Mum’s carers have been visiting for a week now.

The review is in a few hours and we’re invited.

The fact that medication went to Level 2 within a day of the carers starting tells us that her care will probably be permanent now.

Four visitors a day means that she is hydrated, fed, medicated and even bathed on a regular basis.

I wonder if a visit to the hairdressers would be welcome? She used to go every week.

Early resistance to accepting her memory loss is slowly easing.

A big part of this progress is down to my other half, Gill.

She really has stepped up and become the daughter Mum never had.

She’s actually looking at the house as more than a guest.

She has bought her a new microwave, much safer than the hob she had. 

Gill’s caring nature took some battering last week as Mum fought tooth and nail against any suggestion of change.

Now they are pals and change is easier to effect as Gill knows how to word things.

Being hydrated and fed and properly medicated means Mum is lucid most of the time too.

I’m grateful.

Grateful to you guys for your support and suggestions, to Gill for really going the extra mile and to the efficacy of the town’s Adult care Team whose processes actually do work.

More later. 

Another meeting is arranged tomorrow, this time with the psychiatric nurse connected to the local council’s Adult care Team.

I spoke with her on the phone about Mum’s continued forgetfulness and also about a few odd things she’s said to the carers.

She’s eager to get some blood tests done and, after these, perhaps an MRI.

Having a definite diagnosis is always a comfort. 

The uncertainty we had with Ashley and the relief we felt after a Specialist was brave enough to diagnose is not a time I care to repeat.

Her lack of short term memory may have been something she’s disguised over the last few years but with her denying that visits and medications have taken place it is much more evident and harder to hide.

She loves the attention when it’s going on but we are mindful of these few weeks being an assessment and not the long term she requires.

The actual care will be formulated, put out to tender and contracted to a local provider,

We’ve also been looking into Power of attorney but are wondering if it’s necessary given the size of her estate (tiny) and the measures we’ve already taken.

It feels like a full time job at the moment and has uncomfortable similarities to sorting things out for Gill’s Mum in her decline.

Both of us are weary but still focused on getting her the right level of care.

It’s half past three here in chilly Bury, Lancs, and school is just letting the kids out. Our nice quiet house will be full of noise again in a few minutes with reading books, shoes and coats scattered about and a roast chicken tea in the oven.

Heather will be home from college just as Ashley arrives in his school bus. Jo is staying at High School to do some extra work and little cerys will burst through the door any moment now.

I love it.

The last few weeks have been difficult.

The onset of Mum’s dementia has been gradual. We know this now after reflecting on the last two years.

One thing we’ve learned is how canny people are when their minds are beginning to decay.

A person will naturally compensate for the gaps that appear.

Mum has done this for several years now: it was always evident in her story telling which would cause me to comment to Gill that “I was there and it didn’t happen like that!” It would anger me but in hindsight it does make sense.

The last month or two has seen it’s progression become acute.

The call from her about my late father going missing and her contacting the police was probably the first milestone.

Today her memory is poor on an hourly basis.

She can’t remember a carer visiting or giving her medication.

She tells us that the new microwave just magically appeared.

There is an acceptance, after much effort, that her memory is poor though.

She knows it now and isn’t fighting against the idea.

She actually told the psychy nurse that she feels like royalty because all these things are going on around her.

I found that sweet.

The same nurse has commented that in the week and a half she’s know mum, she can see a significant improvement now that she’s medicated, well nourished and hydrated.

It would be foolish to think that she’s “on the mend” but perhaps we can make a better assessment of her wellness now that she’s stable.

Dementia is a progressive condition which, according to some folk, can be slowed with activities to stimulate the mind.

The care visits are doing this. She loves the fuss.

And perhaps the days out at an old folks’ activity centre will help too.

Gill is throwing herself wholeheartedly into her care and has bought a few things for her and even done bits of housework like cleaning the windows and fixing a table.

I do play my part but am quietly glad that Gill has this preoccupation.

Gill’s well being is always at the top of my list and I see from her work in our house that she is coming alive again.

It is true: that the more you do, the more you can do. Inactivity breeds inactivity.

