Isn't it funny how Dementia works? Today has blown me out of the water. He's been lovely. I've had hubby home today :o).

He looked in the cupboards to see what was for lunch and they were empty. What did he do? He took me to the shops. He only wanted dog bags, that's the only thing that was on his list, but he spent a fortune. The thing that made me smile, but inwardly weep, was when he said "it's alright, you can pay me back on Monday"... I haven't bought chocolate biscuits for months. I haven't even bought non chocolate biscuits for months. You'd think he'd put those month worth of biscuits in the trolley... This is why I don't go shopping with hubby. Don't even get me started on the amount of cleaning products that were put in the trolley. I sneaked a Febreeze smelly thing into the trolley, and it's now in the living room scenting the air with a lovely "clean smell" - not that I'm sneaky or anything lol.

We had a laugh and a giggle and he bought a toilet brush stand that holds a toilet roll. This took almost an hour to build - it should have only taken ten minutes, but a trip to the garden shed was needed, and he needed this tool and that tool and "instructions are for wimps"... "Constance, can you read the instructions for me?" Yet it's built. How many toilet brushes do we have in the house? Three. How many toilets do we have? One. Never mind...

I expected to get into trouble after putting the shopping away because I tried to put away the Foreman's grill that I used for the lunch toasties, and being of the shorter variety I struggled to reach the shelf to put it away properly. I left it balanced on the shelf to turn around and get a chair so that I could reach to turn it around. Whilst turned around the bloody thing fell out of the cupboard and snapped in two. I cried, that's how devastated I was. Partly because I loved that Foreman's grill, and partly because hubby was in the kitchen and I knew how much I was going to get shouted at. He didn't. He didn't shout once. Not even when I told him I'd broken a part of the bench. He had a twinkle in his eyes and simply said "and you say I do stupid things...". That was it. I know that I've now brought forward the kitchen refurb, and that I won't be able to say anything because it will be my fault that it's needed, but seriously, there was no shouting what so ever. I could have cried at how lovely he was about it.

I've had a fabby afternoon with @Wanderkirsty on twitter and email writing an article, and the giggles and laughs I've had at this end have been welcomed.

He watched the news tonight (the girls were playing outside so we were in control of the tv zapper - I know, almost unheard of) and it came on about Rolf Harris. Do you know what he said? Now this isn't politically correct but... "there's going to be a bloody good pantomime in their prison this year." I asked him what he meant because I wasn't really listening to the news and he said "with the amount of celebrities in the nick at the moment, the pantomime is going to be bloody brilliant". Speechless. What can you say to that?

Let's see what tomorrow brings when he goes to see his GP about this driving licence renewal thing. He's got me to get him a GP appointment to fill it in because his nurse mentioned that the occupational therapist will be being brought out of the cupboard to see how he's managing - who says he's away with the fairies? GP appointment tommorw, Consultant appointment next week. He's certainly not daft that's for certain.

Ooooh. I almost forgot. I rang the "old people's home" (what is the correct term for this? When hubby has to go into one he'll bring the average age down by decades) and I'd forgotten that it's a friend that is in charge of it. She's all for it, and she was going to go and speak to the residents to see how many of them would like to be visited by one frazzled carer and her dog. This actually put a spring in my step. Hubby thinks it's hilarious. "Why would you even do that?" was his response. I just said that maybe it would be nice for them to get and enjoy what he enjoys with our dog. Now hubby can be short fused and intolerant but he has always, always had patience with older people. He'll hold doors open, he'll carry shopping, he'll smile and say hello, but only if you're old. If you're not, nah - it doesn't matter. Do you know how I know he's happy about me doing this? Because he didn't tell me no :o).

