Introducing…Beryl

Posted on November 7, 2025 by thepogblog

Beryl lives up our road.  Beryl is all sorts of amazing.

She walks her dog – at a fair pace –  every day, whatever the weather, sometimes with her friend Derrick and his dog who both live a few doors down, and sometimes alone.  It’s Beryl and Derrick that have convinced Mr R and I that we will always, always have a dog, because they are both all sorts of amazing – Derrick is in his 80’s and today is Beryl’s 95th birthday.

Ninety-five, and not only does this woman walk her dog further than some of the locals half her age manage, but she also plays ball with him, bending down to grab the ball and throw it.  At the end of Beryl’s front path there is a washing up bowl that she fills with fresh water each day for the local puppers to grab a drink on their way past.  A full washing up bowl that she carries from the water butt, up the path and up some steps.  Ninety-five.

And her front garden is beautiful.  It’s also not insubstantial in size.  I always assumed she had a relative or maybe even a gardener to help maintain it, but a couple of months back we were chatting about the weather as we passed each other with the dogs and I asked if she’d been making the most of it in the garden.  ‘Ooh yes, she said; I’ve got a lot of weeding done today out the back.  And hour this morning, a rest over lunch and another hour this afternoon…’  And she confirmed that she does all the gardening, front and back alone, but ‘doesn’t grow as many vegetables as she used to’.

But aside from Beryls amazing agility levels, my favourite thing to know about her is something I learned a few years ago.  Beryl had been in hospital, and was discharged only if someone offered to care for her.  I don’t know her family situation, but it was Derrick that kindly stepped up and had her move into his spare room while she got stronger.  I saw Derrick walking both their dogs part way through this arrangement and asked how things were.  It was clear they were a little fraught (I think ‘bloody awful’ was his actual response 😬) .  Later that day, in an attempt to give them a smile (and because I am a bit of a feeder) I made an apple pie and custard for their Sunday lunch pudding and popped it up, intending to leave it with Derrick.  But Derrick had escaped (or possibly not returned from the dog walk…) and Beryl answered the door and invited me in.  We had a lovely long chat that included asking how long she’d lived in the road (about 60 years) and where she’d lived before.

‘Oooh, a small town in Kent you probably wouldn’t have heard of.’

‘Oooh, I’m from Kent…what was it called?’

And you’ll never guess what.  Beryl grew up in Bumpkinsville.  She worked in shops in the town I grew up in.  And – after a bit of conferring with my Mum (this was before Mum’s stroke) – it turned out that Beryl knew Cousin George.  I have no idea how Cousin George fits in the family tree, but my Mum and her sister were ticked pink that Beryl up my road knew Cousin George down their road, many, may years ago.

And that is my snapshot of Beryl.  I’m hoping I’m still writing this when she is 100 and by then I’ll have learned more of her life.  And had the balls to ask for a proper photo.  But for now, this is her and Derrick on their morning constitutional.

Happy birthday, Beryl!🎈🎈🎈

 

Posted in Bumpkinsville, fitness, gardening, Pog Life, the people you meet | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

A tale of numbers that made me angry

Posted on November 3, 2025 by thepogblog

Numbers are not my friends. They never have been.

They move around when I try to write them down or remember them, and if there are too many to deal with I swear they pretty much run around in my head, on paper or on the screen.

However, I seem to have swapped washing and dressing Mum for an influx of numbers that I can’t hide from.  Some I’ve got my head around.  Some I get up at 4.30am to write down on pieces of a4 paper to stop them from going round and round my head. And most recently some have made me outright angry.  This is a true story and a tale to remind you that even if numbers are not your friends, it is really important not to ignore them:

Mum was moved a couple of weeks ago from her bed on the nursing unit (the only bed available in July) to the dementia unit.  This was a move down one floor.

A few days before I was emailed and asked to confirm in writing the change to Mum’s fees.