Fortunately the family is calm at the moment. Heather is applying for Uni places. Ashley is taking part in choral productions at school. Jo is beavering away at school and sorting out a 16-18 college place. Cerys, although slightly anaemic, is doing well at school, is really good at reading and has a talking part in her class play.

I’m well, touch wood, but am over-tired with work and not sleeping properly – partly because of the constant buzz of life in my head but also because of a neighbour’s security light (must get some blackout curtains).

More as it happens.

The saga of Mum’s dementia is, of course, ongoing.

Being properly nourished and hydrated and medicated, we can now see exactly where she is.

Primarily, we find ourselves dealing with her canny nature and wit.

Not remembering things doesn’t slow her down.

She has an intelligence which sometimes more than makes up for this.

So, the carers are learning to take a lot of what she says “with a pinch of salt”.

They now look for evidence rather than taking her word for everything.

She’s managed at least two secret trips out to the shops, one for milk (not needed) and the other for fish and chips.

We know she’s been reading the carers file to look for the combination to the medication safe too.

Gill has carried on with her role, visiting Mum most days and keeping an overview of what’s going on.

This week we took a new tree down and decorated it for her. We dug out the idiotically large  collection of decorations and helped her sort out the broken tat from the keepables. This is a real step forward as the last two Xmas’s without Dad, Mum’s not felt like putting decs up.

Her boiler broke down so we arranged a fix.

When Gill next popped in Mum told her it was broken so we started to contact the boiler man again when Gill noticed the house was warm. Mum had, of course, forgotten the last day or so and when shown the warm pipes, still complained of feeling cold, we think just to save face.

It’s a learning curve for both of us as we grow to accommodate her condition.

We’ll get there,

Mum’s progress into dementia is slow and grinding.

Her spirit is still very strong but we notice gaps all the time now.

Four times a day folk come into her house, log in using a freephone number, administer pills, make meals, coerce her into the shower.

However, she will report that she has been alone for days, that she is worried she isn’t taking medications or seeing folk.

She phones her shopping lists in several times, each call sounding like first contact.

We’re unsure of how long things will take.

I don’t think there’s a textbook.

This spring we hope to refresh her garden before it becomes overgrown.

The house doesn’t need decorating but we’ve replaced a few of her small electricals.

Gill is a cosign on her bank so uses a card to get her shopping but Mum hasn’t learned this yet. Each visit with shopping bags is greeted with “how much do I owe you?”

Physically she’s still spry though she does like to play the ancient Granny at times. 

I’ve seen her move quickly though when she thinks no-one’s watching.

The hardest thing for me is to see the woman I know begin to fade.

The tower of strength who never gave up is now happy for folk to take over.

She complains about losing her independence but I wonder if it’s all noise.

I’ve spoken to Gill about taking the initiative with some things. Involve her in the decision but help her make the right one.

It’s hard but like everything else we’ve dealt with, we take it one day at a time.

What other way is there?

Posted this on facebook 3 years ago.

“So, my son has a disability.

Do I constantly mourn the boy and man he won’t be?
Or do I celebrate his amazing personality?
Do I compare him every day to boys of his age?
Or do look for potential and possibilities?
Should I curl up in a ball and weep?
Or should I join in the laughter and joy this amazing little boy generates daily?
Is it best to get angry when people stare, grinding my teeth at their ignorance?
Or maybe I can invite them into our world, talk, answer questions, remove the fear?
Do I lament the fact that his first deliberate sentence took him 7 years to compose?
Or do I tell every person I meet until they either glaze over with boredom or join me in my merry dance.
You guess.
When people ask me how we cope the answer is usually just “we do”.
What else is there?
 I think it’s a matter of perspective.
When you stop looking at the enormity of a mountain

and start smelling the flowers and enjoying the view,

you forget how big it is and start enjoying it.”
Still true.

We’ve moved on a little in the Dementia saga.

Mum has settled to her new regime of carer visits four times a day.

Initially these were done by an assessment team who have handed the case over to an outside company who essentially do the same job.

After a few teething problems mainly around the meds safe, they seem to be doing a decent job.

They make sure she eats a few times a day, shower a few times a week and take her meds.

She sometimes forgets that they’ve come, and that Gill or I have been there too.

Medical visits are progressing and a new set of blood tests has just been taken.

We know she’s losing track of days, money, birthdays, and even what’s in the fridge.

