Ive had a carer called Isabelle a few times this week. Blimey, she takes being thick to whole new levels.
All hair and handbag, she is the 27 year old i mentioned previously.

I tried to engage her in conversation, and asked if she was married or anything. She told me that she had been seeing a footballer for about 2 years. I tried not to stereotype her ( but actually I should have )
I asked how they’d met. She said ‘ on Insta’. It occurred to me that she would just ASSUME that I would be familiar with Insta… to the degree that if I wasn’t she’d have thought ‘ are you really fick or sumfing ?!’
You have to bear in mind the irony, when a few minutes later i asked her if she’d massage my calf muscle to stop my spasms, and she said ‘ what’s a carrrf mussel ?’

How can people like her, whose first language is English, be put in charge of looking after anyone at all with any kind of medical condition? What if I’d said ‘ I have a staphylococcal infestation ‘ or something ? For absolutely sure she would have looked completely blankly at me, and assumed I was delirious ( or sumfink )

I can joke about this, but seriously, someone that thick and someone with a medical problem, is a potentially lethal situation.

As The Kaiser Chiefs sang ‘ It’s cool to know nothing, it’s cool to know nothing… ‘

I have a UTI btw. I told her just now. She said nothing at all, so I asked if she’d heard me. She said ‘yes’ It was apparent to me that she either had no idea what it was, or had zero interest.

Carer? I think the clue should be in the Job title….?

Current ‘ carer’ is Harriet. Thé other day she did a shift and was ever so cheerful. Now she isn’t at all, so I asked her what was wrong.

She said ‘ nothing ‘.

I asked why she wasn’t cheerful anymore. Eventually she said that her cheeriness has ‘ been nipped’. I asked her to explain.

She said that I’d ‘ asked her to do a million jobs at once’ I asked for an example. She said ‘ well I was cleaning the hot stone thing ( it’s a foot square of 1cm granite )  and you asked me to make you a cup of tea. I said ‘ and? ‘

She Saïd that that was too much for her.

I pointed out that the kettle was right next to where she was, and it was mostly just a case of switching it on, wasn’t it? She said she didn’t have clean hands. Well they would probably have been soapy to be honest, so it’s a quick dry and flick the kettle switch, isn’t it?

Well apparently it’s not that simple. She was upset apparently, and 3 days later she still is. What if I’d been an abusive old man with dementia, not really knowing what I was saying ? Would that have resulted in her not being nice to me anymore ? I just don’t know. At least I have the  wherewithal to speak and communicate.

Because I HAVENT got dementia and I asked for a cup of tea, and expected her to multitask, apparently I’m unreasonable? I guess that tars every single person who has ever said ‘ while you’re in the kitchen darling Would you make me a cuppa ?’  Carers evidently get away with being in sole charge of the demented and disabled, and obviously being in whatever mood they choose ? That’s just wrong. What happened to compassion, and in my case, as I’m paying, what happened to ‘ the customer is always right ‘ ?

Saturday’s ‘ adventure’.
My car has no MOT so we went anyway.

Cycle to Kew. 2 Miles
Train to Willesden Junction
Get off train.
Cycle to Willesden Green – 4 Miles.
No train service. Replacement bus not possible due to bike.
Cycle to Pinner – 7 Miles.
Train to Amersham.
Couldn’t get off platform – no lift.
4 person carry over a bridge – thanks guys, and Wendy.
Cycle to gig – 6 miles of hills – proper Chiltern ones.

Gig

Cycle to Chesham at midnight – 7 Miles. Caught last train.

Train to only destination- Harrow on the Hill
No lift. No one at all to help.

Train to Hillingdon because they actually had a lift.
Cycle from Hillingdon at 1am. 10 Miles.

Back at 2.15am.

My girlfriend ( who doesn’t normally use a bike ) did 35 miles on Saturday, and didn’t complain once. She was practically falling asleep on the bike towards the end, poor thing. Her skirt wasn’t exactly cycling attire, as we hadn’t predicted all the train cancellations and network chaos.

Because nothing like this ever bothers me, because it’s a case of ‘do it or give up and don’t go ‘ and I don’t entertain the second option, I’m always up for the journey.

I’m very impressed by her, and her fitness, and her total calm at all times.I don’t  even know another female, other than Anna, that I used to race with years ago, who wouldn’t at some point have just given up/ broken down/ had a hissy fit or cried ( all actually fairly reasonable reactions in the circumstances)

To then be thanked ‘ for a lovely weekend ‘  ( which to me it was ) was just lovely, if not unexpected…

Top girl, my girlfriend!

To compare and contrast Wendy’s approach with that of

The Ihaven’thadabreakalldayfromsittingdownandwaitingforyoutowakeupCarer is so démonstrative of how different people can be, and why some people are suited to be together, and some just not. For me, it’s really not a case of opposites attracting, that’s for sure.

Things she said today – the 27 year old Carer  All hair and make up, this one.

Me – Can you make me a salad ? Use everything that’s in the fridge please.

She got out cucumber and lettuce.

I said what about the other things ?

She looked blankly
Like what ? she said.

