in silence, too embarrassed to seek help or tell anyone about the issues they are facing. It is strange how human emotions can all follow the same lines and people tell me how the book has struck a chord with them.
I enjoyed writing the book and of course it was extremely cathartic for me as well. I am still trying to get book 2 written. This one will be fiction and so I don't want to give too much away but rest assured there will be a hoarder featuring in it.
Imelda is still going strong. He wantes me to go and fix his PC as it has some issue where it is trying to connect to a proxy server - whatever that means. He only has one house, one computer and one internet service provider so I will have to go round and call the ISP to see if they can help. It is probably just a quick thing but even with my limited pc knowledge it is easier I call them than him as if they asked him to click the mouse he wouldn't have a clue. I only hope I don't have to stay in there too long or I will spend the following day sneezing and wheezing. Of course I will have to find his phone first...:)
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Showing posts with label Diary of a hoarder's daughter.. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Diary of a hoarder's daughter.. Show all posts
Friday, 11 September 2015
Saturday, 1 August 2015
Chicken Breasts dated 1985 and Imelda wants to EAT them.
Yes, this was found today 01 August 2015
(AD or BC not sure it makes much difference any more)
Sainsbury's best Chicken Breasts BBE OCTOBER 1985
(Label says eat within 3 MONTHS of BBE date ~
not three DECADES).
ASDA Danish Pig Kidney 58p per lb - weight .69lb price 40p, Um didn't we change to kgs a year or so back? And - aren't ASDA labels in GREEN these days?
How long can you safely freeze meat in the freezer and it remain safe to eat? Ideally as per the label on the above chicken 'eat within three months'. I admit I have been known to stretch the dates myself a little on occasion. A months or so I would still risk it. I also know there are people out there who wouldn't eat it if it was even one day outside the date on the label When I worked for the grocery chain all I heard were constant whinges about sell by dates - which as a member of staff I had to deal with rigidly. I also took many things such as apples home from the reduced tray and was happy eating them a week after the sell by date. Why not - the apples don't know they have sell by dates on them?
But the above is taking this to extremes in anybody's book.
October 1985 - Thirty years ago.
THIRTY YEARS the chicken has been in his freezer in a box. Like a mini Ice Age in a different time zone, the freezer has been defrosted every few years when there is more ice in it than food. So the food will have been put in cardboard boxes until the defrosting is done (not in another freezer - he only has one) and will have melted a little and then been re-frozen. Imelda has a chest freezer - the same one he has had for over thirty years - it ploughs onwards.
I only found the items as he had lots of fruit from his garden which needed picking before it spoiled. He had picked a lot and it needed to be frozen for making pies and jam later in the year. He had trays and trays of it in the freezer and had lots more fruit but no more room. He asked if I'd like some. I agreed I would but I wasn't able to pick it as I was about to go on holiday that day. He said he was happy to pick it for me but it needed freezing on the day of picking. I offered to take some of the existing bulky stuff in his freezer to free up some space and then swap it for fruit on my return.
I took a box load back to my house and what a shock - although not a surprise.
When I told him what I'd found in the cardboard box which had come from his freezer and the date on it there was a tumbleweed moment and then he said 'but can't I feed it to the dog?'I won't let him feed this to anyone - or the dog. Poor dog. a miniature poodle called Tyson, is fifteen years old already and that would likely finish him off.
So now what to do with the meat? - Do I give it a decent burial or do I call the local University Bio research team or the council Bio-Hazard team?
Can this go in a normal food waste bin?
Friday, 17 July 2015
Hoarder logic makes me SCREAM!
Imelda used to be a television engineer and he worked for the BBC right up until retirement. he worked as a technical engineer - from what I can recall his job involved making sure there was not too much colour saturation of any one colour when they were broadcast and making sure that any live news injects form our area which were to be shown on the national news were ready to go and broadcast at the precise second they were required.
He has (I have found) EIGHT televisions in his front room. One of these works and this is a modern LCD flat-screen television. The remaining seven are the cathode-ray type television - the old square box shaped ones with knobs on the front.
Why?
Why are they there? Why are they still there when they are broken? Why does he need seven broken TV sets? Why does he feel the need to keep them when you can't get parts for them anymore? Even if he was able to fix them he would not be able to do anything with them - they had one in our local pawn shop for months for £5 but nobody wanted it - not even for a spare for the kids room. Most people think they take up too much space. They are not wall mountable. They are not digital so even if they weren't broken I don't think it would be possible to get a picture on them.
When my old huge monster box tv blew a gasket I was relieved to be honest - it gave me an excuse to get a new one - a nice, flat, space saving, wall mountable digital ready TV. Happy days.
Here's the thing. Imelda acquired a brand new, state of the art CONFERENCE television. It was a flat-screen over 60" with speakers, inbuilt computers, the lot. It was Gorgeous. It took two men to lift the TV and two men to lift the stand. It was extremely heavy. My partner and I looked at it and WOW. It looked gorgeous and it was the total business. It was designed to sit in a large conference room in a posh hotel. Imelda paid only about £800 for it which was about a third of the RRP. It was brand new, but I believe because the company had gone into liquidation and he had known the director he was offered it. Personally I thought it would have looked ridiculous in all but a huge grand house due to its size. Imelda neither has a huge nor a grand house. Actually the house is a decent size but the room inside is very scarce.
Imelda had to have it then or not at all. The problem was there was - get this - NO ROOM for it in his house. Surprise surprise. Not enough room even to put it in a spare room - all totally hoarded. We graciously offered to have it in our house while he made room (yes I know hahaha). Imelda was having none of this - it would only be for 'a few days' while he got the room sorted.
Really?
He managed to persuade his next door neighbour - who is no pushover - to put it in his garage. The neighbour, who knows the situation, agreed but warned Imelda his garage was not air tight, it got damp in winter and he would not be liable for any damage or theft. The neighbour used his garage as a games room.
THREE YEARS later, when the TV company got involved and cleared out the front room, I reminded Imelda that the TV was still next door. He asked the removal people to bring it over for him. We tried to switch it on. No sign of life whatsoever. 'It is probably damp' he said. So it was leant against a cabinet - face in to avoid damage. Then all the stuff was put back in front of it and it has not been seen since.
Until last week. Imelda went on hoiday and so I went in with my partner and a friend who fixes pcs and monitors. After an hour or so we dug the TV out. No life, the friend took a look, changed the fuse and fiddled about. Still no life at all. The friend said it was a top of the range TV system with integrated computer system for conferences. I think the friend was more shocked at the state of the house. 'What a waste' he said. It seems the TV was damaged by being kept in the cold damp garage for three years. Prognosis not good.
It was obvious to all but Imelda that this was likely to happen, yet he himself was convinced it would only be in the neighbour's garage for a few days. My family would have loved to have it and keep it warm and dry but no, he preferred to keep it in the box in a cold damp garage. Now it is broken forever and it takes up a LOT of space. I can guess it will be there in his house forever.
:(
He has (I have found) EIGHT televisions in his front room. One of these works and this is a modern LCD flat-screen television. The remaining seven are the cathode-ray type television - the old square box shaped ones with knobs on the front.
Why?
Why are they there? Why are they still there when they are broken? Why does he need seven broken TV sets? Why does he feel the need to keep them when you can't get parts for them anymore? Even if he was able to fix them he would not be able to do anything with them - they had one in our local pawn shop for months for £5 but nobody wanted it - not even for a spare for the kids room. Most people think they take up too much space. They are not wall mountable. They are not digital so even if they weren't broken I don't think it would be possible to get a picture on them.
When my old huge monster box tv blew a gasket I was relieved to be honest - it gave me an excuse to get a new one - a nice, flat, space saving, wall mountable digital ready TV. Happy days.
Here's the thing. Imelda acquired a brand new, state of the art CONFERENCE television. It was a flat-screen over 60" with speakers, inbuilt computers, the lot. It was Gorgeous. It took two men to lift the TV and two men to lift the stand. It was extremely heavy. My partner and I looked at it and WOW. It looked gorgeous and it was the total business. It was designed to sit in a large conference room in a posh hotel. Imelda paid only about £800 for it which was about a third of the RRP. It was brand new, but I believe because the company had gone into liquidation and he had known the director he was offered it. Personally I thought it would have looked ridiculous in all but a huge grand house due to its size. Imelda neither has a huge nor a grand house. Actually the house is a decent size but the room inside is very scarce.
Imelda had to have it then or not at all. The problem was there was - get this - NO ROOM for it in his house. Surprise surprise. Not enough room even to put it in a spare room - all totally hoarded. We graciously offered to have it in our house while he made room (yes I know hahaha). Imelda was having none of this - it would only be for 'a few days' while he got the room sorted.
Really?
He managed to persuade his next door neighbour - who is no pushover - to put it in his garage. The neighbour, who knows the situation, agreed but warned Imelda his garage was not air tight, it got damp in winter and he would not be liable for any damage or theft. The neighbour used his garage as a games room.
THREE YEARS later, when the TV company got involved and cleared out the front room, I reminded Imelda that the TV was still next door. He asked the removal people to bring it over for him. We tried to switch it on. No sign of life whatsoever. 'It is probably damp' he said. So it was leant against a cabinet - face in to avoid damage. Then all the stuff was put back in front of it and it has not been seen since.