However, there are enough people going in and out to provide the structure she needs.

We do her shopping and keep her medical dates and prescription reorders on our calendar.

She often mentions that she hates to take us away from the family and Ashley in particular.

We get over this by reminding her of a regular occurrence from my childhood.

When friends came around unexpectedly she would simply peel a few more potatoes and we’d make whatever was in the pot go a little further.

The expression became common later whenever friends arrived in the house:

“Throw a few more spuds in the pot, Mum, xxx is here!”

Her care, we pointed out, is for us like throwing a few more spuds in the pot for us.

Yes, we have a lot to deal with.

A little more doesn’t affect us.

She got it.

Once again I have been remiss in posting to this site and once again I apologise. 

However, life is for living, not just writing about.

Mum’s dementia is heartbreaking in it’s ability to steadily destroy the woman I know.

Yesterday she phoned us twice with the same shopping list within fifteen minutes.

We’ve had to speak to the carers’ office to ask them to ensure that she bathes and eats full meals rahter than existing on cereals and toast. (We buy the food so know how fast it gets consumed)

She’s been prescribed iron tablets which is nothing untoward in a woman her age.

Her ECG was clear which means there isn’t a heart problem affecting her brain. It’s just demetia.

Next comes the memory clinic and possibly an MRI – there won’t be any surprises there.

She phoned us to say a folder had gone missing and blamed Gill and me for taking things from her house.

After a bit of detective work we found that she’d actually given the folder to a carer and they’d put it in their office for safekeeping. She’d forgotten this and waded in with both boots.

The tiny fragile lady who constantly sorts and resorts an array of remote controls (most of them defunct) is a far cry from the woman who raised me and my brothers.

On other fronts (life does feel like a battle sometimes) Gill’s American Uncle in Texas is soon to pass. He’s touching ninety and has a wonderful life. We’re in touch with their daughter who’s told us his time is near. His wife has Alzeimers so this will be difficult for her – BOY do we know that.

We have a Sweet 16 and an 18th within a week of each other  – I know, I know, “bad planning” on our part.

Gill is a whirlwind of party invites, menus and venues and has it all in hand.

I had a fall in the garden – my fault. Stepped on the corner of an edging stone and went over like a tree falling onto stone flags. I landed flat so just have a few bruises on my shoulder, hip and forearm: luckily no breaks. Oopsy.

The joy of raising two teens continues unabated and is mingled with pride as improvement and achievement go hand in hand..

Heather is getting offers from Universities – conditional places hinging on her results this year.

Jodie is becoming quite the artist, as is little Cerys in her own way.

Cerys is carrying with the drama course we found for her and loving it. Much of it seems to be improvisation and this is showing in her level of confidence, character and the way she interacts with the family.

Ashley continues to charm his way with the ladies, steadily increasing his legion of fans. His mobility is good and his enuciation improves all the time. That kid’s a tryer!

Gill and I are solid though I fear for her mental well being. Little clues are there everyday. Her interest in cooking is a bit obsessive with far too much being produced – I seem to live off of leftovers these days. It’s GOOD EATING though so at elast it’s productive. We now have more spices and cooking gadgets in our kitchen than many local chefs. 

She continues to sleep downstairs and despite reassurances to the contrary I feel like I’ve done something wrong. I enquire gently from time to time if there’s a reason for her doing so but she can’t articulate it. Her doctor cum therapist is monitoring her and she’s medicated. The overall picture is on the good side though so for now I’m minded to just let it go.

Mum’s settled care and the family doing well overall mean my sleep patterns are improving too. I’ve convinced the girls and Gill to wear Fitbits to monitor their daily steps and this is proving to be jolly.

So overall things ain’t that bad. I will continue to post on the blog and as always, welcome your contributions.

Xx

It concerns me that people around me are becoming more and more dependant on social media.

Time moves on I get that, and this is how we communicate now but the ability to message folk wherever they are isn’t necessarily a healthy thing to me.

I have a smart phone and my kids use it to contact me but they sort of know that they won’t always get an immediate reply.

Gill sends me a message or two through the day but has said she knows that it’s more like a post-it on a notice board than a brick with a letter wrapped round it.

