So for those who read my blogs I would like to update you on snow shovel gate.

Quick synopsis for those who don’t. Dad basically stole/borrowed a snow shovel and hid it in his wardrobe.

Turns out the blocks’ warden could not find their snow shovel from the laundry room (where he lives). As I had given it to her when I left that day she was pleased to find it was not ‘lost’ after all however the plot thickens. Sadly the handle has not appeared and dad coupled with dementia and the blatant denial of ever taking it (especially as he swears I put it in his wardrobe?!) means that the snow shovel has now been rendered useless. On the plus side we have time with the good weather so I will keep looking..

Anyway it’s a Friday mofo’s! Am going to turn the tunes up even louder. A few gins, albeit less than less weekend where I sadly had the misfortune of meeting the gin later that night (too much info?!). Some good friends coming to visit tomorrow and a break from the crazy world of dementia if only for 48 hours. By a break I mean in person as I still have to speak to him.

So it’s bye from me. Until next week that is as I have made a conscious decision that the diary really really must start. I see things through very funny lenses where the music has to be super loud at all times and order needs to prevail. I can’t stand mess (some say OCD I say tidy?!) and I have a huge love of sarcasm and dirty humour. I have a very potty mouth and truly wear my heart on my sleeve. It’s even been said that I have emotional Tourettes’ and that I call a spade a shovel. I don’t do grey. I like black and white.

I love to cook I love to eat and I love to drink. I love to sit round the table every night and I feel sad that it doesn’t happen for everyone. Many memories are shared over the table. Many problems can be solved around a table; as long as there is bread?

I appreciate that life and the people in it are like marmite. I have always known that you can’t please everyone. I value the fact that life is short. Way too short to give any fucks. It’s always been my way but I am glad that others’ are finally seeing that it’s what makes you happy that counts. When all the social media dies down and you’re not as ‘interesting’ as you once were inside is what truly matters. Those moments around the table. Those are what count.

I really enjoy writing but aside of dementia the diary beckons. It’s the time to take pen to paper that I need to sort out.

The diary may take on more of a confession but who cares!

Marmite right? Don’t like it don’t read it… but to those who do I say thank you.

Thanks for being part of the journey and I promise no vomiting this weekend.. I will grow up one day!