Anyhoo. He's away to his friend's house tonight, so I'm going to go and try some of the new cleaner he "bought" me for the cooker. I might even sneak one of the biscuits from the cupboard seeing as the girls are in bed and there is no witnesses to drop me in it ;o) xx

*Just have to say, just incase you doubted her existence, that @Wanderkirsty really does exist, she's a real person, and we did nothing but laugh - mainly at each other's expense, but if you can't do that with a person you've never "met" on your first phonecall then it doesn't bode well for the next phonecall ;o) xx

It's dangerous when I think, but I have been. I'm needing to get out of the house, I really am, and seeing as I don't work because I'm hubby's carer, I have been pondering on what to do.

On the times hubby is not home I've been feeling lost, and this has been bringing me down, so for a while I've pondered this, and I'm not sure how to go about it, but when I write things down here I tend to get off my behind and do them, so here goes.

There is an "Old people's home" in the town I live in, and I have been thinking about volunteering and taking our dog down. I'm wondering if this would be allowed, or if indeed they'd want me to, but I've seen the way hubby is with the dog, and I thought that maybe they'd like him to visit once a week. I know it's an "Old people's home" (what is the correct term for this?), and there will be different issues for the residents to be there, but surely our little dog visiting might be something that they would enjoy. He's a friendly little thing and would love the attention spent on him by the residents.

I need to do something other than housework, and just thought that for a couple of hours a week it would give me pleasure to see other people enjoy what hubby enjoys with our pet. Please let me know if you think that this is a good idea or not (email/twitter) and whether you think I should bite the bullet by either phoning them or just popping in. Infact, I think I would just pop in because it's not far, but even if they didn't want me to visit with the dog, maybe I could just visit anyway.

It's just a thought. x

...Back in the real world though, I'm really struggling with hubby at the moment. I just don't know where I'm going wrong. The house hunting online really throws me, and puts focus on the finances that we don't have and the fact that I don't want to go anywhere just irritates him. I'm stopping him doing what he wants to do and my place is just to shut up and do as I'm told. Last time this became a big issue, his mother said that I should just go "Ok. On you go." to let him know I wouldn't go, but seriously, after everything we go through it seems a bit pathetic to say if he moves he goes alone. I couldn't do that to him, but then I wouldn't move either.

On a positive note, the sun is promising to shine :o). That means I can rattle through the washing and get some ironing done, and don't forget the cooker. It needs to be cleaned. Ho hum. For all life has it's ups and downs, it can be tedious sometimes. That's the rollercoaster that is Dementia for you.

Hmmmm. After feeding the five thousand tonight (three full plates of pasta for him) and he's still hungry. So out comes the Foreman's grill and toasties are made. That's four slices of bread with cheese and sausage ontop of three full plates of pasta - where is he putting it all?

What is he doing now he can't move because he's so full? You might well ask... He's looking at houses. God, give me strength - please. Why is he doing this? This is what he does every now and again when he's having a bit of a dip. Can we afford another house? No. Can I afford the one we have? I struggle. Do I want to move? No. Will I move? No, I really don't think I will.

If I'm honest, this house researching has me at the point of tipping over the edge, well that and the other things that have me at the point of tipping over the edge, but this is the one that upsets me the most. He looks at houses, has the girls look at houses, at maps where the houses are, at schools on the maps where the houses are and it just unsettles everyone.

We'd never get another mortgage. I'm still in the process of trying to get the mortgage interest thingy to help us with the one we're on. We're not at the point of me having to ask for details, yet, but it'll not be long I don't think. It's always Islands off Scotland that he looks at. I think it's a way of escaping, like he can recluse himself and us with it and he would have to have no interaction with people and he'd be happy. We just can't afford that. If we could we'd have done it years ago. I love the idea of self sufficiency, but not now. At least with an Island if he went wandering he'd stop when he got to water, because although he's good, he hasn't perfected walking on it yet.

I just don't know what to do anymore. I think we're heading back to where we were at the start but when he sees a doctor or nurse he switches into "normal" mode (I had that word) and all is well. Nobody seems to be seeing the little narky things he's doing, or the word swapping, and making allowances for it when they do doesn't help the girls, me or even him.