However, people younger than me (and there are a lot of them) seem to need a constancy of contact with their peers.

All day I overhear conversations along the lines of “Hi, yeah, I’m shopping, then I’m getting the bus home.” Or “where are you, Babes? ”

To me most of these are pointless other than to satisfy a craving for human contact.

Before mobile phones we made an agreement to meet and rarely spoke after that until we met.

When we were out and about we seldom phoned home (usually from a telephone box) and would just arrive.

Where possible we would say ” I’ll be home by 4″ or “be home for dinner” and this provided a rigidity to life which may soon fade.

Life now is flexible as we constantly update folk with messages, texts and GPS phone apps.

Another aspect of this dependency is the cloying interlinking of lives and concerns.

We don’t have to take responsibility for our actions anymore nor do we have to make decisions on our own.

We have a host of people we can ask for advice, and ultimately blame when things go wrong.

One thing I don’t agree with is the idea that smart phones have caused a decline in general knowledge.

No they haven’t.

There are, and always have been, a majority of people who have little or no general knowledge outside of who did what in their favourite soap opera or what that woman at no.22 has been up to.

Intelligence and knowledge don’t always go hand in had. I know a few quiz masters who have incredible factual recall but are actually as “dumb as a bag of hammers”. I also know allegedly intelligent people who can’t remember phone numbers or the wife’s birthday. One of the former leans heavily on his factual knowledge when he talks to me in a wasted attempt to feign intelligence.

All in all I’m more concerned about the emotional dependency on others that these little machines are creating.

* Just had a quick chat with the eldest before she went to college and she agrees. Her peers wander the halls tapping away and customers on her Saturday job will halt transactions to take a call which she can hear is just a social chat. 

We got a call from Mum’s carer this morning to say they couldn’t gain access.

Fearing the worst, we dutifully hotfooted it down to the house.

The carer was inside and Mum was sitting in her bathrobe looking disgruntled.

Apparently she’d heard the knocking, window tapping and increasingly concerned calls through the letterbox.

She simply decided to ignore it.

While we there she also refused medication until cajoled to take the damned things.

You know, the ones that are prolonging her life.

The rank smell from her back garden turned out to be a food bin which hadn’t been emptied for Lord only knows how long.

She had been dropping alsorts of packaged old food and so the binmen had refused to empty it.

I emptied it into the general household bin and bleached and rinsed it out.

Fortunately I have very little sense of smell (polyps) so beavered away while Gill retched.

We’ve added a back door key to the key safe and pinched the spare. She never goes out so hopefully won’t notice.

Ah the joys

Ah the joys….

Mu rang with a shopping list when we were with Ashley in the doctor’s. We said we’d ring back…

At home we phoned only to be cut short. 

Later, we phoned again and were cut short. She went through the normal conversation with Ashley and then said goodbye and hung up.

I phoned her back and after a brief discussion where she politely refused a shopping request she hung up.

That evening she phoned us and asked for me to come and see her.

Worryingly, she had her organised “head” on, having chosen to rest the “little girl lost” and “dying swan” heads, I suppose.

After some prying I got her to admit that she had taken herself to town, bought some jam tarts and gone to the bank for a statement and to withdraw cash.

Having pored over the statements, she now wanted to know where all her money was going.

She had forgotten that Gill had a card to do her shopping, forgotten that we had renewed all the tat in her kitchen (on her sayso), forgotten that she had released birthday money for Cerys etc.

Controlling an urge to scream down the handset, I quietly filled in the gaps before deciding to deal with this face-to-face.

After an interruption by a carer I pointed out that:

A. Her memory is going south as is evidenced by the Memory Clinic wanting a prolonged interview in a view weeks and probably with them recommending a brain scan;

B. Of the three sons she has, I am the only one to take an interest in her well being and depite her protestations that she can cope and that we should be focussing on our brood, I have perservered with this care;

C. Gill, whose parents have both passed, is more of a daughter than either of her sons are sons. She is trustworthy and it is hurtful to suggest otherwise.

She backed down, hopefully realising her error, for the moment anyway.

We then dug out a heap of letters she’d stored all over the house and I realised a few phone calls regarding her TV license, unnecessary insurance sign ups and suchlike would be needed.

