Merry Christmas for 2014

The Walking Dead; Carol and Daryl (Season 5, Episode 6) CONSUMED.

Episodes: season 5

"No Sanctuary"

"Strangers"

"Four Walls and a Roof"

"Slabtown"

"Self-Help"

"Consumed"

"Crossed" 

"Coda"

This is proving to be one of the greatest seasons on The Walking Dead. The inclusion of the 'leg eating' scene in 'Strangers' is one of the most disturbing scenes in the series and has been the subject of much black humour and Bob jokes bouncing round the social networking sites. However, probably the most genuinely moving episode is 'Consumed' the episode focusing upon Carol And Daryl.

The last two episodes, 'Slabtown' and 'Self-Help' have been decent enough episodes, but most viewers have been waiting for a return to the storyline about core characters, namely an explanation of what happened to Carol after she was taken in the white van at the end of Slabtown. There were some complaints about the lack of action and 'gore' in 'Consume' but to my mind, it was good to learn a bit more about two of the most popular characters in TWD. Neither Carol or Daryl are the most garrulous of people, but somehow their silences are companionable rather than uncomfortable.

The development of a deep friendship between Carol and Daryl is somehow more moving than had these two characters embarked on a romantic liaison. There is without a doubt a connection between these two, and perhaps a sort of love, but it does not seem to be a passionate love. It leaves the unanswered question of Daryl's sexuality; although perhaps the most overtly masculine of all the characters, is Daryl gay, straight or asexual? 

Whatever Daryl's sexual orientation, he is without doubt my favourite TWD character, followed closely by Carol; the two of them together are the perfect combination, two damaged characters who are strong together. 

Some of the poignant moments of the episode, include Carol noticing Daryl picking up the book about surviving abuse; she takes it in silently and without comment. He knows she has seen but it isn't an issue for either of them. It was also good to learn a little more about Carol after she split from the group over the body burning incident in the prison; it was sad, yet  somehow comforting to learn that Carol sobbed and struggled with loneliness after her expulsion from the group. I always felt that Rick was too hard in his decision to expel her.

The issue of the zombies wriggling and struggling to get out of their sleeping bags was puzzling to say the least; It appears they had all been shot whilst sleeping. But why? Was it looters, a government plot? It was a pathetic sight to see those frantic corpses, slain and robbed of their humanity while they slept, a micro story within the greater plot. The pair's encounter with Noah highlighted the fact that in spite of their toughness, they have not lost feelings of compassion. First Daryl prevents Carol from shooting Noah; later when they encounter Noah again, it is Carol who entreats Daryl not to kill the hapless Boy as he is trapped beneath the wooden bookcase. Just as he is about to be savaged by a hungry walker, Daryl's crossbow shoots out to piece the skull of the zombie, saving Noah by the skin of is teeth.

It did however, seem quite implausible that the street smart Daryl and Carol, would get into the van that was toppling precariously over a bridge. And that the van would land on the relative safety of it's four wheels. But the last and perhaps greatest quandary of the episode, is the nature of the strange hospital. In the last scenes, Carol is smashed into by the white van. As Daryl goes to try to help her, Noah indicates that the hospital would be the best place to help save Carol and that later on, they can rescue both her and Beth. Daryl's face is a mask of pain and chagrin as he returns to the church without either Beth or Carol. So, the question is, does the hospital deliberately hurt people so they can save and then enslave the unlucky victims? They seek to only save people who are not too strong and are unlikely to fight back. It seems they have made a mistake with Carol.

All in all, this has to be one of my favourite episodes in what is probably the best series, after the initial one. Sad to think there is only two episodes to go before the long wait until the next season.

My first commissioned painting framed and hung

Framed and hung, my first commissioned painting hung on a wall, designed to accompany the uplifting quotation.

"Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass

Its about learning to dance in the 

Rain"

Some of my recent paintings

Remembrance day

Remembrance Sunday is always a poignant day in our family, as in many others around the globe. Having lost my own father through a tragic incident in the Armed Forces, we chose to think about him and the man he would have become, on this day. Although I can't actually remember him, being only 9 months of age when he was killed at the age of 23, my family like to attend the Remembrance service at our local church and lay a small cross along side the numerous wreaths outside of the church. I would like to think that everyone will spare at least a few minutes to think about those poor souls who lost their lives in the service of our country.