I hate this Dementia, I really, really do, and it's not a battle or war we're going to win - and it knows it.

I lost the battle with the fridge. I have one in the garage that is a fridge freezer and there is nothing wrong with it, but hubby will not bring it into the house because "how long will it last for?" was the response. So off he's tootled with the old fridge and the "on the way out" microwave to take to the skip, and bring back a shiny, spanking new fridge that we don't need because we have one in the garage. It'll be him that askes me where all the money goes, and complains that I'm constantly penniless, but what is the point?

I've been on the phone to the DWP to ask about the mortgage interest payments and that's in hand, and I've tried to find out about NI contributions but the man hasn't phoned me back yet, and I've spoken to his nurse who is going to try to get an appointment for this week but isn't holding out much hope.

At the moment I feel like I'm on a lifeboat out at sea with no signs of land and my lifejacket fell overboard weeks ago. People saying "isn't he doing well" and "well, he's tired - just tell him not to do things" and GRRRRRRRR. You can't tell him anything, if you do he does the complete opposite whilst sticking his fingers at you. I have to plant a seed of thought or let him think things are his idea, but everyone else says he's fine, so there you go Constantly Trying - you're wrong. Again.

Every time you think things are stabilised this sodding illness comes along and pulls the rug out from under your feet. I don't even know why I lull myself into the false sense of security that things stabilise anymore - I'm intelligent, I'm not stupid, but there I go again starting to feel comfortable and Dementia just pops it's ugly head up and proves me wrong. Again.

On a positive note, Biggey's textiles homework is so good that it's being put up on the wall to show other children how it should be done. Yay :o)

On Sunday hubby noticed a smell in the kitchen. Now I've always had a problem with smelling things due to a problem with the inside of my nose, so unless it's something completely horrific about 2" from my face I struggle to smell it, but today I could. Hubby was almost wretching, but that's because of his stomach problems, and I was looking for dead things in the kitchen.

I had the fridge out, I had it emptied, I had used kitchen cleaner, I used washing up li"cue"uid, I then washed it out with bicarb, put it all back together and put the fridge back. I then had a look at the microwave, which I thought might be the culprit because it's not been working as well as it should be recently. That was scrubbed out, washed, disinfected, cleaned - you get the picture, and still I could smell this smell. If the cooker hadn't been in and out like it has this past week I would have thought that something  had fallen down behind it, but it has and the cooker is on legs and you can see underneath it and nope, nada, zilch. I tided, cleaned, used strong smelling products (due to prior concern about him "not smelling clean") and I could still smell something.

Hubby walked in for his tea and the smell hit him at the door (see what I mean about him having a "super nose"). I put him to good use and sent him about the kitchen to see if he could find the area the smell was coming from. What was the culprit? The fridge was. I absolutely give up, especially as I think that the microwave has seen better days - but to be honest I can live without that.

We have a fridge freezer in the garage, but can I get him to bring it into the house? No. He thinks that it won't work. I think that it will, and it would save us money, money that we just don't have. I'm thinking of ways I could get him to bring it into the house and at least try it, even if it only lasts six months it would give us six months.

I'm working myself into a tizz. The fridge, the lack of money, the driving licence reminder, the national insurance credits (that I don't think he's getting and I'm trying to sort out), the mortgage help (still ongoing), and I just want to sit in a corner with a bottle of wine and have no thoughts about anything, but I can't afford one lol.

Hopefully the dwp will ring me tomorrow so I can sort out the mortgage help, because that would help big style. I need to get rid of the garage we rent because it's £40 a month, and we don't have that much in there, and the things that are in there haven't been used in I don't know how long, so why keep it - it's dead money.

He's decided he wants Louvre doors in the kitchen, and our door (the old boiler cupboard that is going to be made into a cupboard for my cooking things) isn't a normal sized door - can you believe it? I can, nothing else has been simple, so why should the door be any different. We don't need a door. The one we have at the moment is fine. It works. It opens and closes. Job done. Yet it has the vent in it for the old air heating and he wants it changed. He wants the kitchen changed when we've saved up enough money (like that's ever going to happen), so I can't understand doing things now when it would probably be changed when I lose the will to live and a new kitchen is being put in.