Letters are a joy in that house as her filing system involves couch cushions, tablecloths, pillows and coat pockets. 

So, after a 5am start for a very rare short shift at work, I plopped back down in my chair at 9pm, knackered.

I’ve been churning out this blog for almost thirteen years now (on various platforms) and in this time I have lost several friends and relatives (to death, not because of the dullness of the writing)

Each time one passes it gives me time to reflect not just on their impact on me but also on the person they were.

However, I come from a background where practicality and realism are to the fore.

Flannel and flower, as my Dad used to called it, have no place either in life or death.

We, as a race, have an irritating tendency to turn the recently dead into saints.

“Don’t speak ill of the dead” the Spartans would say and we’ve clung on to this ever since.

I undestand why we do this.

Death is a bit final isn’t it?

So if we are to be celebrated, it should be for the good we’ve done rather than the mistakes we’ve made.

But this isn’t a passport to a lie.

I can remember weeping when my Gran died. I’d visited her at her home and in the care facility, week on week for years. We got on famously and I still feel her influence when making decisions – it tends to sway me away from being selfish.

When she died I felt it. This isn’t to say that I don’t remember all the bitter words she said. Her life was always hard. Grandad was injured in WWI and she nursed him for years. She then raised her son in poverty, losing a young daughter and working in the Salvation Army to help others.

This gave her a sanctimoniousness which in later years made her reflect negatively on almost everyone who passed by.

I was sad to see her go but I knew who she was.

However, when my Dad died two years ago, it affected me much less.

As a youngster I didn’t see a lot of him as he worked night shifts. He upset Mum a lot, as did his live-in Mum who badgered her in every aspect of our lives.

When I was 9 we were in a near fatal accident, partly caused by his bullying behaviour, which left him permanently disabled including brain damage. At best he was a petulant child, at worst a tyrant.

His contribution to my life was scant. Lots of “despite of’s” rather than “because of’s”.

But they say funerals are for the living, don’t they?

At his, folk said many kind things about him which were ill-advised and imaginery. I met my brothers’ eyes a few times and we were in silent accord about this nonsense.

My own epitaph will be along the lines of 

‘remember me as I was, neither a saint nor a sinner,

I aged a bit and my hair got thinner,

I broke some rules but did good things,

Just don’t measure me up for halo and wings’

Mum phoned today to, once again, tell us that she has had no care visitors or medication for days now. 

She asked directly for the combination to the safe where we keep her meds.

We went to see her and once again go over the facts as they stand – her memory is getting worse, she has 4 care visits a day, the visits are well documented and they even log in and out with an 0800 number from her phone.

She stoically refused to accept any of this.

So we did a pill count on the 8 meds she takes and “found” that the exact amount was gone that should be gone.

She seemed to cave at this point and accept things.

Then bucked up again and refused to accept that her memory was worsening.

We pointed out again that the call she made was only 8 minutes after the carer had left and that there was still a plate of food from last night under tin foil in the fridge.

In that moment I think she was upset.

She was quiet.

Gill noticed and in the car on the way home we mulled over the effectiveness of what we’d just done.

She’s probably forgotten the conversation by now and we fully accept she may phone us again this afternoon.

I’ve started to trawl the internet for ideas now and am heartened by how much consistent information there is.

As with all trauma, acknowledging and accepting your own feelings and accepting support are both key.

It’s hard though to watch her slip away.

To say the Long Goodbye.

Once again I’ve filched this format from my epal Mushy Cloud

Looking Out of my window  sunshine at last and broken branches of trees curtesy of Storm Doris as she busied herself hurling bins around the back alley and, unlike our council, cleaning the streets.

I am thinking… about my visit to Mum and how she’s slipping away. Her stubborn streak doesn’t allow her to accept her forgetfulness and causes friction with anyone who dares suggest it.

I am thankful… for my Gill. God I love that woman. So supportive despite her own frailties.

One of my favourite things… is the meals we eat. Gill has started cooking “properly” with herbs and spices, fresh veg which she cuts and fresh meat too.

I am wearing… comfortable clobber.

I am creating… a family of “kick-arse” kids – Jodie saw off a delivery driver who dared to park in the disable bay.