I think most people know that care homes charge a shit load of money.  I don’t know if you’ve watched ‘Riot Women’ (Side note:  If you haven’t and are my sort of age – spitting distance of 50 – or older, male or female, I recommend it.  I’ve never cared about a group of fictional characters as much) – if you have, in pretty much the first scene, the character mentions her mum’s home is £5k a month and her brother goes nuts.  Let me tell you, they are getting a BARGAIN.  So anyway, they charge a shit load but short of packing Mum off to Yorkshire (where Riot Women is set) for the cheaper fees, we don’t have much choice.

So the Care Home business person asked me to confirm I was happy with the change, the day before Mums move, which should have been a fair sized decrease.  Only it was around half the decrease I expected.  I had a think and this is pretty much what happened:

Me: The figure you quote would suggest that the 6.5% increase due in April next year is being applied now.  Please could you advise?

Them:  Ah yes. The increase due in April has already been applied.

Me: Why? It’s October.

Them: It’s what we do.  Anyone who moves in or moves within the home from October pays the April increase early.

Me: Why?  Why would you expect me to agree to pay additional fees for 6 months?  You also haven’t written this down anywhere or told me it would happen.

Them: Oh.  Would you like us to request a price reduction from Head Office?

Me: No, as it’s not a price reduction.  Please request with Head Office that we pay the current fees for the dementia care until April and then increase in line with all other current residents.

<<<12 days and a number of emails to ask where we are later…>>>

Them: Approval has been granted

I can’t help thinking that if I’d responded without thinking, or if I’d run away from the numbers as I’d have preferred, or if I’d simply just trusted that businesses are all reasonable, we’d be paying 6.5% more on top of the shit load of money we already pay for six months that we shouldn’t have.  And I wonder how many people have done exactly that.  And that is what makes me outright angry.

So remember:  even if numbers are not your friends, it is really important not to ignore them.

And here is a photo of a flying Percy as even with numbers around, who can’t be uncheered by a flying cocker spaniel?

Posted in care home, dementia, family, looking after Mum | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The nose clip Tuesday

Posted on October 31, 2025 by thepogblog

Dear people in my computer,

On the surface, my Tuesdays might look quite same-y.  I negotiate the M23 and M25, experience the joys of Tesco, every four weeks or so I add a trip to pick up a small pharmacy for Dad, and then I spend time with Mum and Dad, mostly in their separate places.  But the ‘spending time’ detail is very varied.

Last week, for example, I managed to cook fifteen meals from scratch for Dad’s freezer while convincing a BT man that removing the copper wire and replacing it with a fibre one was not going to happen unless he could be 100% sure that the cable wouldn’t snag on the trees leaving Dad with no phone, internet or Ring doorbell (the compromise on a panic call alarm), while simultaneously getting a man into the loft who was surveying the house.

I was a little sad that they both arrived to see this chaos:

Rather than the end result which I was rather proud of.  More so when I managed to get it all in Dad’s freezer 😁

So that was last week.  This week we had another hospital appointment; this time for a lung function test.  I was allowed in and it was really interesting.  They needed an oxygenated blood sample (I think), which they can take from an artery or ear lobe.  A needle in your wrist artery isn’t terribly comfortable apparently, so they went for an ear.  I couldn’t work out how they’d draw blood from Dads ear lobes as they are capillaries rather than veins.  But it turned out they had that covered as the man put a cork behind Da’s ear while they cut the lobe with a razor blade a bit reminiscent of Van Gough…. I don’t know if everyones ear lobes bleed that much but Dad ended up needing a dressing and a clamp.

Next they put Dad in a Body Box (yes really) for a series of tests:

It was all relatively normal until Dad was given a nose clip for the tests and discovered that the nose clip gave him exactly the right sort of tone to sing The Muppets theme tune…which he did.  Many times over the next hour and 15 minutes of tests… 😂

Whenever he has a blood test dad request an ‘I’ve been brave’ sticker (and gets one).  The poor man doing the tests who may have been too young to remember the muppets came clean that he didn’t have a sticker, but Dad could keep the nose clip.  So as I wheeled dad out of the hospital, despite the fact he must have been exhausted, he was still de-de-de-de-dah…ing. 😁

And to go back to the Van Gough reference, Little Wisp, my 8 year old nice had drawn this for Nanny last week.  Isn’t it amazing?