Until last week. Imelda went on hoiday and so I went in with my partner and a friend who fixes pcs and monitors. After an hour or so we dug the TV out. No life, the friend took a look, changed the fuse and fiddled about. Still no life at all. The friend said it was a top of the range TV system with integrated computer system for conferences. I think the friend was more shocked at the state of the house. 'What a waste' he said. It seems the TV was damaged by being kept in the cold damp garage for three years. Prognosis not good.
It was obvious to all but Imelda that this was likely to happen, yet he himself was convinced it would only be in the neighbour's garage for a few days. My family would have loved to have it and keep it warm and dry but no, he preferred to keep it in the box in a cold damp garage. Now it is broken forever and it takes up a LOT of space. I can guess it will be there in his house forever.
:(
Wednesday, 1 July 2015
Adult Children of Hoarders - Many of us share Wierd Freaky Traits...
I firmly believe Hoarders are all different and have their own particular foibles, annoyances, attitudes and outlooks. I also am aware many hoarders share personality traits especially those such as putting their stuff before anything else including their families.
I also firmly believe we Children of Hoarders also have similar traits which we appear to have inherited. I recently was on a facebook forum for children of hoarders and we came up with the following which many of us have which could be classed as wierd freaky behaviour.
1) This is my very favourite - Cleaning the vacuum cleaner FILTER - not only does the cleaner get emptied after every use but the filter gets cleaned AT LEAST once a week. I feel as if I have to get ALL of the dust out and gone for ever and I feel good when this is done. I don't like things which I know to be total rubbish/trash/junk to hang around the house.
2) Pulling the hair out of the bath plug hole. If it is there and it should not be there and there is no other possible use for it then it has to go and it has to go NOW.
3) Houseplants with dead leaves. Dead leaves will not regenerate and so they get cut off and they are OUT.
4) A bottle in the bathroom with only a bit remaining - decant this into a new bottle so that the old one can go in the bin.
5) Fallen out hair stuck in a hairbrush - OUT.
6) The old telephone directory goes out the very minute the new one comes through the door.
7) Junk mail - the minute I hear the letterbox I have to go see. I can't let the junk mail sit there waiting.
8( While watching a DVD in the middle of Shrek, getting the urge to get up and tidy the front room as I cannot relax while there is a mess.
9) Any rubbish destined for the local tip or recycling centre has to go at the next possible opportunity. I can't stand it hanging around.
10) Emptying the fluff out of the dryer filter the very minute the cycle finishes.
11) Emptying those little dots out of the hole punch.
Any others? I am sure I will add more as and when I think of them.
I also firmly believe we Children of Hoarders also have similar traits which we appear to have inherited. I recently was on a facebook forum for children of hoarders and we came up with the following which many of us have which could be classed as wierd freaky behaviour.
1) This is my very favourite - Cleaning the vacuum cleaner FILTER - not only does the cleaner get emptied after every use but the filter gets cleaned AT LEAST once a week. I feel as if I have to get ALL of the dust out and gone for ever and I feel good when this is done. I don't like things which I know to be total rubbish/trash/junk to hang around the house.
2) Pulling the hair out of the bath plug hole. If it is there and it should not be there and there is no other possible use for it then it has to go and it has to go NOW.
3) Houseplants with dead leaves. Dead leaves will not regenerate and so they get cut off and they are OUT.
4) A bottle in the bathroom with only a bit remaining - decant this into a new bottle so that the old one can go in the bin.
5) Fallen out hair stuck in a hairbrush - OUT.
6) The old telephone directory goes out the very minute the new one comes through the door.
7) Junk mail - the minute I hear the letterbox I have to go see. I can't let the junk mail sit there waiting.
8( While watching a DVD in the middle of Shrek, getting the urge to get up and tidy the front room as I cannot relax while there is a mess.
9) Any rubbish destined for the local tip or recycling centre has to go at the next possible opportunity. I can't stand it hanging around.
10) Emptying the fluff out of the dryer filter the very minute the cycle finishes.
11) Emptying those little dots out of the hole punch.
Any others? I am sure I will add more as and when I think of them.
Monday, 1 June 2015
What would YOU do with a 25 year old jumper which has been feasted on by moths?
Imelda came to my house today as my son (his grandson) had his birthday. Imelda had bought him a small box of chocolates and a large choc bar - surprise No. 1 - they were IN DATE and surprise No.2 - he had WRAPPED them - as in real paper and not a wrapped round carrier bag as has, to date, been his usual style. The paper did have gold, suspiciously Christmassy looking pine trees on it but we will overlook that and thank him for his thoughtful gift.
He asked if I would darn his gardening jumper which has had its arm chomped by a small army of moths. I am more than capable of doing this - it is an old jumper so does not have to be an expert job, it is his gardening jumper so is full of scaggs anyway but it is the SMELL of the thing. Imelda does not want to wash it 'lest it falls to pieces'.
I don't want it in my house as whatever was living in it may still be laying eggs in it and I don't want any of that anywhere near my house.
I asked him why he doesn't simply throw it out.
The idea was foreign to him - throwing something out!? Whatever did I mean? It was his GARDENING jumper!
So I asked why he didn't use his NEW (as in bought for him for Christmas 2001 for the garden) yellow jumper which he has NEVER worn. He said yellow was not the colour for the garden.
WHAT? I had to push this point - his current one was about 25 years old, riddled with moth holes scagged, ripped, mis-shapen and scraggy and he had one he had NEVER used but didn't want to wear it in the garden because 'yellow is not the colour for the garden'. (Hello - ever heard of a daffodil? I digress)..
Again I asked why he did not bin the scraggy one and wear the yellow one. I asked who he thought would wear the yellow one if not him.
He said that I may want the yellow jumper one day??!!??!! (Hell NO!)
I pointed out it would not fit me, was about 8 sizes too big, not my style, had been bought for him, and was not coming anyway near my house..
He ignored this and asked would I fix it or not.
Again (I had to ask) why couldn't he use the yellow one - what else would he ever use it for?
He said if I was going to ask stupid questions then why didn't I ask about the brown jumper or indeed his green one, the colour wasn't the point and was I going to fix the damn thing or not?
Hoarder logic makes no sense in my world.
I now expect to find a scraggy plastic bag outside my door one day with the gardening jumper inside. Imelda will have decided I have agreed to 'darn' the damn thing.
If I find it anywhere near my house, I will double bag it and head for the garage or if I am feeling daring, the bin.
He asked if I would darn his gardening jumper which has had its arm chomped by a small army of moths. I am more than capable of doing this - it is an old jumper so does not have to be an expert job, it is his gardening jumper so is full of scaggs anyway but it is the SMELL of the thing. Imelda does not want to wash it 'lest it falls to pieces'.
I don't want it in my house as whatever was living in it may still be laying eggs in it and I don't want any of that anywhere near my house.
I asked him why he doesn't simply throw it out.
The idea was foreign to him - throwing something out!? Whatever did I mean? It was his GARDENING jumper!
So I asked why he didn't use his NEW (as in bought for him for Christmas 2001 for the garden) yellow jumper which he has NEVER worn. He said yellow was not the colour for the garden.
WHAT? I had to push this point - his current one was about 25 years old, riddled with moth holes scagged, ripped, mis-shapen and scraggy and he had one he had NEVER used but didn't want to wear it in the garden because 'yellow is not the colour for the garden'. (Hello - ever heard of a daffodil? I digress)..
Again I asked why he did not bin the scraggy one and wear the yellow one. I asked who he thought would wear the yellow one if not him.
He said that I may want the yellow jumper one day??!!??!! (Hell NO!)
I pointed out it would not fit me, was about 8 sizes too big, not my style, had been bought for him, and was not coming anyway near my house..
He ignored this and asked would I fix it or not.
Again (I had to ask) why couldn't he use the yellow one - what else would he ever use it for?
He said if I was going to ask stupid questions then why didn't I ask about the brown jumper or indeed his green one, the colour wasn't the point and was I going to fix the damn thing or not?
Hoarder logic makes no sense in my world.
I now expect to find a scraggy plastic bag outside my door one day with the gardening jumper inside. Imelda will have decided I have agreed to 'darn' the damn thing.
If I find it anywhere near my house, I will double bag it and head for the garage or if I am feeling daring, the bin.
Sunday, 19 April 2015
Can't Stop Won't Stop - Hoarding - The Documentary
Just when I thought it was safe to show my face in public again...
Can't Stop Won't Stop Hoarding - Chanel 5 UK Tuesday 21st April 2015
I am not sure who, which or how many people watched the documentary the first time round when it was shown in about April of 2014. I had hoped that after the initial shock had died down from those who did not know about my dear old dad, that life would continue as normal, and it has done - at least until now.
HOWEVER, while browsing the TV for listings for next week it was with a gasp of horror I find they are resurrecting it. Yikes!
I told Imelda about this. He said it was a shame that we did not get repeat fees. The cheek of the man. I pointed out that I had not had ANY fees at all as the cheque was made out to him!
'Ah, er, yes,' he said, 'well I expect we can sort that out.' and he swiftly changed the subject.
The issue which concerns me most is that I have changed job since it was shown last time and my new colleagues have no idea. That, I guess, is about to change. Of course I realise there should be no personal shame and that this is his mental issue I am dealing with. Being the daughter of a hoarder, however, is certainly not glamorous. The programe shows me in my best chemical hazard suit and industrial dust mask ~ hardly my most glamorous look.