I am watching… or should I say “binge” watching the Big Bang Theory series again. I love the way Jim plays Sheldon. He denies it’s Aspergic but admits much of it is him. One detail is the red hands he always has – this is actually the actor’s habit of repeating cleansing that causes this, not a makeup thing.

I am reading… Terry Pratchett again. It was the only thing to hand while I wait for some “Chronicles of Thomas Covenant” to arrive.

I am listening to… podcasts when I can. Infinite Monkey Cage is a giggle but I prefer the real life folk on The Moth and the Listening Project. The latter sends out booths to capture couples just chatting about whatever they want.
I am hoping… we hold together as a family despite the changes that are coming our way: Mum’s decline, eldest going to college and work, etc

I am learning… not to underestimate people. Adversity tends to bring out the best in them. Cliche but true.

In the kitchen… Gill’s doing shepherd’s pie from scratch and even I can smell how good it is.

Shared Quote…
Everything that has a beginning has an ending.

Make your peace with that and all will be well.

Gautama Buddha

The whole Parentood “deal” has been on my mind recently what with Mum’s demise.

Next door brought home their newborn yesterday. They’ve called her Frankie.

I agreed to let the delivery men in with what looks like the whole nursery of flat pack furniture.

The failed logisitics baffles me. We had a heap of stuff before each of our munchkins turned up.

I thought that what we did was the norm.

He has a habit of bounding up and down the stairs – we can hear this as the houses are terraced.

That’s going to have to stop.

We also heard the argument they had which lasted all evening. 

It’s hard not to be judgemental because my memories of our early parenting days have long fogged over.

There are some vivid memories of nappies, projectile vomiting and non stop illogical screaming of course.

But mostly the rose tint of memory has erased all the tedious all nighters and replaced them with smooth professional nappy changing and idyllic curly haired moppets being oh so well behaved.

Becoming a parent is easy and quite often is actually an error.

Being a Mum or Dad however is a lifetime vocation. 

Long grinding years which never really end.

It comprises sacrifice, patience, and unconditional love.

Mum’s time as my parent is probably at an end as we take over her care and are making more and more decisions for her.

However, in the great Bank of Care, I think she’s made enough installments over the years and deserves some payback.

Happy to Help.

Today was Mum’s memory assessment.

We arrived early at Mum’s house because she’d called us the night before asking if the visitors would be rummaging in her bedroom or wanting to look at bank statements.

We set her mind to rest as the first two arrived closely followed by a third.

Gill and I were asked to step into the kitchen with one of them and were grilled for all the details of her state of mind and any relevant history while the others completed a separate assessment with her.

It felt a bit like tattling but it was good to unload. She asked a lot of pointy questions which led us to recall things which were actually quite relevant.

A diagnosis will follow perhaps when we see the consultant in a few weeks.

It will be dementia, that’s obvious, but the MRI may help to pinpoint which type.

We know it’s progressive and, according to today’s visitors, she’s much like many folk they assess, no better, no worse.

It’s still a hard pill to swallow.

After a diagnosis, it may be the right time to inform my disinterested brothers.

==================================

On a brighter note, I’ve found my specs so can see how filthy my screen. Looks like someone’s sneezed on it!

Techy-me bought a booster for my home wifi and it is brilliant – well until the kids come home and gobble up all my band width.

Mum’s decline has, for the moment, reaching a plateau.

Although she is adamant that her care doesn’t happen ( despite written evidence to the contrary) she is bright and jolly and chats with anyone who enters her confused little world.

We’ve just had a review of the care which fortunately included all of our concerns and concluded with the reviewer complementing us on our advocacy.

We popped in this morning to drop off some shopping and found that she had trimmed all of her birthday flowers and changed the water in the vases. 

We found out this week that she is still having little trips out to the local supermarket and chip shop too.

However, her decline is real.

Soon we will visit a specialist and take her for a brain scan.

A diagnosis will follow which may tell us which form of dementia she has.

It matters little.

As we move along this path I’m losing bits of Mum.

I am thankful for the good days though.

==========================

Jo (15) went for an interview this morning at a local sixth form college (16-18) which was successful. I think she’d worried herself a bit but came out confident and resolute about attaining the necessary grades.

We’ve bought her Prom dress though are still to see the “passport” she needs from school to go.