Posted in Cooking, COPD, family, Tuesday | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

A bit of honesty

Posted on October 23, 2025 by thepogblog

Dear people in my computer,

I think I might have fallen into that social media trap a bit.  You know, the one where you make life look a bit more smiley than it is.  It’s tricky, because nobody wants to read unsmiley or ranty stuff all the time, but there should probably be a balance or I’m not being terribly honest which doesn’t really help anyone.

So, I hold my hands up and admit that I have glossed.   And for today at least, I will not.

Last week when I went to visit Mum, she was really lovely to me – she greeted me with a smile and got out of her chair ready to go somewhere together…until a member of staff corrected her when she called me Sister 2, and told Mum I was actually Pog.  Mum was not happy to discover this (me being her least favourite daughter 90% of the time) and refused to chat very much on our outside escapade, or over our coffee and fruit.

When I left, she wouldn’t look at me, let alone say goodbye (although the Lovely Phylis who sits next to her blew me a kiss, which still makes me smile.) It was a bit tough, but it wasn’t the end of the world.

This week I arrived as Mum was finishing a coffee in the lounge. I asked if she’d like to come with me to put the flowers that I’d bought her in a vase in her room and drop off the toiletries I’d picked up for her at Tesco with Dads shopping.

‘Where are the others?’ she asked, looking around me

‘It’s just me, Mum’

‘It’s not worth the effort of going to my room if it’s just you’ she replied.

I said that was ok, I’d go and pop the things in her room on my own, but that made her cross, so I found her walker and we made slow progress.  We had a small dispute over which direction her room was in, and I think this compounded the grumpiness that I was disappointingly just me.

When we got to her room Mum refused to sit down.

Then she wanted to sit down, but didn’t want to be guided into the chair.  And despite me using my arms and legs and voice to try to help, she did the sitting bit too early and slowly slid to the floor.

I got her back up, sitting in the chair and watched – almost in awe – as she lowered herself to the ground again and started shouting for help.

I got her back up again, helped her hold her walker and suggested we go back to the lounge as this was obviously not working out.

We passed a member of staff and mum smiled brightly and told them she would see them soon.  We passed another resident in their room and she did that happy smile and a wave.

We were part way to the lounge when Mum stopped,  looked at me and told me that she didn’t like me, didn’t want me there, had lots of other people who would come and visit so actually she didn’t even need me.

She then propelled her walker down the hallway, looked at the walker, at me and asked me what I was going to do about that.  As the woman clearly had the strength to get herself from a chair to the floor, do a fair bit of shouting and push away the support I’d thought she needed to walk, I suggested she go and get it.  Which she did (using the wall rails as support…I’m not suggesting there was some sort of miracle here 😬).

And then a member of staff walked towards us and Mum burst into tears and told them I was being so, so horrible to her.  I gave up.  I asked the member of staff to look after her and left.

And that is the reality of how Mum can be.  Not always.  Sometimes she can be lovely, or just a bit tricky.  But sometimes she can be nasty.

She is always absolutely lovely to care staff.  She is always absolutely lovely to friends.  She knows the difference between us and the ones she is always nice to (Sister 1 and 2 have suggested we get tunics like the care staff for when we visit as she might be nicer to us if she doesn’t realise we are her daughters).  And while I think we’d all prefer it was us that got the tough bits, that’s the bit that’s hardest to deal with.

So, top tips for anyone not in this situation right now (and recognising that this is based entirely on my own experience, thoughts and feelings – I’m obviously not an actual expert):

  • Do not tell the family of someone with dementia that it is a terrible disease, and they don’t mean any nastiness; they just can’t help it.  Please see above.
  • Do not tell the family that they are nasty to you because you are ‘safe’ to let out those feelings to as though that makes it ok.
  • Know that the only thing harder than managing this situation is the expectation of others that as it is a disease, it is reasonable to put up with behaviour that in any other circumstance would not be tolerated.
  • Please know that even if ‘it’s not them, it’s the disease’, it is really, really hard to keep going back into that situation, while simultaneously taking a huge amount of time trying to work out the admin and the finances and the medical things to make sure that person is cared for in the best possible way, even while they tell everyone how horrible you are.

