These are such crazy days. Take yesterday.
I spent the morning phoning people like the insurance company, bank etc. When Steven got back from his spa, I headed off to arrange the funeral. I hadn’t given it too much thought before, so questions like “how would you like Mrs Neary to be dressed” really threw me. To be honest, like everything so far, it’s been very straight forward – so different from my dealings with social care.
Then I had to travel up to London as I’d been booked to speak at a DOLs conference from 4pm to 6pm. The coroner had promised to phone with the results of the post mortem after 3. I got to London very early so I could take the call. Have you ever tried finding a quiet, private space in Farringdon? I got kicked out of a beer garden because I wasn’t having food.
The conference was fine. It was great to meet Richard, Connor Sparrowhawk’s step dad. Like when I met Graham Enderby the other week, it’s great to share Dad moments in the midst of dense legal discussion.
Why is this post called “Floored”? I got home and Steven had lots of Holby City news to share. We were in bed by 10 but then had nearly two hours of Steven coming backwards and forwards into my room to over today’s plans. I must have said: ” Have a big sleep. Rest your body. And you’ll be all fitter for Gladiators in the morning” over 80 times. The overnight support worker put in occasional appearances but it didn’t make much difference. About 12.30, I got up for a drink and the support worker was sitting on the sofa with his headphones on. I lost my temper and told him to take over. I took the duvet and pillows off my bed, the cushions off the sofa and made a bed up on the kitchen floor. I chose the kitchen because I could then close two doors to try and cut out the noise. I must have dozed off about 1.30, only to wake about 5.15, freezing cold – my back was on the freezer!
Today may be the same. I’ve registered the death, spent ages in the bank and then back to the funeral directors to chose a coffin and discuss music for the funeral. I’m just killing time now in a pub before my already booked, over 55s health check up. For once I don’t think the GP will be able to say her “you’re looking well Mr Neary”.
I’ve had a crazy idea. The marital home, that was the cause of all the housing benefit stress last year, is now solely mine. I don’t want to move back there. And Steven is so settles as a Cowley man, he won’t want to go back. I’ve decided to sell it and buy a 1 bedroom flat for me. It will have a dual functionality – it will be a place for me to go and chill and sleep when I have a respite night. I will also use it as my counselling space, and save myself the rental of the room I use at the moment.
Got to be better than the kitchen floor.
From → Social Care