Ashley (11 with SOD & developmental delay)is going on an adventure holiday in June which is scaring the willies out of Gill. He’ll love it.

Heather (17) continues with her studies and should change to a special needs school after Easter. Her driving lessons are going well too.

Cerys (9) continues to excel at school and delighted us by wearing a Juliet costume and informing anyone who listened who William Shakespeare was.

Future planes include a Sweet 16, and 18th, decorating Ashley’s room while he’s away and getting Gill away for our Twentieth Anniversary in November.

Wish us luck!

I’ve been watching Scorpions on Net.flix and one of the storylines ahs the internet being sabotaged.

The group of geniuses manage to fix things and catch the baddy but it did get me thinking.

If someone threw the big switch, how would folk cope?

One factor will be your own involvement with the web.

Generally, younger people, especially those born in the 90’s and later have a greater dependence online.

A teacher used to challenge his class to go offline for a weekend. Most found it refreshing and a little uncomfortable but coped with real socialisation, reading and hobbies etc.

He tried it more recently and faced a revolt. School work uses the internet so classes would suffer. They protested that the forced lack of socialisation and contact would be inhuman.

As parents we’ve tried to find a balance. The kids have a lot of books to hand and can all grab drawing stuff and wile away a few hours. Equally they can go goggle eyed for hours and need to be forceably disconnected sometimes.

Silver surfers abound now but there will still be some folk, like my Mum, who are either disiclined to “web up” or simply don’t understand it. They won’t suffer.

Personally, the internet is just a habit to me. I like to blog and addicitively catch up on social media when I can. Net.flix needs the internet as does Spot.ify for music and TV IPlayers (unless I’ve downloaded). I listen to podcasts but they’d run out pretty quickly with t’internet.

My shift patterns leave mornings free but these are spent getting the hoard out of the door, doing chores with Gill and completing errands. I can go online but the chances are few.

Most of my email is rubbish I’ve subscribed to but I do still use it for prompting the local council to sort things out, talk to teachers and heads of departments at my kids’ schools and using ama.zon generates a heap of mail.

We shop online a lot, so that would have to change. But we’d cope.

I do pity the children though and by that I mean anyone under thirty. These sad souls who wander around, head down, flicking, pinching, swiping, liking and catching up on the banal events of each others lives. They will have to go through a period of cold turkey beginning with long gutteral screams and continuing with whimpers and whines. Who knows, maybe a new dawn will rise as heads slowly lift and they all look into each others eyes and begin to talk….. proabably about how’s there’s no internet and how it’s like so totally unfair and how, like they are so offended. <grumpyface> #sounjustdude

Okay, welcome to the new blog.

My old one with almost the same name had to be locked for personal reasons.

This one will definitely carry on in the same vein for as long as I have stuff to post.

To the uninitiated, I have been blogging for over thirteen years, initially on 20six then on various platforms, some of which died and some of which were just boring.

I settled here a few years ago and built up a nice hit rate of 200 a month, making friends as I went along and letting people into the nonsense of our lives.

In summary, I am a 50+ Dad of 4, happily married to my Gill.

The kids range from 18 to 9 and Ashley, whose 11, is profoundly disabled. I’ll do a tab for him soon.

We live near Manchester in England and like it. Even the rainy days.

As for posting, I will rant and whine a bit but I really do treasure your input.

Not sure how I can drag my buddies over here but I hope they all make it.

Right, better get on with setting up.

I think it’s important to keep in mind that life moves on.

We kid ourselves that it doesn’t. But look up and you’ll see lots of changes.

My little girl is going to university in October.

My timid daughter sang a solo yesterday. (so proud)

Part of the mire I found myself in was my fault.

The perspective I had was weighing me down.

Sometimes things change very slowly but they are always changing.

Getting stuck in the past is very destructive.

Unfortunately we cope by identifying with the past.

Never really been a carpe diem kind’a guy. Impulsiveness gets on my nerves as it underplays the importance of responsibility.

I’m more “stop and smell the roses“. Dig in and live life with grit and determination but don’t let it weigh you down. Appreciate the blessings you have, even if it’s Mum’s Dementia knocking off for a day or a kid who finally, finally tidies her room.

Laterz