As the book had not been released last time the documentary was shown I thought I would take this as an opportunity to remind my blog followers of the book 'Diary of a Hoarder's Daughter' - written by Izabelle Winter (pseudonym used for a variety of reasons, not least to protect the innocent). Available on Amazon. Link below.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Diary-Hoarders-Daughter-dealing-extreme/dp/1494929449/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1429435417&sr=8-1&keywords=diary+of+a+hoarder%27s+daughter
This is a totally true story from cover to cover, although names have been changed to protect the innocent (though why I bothered when we both went on UK breakfast show 'This Morning' using real names I'm not sure).
Thanks for reading :) - Please join me hiding behind my virtual sofa with a glass of gin on Tuesday evening.
Just one other thing - if you do read the book and you like it, PLEASE leave me a review on Amazon as so far out of about 1000+ or so people who have downloaded the book, only about 21 have left a review. Many thanks in advance.
Can't Stop Won't Stop Hoarding - Chanel 5 UK Tuesday 21st April 2015
I am not sure who, which or how many people watched the documentary the first time round when it was shown in about April of 2014. I had hoped that after the initial shock had died down from those who did not know about my dear old dad, that life would continue as normal, and it has done - at least until now.
HOWEVER, while browsing the TV for listings for next week it was with a gasp of horror I find they are resurrecting it. Yikes!
I told Imelda about this. He said it was a shame that we did not get repeat fees. The cheek of the man. I pointed out that I had not had ANY fees at all as the cheque was made out to him!
'Ah, er, yes,' he said, 'well I expect we can sort that out.' and he swiftly changed the subject.
The issue which concerns me most is that I have changed job since it was shown last time and my new colleagues have no idea. That, I guess, is about to change. Of course I realise there should be no personal shame and that this is his mental issue I am dealing with. Being the daughter of a hoarder, however, is certainly not glamorous. The programe shows me in my best chemical hazard suit and industrial dust mask ~ hardly my most glamorous look.
As the book had not been released last time the documentary was shown I thought I would take this as an opportunity to remind my blog followers of the book 'Diary of a Hoarder's Daughter' - written by Izabelle Winter (pseudonym used for a variety of reasons, not least to protect the innocent). Available on Amazon. Link below.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Diary-Hoarders-Daughter-dealing-extreme/dp/1494929449/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1429435417&sr=8-1&keywords=diary+of+a+hoarder%27s+daughter
This is a totally true story from cover to cover, although names have been changed to protect the innocent (though why I bothered when we both went on UK breakfast show 'This Morning' using real names I'm not sure).
Thanks for reading :) - Please join me hiding behind my virtual sofa with a glass of gin on Tuesday evening.
Just one other thing - if you do read the book and you like it, PLEASE leave me a review on Amazon as so far out of about 1000+ or so people who have downloaded the book, only about 21 have left a review. Many thanks in advance.
Monday, 6 April 2015
Easter - Fluffy Chicks, Chocolate Eggs and RUDOLPH the Red Nosed Reindeer??
Easter - and Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer
Yesterday was Easter Day. Imelda had nagged for weeks that he wanted to see me and the kids at Church as it was a very important day etc etc. I had planned on going anyway and taking the kids but the day before, my daughters (twin girls aged 9) had been invited on an impromptu sleepover at their friends house.
Getting them up from a sleepover and home to get ready for 9am was simply never going to happen so I went with my son who is 11.
I noticed Imelda had his smart suit on and a snazzy tie - a RUDOLPH the red nosed reindeer tie! On Easter Day! I asked why he had a Rudolph tie on; he said he'd been looking for something summery and Easter like with a bit of yellow on it and he found that. Granted Rudolph was surrounded by yellow stars as in a starry Christmas night, but on Easter day! Really?
He expressed his huge disappointment at me because I hadn't managed to bring the girls. I explained the sleepover concept but it went straight over his head. I explained I wasn't going to force anyone to go to Church if they didn't want to go or try to make them feel guilty for not going.
'Very disappointing,' he said.
He didn't speak to me at all after the service, we all filtered out and he disappeared. After 15 minutes or so of me making idle chit-chat with the old ladies, I decided it was time to go. As I got in the car and started the engine, Imelda appeared in the middle of the car park, making me stop the car and holding up everyone else trying to get out. He'd come to express his extreme disappointment again at my inability to drag 2 nine year olds out of bed early on a Sunday morning after a sleepover in somebody else's house. He mentioned that he may be able to find us all 'a little something' if we could be bothered to come to visit him later on. I think he expected me to jump up and down with glee at this point. I didn't.
Imelda's idea of 'finding us a little something' does not fill me with the great thrills and expectations as he assumes it does. If he does manage to come up with an egg it would surprise me if it were still in date and not one he lost in the hoard a few years back. This year he says he has got the eggs for the annual egg hunt. Good plan. Imelda has a great garden for an Easter egg hunt: although he usually hides three or four in the same square foot of garden so the kids find them too fast, but the thought is there.
Imelda rang me at 3pm to see when we were coming. I told him I didn't know as the girls were still out at their friend's house and were apparently now watching a film.
'Most disappointing' he repeated - 'You know Christmas and Easter are the two most important days in the Church calender.' He said this as if he were giving me some explosive new information.
'Like I didn't know that' I said extremely sarcastically. My sarcasm was lost on him.
'Well you SHOULD know.' he said 'Well we'll have to call off the egg hunt - I can't wait all day. I'm going to have an hour in the garden.' He clearly expected me to beg at this point. I didn't.
I hung up on him and screamed at the phone. My son walked past 'Grandad on the phone mum? - Don't get stressed - here have a hug'.
~
Today is Easter Monday. Imelda rang. 'So are we going to see you today?'
'Yes Dad, I guess so - what time?'
'Straight after lunch would be good.'
'Ok we will be there about 12:30.'
'NO - not that early - 2:15 should be about right. Oh - one thing - the eggs... I - er - I thought I had bought the little eggs you know the ones with the foil on - but - er you see - when I got them out of the packet they are the sugar coated ones without foil you see.'
'riiiiiggghht'
'and so Ant and I have been wrapping them in tissue paper so they can go in the garden.'
I know he doesn't buy kitchen roll or tissues so I can only assume he means toilet tissue paper. I asked him if kitchen foil would not have been a better option.
'Oh - er yes I know we used to have some but I'm not sure if we have it now... but anyway we have stuck the tissue with glue you see so it will be perfectly fine.'
I will pre-warn the kids that they do not eat those eggs from Grandad's house. Good job I had bought some foil wrapped mini eggs for just such an occasion.
Do I tell the kids the Easter Bunny did not have the budget for foil wrapped eggs?
We will wait and see...
Friday, 13 March 2015
FREE professional help for hoarders for their families - UK based only.
I have been asked to post a message from someone looking for families to take part in a one-off documentary.about various psychological disorders. They are particularly interested in speaking to people involved with hoarding.
They are looking to offer professional help both mental and physical over a period of time to both the hoarder and their families with not only the psychological side but also the practical side. They provide assistance to clear and a specialist to talk through any issues. This help is VERY expensive if you were to book it yourself.
here are the details.
They are looking to offer professional help both mental and physical over a period of time to both the hoarder and their families with not only the psychological side but also the practical side. They provide assistance to clear and a specialist to talk through any issues. This help is VERY expensive if you were to book it yourself.
here are the details.
We have been developing a television series looking at people
who are struggling to live their everyday lives due to a variety of reasons. We
are currently looking for individuals suffering from hoarding tendencies.
Perhaps you have great difficulty discarding possessions? Or
excessively collect or buy items that are not needed or for which there is no
available space? Is the amount of clutter in your home interfering with your family’s
everyday life, your ability to move around your home or even go outside?
Perhaps you are refusing to leave the house for psychological reasons and need
the courage to go outside again?
We’d like to hear from you.
We are interested in hearing from sufferers and the carer/partner/parent
they live with in order to see if we can improve the situation through the use
of expert help and therapy.
If you fit this description and wish to talk, please get in
touch with:
mention where you found the details.
It may be an idea to tell your hoarder relative you have found them something very expensive for FREE which will not even add to their clutter. it may even HELP them... then tell then what it is.
Thursday, 29 January 2015
Hoarder logic. On what planet does it make sense?
Here is Imelda's second best gardening jumper
I went to see Imelda today. He couldn't resist a little dig about his 'best gardening jumper' which is, probably, somewhere at the bottom of a Cardiff landfill site. Had it been anything like this one (and I believe it was). I would have carefully assessed its likely usefulness value when I was clearing his house (so that HE could come out of hospital remember - not for any benefit of my own). Having been one of many. many, MANY similar items all in a similar state of disrepair, AND having noted that he still had the really warm wool yellow jumper which I bought him about 20 years ago which has NEVER been worn so is in a (relatively) new condition. I no doubt would have thought he could use the yellow jumper for the garden (a mustard yellow) and put the old one in the bin.
Today he said he missed his old FAVORITE gardening jumper - he was at pains to tell me his mother knitted it for his father and it was handed down to him as it was wool don't you know and VERY warm but it seems to have disappeared, he said, since I was 'messing around' in the house.