I said ‘ carrots?’
Oh

I said the avocado?
Oh

I said the beetroot ?
You want betroots…?
Yes – for the salad

Oh

I said can you slice up some chicken breast – knowing that this bit is tricky for carers, I clarified by saying that the strips should be about the size of her little finger. I checked that she understood. She seemed to.
To my ( not ) surprise she cut slices twice as large as that and said ‘ is this ok?’ I said again about her cutting them up little finger sized. She didn’t seem to understand. Then she said ‘ how do you do that ?’
It’s hard to know how to respond to a question like that, isn’t it, to a 27 year old that’s there to do things like cooking. I mean it wasn’t as though I’d asked her to make me a Christmas cake that was gluten free, with an Aztec design, or machine tool me a new winder for my watch. I’d just asked her to cut up raw chicken into small pieces.

Im used to having to say everything 2 to 3 times before the things are done, and know that asking for 2 things at the same time will only lead to getting the last of the 2 things. I’d made the error of mentioning the salad and the chicken at the same time, and the chicken second, so only got the large chicken chunks.
When it’s quite clear that the carer has forgotten the first thing, a reminder from me always gets the same response – yes, I was planning to do that.
What exactly does that mean ? Planning ? To make a salad ? How exactly ?
I get i was planning to empty the bin, i was planning to turn off the lights, i was planning to close the fridge door, wash up the cups – anything you can name really.
How can these things take planning ? It’s like planning to breathe.. ok not quite that extreme but not too far off. I mean, don’t you just do these things without really having to think about them ?

5pm

‘I haven’t had a break all day’

She arrived at 10am and I was asleep until 1.15 pm having not slept til 8am.

She ‘ was waiting for me to wake up ‘ for those 3 hours and 15 Minutes
I said ‘ well wasn’t that a break, effectively ?’ I regretted using a long word, as I knew she wouldn’t understand that one.

She said no. ‘ I washed up 4 cups that were in the kitchen ‘
Ahhh – as she’d washed some cups, it was obviously a tough time for her. My error then.

More to follow…

I’m at a music festival called Pennfest, in Buckinghamshire at the moment. I wanted to tell my very lovely girlfriend, Wendy, a bit more about me, and I found myself telling her about my suicide last July.
I looked at my watch and saw that it’s July 21st.
What are the chances of me telling her about it, on July 21st, exactly a year after I waited patiently, knife in pocket, for Stella to help me into bed, in the full knowledge that that would be the last time she’d have to help me. We’d watched a film – The Hobbit – and I was completely calm and smiling so as not to alert her at all.

She helped me into bed and I said goodnight. I then waited for an hour or so until I knew she’d be asleep. Then I got the very sharp kitchen knife and pushed it into my leg, the inner thigh of my left leg very close to my groin. As I don’t feel a thing, it wasn’t exactly hard to do! The blood came spurting out as I withdrew the knife.
Then I texted the only person I thought would care ( as you do HAVE to blank out all those inconvenient thoughts ), wrote in pen on my forearm ‘ I’m sorry Pia ‘ and passed out.
I didn’t know that Pia would be awake to read my 2am message and then actually phone Stella in alarm. Stella’s response was to say I was asleep and fine, having been ‘ happy ‘ a few hours earlier. Pia insisted she look into my room though.
Because of that, I’m not dead, and today isn’t the anniversary of my death.

My death had been prompted by my seeing cruel and mocking messages between my ex wife and 2 daughters, about me, that made it not worthwhile to me to carry on. I’d tried to hang myself in the morning, but having prepared the noose and thrown it over a girder, I’d dropped the blimmin thing and because I can’t bend to reach the floor, i couldn’t pick it up again, so I went with the rather more absolutely certain femoral artery method. The day had ticked by so slowly. I went to the gym, did everything I’d have normally done, but with the full intention that it would all be for the last time.

As Stella had, with her 3 hands, put her fingers in the wound, started my heart again with chest compressions, and called 999, I am alive today.

Pia and i talked after I’d come out of hospital and I made it clear I’d soon do it again. I agreed with her, very reluctantly, that I’d wait til October and if I still felt the same way, she’d come with me to Dignitas and be my sponsored help there. I remember how upset she was at my complete indifference to my life, and her tears of frustration.

A year on and so much has happened.
I now have my own home, a beautiful lady that cares so much about me, less legal battles to contest, and far greater peace.
Im Happy, for sure, now.
Am I glad I’m alive though ? Well you don’t just flick from only wanting to be dead to being chuffed to be alive.. I don’t think about death any more actually. Am I ‘ glad I’m alive though ‘ ?
Well I’m still indifferent to my mortality, completely. That’s not the same as wishing I was dead at all, rather it’s just that I still don’t care if I was blown up in 5 Minutes time, or run over by a truck on the way back from here, or hit by a freak Jumbo jet that crashed into the ground where I am. My death is still of no consequence to me at all.

In time my thoughts will change and I will cease to think this way, I’m absolutely convinced of, but it takes time for that to happen.

In the meantime, it’s another Happy Not Death Day (?) to me.

Last 2 carers really lovely. Alori did 28 hours, which included a lot of cleaning up after the previous 2 idiots, and Ku is doing the same. The place looks like it should look – after all it is new.. and should look new. Alori was disgusted by the filth..