                We will remember them.

Mr Turner

As a big fan of the work of JMW Turner, I had awaited the release of Mike Leigh's latest  film, Mr. Turner, with great anticipation. It wasn't a disappointment; Timothy Spall's portrayal of Turner was inspired, but somehow I left the cinema feeling a little deflated. If this film was true to life, Turner seemed to be an unusual and uncompromising character, but also, sadly, a rather unpleasant one. The frequent growling, bear -like sounds that Spall produced were strangely endearing; What was not so endearing was Turner's apparent cavalier treatment of women. It left me wondering why his house-keeper Hannah, although in all probability in love with Mr. Billy, allowed him to abuse her in a fashion that was tantamount to rape. And why did Turner compassionately write off the dept to his fellow artist, but did nothing to help Hannah with her increasingly disfiguring skin condition. He did thankfully seem to truly love his Margate landlady, Mrs Booth and we see a more sensitive side of Turner. Yet in spite of Turner's terse and insular manner which was occasionally sprinkled with flashes of his extrovert and gregarious side, we get glimpses of the intelligent and single minded attitude that contributed to his developing into one of Britain's greatest artists. 

I  had to wonder however, why the film, which was set around 1928 onwards, was began in Turner's middle age, leaving much of his earlier life unexplained. It has to be wondered why he deserted his two daughters and their mother? What had happened with his own mother to make him and his father turn against her? Perhaps this could have gone some way to explain his frequent misogynistic behaviour towards woman. 

On a more positive note, the film itself is a work of art; beautifully filmed, it is a pleasure to see some of Turner's greatest works viewed by the artist as he formulates the idea of a potential painting in his mind. The greatest scene though, has to be the Varnishing Scene at the Royal Academy. The paintings packed tight from walls  to ceiling, we see the artists add their finishing touches to paintings as Turner strides cheerfully through the gallery loudly greeting each artist. We see a Turner's frenzied spitting on his work as he paints at a rapid pace; His mocking treatment of fellow artist John Constable marks the known rivalry between the two artists. His more vulnerable side is shown by the devastation upon the death of his much loved father and at a later point when the disparaging remarks from Queen Victoria cause his work to fall from public favour. 

The incredible performance by Timothy Spall, who spent two years learning to paint in preparation for this role, imbibes the character of Turner with the air of a classic Dickensian character. His performance was admirably matched by Dorothy Atkinson as his housekeeper, Marion Bailey as Mrs Booth and Paul Jesson as the elder Mr Turner. 

I'm a (very) mature student!!

A long time has passed yet again since my last blog post. Yet again,  life and general busyness has overtaken me. Last year, feeling a bit down and kind of like my life was spiralling away from me, I decided on the spare of the moment to apply to do a Masters degree in Art History. There are times when I just get random ideas in my head, and I decide to act on them, and this was one of these times. So, I decided on an MA in Art History and Curating at a local university; that was almost a year ago now, and as a part-timer, I'm just about to embark on the second year of the course.

Today, I've just handed in my latest assignment, a portfolio based on the work experience module I finished last month in the decorative arts department. Phew!! I sweated blood and tears over this one. How glad am I to finally get it in. But now with my renewed interest and knowledge in art and art history, I hope to feature a lot more about this in my blog, assuming anyone is interested.

So far on my MA course (in case anyone is interested in doing this course in the future) I've studied;-
Issues in Modern Art
Contemporary Curating
Work Placement and associated Portfolio.

This coming academic year, which starts next week I think, I will be doing
Museum Studies
Dissertation. (I've yet to decide what to do my dissertation on.)

Well I cant say it's been easy, but it has been stimulating. I'm a firm believer if you don't use it you lose it, especially when talking about the grey matter. Fingers crossed I get a decent mark for this latest assignment. Here's hoping!

Street scene in acrylics

Zumba

I think the time has come to get back to zumba. My twice weekly regime came to an abrupt end when one of my classes stopped (the one I preferred as well)

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The Desiderata

I have published the Desiderata before, but it is so beautiful, I feel the urge to publish it again. Please read..............................

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story. 