And, if you are in a similar situation reading this (and again,  recognising that this is based entirely on my own experience, thoughts and feelings – I’m obviously not an actual expert):

  • I see you.
  • The shit days are shit.
  • Some of the good days contain a fair bit of shit too.
  • It’s ok to walk away.
  • If the person is in their or your home, it is ok to insist (not ask) on more care support to give you more space.
  • If the person is in a care home, it’s ok not to visit for a while (I won’t be).
  • And I’m sorry that you’re having this experience too.

And that is my bit of honesty.  Normal smiles will resume shortly 🙂

Posted in care home, dementia, family, looking after Mum, memory, stroke, Tuesday | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The kindness of strangers. And the joy of a hedgecutter.

Posted on October 17, 2025 by thepogblog

When was the last time you said something lovely to a total stranger?

Since July I’ve been trying to get Mum and Dad’s much loved garden back under control so Dad has a nice space to look out at.  The garden is bordered by hedges, which are bordered by roads.  I did the insides…but the outsides needed to be attacked.  And I rather like the hedge cutter 😈.  What I am less keen on is the speed that rather large cars and lorries zoom up the road which doesn’t have a pavement . And also ladders.  I get really panicky at the top of ladder height…

So I created a hi vis situation with a spare ladder and cones:

Grabbed dads hedge cutter:

And two weeks ago I did one side:

And this week I did (most) of the end (my arms weren’t quite long enough):

And then the other side:

And while I absolutely wanted to show off my (imperfect) handiwork, and proudly tell you that I didn’t fall of the ladder (quite) and I didn’t get run over – even once.  In fact I only fell over once, and luckily I fell into the basket of leaves that I’d just dropped so I had a soft landing…

…What I really wanted to tell you was this:  Lots and lots of people drove past.  Some were visibly annoyed that they had to slow down on what can be a very fast road (although I did end up on waving terms with the farmer doing repeated trips on his tractor who was also slowing down a fair few people).  And then one lady stopped.  I was worried I was about to get told off for blocking the road, but she leant over the passenger seat while her small dog sitting there snoofed in my direction, and told me what I great job I was doing.  She told me she was a gardener and her husband was moving from decorating to hedge cutting and she thought I’d done really well.  She said she didn’t think she’d have been brave enough to do the reaching at the top of the ladder I’d done on her own.  It almost made my eyes leak.

My Dad is hugely appreciative of what I have done as he did it for many years and knows the effort involved.  It meant such a lot though, that a stranger thought to stop and tell me I’d done well.  It’s like when a stranger tells you they like your boots.  It’s lovely hearing it from a friend or Mr R, but it takes on a bit more when someone thinks enough of your boots or your hedge cutting to stop and tell you.  It creates a different sort of smile inside.

So, I wonder if maybe the next time you notice something positive about a stranger, you’ll tell them and give them that lovely smile inside?  🙂

Posted in gardening, Tuesday | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

And the secret weapon is…

Posted on October 9, 2025 by thepogblog

Dear People in my computer:

In that last post about Pog’s Chaotic Kitchen Care, I might have got a bit cocky.  I thought we’d sorted Dad’s weight, he was on the up and I could cross that off my list.

But anyone is any sort of similar situation to this knows that these things are not linear.  They are rollercoasters.  That are on fire.  And heading off the side of a cliff.  With absolutely no brakes.  And Dad demonstrated this brilliantly by struggling through another boat of poorliness that left him unable to eat much and took him back down to just 8stone 10.

BUT we found a secret weapon!  Mr R is training to be a nutritionalist.  Not because he wants to be a nutritionalist you understand, that would be far too obvious.  No, he’s training because he does big running races (50-100 mile types) and wants to properly understand how to fuel his body, so thought he’d learn for himself.  And recently in his quest he completed a module on the elderly, and discovered the secret weapon.  Powdered milk.

Who’d have thunk it?

You see, older people need more protein to maintain their muscles and they need extra vitamins – A and D are added to milk powder.  A helps your immune system, D keeps bones, teeth and muscles healthy. Milk powder is also relatively calorie dense.  And tasteless. 🙂

So needless to say, Dad now has milk powder (as well as butter and cream) in his mash, in cheese sauces and in fact anything where I can get away with it.

