Thursday 30th April – Wrinkly Scrotums

A quick post.

I cannot believe how tired I am. I feel like a limp noodle, but not quite so attractive.  Which is nice.

I have spots on my spots. I look like a teenage glue sniffer, which added to the grey skin, the dark rings under my eyes and the yawning is making me think I should probably hibernate for at least a week.

Jason is on his way back to Norfolk from Cornwall.  They managed to get MP into a home today. It is not ideal but it is the start, hopefully, of his journey to something better.  It was at the moment that all the paperwork was approved and the room was ready that MP decided that he didn’t want to stay there at all, and that he much preferred one they had seen the day before.

Unfortunately it cannot be undone.  Apart from anything else, the home he wants to stay in have been difficult in the extreme, to the extent of insisting that he come to see them in person, knowing that he was coming and then not having anyone available to assess him when he got there.  On top of that they have one room available and four other people waiting for it, all of whom are Cornish residents and one of whom is even more in need than MP.  It just wasn’t going to happen.

MP is a lovely guy, but he is a people pleaser extraordinaire.  He is the sort of person who if you said: ‘Now MP, in order to make my life easier I am just going to saw your legs off with a rusty teaspoon. I’m afraid we don’t have any anaesthetic, so just bite down on this twig,’ he would let you do it and smile.

In some circumstances this is good.  Jason’s mother was a very ‘in charge’ type of person who brooked no arguments. I can see why they managed to live together for as long as they did.  In other circumstances, i.e. when you are trying to help someone whose life has fallen apart and you really need them to be quite positive about what they want, and make decisions in a very short space of time, it is disastrous. 

I do think though, that whatever place he had gone to MP would have changed his mind.  He just doesn’t want to go into an old people’s home and live with women twenty years older than him who smell of wee, share one set of dentures between five of them, and watch Eastenders at volume 11, 20 hours a day.  I don’t know anyone who does.  Unfortunately that is the best we can do for him given the circumstances.

So. Jason is travelling about once more.  The van has to go back to its home tomorrow morning and hopefully he will be home some time tomorrow afternoon.  I cannot wait.

I had hoped for a reasonably peaceful day, but my list of things to do and get to grips with went nuclear overnight and left me with a never ending scroll of tasks.  I went into town and thought: ‘When I’ve done these jobs I will have tea and lovely cakes before I go to nursery to pick up Oscar.’  I rotated round like a crazed dervish, never sat down and got home with ten minutes to spare.  I wolfed down a sandwich and then ran down to pick up the boy.

It is Rainbows in less than an hour. I still haven’t cooked tea.  After Rainbows a friend is coming round.  He is stuck with his essay and needs help.  The deadline is tomorrow.  It is about economic growth in Asia. He seems to think I can help.  I said yes. I must need certifying.

On the positive side, Oscar and I spent a very satisfying hour playing with Mr. Men Fuzzy Felts this afternoon. I had forgotten how tranquil Fuzzy Felts make me feel. I am taking a box with me when I go into a home.

And Oscar did not disappoint.  I was changing his nappy and he reached down to his scrotum and said: ”What’s this mama?” to which I duly replied using the correct anatomical name.  He chanted it thoughtfully for a while and then said: ‘Oh no! It’s broken!’  Which I vehemently denied.  He was not to be pacified.  I asked him why it was broken to which he said: ‘It’s all wrinkly.  Fix it for me.’  I solemnly explained that brilliantly gifted though I was, I was totally unable to help out with the problem of wrinkly scrotums and he would just have to live with it like that.  He was singularly unimpressed.  I don’t blame him.