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

Max Ehrmann, Desiderata, Copyright 1952.

2012 in a nutshell

This will probably be my last blog of the year, although haven’t managed to blog as much as I should have in 2012. So I thought I’d look back over the year, which on the whole, has been a good one.

One of the saddest things though, has been the deterioration of my mother who is 82. Although still independent (luckily I live next door) she is unfortunately getting more forgetful. Not just forgetful in a general way – people say, I’m like that too – but they’re not really. She asks the same questions constantly, can’t remember characters of her favourite TV programmes, or even what channel they’re on, can’t seem to remember how to cook the meals she’s always been so good at. The doctors at our GP surgery are generally very unhelpful, and as she refuses to acknowledge a problem there is very little I can do. It’s all very frustrating.

On the positive side, I have been coming along very well with my painting and am learning new techniques all the time. My guitar playing is slowly improving and I did treat myself to a beautiful new Fender guitar this year. I have also decided to write a screen play (yes, very ambitious I know) and have begun drafting out the characters. This is something I have never done before and have decided to become more brave and ambitious in 2013. I have also made some good progress in my endeavour to lose weight and did in fact reduce by a stone, although I suspect a substantial amount has crept back on over the Christmas period.

I have also met someone this year who is already very important to me, and hopefully will remain part of my life. I am optimistic that things will work out between us.

My children are all doing well. Phil, my 21 year old son graduated from University in the summer. Although he has had trouble finding work, he has finally found something that isn’t ideal, but may tide him over until the right job comes along. Fingers crossed.

Ellie and Evie my 12 year old twin girls are both doing well. Both are now in year 8 of secondary school and getting good reports. Ellie has been working hard at her performing arts and as well as doing several shows this year, has been working in Pantomime at the Epstein Theatre (Cinderella). Ellie is also lively and popular. She has lots of friends and is a sensible, intelligent little girl, inspite of being dyslexic

Evie, who some of you will know, has DiGeorge Syndrome, a 22Q genetic deletion also know as VCFS. She has settled very well into secondary school, a wonderful special school, and is happy and confident there. She is also one of the more able students there and is kind and helpful towards her peers who are less able. Although I can’t say we haven’t had any issues this year, I do feel we are moving in the right direction.

So there we have it. Another year almost over and done with, but I am looking forward to the coming year with the renewed hope a fresh year always brings with it.

I wish you all a very happy New Year hope 2013 will bring some wonderful things for us all.

Are you having a good christmas?

So Christmas has been and gone yet again. In all honestly, this Christmas hasn't been a bad one. It becomes an increasing struggle to try to make sure the kids get decent presents and everyone has what they need. No easy feat as a single mum. But, I did manage it and everything  went off without any major hitch. My Mum, as usual, was ill over Christmas, the ever increasingly frequent UTI struck. Worrying of course!. Ellie has been in a Pantomime, which has also been quite problematic, as it has meant getting her there and back without the use of a car. But its been worth it and great experience for her. The Panto is the first one in the newly refurbished Epstein Theatre (formerly the Neptune) and is a production of Cinderella, starring Sonia, Philip Olivier, Nikki Graham and various other performers. It seems to be going well.I got some nice presents, which I will show you on my other Blog, which I use to review stuff and discuss Health and Beauty matters. I may also show them on my Youtube channel. Please feel free to look at both if you get the chance. http://violetvibrations.blogspot.co.uk/http://www.youtube.com/user/liverpoolboxingbabyAnd it just leaves me to wish you a Very Happy Christmas, and a wonderful New Year. I feel that 2013 is going to be a good one. All the Best XXX

A winter painting in acrylics

Poppies for remembrance

Autumn picture in acrylics

Bag in charity shop worth £350,000

I couldn't help smiling as I read about that guy, John Richards, from London, who bought an old Philip Treacy bag for £20 in an Oxfam shop. Now, as a person who couldn't spot a bargain in a charity shop if it hit her in the face, I wouldn't have even paid a tenner for that old bag.  However, it turned out to be a spectacular move for Mr. Richards, as the bag is estimated to be worth between £250,000 and £350,000! It seems there were only ever around ten of these bags made by the Irish designer, Philip Treacy, and they are considered a work of art. It was probably worth around £200 when first soldIt just goes to show, you never know what bargains you can unearth in charity shops. Unless you`re me!  I`d never have guessed that bag would be worth anything. What do I know hey!John Richards with the Philip Treacy bag

Think I`ve sorted it................