It's just lots of little niggley things at the moment that he's oblivious to, or not oblivious to but not thinking beyond the end of his nose - and that's not meant cruelly, but things could be done in order rather than a bit here and there only to be done again at a later date meaning the money spent previously has been wasted.

Deep breath and count to ten me thinkst.

It's been a long day that started with being woken by the dog from over the road. I say dog, I often think it's a little rat - if you caught it out of the corner of your eye then you'd be tempted to hit it with a shovel. It doesn't even bark, it's a howl. It sounds in pain, and at 8am this morning, if I'd gotten hold of it, it would have been.

I got up with hubby skipping down the stairs about ten minutes later. Major caffeine and meds and he seemed in an alright fettle, for a change. He'd decided that today was the day he was going to tile where the cooker stands. After about fifteen minutes of contemplating this, he realised that he wouldn't need the tile cutter or even the little dividy thingies that you put between the tiles to measure the grout. Really? I didn't mention this to you yesterday when I worked out the ratio of tiles to the space underneath the cooker? How remiss of me... (It's alright, I didn't say it out aloud, I just thought it - but my tongue was sore from biting it). "It's alright, we kept the receipt." said I. Along with the receipt for the plastic covering you got for the pipework that we didn't need (again in my head).

So we lugged the cooker out. This cooker must be confused, it's been in and out more times than a game of Hokey Cokey this week. I will say that he made a cracking job of laying the tiles, he really did. Yet he isn't the most patient of individuals because he wasn't waiting the 24 hours needed for the adhesive to dry. He did well though, it was five hours, which suprised me because I thought he'd give it three.

He then decided he'd leave the kitchen in disarray and go and cut his friend's grass, so off he went. In the meantime I managed to superglue myself to Biggey's textiles homework, to the point where I could feel the ribbon melting onto my fingers through her mood board (if she doesn't get a good grade for this I will be having words with the teacher). She's done a very good job of this - from not understanding what a mood board was before telling me she had one to do for tomorrow. Seriously - how can you send children home without telling them what their homework is? Fortunately she has a mother who studied textiles - although stepping back and letting her do it whilst thinking "noooooo - put it here, and draw that there and OH MY GOD just listen to me" had me biting my tongue again lol.

Hubby came home again (thankfully) and nabbed our neighbour to put the cooker back into position - with instructions from me that it was never, ever, ever to be moved from this position ever, ever again. I think that was sufficient, but Heaven knows, if I find it in the garden tomorrow whilst he's relaying the tiles that have moved due the adhesive not being dried correctly I think you'll find me floating down the river with concrete boots on, all of my own volition.

The neighbour is still in the kitchen, four hours later and numerous coffees to boot, and hubby still hasn't had his tea. I haven't even been able to make it, because of neighbour being here. The best of it is, when the neighbour goes home, hubby will come into the living room - where I have decamped to, and go "I didn't think he'd go, I was planning on going to bed early. What's for tea?".

The girls and I watched Dragon's Den tonight. You can't even watch Dragon's Den safely because in came a man who was doing things for Dementia. Big sigh as the girls were watching it. It was a man who set up scenes for hospitals and homes etc with decor from years back. "How does that work mummy?" Middley asked, with Littley asking "does that mean we'll have to do that here?". I explained that usually, as they know, Dementia sufferers are older than daddy, and that the decoration in their homes would have been different to what it is now, and that as their memory for now goes they usually remember things from when they were little and young, and that sitting in a room with furniture and decorations of how their home may have looked like might be comforting for them and they might feel safer. "Ahhh" was the response. "What about daddy then?" Well... because daddy is so young, there isn't as much of a change with the decorations and the technology that there would be with an older person, and if we did that for daddy then it would probably confuse him more. "Ahhhh" was the response. The next thing that was asked was "Is this man making money out of people like daddy?". Yes said I, but the lovely Peter is telling him he'll invest if he gives some of the profits to charity. "Ahhh ok" was the response.

