Nan

So this is my Nan. The delectable Joanie Louie Brickell.

Yep, she's wearing my sunglasses and doing her finest Stevie Wonder impression. 

18 months ago this strong-willed, fiesty woman began to fade a bit. Her memory was dropping in and out and simple day to day things started to become really hard work for her. Our little tiger got diagnosed with dementia and things have been a rocking roller coaster ever since. 

There are days when we panic within an inch of our lives that she's off out wandering in the night again or she's gone to eat the chicken she's left out for four days. There are days when we get so frustrated with the constant questions and repetition of the same made up story. There are days that we feel guilty for being short tempered with her.

 There are days when we get really angry at the world for a bit for putting her through it.

Then there are days that are pure golden. Without intent she will absolutely crack you up and pull a stunt that even the finest comedy writers couldn't put their hands to. The woman is a comedy genius. And completely oblivious to it.

Last week the oxygen thief that is Katie Hopkins came out and called dementia patients 'bed blockers' and complete half wits that go about their lives agreeing with the low life took to Twitter to come out with some real classics such as 'if animals had such little quality of life, we'd put them down'...if ever there was a target for trolling, that was it. 

To be honest the comments turned my stomach but in true Jo fashion I decided to look at things from the funny side.

I wanted to write this blog for a few reasons really. Firstly to stick a finger up at people with such awful views and to highlight that in their own little world, dementia sufferers are often having a ball and have a great quality of life. It makes no sense to anyone else but for the most part they are content. If and when the time comes that they require hospital care, they deserve just as much as the next well minded man. So here's the finger...

Secondly, I wanted to write this not as a way to laugh at this terrible condition but to provide a light hearted read for people out there that are dealing with a loved one who's suffering. I hope someone, somewhere will read this, chuckle and feel slightly better knowing they aren't the only ones dealing with the utter madness. 

Thirdly, I wanted to write it for my family. We are pisstakers by default and no ailment, illness or serious problem is exempt from the sarcastic retorts of the Irwins. This is our way of dealing with what is, in fairness, a really horrible situation.

So here it is. The comedy gold that can come from knowing someone with dementia. 

The World According to Joanie Brickell - The Highlights.

- That time she started using a jay cloth to blow her nose instead of a tissues because, well, why wouldn't you do that? 

- The invention of Teoffee - yep you got it - Tea & Coffee all in the same cup. She couldn't remember what you asked for two minutes previous so you are getting both. It's surprisingly not awful. Props to my Uncle for always necking it and not batting an eye.

- Whilst on the hot beverage front, that time that for no reason at all she put soap powder in the coffee jar, mixed it all up and tried to serve it as an appropriate cup of sauce to dip your biscuits in.

- Then there was the time she offered to make us breakfast. We accepted (to our peril) and were presented with three pork pies and a bowl of Haribo. And a teapot of TeOffee. Standard.

- The conviction that the cash point is actually the work of Wizards. It's like magic that! 

- The disdain at the woman on a voicemail. I mean she is, and I quote 'a snooty fucking cow' for telling Nan that my Mum is unavailable to speak. Yep you heard it hear first.

- The invention of Chicken Korma Pasta Bake. That was actually pretty fit to be fair.

- The time we arrived to find Nan's hair covered in what looked like breadcrumbs. After washing and conditioning it for her we realised why. She was finishing the at home salon job off with a bottle of deodrant rather than hairspray.  Give her some due, her hair smelt lush! Her underarms, however, were crunchy as.

- The sandal wearing in December. Fashionista. 

- The need to fry oven chips in butter to go with any meal. They are OVEN chips love. OVEN. 

- When you arrive to find her wearing every single bit of jewellery she's ever owned. My girl looks like a white Mr T...five rings on each finger, three necklaces and two watches. Just to sit indoors. Ballin'.

- When she tells you that all the doctors off Holby City were crowding round her bed the other night. Did you know they only 'fuck off home' if you push the big red button on the remote. True story kids. Listen and learn.