He said LUCKILY. (I kid you not), Luckily, he had found his second favorite jumper (which evidently I had not found) - Oh get him. how well he hid it - evidently he is SO much smarter than me,
HOWEVER - sadly the moths had found it first and there were a few holes in it, he said and did I know how to darn? SERIOUSLY? I said I thought it was beyond repair really but I asked him why he didn't wear the yellow one. He told me the yellow one was not really the right colour for the garden.
Speechless!
Monday, 26 January 2015
Why does the vile smell of a hoarder's house stick to everything?
I went to visit Imelda's house last week. I was passing that way and thought I had better pop in for a visit.
While I was there I spotted a huge needlepoint/tapestry thing I had done when I was a teenager. It was a lovely scene of mountains and snow and I spent ages making it back then. It measured about 90 x 45 cm and had been framed professionally. I remember being so very proud of it back then.
I spotted it in amongst the hoard at the back of a pile of boxes and decided I would pull it out to take home to my house where I thought it would look good on the wall in my front room and possibly inspire my kids to get creative. It took a while to free it but finally I managed it.
Within minutes I had sneezed about fifteen times. I took it outside to blow off the dust, Not surprisingly there was no duster in sight and everything which looked like a rag to me was of course his Sunday best (or you would have thought it was the way he acted). I found a used carrier bag wedged down the back of another pile and used that to dust the frame. Imelda said "what are you going to do with that?" meaning the carrier bag. He took it from me and replaced it in the pile.
He saw my picture "I hope you're not intending to throw that away".
Jeez - it took me about six months to complete I would hardly go to all the bother of digging it out and dusting it (albeit temporarily) to throw it out. Does he think I am mentally unstable, stupid or what?
I finally managed to let him part with it and I brought it home and damp dusted it. I hung it on my wall in my living room. When the kids got home they asked what the funny smell was. My partner also asked the same. We realised finally it was the picture. Even though it had been thoroughly cleaned by me, it stank. The distinctive smell of that house. I think the smell had embedded itself in the threads of the fabric, possibly forever.
After a while I kept getting wafts of it when I walked past. Vile - a mixture of musty, dusty old and I don't even know what. Vile and each waft brought memories of that house flooding back.
The picture will have to go - whether it is to a charity shop or back to Imelda's (a bit pointless) I don't know. I could wrap it in a bin bag and store it in the attic in the hope the smell will disappear over time but then I will be hoarding it.
Any suggestions welcome.
:(
While I was there I spotted a huge needlepoint/tapestry thing I had done when I was a teenager. It was a lovely scene of mountains and snow and I spent ages making it back then. It measured about 90 x 45 cm and had been framed professionally. I remember being so very proud of it back then.
I spotted it in amongst the hoard at the back of a pile of boxes and decided I would pull it out to take home to my house where I thought it would look good on the wall in my front room and possibly inspire my kids to get creative. It took a while to free it but finally I managed it.
Within minutes I had sneezed about fifteen times. I took it outside to blow off the dust, Not surprisingly there was no duster in sight and everything which looked like a rag to me was of course his Sunday best (or you would have thought it was the way he acted). I found a used carrier bag wedged down the back of another pile and used that to dust the frame. Imelda said "what are you going to do with that?" meaning the carrier bag. He took it from me and replaced it in the pile.
He saw my picture "I hope you're not intending to throw that away".
Jeez - it took me about six months to complete I would hardly go to all the bother of digging it out and dusting it (albeit temporarily) to throw it out. Does he think I am mentally unstable, stupid or what?
I finally managed to let him part with it and I brought it home and damp dusted it. I hung it on my wall in my living room. When the kids got home they asked what the funny smell was. My partner also asked the same. We realised finally it was the picture. Even though it had been thoroughly cleaned by me, it stank. The distinctive smell of that house. I think the smell had embedded itself in the threads of the fabric, possibly forever.
After a while I kept getting wafts of it when I walked past. Vile - a mixture of musty, dusty old and I don't even know what. Vile and each waft brought memories of that house flooding back.
The picture will have to go - whether it is to a charity shop or back to Imelda's (a bit pointless) I don't know. I could wrap it in a bin bag and store it in the attic in the hope the smell will disappear over time but then I will be hoarding it.
Any suggestions welcome.
:(
Thursday, 4 December 2014
That heart stopping moment when someone suggests coming to the house...
My brother Ant lost his job in July after twenty years with the same company and has not managed to find another job yet. He is becoming somewhat predictably depressed and despondent. His time spent holed up in 'that' house with Imelda only compounds the issue and gives him a somewhat skewered view on life. He says Imelda is driving him batty.
A few days ago we were lucky enough to secure an advocate for Ant to help him find a new job. Ant is nervous of people he doesn't know and so I thought it would be best if I organised the first meeting with him and his advocate and if I was there for the first time they met.
I spoke to Ant's advocate first to explain the situation and to arrange things for him. When she suggested we all meet together I thought it was a great idea. Then she suggested we meet at Ant's address. I froze.
'NO' - my whole being was screaming at me.
'That simply can't happen!'
So should I explain to her? - No that would take too long and would seem odd. For one it would seem possibly suspicious - surely nothing can be that bad - everyone's house is a little bit untidy right?
Wrong! - Different league!
I tried (unconvincingly I suspect), to convince her that my house would be the better option. Amazingly she agreed. Phew - crisis averted. How would I ever get anyone to believe me without being freaky? How do I point out that just the mere smell of the house makes me ill and that I can't go inside for more than five minutes these days without feeling the urge to shoot everyone inside and run for the hills.
So we all met at mine. Imelda brought Ant round and we all sat in my living room. Four adults sitting comfortably in the same room. Imagine! Imelda had 'forgotten' (read 'mislaid/lost/never taken out of the box) his hearing aid so had virtually no idea what was going on but the thought was there. He was trying to help Ant so good on him.
When the meeting was over and the advocate had gone Imelda said he had some letters to show me. He got some letters out of his bag and within five minutes there were three piles of his paperwork laid out on my sofa and a further four on my kitchen table. Imelda's coat was on a different sofa and his bag on the floor. I felt like I was being taken hostage in my own home and had to control my urge to tidy it up.
Imelda said he had some news. There was silence while I waited to see what amazing news this was. He stood there with an inane grin. - OH - he expected me to ASK what it was.
I asked.
'Well we think we may have won some money' he said and waited for my excited reaction. He fails to realise I am not a child any more. I was not impressed. What scamming lowlife had got hold of him this time? It appears he had one of those leaflets which falls out of a magazine and goes straight in the bin (at least they do in my house. In Imelda's house they sit by the front door for twenty to thirty years first). It was one of those where you scratch off the symbols - those ones where everyone wins something but you have to ring a premium rate telephone number and pay £15 or more to discover you have won £5. I told him to ignore it as everyone wins on those and usually it wasn't worth the phone call. He wasn't convinced and said he thought he may have won up to £500. No matter how many times I explained this I would have been better talking to a tree for the amount of notice he took of me. Sometimes I despair trying to talk sense to him. The issue is not only that he doesn't wear his hearing aid but that he still thinks I am a 4 year old and continues to treat me and my opinions as such.
He finally found the ticket which he had put in an envelope. Perhaps this is a hoarder thing - he had every letter still in its envelope. I have no idea why he keeps envelopes for everything - this only adds to the bulk. He then forgot which letters were in which envelopes and then had so many piles he had to look through each one for the letter he wanted to show me. There were seven piles of his paperwork all around my kitchen and my living room. The chaos was insane. It had taken him about ten minutes to get to this point. He clearly likes to have space to spread out - so how can he live in his house as it is?
And as a reminder - his house looks like this >>
A few days ago we were lucky enough to secure an advocate for Ant to help him find a new job. Ant is nervous of people he doesn't know and so I thought it would be best if I organised the first meeting with him and his advocate and if I was there for the first time they met.
I spoke to Ant's advocate first to explain the situation and to arrange things for him. When she suggested we all meet together I thought it was a great idea. Then she suggested we meet at Ant's address. I froze.
'NO' - my whole being was screaming at me.
'That simply can't happen!'
So should I explain to her? - No that would take too long and would seem odd. For one it would seem possibly suspicious - surely nothing can be that bad - everyone's house is a little bit untidy right?
Wrong! - Different league!
I tried (unconvincingly I suspect), to convince her that my house would be the better option. Amazingly she agreed. Phew - crisis averted. How would I ever get anyone to believe me without being freaky? How do I point out that just the mere smell of the house makes me ill and that I can't go inside for more than five minutes these days without feeling the urge to shoot everyone inside and run for the hills.
So we all met at mine. Imelda brought Ant round and we all sat in my living room. Four adults sitting comfortably in the same room. Imagine! Imelda had 'forgotten' (read 'mislaid/lost/never taken out of the box) his hearing aid so had virtually no idea what was going on but the thought was there. He was trying to help Ant so good on him.
When the meeting was over and the advocate had gone Imelda said he had some letters to show me. He got some letters out of his bag and within five minutes there were three piles of his paperwork laid out on my sofa and a further four on my kitchen table. Imelda's coat was on a different sofa and his bag on the floor. I felt like I was being taken hostage in my own home and had to control my urge to tidy it up.
Imelda said he had some news. There was silence while I waited to see what amazing news this was. He stood there with an inane grin. - OH - he expected me to ASK what it was.
I asked.