I was becoming increasingly worried about the guy I`d given the £100 to. There was no sign of him and when I tried to ring him, I was just getting through to his answering service. It was looking dodgier and dodgier by the minute.
When it was becoming apparent that no one was going to answer, I went round to speak to some of the neighbours who were also having work done by him and it seemed no one else of them could reach him eithe and had also given him money.

However, one neighbour, J, did know where to contact him and told him in no uncertain terms what was going to happen if he didn`t show up pronto! J reckons he`s not really a conman, just a bit of an idiot. 

So later on this afternoon, the mystery workman turned up very sheepish and we managed to get things settled . Phew!!!! I was really worried there for a bit.

Have I been conned again

One of the pitfalls of being on your own, is having no-one to help maintain the house. I don`t know about anyone else, but I`m scared to trust strangers doing jobs in my home, unless they`ve been recommended by someone I know. And that`s even if you can get someone to come out anyway. The times I`ve waited patiently for some workman or other to turn up, only for them to disappear into some Handyman Bermuda Triangle  So gradually, the house has started to look a bit run down what with general lack of TLC.

So when my mum asked the guy whose been doing some very nice work on a few of the houses in our street, I jumped in and asked him to paint my house too. Then, he said he did other jobs, anything other than gas and electric really, so he agreed to fit some new double glazed windows in the twins room. I was over the moon.

I trusted him implicitly as he said he was a friend of J`s over the road and he was also doing jobs for other neighbour we are friendly with. He told us that so many people had asked him to do work in our road that it would take about 3 months, but he was really glad of the work.. The next day he turned up with another guy to measure the window, which he said he would do this week when he had finished painting our neighbours house. Then - now this is were it gets a bit worrying - then, he asked could he have a £100 deposit to order the glass. I didn`t hesitate really, well he was a friend of J`s - and I happened to have a hundred in cash, which I gave him, making a little deposit slip which I got him to sign. He also wrote his mobile number on the piece of paper, in case I needed to get hold of him.

Well, I know it`s only Wednesday, but he still hasn`t rung me. I`m thinking he wouldn`t just turn up with the window as he wouldn`t know whether I was home or not, so am wondering if he plans to come Friday. Anyway, I rooted in the drawer and fished his mobile number out and gave him a ring. Well guess what? It went to answer phone.
I tried again. Same. Getting a bit worried now. I texted him. Yep, once again, no reply.
Now I really am worried. I walked round to the house where he`s been working and there`s no sign of him yet the house is not fully painted.

I`m really puzzled and a little sick with myself for being too trusting yet again. I felt it was too soon to go over to J`s and start asking questions in case it`s all an innocent mistake and the week isn`t even over yet. But is he really a friend of J`s? I don`t even know that for sure. And why isn`t he at the other house finishing off. If it is all kosher why hasn`t he answered his mobile or at least sent me a text.
Stupid stupid stupid me for putting myself in this position again. Will I never learn?

My sun paintings

We were invited to submit a painting on the subject of the sun to go into our art teacher's exhibition. One painting each. These were my two choices :
Wasn`t too sure what to do but eventually chose the one with the girl in a bikini.
I`m looking forward to the opening night next Friday.

Vascular dementia?

It’s so scary! My mother has always been a person of great spirit: one of life’s survivors. She had a childhood filled with poverty with an alcoholic father who frequently hit my tiny little, pinafore wearing Nan after bouts of drink fuelled paranoia. After Nan managed to get away from my granddad, she and the family fled, leaving all their positions and were forced to live in a series of damp, cockroach and rat infected houses. Nan eventually divorced my granddad, something virtually in heard of those days and survival was difficult in that pre-welfare state era.  In spite of this, my mum and her brothers all grew up to be decent, hardworking people and remained close, always looking after their mother until her death in the 1980`s.