- Then there's the people that live upstairs and keep her awake all night. In her single story bungalow...

-...and the fact that my uncle keeps on making a 140 mile round trip to sneak in during the night to steal her bread, make her a sausage sandwich that she'll leave to go green and untune her TV. He is a bastard for that in fairness. Ever so light fingered when it comes to baked goods. 

- When she asks the meals on wheels lady if tomorrow's menu will include...wait for it...

Hairy Onion Baked Bullock Roll.

Head. In. Hands.

-  Or when she does the washing up with fabric softener. Lush. 

- Then there's the time that it's your birthday...in April...and my girl sends you a Christmas card.

& last but not least.

- That hard time when Pat next door died.

And she wondered why he wasn't very chatty. 

And then they had that party for him when he got taken off in a big old crate on the back of a van.

Poor bastard.

LL

x

The Girl's Guide To The World Cup

I was born the second daughter to a football nut father. The second of two girls. The second non boy to not take to Sunday 5-a-sides and to not bore to death with the story about the time he nearly trialled at Charlton. 

The lack of male offspring caused our dear old pops to teach my sister & I to have an appreciation for the beautiful game. Alongside our Take That & Spice Girls posters sat the Man United team photo, fixture lists & pull out A3's of Gary Pallister. Yep. I was totally obsessed with Mr P. Still am truth be known.

I owned the infamous black & yellow away kit and wore the collar up like I was Cantona. My sister to this day still reads the paper back to front. We still enjoy a Jipp Japp Stam chant & hold the Sherringham years fond in our hearts. 

Over time we may not have always been interested in the match on the TV, or even United's current league position, but we've learnt the rules. The rules one must abide by in the presence of a football watching man.

With a month of late nights, tears, screams and rage ahead of us, I thought it was about time my sister & I, with the help of a couple of male mates, imparted some of our wisdom. A little list for the unassuming females of the world who have significant others to deal with during this very special time. 

So here it is....

The Girl's Guide To The World Cup.

- Don't make plans. Any plans. Don't assume that if he's booked time off work it will be to spend time with you. Wrong. Also don't think that he'll only be interested in watching the England matches so you'll only loose him for 3 nights of the tournament. Again, wrong. All matches. Everyday.

- When they don't want to partake in the plans you have already made, don't ask them what's more important 'Football or Me?'.  This month, nobody wants the real answer to that question. 

- Every match is vital. And not just the match. The lead up show is just as crucial and will require just as much silence and lack of distraction. He'll use this time to get half cut on his World Cup beers.

- Never under any circumstances speak when Ian Wright is speaking. Join in abusing Adrian Chiles. 

- Don't think it's OK to judge a team based purely on attractiveness of players. Yes, the Italian side are a pretty bunch but come Saturday night your head needs to switch from "shag" to "kill" mode almost instantly.

- Feign slight interest. And don't just ask dumb arse questions like,"Where's Beckham?". It's painful for everyone....he's not bringing up the time your family dog died is he? No. So don't mention Sir Becks. Not now, not ever.

- Sit back and relish in watching him fill in his Panini sticker book. Got, got, need. 

- Don't mock the roller coaster relationship he will have with Roy Hodgson. He will go from despising him, to worshiping the ground he walks on, to wanting to put his own dad up for adoption and take Roy on instead. Oh and before you ask, Roy Hodgson's the manager. 

- Don't you ever DARE say "It's only a game". 

- Don't pass comment on, what may seem over exaggerated, reactions to a "beautiful pass" or 'wonder goal' or a nut holding tackle. They might be sitting on a sofa in Streatham, but in their heads they are in Rio. Appease them.

- Start drinking beer. Trust me. It will help.

- Begin to understand the importance of replays. Yes this might be the 8th time he's seen this corner be taken,  but seeing it in slow motion, and from that angle will make everything So. Much. Better. 

- Take note of the fact that this is the only occasion he'll be able to multi task. He'll be able to watch the match, join in a twitter debate and have cheeky bet all in unison. Mind. Blown.

