Lamb burger, chips, mixed veg
Today has been another day like every other day recently. Mum refused to get up until lunchtime, then decided she couldn’t remember where to find clothes nor, when I advised her where to look, what a ‘wardrobe’ was. She was, however, perfectly capable of turning on the tv and making herself a cup of tea, so I am a little sceptical of her sudden confusion.
Having got dressed in yesterday’s clothes, she promptly decided she wanted a different pair of jeans, but continued to profess her ignorance of where to find them. No amount of description or direction helped – “can’t you help me?” she whimpered pathetically.
I got up, got out not one but three pairs of jeans, and dumped them a little ungraciously on mum’s bed. She looked at me with bemusement (real or feigned, I don’t know), and said “what do I need those for? I’m already dressed”.
At that point, with steam seeping out of my ears, I decided I was going to extend my search area for a new flat, adding Ryde and Shanklin.
Ryde
Ryde is the closest town to the mainland, with two boat services (a catamaran and a hovercraft) running regularly across the 6 miles of water separating the two. The majority of the town is Victorian, and it has lots of independent shops and restaurants.
It has a nice beach and a lovely, flat beachfront promenade with views across the Solent. It also has a very steep hill, which could prove challenging, and a reputation for being a bit rowdy and prone to antisocial behaviour.
Shanklin
Shanklin, on the south coast of the Island, is a very old town, dating back to before the Norman conquest (11th century CE [AD], for those not immediately familiar with British history). The Old Town is beloved of the tourism industry as it is, as you can see, highly photogenic. The rest of the town is mostly Victorian, with a number of very grand hotels and houses.
Like Ryde, there is a nice beach, a lovely promenade – lined with pubs, restaurants, and cafés – but the descent from the town to the beach is precipitous, if picturesque.
This afternoon mum’s friend Walker came round and took mum out for a walk and a cup of tea, giving me time to contact the agents for six new flats. One had an auto-response telling me they only deal with enquiries by phone, not email (really?!), and another apologised that the flat I had expressed interest in has steps up to the front door.
(Many flats in Ryde and Shanklin are in converted Victorian houses, which I love on aesthetic grounds but which unfortunately do often have steps up from the pavement. This looks suitably fancy, but makes the buildings inaccessible to me on all but my best days.)
Keeping track of all this started to prove challenging, so I set up a spreadsheet. I do love a spreadsheet, with drop-down fields and filters and colour-coding. Whether it will make any difference to my search remains to be seen, but setting it up kept me entertained for half an hour or so.
Then mum came home, her friend left, and mum has been complaining pretty much non-stop ever since. My patience is thinning with every repetition of “my head hurts, I’m sore, I keep weeing, my teeth hurt, when is someone going to help me?” (Still lurking in my mind is mum’s response to my earlier, teeth-gritted assurance that I am helping her: “really? Sorry, I hadn’t noticed”.
Dinner was stuff from the freezer, my inclination to cook something nice being oddly absent tonight. Mum enjoyed it, though, and is now polishing off a tub of coffee ice cream, each spoonful punctuated by another complaint or worry.
Tomorrow mum has her dentist appointment, and I have my carer’s needs assessment. That is, if I haven’t throttled my mother in the interim after yet another run through the litany of complaints.
It would be considered justified matricide, I’m sure!
Is it pineapple sponge today? 