Today's comment of the day? "I don't like the idea of him getting rich because of people like daddy - that's greedy". Out of the mouths of babes.

It's a hard one today. It was up and it was down. He wanted to buy some tiles to put under the cooker so decided we needed to go to the local hardware place. I spoke to his mum who said that she had seen some in the Sally Army place and this changed hubby's mind. We would go there instead. So off we tootled. This place is like an Aladin's cave, and I just knew what was going to happen, but said nothing and breathed deeply.

I like going here. I like having a mooch about. It never ceases to interest me what some people give away, and what some people buy. There is alsorts here, and if you were setting up home you could furnish it and kit it out for about £200, which I think is fabulous. I don't mind buying second hand things. I like the idea of it being recycled and that you save a fortune.

We took an age finding the tiles, because his mother's directions are worse than mine, and they were at the other end of the warehouse than where I thought they would be - but that could be because my directions are worse than hers lol. We bought 12 300cm tiles that match our kitchen (believe it or not) for £5. Bargain :o). We then went and had a bit of a rumage around all of the sections. I like the kitchen bit - well I like it all, but I do like the kitchen bit. Middley saw a tupperware box that was full of silicone bits and bobs, a spatula, ladle etc, and the princely sum of 5p was attached to them all. I got a whole new silicone set for the princely sum of 35p. I was mega happy. I was happy again when looking at salt and pepper shakers because hubby spotted a set that sat on a little tray and it had a mustard pot with the little spoon thingy that goes with it. That was £1. The fact it matches my butter dish was just a delightful bonus.

We then went and had a look around the sitting room area. I knew this was going to happen... There was a lovely painting, in a lovely frame (for a change) and that was it. We were having it. Now it was £20 (and upon further inspection at home, the print itself was selling for £48, without being framed, so it was a bargain), but it meant that there had to be a re-jig of paintings on the wall, and that the hammer would come out, and the tape measure (dear God, when that comes out I shudder). My painting (the only one I have) had to be removed and put up at the top of the stairs. His other painting (purchased there too) had to come down to go where my painting was. New hook thingies had to go up because the one there wouldn't hold it on it's own, it needed a partner - which meant the other one had to come down so the spacing would be correct. He then decided the older painting that's been up for ages needed to be rehung, all whilst I'm trying to make tea...

Anyhoo, back to the shopping experience. Once we'd gotten the tiles, we went to Homebase. Full of people - of course it is, it's a bank holiday weekend (well in England it is, not in Scotland, and we had hopped over the Border so we were in the land of English, so it was hotching there). We had to get side strips for the bench where the cooker is (still smiling), then we needed adhesive for the tiles. "No sweetheart, you need adhesive that goes onto wood, not concrete. It's floorboarded". Then he decided he wanted spacers for the tiles. "Can't we just use matches?" said I. So we got a big bag of spacers. Then he wanted a tile cutter. Lord, I worked out that six tiles would fit the space perfectly, why we're going to be cutting tiles is beyond me... Then we had a wander, and I really, really wish I'd gotten the batter jug (pancake mix batter, not wallpaper lol) but I didn't. Pfft. We went and paid for the items, with the bonus of an extra 15% off and tootled back to the car.

Going to the car they were selling turf at £4 per m2. I asked if that was cheap, because mum had been looking at turfing her garden. "No". Ok. I sillily said that I'd thought it wasn't bad, but the fact I don't know what turf goes for really meant that I didn't know if it was a good price or not. (Must keep mouth shut in future CT) He got himself into such a tizz about this turf being expensive and how stupid I am for not knowing this that he couldn't say s"cue"uare meter right (never mind him not being able to say it, due to this keyboard I can't write it...). It kept coming out as "Smare "cue"ueeter". I smiled when he did this - not because I was laughing at him, but because I liked the way he'd mashed the two words together. I didn't say why I'd smiled, but I'd smiled and don't I know how stupid I am for smiling, because that meant I was laughing at him saying that £4 was not expensive for turf. He stomped back off to the car with me trailing behind.