Mum married my dad at an age that was then considered quite mature, 26. He was only 22. A year later, I was born and mum and dad bought a comfortable semi in the suburbs. The young couple seemed destined for a happy, comfortable life, until my dad deferred his National service for a year in order to finish the apprenticeship he was doing in engineering. This proved to be a fatal move, because soon after, when I was only 9 months old, my dad was tragically killed in a freak accident during army manoeuvres. He died after his spleen was badly damaged, something that would be unlikely to fatal in this day and age. A person can live without a spleen. My dad died at the age of 23, only 2 years younger than my own son is now, and my father and son share the same name.So mum was left a widow at the age of 27 with a young baby and a broken heart.  But of course she carried on, worked hard and later met another man who she was to spend thirty odd years with. She had no more children. Unfortunately, this man, T, developed rheumatoid arthritis in his late 20`s and was to die at the age of 59 from complications of a body ravaged by this nasty disease. Wheel chair bound and unable to look after himself at the end, it was a difficult time for my mum and was it was probably a relief when he passed away. I mean this only in the respect that it is difficult to see someone living in chronic pain as their independence and quality of life are slowly eroded.
That was 20 years ago. Now I live next door to my mum with my three children and my mum is now 82.  I’ve been noticing for a considerable time now (probably around eight years or more) that my mum was starting to call nearly everything, the thing or the wotsaname.  I have got her to go to the doctors twice in the past about her memory and both times the doctors have said she was marvellous and didn’t need any intervention. But as I am the person with her on a daily basis, I have known for a long time that something is very wrong. In common with many other people who have memory problems, they do seem to make an effort in front of the doctor and how they appear is not always reflective of how they really are. This was certainly the case with my mum. I feel quite bitter because if the doctors had listened to me and understood that sometimes relatives know best, then perhaps she would be in a much better state than the one she’s in now.
What I find infuriating is that my mum won’t acknowledge that there is something wrong even now. I have spoken to the GP who has said that she must come forward herself, but how can this happen when she is not recognising a problem. Her hearing is also quite poor now, and even though she went and got fitted for a £2,000 hearing aid, she says she doesn’t need it and has only ever tried it once! However, she continuously says `what’s he saying` every time anyone speaks, and has done this for nearly a decade now. Why won’t she wear the hearing aid? Why?
It seems to me that everything is unravelling now and it terrifies me as I have no family to consult with, one of the perils of being an only child.
She is becoming increasingly confused and can be quite incoherent at times, but is mostly lucid. Her short term memory is shot to pieces and she can’t retain new information, constantly asking the same questions. I’m ashamed to say I do get frustrated sometimes, but it is hard to remain unaffected.  Another problem is the agitation and inability to relax. She has lost a lot of weight and is always fiddling with stuff, obsessive and really quite paranoid at times. Remembering to take the medication for her numerous health conditions is starting to prove a bit tricky too, as is changing her pain patches.
But in spite of this, she is still the same mum underneath. She still takes immaculate care of her hair and clothes, wears make-up daily, and does her nails carefully. She still has a good sense of humour if I can get her to relax enough to enjoy a funny anecdote or watch a comedy on the telly. She is still charming when she is up to it and people seem to like her enormously. A tot of alcohol seems to help if I can get to take one, helps to mellow her out a bit. Her house is very clean and modern although her tendency to order countless things on the shopping channels have resulted in a lot of clutter, fortunately contained mainly in a couple of rooms.
I don’t profess to be an expert on dementia type conditions in the elderly but would say that my mum is suffering from some sort of vascular dementia brought on by several mini stokes (of TIA`s ) that she has had in the past. Many years of high blood pressure can’t have helped either.

It is so heartbreaking to see my own mum looking like she is heading towards dementia. Heartbreaking and frightening. I don’t know what the answer is or where to go for help as my GP practice are doing their best to turn a blind eye. I just hope it never gets to the stage where I am unable to cope.  I pray to keep strong enough to deal with whatever hand fate throws at us. 

It’s so scary! My mother has always been a person of great spirit: one of life’s survivors. She had a childhood filled with poverty with an alcoholic father who frequently hit my tiny little, pinafore wearing Nan after bouts of drink fuelled paranoia. After Nan managed to get away from my granddad, she and the family fled, leaving all their positions and were forced to live in a series of damp, cockroach and rat infected houses. Nan eventually divorced my granddad, something virtually in heard of those days and survival was difficult in that pre-welfare state era.  In spite of this, my mum and her brothers all grew up to be decent, hardworking people and remained close, always looking after their mother until her death in the 1980`s.