Alori and I went to see Blancmange and The Human League in Kew.  Blancmange were better i thought – dead quirky lyrics and a funny front man that was very dry – my kinda humour then.

The first gig I ever saw was The Human League, in Cardiff when I was 20. I felt embarrassed to see them then, as they weren’t that cool, having been out of fashion for 5 years or so. Funny to be seeing them 30 years later and not feeling embarrassed at all then really. They did look quite different – gone was the big blond sloping fringe of PHIL Oakey to be replaced by a totally bald head… and a curious dress sense, like someone off The Matrix ?

The 2 cute ladies had altered too.  One had loads and loads of energy and threw herself around the stage a lot. She was pretty impressive.  The other had also changed, having clearly ate all the pies that she was offered, and ate Phil’s and the other girl ‘s too. Consequently she didn’t move a lot..

These behaviours stand out so much to me.  There’s a slim and fit girl that doesn’t stop moving, and a large one that doesn’t move at all. Just saying then…. perhaps that’s why one is thin and one is large?? Just a thought…. moving burns  calories ; standing still doesn’t..

Anyway, Blancmange 8 and The League 6.  Both definitely worth seeing, for sure.

The posh west London crowd were not regular gig goers, that was obvious – it was far more about how much food they could eat on their picnic blankets. Again, a real dearth of athleticism in the field… hilariously when it rained briefly for about 3 Minutes there was almost total panic. Anybody would have thought a tsunami was coming… waterproofs went on, there was mass sheltering under silvery blankets, and hair was definitely worried about a lot.

How the Other Half live…

What I said –

Could I please have 2 cups of tea, and could you open both blinds and the door to the terrace?

What carer hears –

Can I have one cup of tea?

I am on a cycle of essentially repeating myself two or even 3 times for ever request I make.

I have a Male temp ( 12 hours only ).  He arrived, and within half an hour had knocked over a glass and smashed it. I haven’t dropped a glass in years, and you try carrying one whilst pushing your wheelchair at the same time ( and not being able to put the glass between your knees, as you have no control over your legs ) Then he dropped the wooden towel dispenser thing no less than 4 times in succession? How do you even do that?

Yesterday my 12 hour lady carer knocked over a metre tall glass vase and smashed it. This vase has recently survived 2 trips in removal vans as well as obviously being carried into and out of the vans by removal guys, up and down stairs.

Also i wish thé carers could stop asking me if my legs feel ok ( after I explain I cannot feel a thing ) and if my trousers feel comfortable, and if my shoes are tight enough, and if I should perhaps just try to walk a bit… it’s actually slightly tormenting…rather than helpful or nice.

My long term handy man came round yesterday. An old school Russian, who speaks no more English now than he did 25 years ago, what a versatile fella he is. His lovely wife comes to translate and also assist.

He did loads of stuff for me, as did she, and at the end, come payment time, they said ‘ because you’ve been such a loyal client and given us so much recommendation over the years, we wanted to do all this for free ‘.  Bless them, and thank you both.

So if anyone reading this needs a bloke that can mend virtually anything at all, please ask me for his contact details. Of course in Soviet Communist Russia, it was a case of ‘mend things or go without’ as it was impossible to replace stuff like all tradesmen do here – the Just Throw it Away and Get Another One culture..

So, I now have –

Another TV on the wall

An irrigation system for the garden

Secure fixings to lock bikes to outside

An outside double power point for charging loads of stuff that’s too big to keep inside

Speaker cables through the walls to the outside for outside speakers

Intelligent bulbs that work on Siri and Alexa, so I just ask thé lights to turn off – dead handy when you are Paralysed and can’t just get to the switches

An outside table and benches that are now safe to use, as they are  properly stuck together, unlike before when you were liable to end up on the floor if you sat on them. Obviously I don’t,  as i dont / cant sit on them!

We missed the gig on Thursday as yet another person drove into yet another bridge, so the trains weren’t working. Doh! Best laid plans etc etc. Made a judgment call to not cycle another 5 Miles with my girlfriend ( not used to London traffic yet ) so drank wine instead. Ahhh well, we had a lovely time anyway.

This weekend we go to a music festival – well providing i can get the blimmin car MOT’d by then.. OR we get trains to Amersham. Don’t know yet ! Life is an adventure, isn’t it?

The care agency and I have parted company. I wonder if the next one will be better. If you ever need a Carer, i dont recommend CERA . Today though I have Harriet, who is ever so good.

Thé Carer i have at the moment is very kind hearted but doesn’t ever speak! 😂 So she’s not good company….
It’s like being by myself when she is with me, so it’s not what I want, at all.

Its the black South African thing, where there is this deference to white people. It’s definitely sad that it’s that way, isn’t it? It’s great that she actually works, and isn’t lazy, and doesn’t skive ( well not a tenth as much as the last 2 men ) but it’s not what I want, which is sometimes as simple s as a chat.

So now I’m watching TV – which shows how desperate I must be… never mind, I see my girlfriend tomorrow and we’ll have a great night in North London.

Bring that on!