'Well we think we may have won some money' he said and waited for my excited reaction. He fails to realise I am not a child any more. I was not impressed. What scamming lowlife had got hold of him this time? It appears he had one of those leaflets which falls out of a magazine and goes straight in the bin (at least they do in my house. In Imelda's house they sit by the front door for twenty to thirty years first). It was one of those where you scratch off the symbols - those ones where everyone wins something but you have to ring a premium rate telephone number and pay £15 or more to discover you have won £5. I told him to ignore it as everyone wins on those and usually it wasn't worth the phone call. He wasn't convinced and said he thought he may have won up to £500. No matter how many times I explained this I would have been better talking to a tree for the amount of notice he took of me. Sometimes I despair trying to talk sense to him. The issue is not only that he doesn't wear his hearing aid but that he still thinks I am a 4 year old and continues to treat me and my opinions as such.
He finally found the ticket which he had put in an envelope. Perhaps this is a hoarder thing - he had every letter still in its envelope. I have no idea why he keeps envelopes for everything - this only adds to the bulk. He then forgot which letters were in which envelopes and then had so many piles he had to look through each one for the letter he wanted to show me. There were seven piles of his paperwork all around my kitchen and my living room. The chaos was insane. It had taken him about ten minutes to get to this point. He clearly likes to have space to spread out - so how can he live in his house as it is?
And as a reminder - his house looks like this >>
Yes this is just his living room and the rest of the house also looks like this and YES I did spend six whole weeks tidying up - No you would not know that looking at the house today.
Now I am going to hit my head against a wall...
:)
Tuesday, 18 November 2014
Imelda turned 84 and the book was downloaded 424 times in 2 days.
Imelda has just turned 84 and to celebrate I put the book on a Kindle FREE download promotion for two days. I was thrilled and amazed that over the two days there was a total of 424 books downloaded through the promotion. Is that 424 people who know a hoarder or are some just curious? I don't know but thank you to everyone who downloaded it.
I went to visit Imelda on his birthday just before lunchtime. He has not mellowed with age.
As I got there he came round the side of the house from the garden.
"Hello," he said with a smile.
"Happy Birthday Dad."
"Oh - you remembered!"
"well yes - that is why I am here at 11am on my day off."
"I thought you'd forgotten!"
I gave him his presents and cards from the kids. He looked pleased. He read the cards..
"Oh snakey has a name now does he?"
"Dad 'snakey' has always had a name. His name is 'Trouser'."
"Oh - I thought you called him 'Snakey', anyway give your dad a birthday kiss."
TOTAL YUCK. He lunged in for a slapper on the chops. Vile vile vile. I could feel my skin reddening with antibodies. I spat silently into the bushes after he turned round.
"Come and see what I've been doing in the garden!" he said and triumphantly led me down to the bottom of his garden.
There, at the bottom of his garden was his pride and joy - his three compartment compost heap - all lovingly tended and surrounded by logs, freshly painted with creosote. He waffled on about the compost heap and how it had not composted because of the dry summer and how he had had to water it. He showed me a trench he dug in the garden to channel the rainwater the right way. He showed me a new shrub he'd planted and he showed me where the fertilizer had burned the grass.
I feigned interest - I learned LONG ago that this is the quickest option. He walked me around the garden showing me his flowers and shrubs and how much this had grown and that had grown. He had prepared the garden for winter etc etc.
I then went inside the house as my brother wanted me to see something. The house is back to the state it was in before he fell. I worked SO HARD at clearing that bogging house. SO very hard to clear it. SIX WEEKS I spent there virtually killing myself and now it is back to how it was. It was August 11th 2013 he fell and now - only just over a year later it is just as bad as it ever was. I had to ask,
"Dad - what are you doing about clearing the house?"
"Well you see we have to take advantage of these dry days in the garden before the winter sets in."
"Dad, nobody can sit on the sofa" - this is the new sofa. It is now covered in layers of rubbish, boxes and bags. It is not possible to walk through the room.
"We have to clear space for the chimney sweep to come."
Clearly, yet again, the garden takes priority over the house. How is this ever normal? It's not possible to move in any room in the house. I gave up and went outside. The whole house smells musty and horrible and I itch when I go inside.
I got in my car.
"So aren't you going to give your Grandad a birthday kiss" he said.
"Dad I gave you a kiss earlier!" I said - my skin was still crawling. 'And you're not my Grandad you daft old git!"
"Well give your dad a birthday kiss then. Don't you like giving your dad a kiss?". Hell no! Yeuch - no idea why he likes to give me a smacker on the chops. I've always hated his habit of doing this. A prickly pucker complete with dribble made only slightly better when he has remembered his teeth. Any family or friends who do the cheek kiss twice hug combination thing - this has always confused me and makes me somewhat nervous. Perhaps this is why.
So I braced and went for it.
I came home and had a hot shower. I am recovering with the help of a glass of Baileys.
I went to visit Imelda on his birthday just before lunchtime. He has not mellowed with age.
As I got there he came round the side of the house from the garden.
"Hello," he said with a smile.
"Happy Birthday Dad."
"Oh - you remembered!"
"well yes - that is why I am here at 11am on my day off."
"I thought you'd forgotten!"
I gave him his presents and cards from the kids. He looked pleased. He read the cards..
"Oh snakey has a name now does he?"
"Dad 'snakey' has always had a name. His name is 'Trouser'."
"Oh - I thought you called him 'Snakey', anyway give your dad a birthday kiss."
TOTAL YUCK. He lunged in for a slapper on the chops. Vile vile vile. I could feel my skin reddening with antibodies. I spat silently into the bushes after he turned round.
"Come and see what I've been doing in the garden!" he said and triumphantly led me down to the bottom of his garden.
There, at the bottom of his garden was his pride and joy - his three compartment compost heap - all lovingly tended and surrounded by logs, freshly painted with creosote. He waffled on about the compost heap and how it had not composted because of the dry summer and how he had had to water it. He showed me a trench he dug in the garden to channel the rainwater the right way. He showed me a new shrub he'd planted and he showed me where the fertilizer had burned the grass.
I feigned interest - I learned LONG ago that this is the quickest option. He walked me around the garden showing me his flowers and shrubs and how much this had grown and that had grown. He had prepared the garden for winter etc etc.
I then went inside the house as my brother wanted me to see something. The house is back to the state it was in before he fell. I worked SO HARD at clearing that bogging house. SO very hard to clear it. SIX WEEKS I spent there virtually killing myself and now it is back to how it was. It was August 11th 2013 he fell and now - only just over a year later it is just as bad as it ever was. I had to ask,
"Dad - what are you doing about clearing the house?"
"Well you see we have to take advantage of these dry days in the garden before the winter sets in."
"Dad, nobody can sit on the sofa" - this is the new sofa. It is now covered in layers of rubbish, boxes and bags. It is not possible to walk through the room.
"We have to clear space for the chimney sweep to come."
Clearly, yet again, the garden takes priority over the house. How is this ever normal? It's not possible to move in any room in the house. I gave up and went outside. The whole house smells musty and horrible and I itch when I go inside.
I got in my car.
"So aren't you going to give your Grandad a birthday kiss" he said.
"Dad I gave you a kiss earlier!" I said - my skin was still crawling. 'And you're not my Grandad you daft old git!"
"Well give your dad a birthday kiss then. Don't you like giving your dad a kiss?". Hell no! Yeuch - no idea why he likes to give me a smacker on the chops. I've always hated his habit of doing this. A prickly pucker complete with dribble made only slightly better when he has remembered his teeth. Any family or friends who do the cheek kiss twice hug combination thing - this has always confused me and makes me somewhat nervous. Perhaps this is why.
So I braced and went for it.
I came home and had a hot shower. I am recovering with the help of a glass of Baileys.
Friday, 7 November 2014
The Chimney Sweep the Fire and the Hoarder.
Right in the middle of Imelda's house is an open fireplace. The fireplace is in the centre of the house and is not on an outside wall. When I was young and growing up in that house the fire was lit almost every day. Whether Imelda was burning logs to heat the house or whether he was burning the miniscule amount of rubbish which he threw out I was never aware. As far as I knew an open fire was always normal.
Santa managed to make it down the chimney in the early years so I was not concerned. I remember being fascinated by the flames some days as he started the roaring fire by putting a newspaper over the open part with a small gap at the bottom so the fire would thunder up the chimney with a very loud roar. Of course I trusted him to be safe. I was a child. Sometimes the newspaper caught fire - in which case he would quickly bundle it up the chimney.
In the shed was a set of chimney sweeping brushes - the type where there is a round brush at the end and the poles screw on to make the brush ever longer. I never saw dad use this brush even once. He kept it in the shed where I last saw it about twelve years ago before it became buried under many layers of junk.
Two years ago I spoke to him on the phone. We had chatted about nothing in particular for ten minutes or so and then he said:
'Where were you last Saturday night?'
An odd question as I moved out of that house twenty years ago. I asked why.
'Well, we had a little fire.' he said as if he had told me they had had a spot of heavy rain.
'What?! Fire! Dad! - What fire? What happened? Oh my God!'
'Well I was upstairs having a snooze you see, it was about ten in the evening, when Ant came and woke me saying there was an odd noise coming from the chimney. Well I came downstairs and the blasted chimney was on fire!'
'Oh my God! Dad! What happened - did the fire brigade get there in time? - Oh God - are you OK?'