Mum married my dad at an age that was then considered quite mature, 26. He was only 22. A year later, I was born and mum and dad bought a comfortable semi in the suburbs. The young couple seemed destined for a happy, comfortable life, until my dad deferred his National service for a year in order to finish the apprenticeship he was doing in engineering. This proved to be a fatal move, because soon after, when I was only 9 months old, my dad was tragically killed in a freak accident during army manoeuvres. He died after his spleen was badly damaged, something that would be unlikely to fatal in this day and age. A person can live without a spleen. My dad died at the age of 23, only 2 years younger than my own son is now, and my father and son share the same name.So mum was left a widow at the age of 27 with a young baby and a broken heart.  But of course she carried on, worked hard and later met another man who she was to spend thirty odd years with. She had no more children. Unfortunately, this man, T, developed rheumatoid arthritis in his late 20`s and was to die at the age of 59 from complications of a body ravaged by this nasty disease. Wheel chair bound and unable to look after himself at the end, it was a difficult time for my mum and was it was probably a relief when he passed away. I mean this only in the respect that it is difficult to see someone living in chronic pain as their independence and quality of life are slowly eroded.

That was 20 years ago. Now I live next door to my mum with my three children and my mum is now 82.  I’ve been noticing for a considerable time now (probably around eight years or more) that my mum was starting to call nearly everything, the thing or the wotsaname.  I have got her to go to the doctors twice in the past about her memory and both times the doctors have said she was marvellous and didn’t need any intervention. But as I am the person with her on a daily basis, I have known for a long time that something is very wrong. In common with many other people who have memory problems, they do seem to make an effort in front of the doctor and how they appear is not always reflective of how they really are. This was certainly the case with my mum. I feel quite bitter because if the doctors had listened to me and understood that sometimes relatives know best, then perhaps she would be in a much better state than the one she’s in now.

What I find infuriating is that my mum won’t acknowledge that there is something wrong even now. I have spoken to the GP who has said that she must come forward herself, but how can this happen when she is not recognising a problem. Her hearing is also quite poor now, and even though she went and got fitted for a £2,000 hearing aid, she says she doesn’t need it and has only ever tried it once! However, she continuously says `what’s he saying` every time anyone speaks, and has done this for nearly a decade now. Why won’t she wear the hearing aid? Why?
It seems to me that everything is unravelling now and it terrifies me as I have no family to consult with, one of the perils of being an only child.
She is becoming increasingly confused and can be quite incoherent at times, but is mostly lucid. Her short term memory is shot to pieces and she can’t retain new information, constantly asking the same questions. I’m ashamed to say I do get frustrated sometimes, but it is hard to remain unaffected.  Another problem is the agitation and inability to relax. She has lost a lot of weight and is always fiddling with stuff, obsessive and really quite paranoid at times. Remembering to take the medication for her numerous health conditions is starting to prove a bit tricky too, as is changing her pain patches.
But in spite of this, she is still the same mum underneath. She still takes immaculate care of her hair and clothes, wears make-up daily, and does her nails carefully. She still has a good sense of humour if I can get her to relax enough to enjoy a funny anecdote or watch a comedy on the telly. She is still charming when she is up to it and people seem to like her enormously. A tot of alcohol seems to help if I can get to take one, helps to mellow her out a bit. Her house is very clean and modern although her tendency to order countless things on the shopping channels have resulted in a lot of clutter, fortunately contained mainly in a couple of rooms.
I don’t profess to be an expert on dementia type conditions in the elderly but would say that my mum is suffering from some sort of vascular dementia brought on by several mini stokes (of TIA`s ) that she has had in the past. Many years of high blood pressure can’t have helped either.

It is so heartbreaking to see my own mum looking like she is heading towards dementia. Heartbreaking and frightening. I don’t know what the answer is or where to go for help as my GP practice are doing their best to turn a blind eye. I just hope it never gets to the stage where I am unable to cope.  I pray to keep strong enough to deal with whatever hand fate throws at us.