Browsing Tag

family

Travel

48-hours in Barcelona

We took Madge’s boys to Barcelona for a weekend. Lots of tapas, walking and a bit of sightseeing. The weather was really pleasant and it meant we could sit outside for drinks and chill out. The boys have never been to Barcelona before, so it was good to take them somewhere that was at least a little familiar to us.

We found an amazing sweet shop called Happy Pills – think posh pick and mix, but more fun.

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We also drank fresh juice on the beach, and lit a candle in a cathdral.

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I went and got my nails done and sneaked off for a cheeky plate of ham and glass of wine at the bar of a cool tapas place.

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And of course we ate helados, one of my very favourite things.

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Every time I go back to Barcelona there’s more to see, or new places to go. I love it, and will definitely be going back AGAIN.

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I went to a funeral, and on a trip down memory lane

I had to go to a funeral for my Auntie Kath. She wasn’t really my aunt – but I always knew her as such. My Dad’s side of the family is kind of complicated and sometimes it’s hard to work out who is related to who, and how. But that didn’t matter, she was a lovely lady and I spent a lot of my childhood staying with her and her husband Johnny.

Kath and Johnny owned a sweet shop in East Sheen, just a few minutes away from the flat(s) I grew up in. The shop was the centre of a bustling community and Kath was always there, usually standing in the doorway to the stock room, ready to chat and gossip with the customers. Usually laughing – she had one of those deep, infectious laughs.

My earliest memory of hearing music was at their house. I don’t know how old I was, but I guess I was small as I was sitting on the floor pulling pots out of a kitchen cupboard. At least I think I was. The tune was something by The Carpenters and it was the early Seventies. I seem to remember the radio always being on and watching Uncle Johnny wash his face and have a shave in the kitchen sink. Who knows if these are even real memories – I’d have been very young,  but they certainly feel it. I do remember being sent to the shop as a small child, to get ‘mum’s books’, (her weekly magazines) and cigarettes. Mum would let the magazines mount up a bit and there were always a few to pick up. I think that’s pretty much how I first learnt to cross the road properly on my own. I’d walk up there and Kath would wait the other side of the road to see me across.

When my granddad died in 1978 I went to stay with them at the sweet shop, so that I was protected from the worst of it, including the funeral. They always made me feel so welcome – I’d never known an electric blanket until I stayed there and Kath had those funny dolls with the full skirts to hide the toilet rolls in the bathroom.

Later, when I was at secondary school I spent time working in the shop sometimes during school holidays. I probably drove Uncle Johnny nuts, babbling on about goodness knows what and giving people the wrong change! And later, pretty much every day when I got off the train I’d pop in to say hello before I went home. They were always interested in what I got up to – I remember getting my first pair of high-heeled school shoes and proudly prancing around in the shop showing them off. I reckon that was September 1984, just before starting the fourth year.

They never had children, and they were married over 50 years until Johnny died first a few years ago. But they were always young at heart. I think running the shop for so many years and mixing with the paper boys and girls and younger people kept them so. Even when they left the shop and moved away they were the same. Kath always had an eye for fashion and an interest in what was going on. She was always made up, with lots of blue eyeshadow and coiffured hair. I remember she gave me a lovely vintage black velvet cape when I was in my early twenties. Yesterday I was bemoaning to my mum how I should have kept it, when she told me it was still in the wardrobe upstairs. The cape must be 40 years old and it’s still in perfect condition – almost floor length black velvet with a hood. That’s definitely coming out again in the winter – it’s too gorgeous to stay hidden away. I was so pleased to see it again.

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I’d forgotten half of those childhood memories until I started writing them down, and it’s been a nice little trip down memory lane. A lovely lady and a life well lived.

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White City, London W12

Now that my Nan is in residential care, we had to begin clearing out our home in order to return it the the council. It’s odd to think that I will probably never go there again, unless anything more needs doing to help with the move, especially as it is a place I spent much of my childhood. A house as familiar to me as my own home for many years. And an area that became more familiar as I got older, with my first job at the BBC being based in White City as well.