'Oh no' he said 'we didn't want to have the fire brigade round here so Ant and I got saucepans full of water and put out the fire in the grate - but of course the chimney was still on fire and it was getting very hot in there. It was a bit hairy - we were running around madly and the dog was barking..We eventually managed to put it out but it was touch and go for a while.'
For once in my life I was speechless. If you have seen the photos on this blog you will realise that by some act of the grace of God the house was spared - I don't know how else to describe it. If that house had caught fire I reckon it would have been visible from space. Not only that, Imelda who is 83 and Ant my brother who has learning difficulties could have been burned or worse. I asked why they had not called the fire brigade. I suspect it was because he did not want to be told off for the state of the house and of course the water damage would have been huge. He told me he didn't want to call them as he thought he could deal with it but that he 'very nearly had to call them.'
I went round the next day and the whole of the chimney breast in the top floor is cracked - apparently the heat inside the house hit 76 degrees on a cold winter evening. Unbelievable.
So you would have assumed that after that little episode he would have made sure his chimney was swept regularly.
Not so.
I rang him last week to see if he had had the chimney swept this year before the winter sets in. I reminded him his insurance would not cover him if he had not had it swept every year. (I don't know if this is true but it can't hurt to tell him). He answered that annual cleaning would be ridiculous for some families barely ever used their fireplace. I pointed out in his case that fact was irrelevant because he used his daily.
He asked if they still had chimney sweeps. This was odd as surely after the fire he would have had his chimney swept last year. Apparently not.
He told me that the fire would have brought most of the soot down and therefore to his reasoning it didn't need a sweep. It dawned on me that he has NEVER had that chimney swept.
I have booked him a sweep for next week. I cannot believe that there are people out there who are so blatantly in denial that anything will happen to them.
It is somewhat scary that i am related to that person.
Santa managed to make it down the chimney in the early years so I was not concerned. I remember being fascinated by the flames some days as he started the roaring fire by putting a newspaper over the open part with a small gap at the bottom so the fire would thunder up the chimney with a very loud roar. Of course I trusted him to be safe. I was a child. Sometimes the newspaper caught fire - in which case he would quickly bundle it up the chimney.
In the shed was a set of chimney sweeping brushes - the type where there is a round brush at the end and the poles screw on to make the brush ever longer. I never saw dad use this brush even once. He kept it in the shed where I last saw it about twelve years ago before it became buried under many layers of junk.
Two years ago I spoke to him on the phone. We had chatted about nothing in particular for ten minutes or so and then he said:
'Where were you last Saturday night?'
An odd question as I moved out of that house twenty years ago. I asked why.
'Well, we had a little fire.' he said as if he had told me they had had a spot of heavy rain.
'What?! Fire! Dad! - What fire? What happened? Oh my God!'
'Well I was upstairs having a snooze you see, it was about ten in the evening, when Ant came and woke me saying there was an odd noise coming from the chimney. Well I came downstairs and the blasted chimney was on fire!'
'Oh my God! Dad! What happened - did the fire brigade get there in time? - Oh God - are you OK?'
'Oh no' he said 'we didn't want to have the fire brigade round here so Ant and I got saucepans full of water and put out the fire in the grate - but of course the chimney was still on fire and it was getting very hot in there. It was a bit hairy - we were running around madly and the dog was barking..We eventually managed to put it out but it was touch and go for a while.'
For once in my life I was speechless. If you have seen the photos on this blog you will realise that by some act of the grace of God the house was spared - I don't know how else to describe it. If that house had caught fire I reckon it would have been visible from space. Not only that, Imelda who is 83 and Ant my brother who has learning difficulties could have been burned or worse. I asked why they had not called the fire brigade. I suspect it was because he did not want to be told off for the state of the house and of course the water damage would have been huge. He told me he didn't want to call them as he thought he could deal with it but that he 'very nearly had to call them.'
I went round the next day and the whole of the chimney breast in the top floor is cracked - apparently the heat inside the house hit 76 degrees on a cold winter evening. Unbelievable.
So you would have assumed that after that little episode he would have made sure his chimney was swept regularly.
Not so.
I rang him last week to see if he had had the chimney swept this year before the winter sets in. I reminded him his insurance would not cover him if he had not had it swept every year. (I don't know if this is true but it can't hurt to tell him). He answered that annual cleaning would be ridiculous for some families barely ever used their fireplace. I pointed out in his case that fact was irrelevant because he used his daily.
He asked if they still had chimney sweeps. This was odd as surely after the fire he would have had his chimney swept last year. Apparently not.
He told me that the fire would have brought most of the soot down and therefore to his reasoning it didn't need a sweep. It dawned on me that he has NEVER had that chimney swept.
I have booked him a sweep for next week. I cannot believe that there are people out there who are so blatantly in denial that anything will happen to them.
It is somewhat scary that i am related to that person.
Saturday, 13 September 2014
Imelda and his laptop - Caveman in the City!
Well Imelda has had his laptop now for about a month. During the month I have had a few phonecalls from him asking me things like how does he read his 'postmails'. I have explained he should have different passwords for different sites but this confuses him. He thinks one computer one password. For now I have changed all his passwords to the same one which he gets. So far so good.
So yesterday he tells me Ant (my brother) can't get his 'postmails'. Ant has a pc but it has stopped working - not sure why yet - this requires another visit from me - Ant is not able to tell me if it is not working at all in that the thing will not turn on or whether it will turn on but he can't get access or what - entirely different problems.
At this stage I would point out I am no computer expert - in fact I consider myself to be a bit of a technowally. I can get emails, surf the web and basics but even things like organising files and suchlike will fox me. However as is often the case you don't actually realise how much you do actually know until you find someone who knows NOTHING - or in Imelda's case has lived in his own little cave in his own little universe for so long that the concept of not having to plug something in or not having to measure a lead on something as part of the buying process is beyond comprehension.
Imelda said 'Ant can't get his postmails.'
'Does he have the right password?'
'I think so.'
'What is the error message?'
'Well he can't get in'
'What does it say on the screen when he tries?'
'Well I don't know, that's what I'm saying - he can't get in!'
'So can he sign into the computer at all.'
'Well no - he can't - thats what I am saying to you.'
'What happens after you turn it on?'
'It says user is not recognised.'
'Dad, that means he has put the wrong user name or password in.'
'well yes - he can't get in.'
'But Dad - you said the computer wouldn't work.'
'Well yes, whatever - he needs his postmails you see.'
'Dad - if it's YOUR computer you will need YOUR password'
'Yes but its Ant's postmails he needs.'
Oh God!
'DAD - you need to sign in to YOUR laptop with YOUR password as it is YOUR laptop. Then you can let Ant sign into his emails.'
'Yes but he doesn't want my postmails he wants his - don't you understand? - why can't you just come round?'
'Dad TRY to understand PLEASE - it's like an apartment block - You need one key (ie password) to get into the block and then a DIFFERENT key to get into your own apartment - do you see?'
'We don't live in an apartment! Can't you just take a look.'
Possibly when I have mended the wall I just broke by bashing my head against it.
I am surprised that he hasn't lost the laptop in that house. It is a nightmare trying to find a space big enough to put the thing on - most surfaces, once you have brushed the dust off, are on top of a precariously balanced pile of books and magazines dating back generations. The eight televisions are still in his living room, seven of which are the old box/tube type and one is an 18" LCD screen which appears to be his main one (there was no room for a bigger one). three on the TV's are black and white. only the LCD on works.
So yesterday he tells me Ant (my brother) can't get his 'postmails'. Ant has a pc but it has stopped working - not sure why yet - this requires another visit from me - Ant is not able to tell me if it is not working at all in that the thing will not turn on or whether it will turn on but he can't get access or what - entirely different problems.
At this stage I would point out I am no computer expert - in fact I consider myself to be a bit of a technowally. I can get emails, surf the web and basics but even things like organising files and suchlike will fox me. However as is often the case you don't actually realise how much you do actually know until you find someone who knows NOTHING - or in Imelda's case has lived in his own little cave in his own little universe for so long that the concept of not having to plug something in or not having to measure a lead on something as part of the buying process is beyond comprehension.
Imelda said 'Ant can't get his postmails.'
'Does he have the right password?'
'I think so.'
'What is the error message?'
'Well he can't get in'
'What does it say on the screen when he tries?'
'Well I don't know, that's what I'm saying - he can't get in!'
'So can he sign into the computer at all.'
'Well no - he can't - thats what I am saying to you.'
'What happens after you turn it on?'
'It says user is not recognised.'
'Dad, that means he has put the wrong user name or password in.'
'well yes - he can't get in.'
'But Dad - you said the computer wouldn't work.'
'Well yes, whatever - he needs his postmails you see.'
'Dad - if it's YOUR computer you will need YOUR password'
'Yes but its Ant's postmails he needs.'
Oh God!
'DAD - you need to sign in to YOUR laptop with YOUR password as it is YOUR laptop. Then you can let Ant sign into his emails.'
'Yes but he doesn't want my postmails he wants his - don't you understand? - why can't you just come round?'
'Dad TRY to understand PLEASE - it's like an apartment block - You need one key (ie password) to get into the block and then a DIFFERENT key to get into your own apartment - do you see?'
'We don't live in an apartment! Can't you just take a look.'
Possibly when I have mended the wall I just broke by bashing my head against it.