I’ve also changed up my cheese sauce recipe to make it as calorie dense as possible.  Incase this is useful to anyone, this is what I do:

Forget white / cheese sauce in it’s traditional sense entirely.  Instead…

  • melt full fat cream cheese with a bit of full fat milk
  • mix in double cream
  • add a few tablespoons of milk powder
  • (If it’s getting too thick add more milk)
  • add a heap of grated cheese
  • add some salt and pepper

….and use milk vs cornflour to reach the consistency you want

The great thing about this version is that when it’s frozen then microwaved, it doesn’t go stodgy like a proper sauce does.

Extra tip: If you’re prepping meals for someone in need of calories, pop a blob of butter on the top of everything when you’ve prepped it up so that as it is microwaved it doesn’t dry out and there are a few more calories in the pot.

There’s loads of extra information on how to fortify food here too. (Thank you, Mr R)

I forgot to take the scales with me after the first week, but this week on the new CKC regime for two weeks, Dad had put on FOUR pounds.  He was a whole nine stone (and a teeny bit!). He did say he had to go and take the weights out of his pockets after I weighed him, but I’m pretty sure he was kidding.

And even better, he’s been rating the meals I cook, and I’ve been getting some pretty good scores 😁😁😁 (not bad when you consider that as a vegetarian, I can’t even taste most of what I make him!)

Posted in COPD, muddled life, muddled life guide, Muddled Life Tip, Pog Life, Tuesday | Leave a comment

Introducing…Frank

Posted on October 5, 2025 by thepogblog

I meant to write this post a couple of weeks ago but All The Things keep happening and time to write a blog post has just not been one of them.

But if I don’t do it now, it might remain one of the many, many posts that end up staying in my head and I don’t want that, because I’d like to introduce you to Frank:

Frank was the florist in my village until a few weeks ago when with no fanfare at all, the florist closed.  Luckily, someone had posted on the village Facebook group that it was imminent and I rushed down to say my goodbyes

Because you see, Frank is one of those people I don’t actually know – in his case I’ve never seen him outside the shop he worked in, I don’t know his surname, and I’ve never had so much as a cup of tea with him.  But he has a little space in my heart.

Frank was known locally – at least a few years ago – as someone who could be a bit tricky.  He didn’t do niceties for the sake of them and he could be more than a little direct.  However, it didn’t take much to realise that Frank was actually a mirror, and if you went in smiling and asked him how he was, his eyes shone and he’d be yours for as long as you were in front of him.

He made gorgeous bouquets, planted up planters (and when they didn’t have any he planted up ones I took in at no charge other than the plants) and he told me when to buy plants and when there were better alternatives ‘God, no, don’t buy that foxglove.  Find some that are going to seed and plant those instead…’

But what I loved most about visiting Frank was his stories.  You had to dig a little, but he had many – from his first job at London Zoo aged 16 where there were military style uniform checks, to his love of fashion from working in all sorts of places resulting in boxes of brand new clothes at home that he’s never worn as they weren’t right in a florist, to his agreement with his neighbours that he’d always leave his work boots outside and his door unlocked when he was at home, so should they not move for a while, they would know to check on him.

Frank has alway made me feel good too.  Even more recently when I don’t bother with makeup and wear the same oversized t-shirt or jumper (depending on the season) and my jeans, he’d find something, telling me that my boots are ‘right on trend’ or that ‘that colour really suits you’.

I took Frank a card I wrote where I tried to use words to tell him that he had been a light in the village for me and I bought some of the tin containers the flowers were displayed in.  We cut out their bottoms and planted them in the front garden where the earth is terrible and only weeds grow.  I’ve layered bulbs in them (apparently its called a ‘bulb lasagne’ – who knew?!) and I hope that they might look lovely in the spring.  Until then I have pansies, violas poking out there heads and inside, one of the last bouquets Frank made for the shop.

I do find it amazing how much someone you don’t really know can touch your life and add more than a few smiles. I’m going to miss that lovely man.