- Don't pass judgement when England are 4-0 down with 12 minutes to go and he utters the infamous man line 'Well, we never play well for 90 minutes, I fancy we'll still do them'.

- Don't think that because you got Cameroon in the sweepstake at work, they actually stand a chance. If you didn't pull Brazil, Argentina, Germany or Spain, kiss your quid goodbye. And don't constantly ask how Cameroon are doing. 

- Try & avoiding asking what the offside rule is during the match - here's a diagram I've drawn for you. Learn it. 

- At last but not least - here's this little classic. Today I asked some old mates Dean & Steven what they would most like to add to the list. This was my favourite. By far. 

'Don't attempt to engage us in sexual activity whilst a game is on, when Chile are playing Holland I am much more interested in the rampaging full backs than I am in a half hearted attempt at a blowjob'.

Classic boys. 

Thank god it's only once every four years!

LL x

Social Media

A few weeks I discovered that my personal Twitter account, the one I keep for friends & safe humans, decided to just change my security settings. An iPhone update later and bam! My well crafted, witty one liners are available for the world & it's Mum to see.

 

 

It would also appear that changing it back is near enough impossible. Well impossible is pushing it, but I have the technical capabilities of a frog with no thumbs.

 

 

Whilst attempting to fend off the crazy masses & instantly becoming phobic that the same thing had happened to my Facebook, it suddenly hit me that there are many things wrong with the wonderful world of social media. It sure is a world I enjoy to partake in, in small portions and responsibly (and mainly to let you lot have access to this blog), but there are several things fundamentally amiss with it. And here are some of them; 

 

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The invention of the 'pasty, patchy haired chested, I'm in my Mum's bathroom & the tiles need re-grouting' selfie.

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 The acceptance of saying 'hashtag' in everyday, spoken conversation. See 'Hashtag Awkward' for reference. It sure will be Hashtag Awkward when I #throwmywineoveryou.

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The fact that 'following' people is now socially acceptable. Not a tad stalker like and murder-ey, like it was 10 years ago.

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The need for people to feel obliged to share their involvement in the most mundane of activities. See 'Simon is having breakfast #yum' for reference. Simon is, in fact, a boring bastard. #trueshit.

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 The posting of profound, 'look into the distance with glazed over eyes' statuses. My top 3 so far.

Feeling lost :(
One day...one day you'll realise.
#revengeisabitch - karmas coming to get ya.

(this was the most sinister of the 3 but brilliant nonetheless)

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The commonplace ritual of taking a photo of a paving slab. Putting a sepia tone on it. Calling it arty.

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 Pictures of nail varnish. Daily updates of nail varnish.

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 The feeling of deep down rejection when the girl from primary school, with whom you've had no contact for 15 years, forgets your birthday.

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YOLO. I need go no further.
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 The culture of tagging. Good examples;

Jo was tagged at The Crown & Anchor. Here's a photo of her with a jaegerbomb doing a two-step. Tag. Hmmm. Jo was hoping to call in sick tomorrow due to the bomb induced headache. No such luck.

or

Jenny is with Mark at The Ritzy, Brixton *feeling excited (heart in the eyes smiley)*. Strange, Mark & I were due to go to the cinema one night this week. I don't know Jenny. But I hate her & sure as hell won't be returning his text. (this hasn't actually happened (yet) but you catch my drift.
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The regret hangovers induced by the tagging culture. I DID WHAT?! Yes, yes, you did. Here's 15 photos, 3 tags and an inbox message from your disapproving Aunty Jan, to prove it. 

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 The way people you would rather forget, and are in no way professionally connected to you, are able to see your current employment status. Oh, and you can see that they've seen it.

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Pub conversations that start 'oh my god, did you see her status, what on earth did she mean?' To be followed by a 5 minute conversation about what the girl you all used to work with, and hate because she never made tea, meant by her badly structured rant at her boyfriend.

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 And at last but by no means least, the fact that at a click of a button you can see how skinny you used to be. 15 times over.

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LL x