I am surprised that he hasn't lost the laptop in that house. It is a nightmare trying to find a space big enough to put the thing on - most surfaces, once you have brushed the dust off, are on top of a precariously balanced pile of books and magazines dating back generations. The eight televisions are still in his living room, seven of which are the old box/tube type and one is an 18" LCD screen which appears to be his main one (there was no room for a bigger one). three on the TV's are black and white. only the LCD on works.
Monday, 25 August 2014
Imelda has bought a laptop! (He didn't want a Tabloid'). He needs a 'Computers for cave-dwellers' course.
A few weeks ago Imelda announced his intention to buy a laptop. He was quite specific. He said he definitely did not want one of those "tabloid computer things".
The news was similar to hearing Christopher Columbus announcing he wanted to buy a satnav - wrong centuries - doesn't belong.
Sometimes there are things which are just never meant to be - like me winning the lottery or Imelda tidying his house. (Both of these would be nice should fate wish to intervene). Imelda having a PC though is most definitely a bad idea.
I am a little concerned as to exactly why, after 83 years, he has chosen now to buy his first ever computer. I am even more concerned that he has no idea how to 'drive' it and that I will have to keep going round there to show him where the on switch is. I showed him briefly how to switch on and off and made sure he knew to click the little 'x' to make sure each window was closed. After five attempts of explaining as patiently as I was able that it was the box on the screen he needed to click and no it was not a touchscreen laptop and no he didn't need to punch a hole in the laptop touchpad ~ it required a gentle touch and no it wouldn't work if he glided all his fingers over it ~ it had to be just one finger - and no it didn't matter which finger and no he needed to put the arrow on the little x to close the box and not press the letter 'x' on the keyboard. He wanted to use it plugged in as this would save the battery.
He was given an email address by his internet provider but it was a long-winded one so I suggested a gmail address. This took some convincing as he said nobody would be able to contact him. I pointed out nobody knew his email address anyway as he had never had one so if he set up an easy one now then he could use that one. he wasn't convinced, although I set one up anyway. He has had to use my email address to date if he needed to receive emails. I said I could now send them to him. He said he thought he should phone everybody up to tell them he had a new email address. I suggested we email them instead but he didn't quite get this concept - he preferred to call them.
After THREE hours painfully sitting in his house sneezing and wheezing he let me shut it down and said he was enrolling on a 'Computers for the terrified' course in the local night school. What a damn good idea! I hope he learns something. I think, perhaps he needs a course called 'computers for cave-dwellers' as perhaps this would more describe his previous exposure to computers.
I only hope he doesn't find this blog - if so I just MIGHT be for a bit of ear bending. - perhaps he will learn a few home truths.
watch this space.
The news was similar to hearing Christopher Columbus announcing he wanted to buy a satnav - wrong centuries - doesn't belong.
Sometimes there are things which are just never meant to be - like me winning the lottery or Imelda tidying his house. (Both of these would be nice should fate wish to intervene). Imelda having a PC though is most definitely a bad idea.
I am a little concerned as to exactly why, after 83 years, he has chosen now to buy his first ever computer. I am even more concerned that he has no idea how to 'drive' it and that I will have to keep going round there to show him where the on switch is. I showed him briefly how to switch on and off and made sure he knew to click the little 'x' to make sure each window was closed. After five attempts of explaining as patiently as I was able that it was the box on the screen he needed to click and no it was not a touchscreen laptop and no he didn't need to punch a hole in the laptop touchpad ~ it required a gentle touch and no it wouldn't work if he glided all his fingers over it ~ it had to be just one finger - and no it didn't matter which finger and no he needed to put the arrow on the little x to close the box and not press the letter 'x' on the keyboard. He wanted to use it plugged in as this would save the battery.
He was given an email address by his internet provider but it was a long-winded one so I suggested a gmail address. This took some convincing as he said nobody would be able to contact him. I pointed out nobody knew his email address anyway as he had never had one so if he set up an easy one now then he could use that one. he wasn't convinced, although I set one up anyway. He has had to use my email address to date if he needed to receive emails. I said I could now send them to him. He said he thought he should phone everybody up to tell them he had a new email address. I suggested we email them instead but he didn't quite get this concept - he preferred to call them.
After THREE hours painfully sitting in his house sneezing and wheezing he let me shut it down and said he was enrolling on a 'Computers for the terrified' course in the local night school. What a damn good idea! I hope he learns something. I think, perhaps he needs a course called 'computers for cave-dwellers' as perhaps this would more describe his previous exposure to computers.
I only hope he doesn't find this blog - if so I just MIGHT be for a bit of ear bending. - perhaps he will learn a few home truths.
watch this space.
Sunday, 3 August 2014
Imelda has wound me up something chronic today.
Today Imelda rang me after work at 10pm to see if I was able to take him to a hospital appointment next week. I had vaguely agreed to this a week or so ago, the last time I had dropped him off for a hospital appointment. He had not been sure of the date and was going to get back to me so I had not set the date in my diary. Bear in mind he can still drive and he has a car. I take him as the hospital car parking charges are rather high and it really is not far. This appointment is in a hospital about 7 miles away and he will have to be there for tests. The letter says to be prepared to stay there 2-4 hours.
So today he rang to check I was still OK to take him.
Unfortunately ~ or very fortunately depending on how you look at it, I have just been offered a new job in a place which appears very promising. I am not able to name names here but my current job is evil and after being there two years, for at least the past six months I have been looking for a way out. Finally I have a ticket to freedom in the form of a job which appears to suit me - better hours, pay and better job. I start in a week and so this means I can't take Imelda to his appointment. I can hardly take my first day of a new job off now can I?
I apologised and told Imelda I wasn't able to take him as I have been offered a new job. I found out a day or two ago about the job and had not yet told Imelda, primarily as I don't believe he has any interest in what job I am doing and secondly as he still hasn't worked out the ins and outs of his hearing aid yet, (six months or so now) any off the wall conversation needs to be done in person. I had anticipated telling him with pride and happiness and for him to be all pleased and say "Wow - Congratulations you!" or similar. I waited for a reaction. None came.
Did he congratulate me? - No
Did he ask what new job? - No
Did he express surprise or interest in any way WHATSOEVER about my new job? - No.
Did he sound pleased or alter his tone to match my apparent happiness at being offered a ticket out of current hellhole where I have been battling with my sanity for two years? - No
Did he even say a token 'Oh that's nice!' - Did he buggery bollocks! - No he said NOTHING AT ALL about it.
Instead he says - 'Well if you can't take me then I will have to find someone else - as simple as that.'
I was silently fuming - surely your own Dad should at least express something by way of - well something when his daughter tells him with pure happiness she is out of the job she has hated for years and into a better one. Most Dads, I suspect would want to know where the new one was, who it was with, what I would be doing. I suspect a great deal of Dads would call after the interview to see how it went.
Not Imelda.
'Well goodnight' he said.
I wasn't going to leave it at that 'Aren't you going to ask me about the new job?' I said
'Yes - you said you had a new job!'
'And aren;t you going to ask me who it is with'
'Yes well you have told me you have a new job - I had no IDEA you were even looking for a new job.'
'I have been looking for at least six months Dad - you know I hate where I am'.
'I didn't know you were looking for a new job.'
'Well I was and now I have one and that is a good thing and I am happy about it'
'Yes, so you can't take me then.'
'So are you going to ask who the new job is with?'
'Well are you going to tell me and not play stupid games?'
So here I am with the conversation I envisaged with him being happy for me - proud even that the new company is a household name. I envisaged him congratulating me and telling me that was marvelous news. No - now I am in the situation where I have to tell him as part of an argument. My blood pressure is rising and my mad-axe-murderer is re-surfacing ~ fast.
So I had no choice but to tell him. The moment I told him he said to me
'Well you told me the other day you had an interview with them but I had no idea you'd got the job,'
Twas at this point I freaked at him. He clearly therefore did know I was not only looking for a job but that I had an interview the following day and this had clearly meant so little to him at the time that it left his head completely.
I pointed out if he remembered I had an interview then he clearly knew I was looking for another job so why did he just tell me he had no idea.
He told me to stop making excuses.
It was at this point I had to put the phone down and scream loudly. Sorry neighbours ~ it had to come out. After I'd screamed enough I had to write it down here. Now I feel somewhat better although the prospect of a large gin is very appealing...
So today he rang to check I was still OK to take him.
Unfortunately ~ or very fortunately depending on how you look at it, I have just been offered a new job in a place which appears very promising. I am not able to name names here but my current job is evil and after being there two years, for at least the past six months I have been looking for a way out. Finally I have a ticket to freedom in the form of a job which appears to suit me - better hours, pay and better job. I start in a week and so this means I can't take Imelda to his appointment. I can hardly take my first day of a new job off now can I?
I apologised and told Imelda I wasn't able to take him as I have been offered a new job. I found out a day or two ago about the job and had not yet told Imelda, primarily as I don't believe he has any interest in what job I am doing and secondly as he still hasn't worked out the ins and outs of his hearing aid yet, (six months or so now) any off the wall conversation needs to be done in person. I had anticipated telling him with pride and happiness and for him to be all pleased and say "Wow - Congratulations you!" or similar. I waited for a reaction. None came.
Did he congratulate me? - No
Did he ask what new job? - No
Did he express surprise or interest in any way WHATSOEVER about my new job? - No.
