Jacket potato with cheese and salad

Mum has had another bad day today. I have been doing my very best to be kind, cheerful and supportive, but by this stage I am very, very tired of repeating “I know mum, it must be horrible for you, I’ll call the doctor tomorrow.”

Somehow, in between, repetitions, I found another flat I’m interested in, this one in Newport. That gives me three potential options atm: one in Cowes (which I’m viewing tomorrow), one in Freshwater (which I’m viewing on Friday), and one in Newport (tbc).

For those who don’t know the Island, which I assume is most of you, here’s a quick summary of what they’re like.

Cowes

Named not for the dairy animal, but for the piles of rock used to protect the harbour from storms since medieval times, which were thought to resemble beached whales (‘sea cows’). The town, located on the north coast of the Island, is made up of two halves, West Cowes (where the flat I’m viewing is) and East Cowes, divided by the River Medina.

West Cowes has been the home of British yacht racing since the founding of the Royal Yacht Squadron in the early 19th century, and is the home of the annual Cowes Week regatta. It has a reputation for being a bit posh – it even has a Waitrose supermarket, the only one on the Island! (East Cowes, fwiw, is considered less posh, despite having Osborne House, Queen Victoria’s favourite house, on its outskirts.)

I don’t know Cowes – either side – well, but it’s a very handsome little town, with lots of independent bars and restaurants, and direct links to Southampton on the mainland.

Freshwater

Freshwater is where I live atm. It’s a very large village – larger than many towns, tbh – in the west of the Island, surrounded by farm land. The main part of the village is home to a number of independent shops and cafés, and has a thriving social scene.

Freshwater Bay, to the south, is where we spread the ashes of both my father and my sister, in memory of the many holidays we spent there when I was a child.

Historically, it was home to the Victorian era poet Alfred, Lord Tennyson, and to the pioneering photographer Julia Cameron: her home is now a museum with a café that does (or at least did, last time I was there) extremely good cakes.

Newport

Newport, located in to the north of the exact centre of the Island, is the county town and the closest the Island comes to urban life. It has the remains of a couple of Roman villas and, a little to the south, the Norman Carisbrooke Castle.

It is the centre of the Island’s transport network, and home to the sole hospital on the Island: St Mary’s, where my disability journey really started. It has lots of shops, pubs, and restaurants, and is almost – at least in places – multicultural.

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So those are my main choices, housing-wise. All have equally strong pros and cons, and how I make my eventual decision, I really don’t know.  Thankfully, I don’t have to decide now, when I’m exhausted from a day of reassuring mum.

Even her favourite dinner, followed by two desserts, didn’t do much to calm or comfort her. Tomorrow I will call the GP, and the dentist, and try to rearrange Tuesday’s psychiatrist appointment as I don’t think mum is in any condition to attend such a crucial appointment. (It’s to get a second opinion on the cause of mum’s dementia.)

Hopefully someone can help mum feel more comfortable, and less fretful, and not so desperate for my attention and company.

I really, really hope so. 🥱