White City was farmland until the beginning of the 20th Century. In 1908 the stadium was built and it was used as the site of the Franco-British Exhibition (and subsequently other exhibitions) and then for the 1908 Summer Olympics – the last time before 2012 that London hosted the games. When I was young the olympic stadium was a greyhound racing track and also used for athletics. It even hosted one match in the 1966 world cup. In 1985 the stadium was demolished and is now the site of a BBC building – not the one I worked in, which was just the other side of the Westway.

The housing estate was built in the late 1930’s and finished in the early ’50’s and both my parents grew up there. The streets were all named after the countries that had featured in the great exhibitions and my Mum was born on the White City, overlooking the football ground of Queens Park Rangers. I’m not much of an active football supporter these days, but given that my Nan lives/lived about 500 yards from Loftus Road (the home of QPR) the superhoops have always been in the blood, and during the 70’s when I was a child I would regularly go to matches with my Dad. More often than not with a colouring book and pens, a treat of a Bovril and a pie at half time, then back to Nan and Grandad’s for dinner and Doctor Who. There was a match on while we were there working in the house, and with the noise and the floodlights it took me back instantly, evoking lots of memories.

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Happy 90th Birthday Nan!

On Sunday it was my Nan’s 90th Birthday.

Since being released from hospital back in June, she has settled into her new home at a residential care centre. My Mum and Aunt viewed the home ahead of Nan going there and were very pleasantly surprised at how nice and welcoming it is. I think you expect the worst – a dreary, sad place – but where Nan is seems to be the opposite. The staff are nice and there’s always an activity or something going on.

Adjusting to leaving her own house and living in the care home was not easy, and at first she was very upset and disorientated. However, as time has gone on, she has become more settled and happier than I have seen her in years. Apparently she can stay here for 12 weeks or so, but it would be a terrible shame for her to have to move again. If only she could stay here for her last years.

With round the clock company and care, she has thrived. In no small part I suspect, due to eating three meals a day and taking her tablets regularly. And just having people around her.

We all went to see her and had a small Birthday party, with sandwiches and cake, and spent some time in the garden. It was lovely.

Mum and Nan

Mum and Nan

 

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Growing old

For about 3-4 years I worked with Age UK on some really interesting digital projects, including their key ‘Spread the Warmth’ campaign, launching their radio station ‘The Wireless’ and developing the section of the website dedicated to Professionals. As well as the digital projects, I was also very lucky to be involved in a programme to design physical and digital flagship services, such as Befriending.

For a period of time I worked within the organisation for a couple of days a week, and this not only gave me a unique insight into how it worked but importantly into what was important for those most in need of Age UK’s services, and those delivering them on the front-line.

This experience has left me with a lasting interest in how the lives of older people in the UK can be improved.

In the past few months that interest has become much more personal as my Nan has become increasingly frail and coping less well in her own home. It’s always better for an older person to maintain independence in the home for as long as possible, but it was becoming obvious that the basic things like cleaning and cooking were becoming a struggle. As much as ‘old age’ this is to do with illness as well, and a degenerative eye condition.

My Nan is lucky, she has 3 daughters and 5 adult grandchildren, so she has people how can provide support. But in that situation it becomes obvious pretty quickly that it isn’t enough. Someone can’t be there all the time and people have their own lives to live. But the really hard thing is knowing what to do in that situation. My Nan wouldn’t consider moving or residential care, and stubbornly wouldn’t accept help from ‘outsiders’. It was becoming clear that things would only get worse and the stress on my Mum was also getting hard.

I think that while there is much information available about services and care, there is little that prepares the family for the emotional toll of trying to make the right decisions in very difficult circumstances. I suppose that may be the same in many situations of illness, but because the person in question isn’t able to realise, or be realistic, about their situation you feel that any decision you make – even in their best interests – will upset them. How do you know when to do the right thing?

This whole period of time, since she got ill last April, to now has felt like a slow and inevitable decline. In an emergency you know what to do. Your brain is wired how to react. But in this, in aging and illness, there is no rulebook or set of guidelines on what to do for the best.

As it happened, fate played a hand and sudden illness meant that Nan had to be hospitalized. She spent several weeks in hospital and during that time it was recognised by the doctors that she would not be able to return to fully independent living once recovered. I can only talk for myself and not for anyone else in the family, but this almost felt like a relief in a way. Now it was decided by doctors! This also meant we would get help and not have to try and navigate the care system alone.

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