Did he sound pleased or alter his tone to match my apparent happiness at being offered a ticket out of current hellhole where I have been battling with my sanity for two years? - No
Did he even say a token 'Oh that's nice!' - Did he buggery bollocks! - No he said NOTHING AT ALL about it.
Instead he says - 'Well if you can't take me then I will have to find someone else - as simple as that.'
I was silently fuming - surely your own Dad should at least express something by way of - well something when his daughter tells him with pure happiness she is out of the job she has hated for years and into a better one. Most Dads, I suspect would want to know where the new one was, who it was with, what I would be doing. I suspect a great deal of Dads would call after the interview to see how it went.
Not Imelda.
'Well goodnight' he said.
I wasn't going to leave it at that 'Aren't you going to ask me about the new job?' I said
'Yes - you said you had a new job!'
'And aren;t you going to ask me who it is with'
'Yes well you have told me you have a new job - I had no IDEA you were even looking for a new job.'
'I have been looking for at least six months Dad - you know I hate where I am'.
'I didn't know you were looking for a new job.'
'Well I was and now I have one and that is a good thing and I am happy about it'
'Yes, so you can't take me then.'
'So are you going to ask who the new job is with?'
'Well are you going to tell me and not play stupid games?'
So here I am with the conversation I envisaged with him being happy for me - proud even that the new company is a household name. I envisaged him congratulating me and telling me that was marvelous news. No - now I am in the situation where I have to tell him as part of an argument. My blood pressure is rising and my mad-axe-murderer is re-surfacing ~ fast.
So I had no choice but to tell him. The moment I told him he said to me
'Well you told me the other day you had an interview with them but I had no idea you'd got the job,'
Twas at this point I freaked at him. He clearly therefore did know I was not only looking for a job but that I had an interview the following day and this had clearly meant so little to him at the time that it left his head completely.
I pointed out if he remembered I had an interview then he clearly knew I was looking for another job so why did he just tell me he had no idea.
He told me to stop making excuses.
It was at this point I had to put the phone down and scream loudly. Sorry neighbours ~ it had to come out. After I'd screamed enough I had to write it down here. Now I feel somewhat better although the prospect of a large gin is very appealing...
Tuesday, 29 July 2014
The photos of my room which I spent four days clearing. - Taken today.
Imelda was away for a while on holiday so I was looking after his house. I had to have a weeny peek inside - he has not allowed me to do much since the big clear out last year so I have left well alone. Whenever I go to his house now he watches me like a hawk on acid. I'm not entirely sure what he thinks I am likely to do - steal the hoover? Anyway with some time to really look around I did so and found the following...
I had a look at my old bedroom which last year pre- unscheduled ladder dismount it looked like this:>
Aug 2013
So I spent four days clearing it along with my friends and relatives until it eventually looked like this:->
Sept 2013
and it now looks like this;>
July 2014
This has taken under a year!
In this picture we can see;
the old carpet form the stairs 1977 - still rolled up
a Christmas tree stand (no tree has fitted inside the house since about 1990)
A pair of scraggy trousers
a bag of paper bits in a green bag
A laundry basket
A hoover turbo attachment!!!??
The side of a bath - in gorgeous (ahem) mint green!
a Television - would you believe it?
A brand new still boxed duvet
a wooden stepladder
a tie
an iron bedframe
27 flourescent light tubes
a new bagged pillow
a packet of loft boards (no room in the loft)
Bash bash bash - Head against a wall.
Mine!
Friday, 4 July 2014
Diary of a Hoarder's Daughter THE BOOK by Izabelle Winter
The book is out and available now on Amazon
and Amazon Kindle
The book is based on this blog although the book has no pictures. Although it covers most of what is on here it's better written because it's spell checked and it is edited. The blog more or less spills out of my head straight onto the paper whereas the book is more structured. There are also some parts in the book which aren't on the blog, explaining a lot about the background around the house and the hoarding.
Whereas this blog is spontaneous and how it is RIGHT NOW at the moment of writing, the book hopefully doesn't repeat things. It's also been edited by someone who knows what they're doing. The paperback is 232 pages long and the Kindle version is edited for kindle.
The cover I'm almost satisfied with although it could be vastly improved. In my opinion the cover was not the most important bit - it was important that it looked nice and stood out from the others and also gave a flavour of what is inside, but I guess the search word is in the title so people looking for a hoarding book would search 'Hoarder' or 'Hoarding'.
So why have I used a pseudonym and why 'Izabelle Winter'?
I'm not trying to hide anything here as that's not my real name. I always fancied the idea of using a pen name. Friends and I often used to wonder what name we'd choose if we could have any name at all. It's a bit of fun to have a completely different name and perhaps different persona. Due to the nature of the book I thought it unfair to 'out' Imelda so I decided to use pseudonym.
1) My mother's middle name was Isabel and so as a tribute I chose Izabelle.
2) My favourite time of year is Winter when it snows, everything is clean and white and beautiful and I can go skiing (my number one hobby which I cannot do without).
3) Izabelle Winter sounds more author-esque and slightly, in my view, romantic. It's also memorable.
4) There are already books out by someone with the same real name as me and I wanted to be unique.
5) Finally, and possibly the most important reason; if Imelda and Ant didn't want to be outed (Ant especially) and Imelda possibly, among people they didn't know very well - such as those at his church or his neighbours, then it wouldn't be fair for me to out him. Although after the TV show when he told everybody he knew, vaguely knew, once knew or was the friend of someone he knew, that we were on TV perhaps this is a bit daft. I do feel however that I should protect him from the contents of the book as there is more in depth stuff in there - he is still my dad. He did know I was writing the book and I mentioned it would be out soon and he showed very little interest. So we'll leave it at that for now.
If he obtains a copy of the book I doubt he'll read it as, by his own admission, he 'doesn't read books'. If he does then I am prepared.
So please read the book if you can - the feedback so far has been positive and I've had a few people speak to me to say that particular conversations or situations rang a bell with them.
More soon
Me xx
Wednesday, 2 July 2014
THE SOFA IS DEAD - The final hours (or the next fifty years ~ depends how you see it).
Last night, thankfully, I was at work when Imelda called round to my house with Ant. Over two years I have worked the same hours in that place and still Imelda exhibits mild surprise that I'm at work when he visits. He managed, yet again, to call around at 4.55 just as the bloke was putting tea on the table for the kids. He manages to acquire the 'hungry hound' expression around tea time.
When I arrived at the house Imelda enthusiastically led me to the tree -the one he fell out of. Underneath the tree - on top of a pile of logs was ... The old green sofa, at least it was the seat part of the sofa - devoid of the arms and back and feet oh and the seat cushions had been missing ever since it was put outside the house - he has kept them in case they come in useful - no surprise there then. Imelda had hacked up the sofa with an axe! Well at least I now know where my mad axe-murderess tendencies come from.
It is a year in August since he fell off the ladder and broke his back - he is supposed to be taking it easy!
'OOhhh ~ That smells nice... - You having tea?'
Bloke, totally unimpressed with Imelda's immaculately timed visits, ignored him as he put the food on the table for the kids.
Imelda continued 'I've brought this towel for Izabelle ~ she said she would be able to sew it up on the edges as it is fraying somewhat.' He handed over a craggy towel. 'It needs to be sewn before it goes in the wash or it may unravel in the machine'.
It was anyone's guess how long the towel had been in that state or when it was last washed. I do remember vaguely saying I would sew something. Me and my flipping mouth!
The bloke double bagged the thing and placed it in the kitchen ~ which is where I found it after work. I took it out of the bag and put it straight back in again. The thing just stank of Imelda's house. I do not want any memories of that house in my home.
I took the thing into the garden this morning with the extension lead and I sewed it there. It then went back in the bag and straight over to Imelda's.
When I arrived at the house Imelda enthusiastically led me to the tree -the one he fell out of. Underneath the tree - on top of a pile of logs was ... The old green sofa, at least it was the seat part of the sofa - devoid of the arms and back and feet oh and the seat cushions had been missing ever since it was put outside the house - he has kept them in case they come in useful - no surprise there then. Imelda had hacked up the sofa with an axe! Well at least I now know where my mad axe-murderess tendencies come from.
It is a year in August since he fell off the ladder and broke his back - he is supposed to be taking it easy!
Here is the remains of the sofa under the tree no doubt where it will be for a while. I would like to think of this as the final phase but who knows?
Thursday, 19 June 2014
Oh no! ~ Hoarder dies as ceiling collapses
I found this link to a news article recently. It is about a hoarder who dies in her house as her ceiling collapsed. The police went there on the Thursday last week but didn't realise the floor had collapsed as it collapsed into the basement. They didn't find the lady occupant until the Saturday.
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/northamerica/usa/10902061/Hoarder-dies-after-floor-of-her-house-collapses-under-weight.html
So now I worry about Imelda and Ant. Imelda's house does not have a basement but it has a top floor and an attic. Both creaking with joy as I moved the junk I recall. They'd be weeks finding him in there.
:(
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/northamerica/usa/10902061/Hoarder-dies-after-floor-of-her-house-collapses-under-weight.html
So now I worry about Imelda and Ant. Imelda's house does not have a basement but it has a top floor and an attic. Both creaking with joy as I moved the junk I recall. They'd be weeks finding him in there.
:(
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