Posted in muddled life, the people you meet | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

I was doing it all wrong…

Posted on September 25, 2025 by thepogblog

This week’s Tuesday included a surprisingly fantabulous trip to a hospital with Dad.

It was fantabulous on a number of different levels:

  1. Dad’s breathing is better than it has been in ages and he was able to chat.  I heard stories I’d never heard (how much he hated being in the cadets and how he was the only one in his group to fail at his soldier-ing test because he refused to react when told there was a sniper ahead as ‘it was just silly – clearly there wasn’t.’ 😂). It did also mean he had the breath to be a terrible passenger and remind me of the speed limit every couple of miles…
  2. We went The Pretty Way.  Dad avoids motorways at all costs and had been going The Pretty Way for years to visit friends and for hospital visits (Mum went a lot with her five different cancers).  It was indeed pretty and he know a surprising amount of local history that – thanks to the ability to breathe and talk – he passed on – between speed warnings and soldier stories.
  3. It turns out that I have been doing hospital visits all wrong.  Before we left Dad handed me hot cross buns to butter and a box of Tunnocks tea cakes.  We ate them in the waiting room (Not the teacakes – Dad said he gets the marshmallow round his mouth and wanted to wait until after his appointment incase he got in a mess.).  So it turns out that to make a hospital visit truly fantabulous, you have to take a picnic. 🙂

Mum, on the other hand was not as excitable this week and after rapidly finishing her coffee and plum – while I was only half way through mine and only on cake number one (they have great cakes in the special coffee area of the home.  I am attempting to somewhat justify the fees there by eating as many as I can at each visit…) sorry – while I was only half way through mine she looked at me, told me that she had ‘seen enough’ and could she go back now?  There is no filter with dementia, but at least you know where you stand 😳

Posted in care home, COPD, dementia, family, looking after Mum, memory, muddled life, muddled life guide, stroke, Tuesday | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

From Hello to Help: A Ring Doorbell’s Career Change

Posted on September 18, 2025 by thepogblog

The idea behind this rather epic practical tip came from my Tiny Friend.  Tiny Friend looked after a relative for a long time and I knew about her tip a while ago but it’s only recently become relevant.

When Dad’s breathing is bad, getting to the phone, or just making a phone call can take more puff than his lungs can manage.  He mostly communicates via Facebook Messenger and email these days, but none of these options would necessarily work in an emergency.

We had talked about one of those alarms you can press that call relatives /contact an operator / call 999 when activated but that was a firn ‘no’ from Dad every time.

Then I remembered Tiny Friend’s solution.  She had used Ring door bells at her relatives house.  In her case they were to monitor via video to make sure all was ok, but I figured it could be used as an alarm for Dad.

So now Dad has a mobile Ring doorbell.  It’s connected to my and both my sisters phones so that should he need us, he just needs to press it once and we’ll all get alerted at the same time, giving a much better chance that one of us will be able to connect with Dad immediately and get him the support that he needs.  We can even see him as we talk to him so he can answer questions with head shakes and nods if talking puff has disappeared, as it sometimes does.

If I look at the app when the bell hasn’t been rung it’s mostly just views of ceilings as Dad puts Ringo down in different rooms, but that in itself is quite a reassuring sort of thing to see.

(It’s also worth noting that if you don’t need to record calls etc  – and I’m not sure why you would in this situation- you don’t need a monthly plan with Ring, so it’s a one off £100 cost.  That’s less than the quarterly charge of a more standard alarm).

So thank you, Tiny Friend. For this and for the huge support you always are; it is very much appreciated.

And thank you, Ringo (the door bells name, given to it by Dad). We really appreciate your career change from traditional door bell to support bell. I hope it will be very fulfilling. 🙂

Posted in COPD, family, muddled life, muddled life guide, Muddled Life Tip | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

🎈🎈🎈Happy birthday, Dad!🎈🎈🎈

Posted on September 14, 2025 by thepogblog


Not quite what we had planned, but a damn good cake (my offer to make a chocolate poo was passed over 🤷🏼‍♀️), connecting all of us through the powers of technology and most of us in person too. 💜

Posted in care home, COPD, dementia, family, looking after Mum, memory, stroke | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment