Since then there's been ED's birthday, which forced us to remember previous birthdays and be aware of her continuing decline. This was enough, but other things came along as well.

Her birthday is the anniversary of the crash at the local air show, when a small plane came down on a line of cars at traffic lights, about a mile from my house. I didn't see it as I was with ED, but most of my family did and most of the town and it's all been subject to a lot of commemorative events and what have you, which is entirely appropriate, but cast a further layer of gloom over the idea of a celebratory day for ED.

We decided to invite family round on the Sunday, the day before her birthday, and the care home said they'd bring her up to ours, but the van broke down and this happened and that and by the time she got here it had started to rain and my sister had had to go and get her horses in and then ED slid down in her wheelchair and we couldn't get her straightened up and it was all fucking shit. Real mega-awful. Though bits of it before ED arrived were OK, apart from me worrying about where she was, it was nice to have the family round and no bickering, even my brother and sister playing nice

So yesterday, her actual birthday, YD and I went to the care home but ED just slept, more or less all day, sometimes snoring pretty loudly. I couldn't leave her - the only place I could find any peace was sitting with her so I just did that until the evening when the district nurse came round to sort out the fucked up catheter, yet again. All the ancillary bits of the NHS have been stripped to the bone or sold off and it's fucking shit - ED is waiting for: urology (to authorise the removal of the catheter as it's endlessly not working and the care home are happy to deal with adult nappies), wheelchair services (to sort out the new tilting wheelchair and how to position her in it - she's too low for the head-rest as she's only 5'1" and always looks uncomfortable), Speech and Language - who are the ones who deal with the swallowing, the feeding tube and the communication, and Physiotherapy, as she was having splints on her legs to stop them curling in but they gave her blisters, and they might know about the chair and give us some exercises to help her keep her arms from seizing up, and now gynaecology, as SIL suddenly remembered she'd had an IUD fitted at some point, which turned out to be 2008 and - well, that's how it is, on and on, too much, too much for her and too much for me. And the horrid suspicion that she's at the bottom of the list of priorities, which they must have, now they don't have any money. My darling, lovely daughter. She's 38 now.

So I know I have to look after myself to keep going through the rocky times ahead and I have been. I've been swimming in the sea again, now the wind has died down a bit and I'm doing the Headspace thing - though that's a mixed blessing as it opens you up to the feelings you're suppressing - me, I mean, not you - but I think it's still calming. Eating well, lots of fruit and veg and little in the way of shite. Painting and walking and yoga.

And on Thursday we're off to Shambala, which I could do without to be honest, but too late to back out now. It's the drive that puts me off, though it's only 140 miles, back on the fucking M25, which I haven't missed at all. Sister Sledge are headlining, which tells you what a tiny festival it is - I don't know if they're still good - some of the old bands are still fab and others (The Who) should pack it in. Still, we'll do singing and maybe learn the Thriller dance and who knows what else. It's nice once you're there.

Thank you so much for your comments and notes. I need them, I really do, even if they're just a kiss or a hug, it means a lot. And if there's anything you need from me, let me know and I'll do my best.

Grateful for: the sea, the sea; YD getting all the festival prep done so I only have to take my clothes and bedding; the wind dying down at last; the staff at the care home; painting

Laters xxxxx