I had a pain behind my eyeball (like brain freeze - or even a red hot poker, which is funny because they're polar ends of the heat scale to one another, but both fit the description perfectly), so when we were at his mother's she gave me a tablet. Not sure what it was, but it was good lol. She and him had a niggle and I could see him getting wound up, so bravely (and I'm putting it down to this magic tablet) I said "Could you stop now please? You're winding him up and whilst he'll bite his tongue here, when we get home he won't, and my head hurts and it will tip me over the edge". "Precisely" said his dad. Wow.

So since getting home, I've had the "you don't do this, that or the other" drip, drip, dripping from him - it's like Japenese water torture. I've also got to ring the Benefit man on Monday, the Tax man on Monday and the Mortgage people on Monday. Why? I'm not really sure, but I'll just go with it for the moment though.

I have caught him looking at new kitchens tonight. So we've had a coffee in the kitchen and sat discussing what we'd do to the kitchen when we've saved up enough. Why are we doing all of these renovations? To make our house nice for us? Don't be daft. It's so we can sell the house and go and live at the Sea side on an Island off the coast of Scotland. "Yes dear" said I. We'll never get another mortgage - crikey, I struggle with the one I have, and the thought of moving all that way - which pre illness I would have done, I'm not doing now. Yet, for the moment, I'll just go along with the plan. We always seem to go over the same ground when he's having a little set back, and moving house is always it. So for now, I'm just agreeing with him. He hasn't asked me to send off for details of houses yet, which I had to do last time, but we'll see how long before that starts again.

I've been in a bit of a flumix with myself, and I can't pinpoint why, but lots of little niggles have been getting at me. The main reason is that "other hubby" appears to be putting in more of a show and I don't like him. That sounds awful. I love my husband, but I don't like the "the other" one, and that to me makes me awful.

I'm having to switch off a bit more than normal, and then that makes me feel not me - although I don't feel like me anymore or if I do it's not often. I'm listening to the insults again, but it hasn't gotten anywhere near the horrid, horrid things that had his Dr and nurse worried about him at the start, but then I'm worrying if that side is coming back, and I remember just how awful that was and don't want that side coming back. I sound awful saying this, but I can cope with the forgetfullness and the confusion - that is a walk in the park compared to the suggestions of "jump on your head to watch your eyeballs pop", "throw you out so you can live under the bridge and parade the girls infront of you so that they can see you can die of pneumonia like the whore you are" or telling littley "I hope you get run over by a car, and I wouldn't give you a funeral, I'd just throw your body down the garden and watch you rot". That is what I find hard to deal with and I'm desperately hoping that this side isn't coming back again. The meds for it almost killed him. Not literally, but he was sat in the corner of the room like he wasn't there. He could barely move because it was like walking through setting concrete, and to keep us sane means to have him not here - albeit it there was silence.

His reminder from DVLA arrived yesterday and the forms to fill in are confusing. He has Dementia. They know this. It is asked "do you suffer from severe memory loss?" and "do you suffer from confusion?". How do you answer this. I would say "yes" but the medication helps with this. He would say "no" because the medication helps with this. His nurse has already mentioned it to the lady that came out to do practical tests with him to see if he should bother going up to do his driving test when they stopped him from driving last time (I can't remember the name of what she does, and it will come to me once I've pressed "publish".) So that lady is going to be coming out, and his nurse is concerned about his driving. I have days where I'm concerned about his driving and then there are days where I'm not, but with the crabbit side coming out I remember the irrational rage that would be there at the beginning. How would they know about this if you haven't mentioned my concerns?" will be the response from hubby.

I'm constantly being told, again, about my size. How fat I am, how lazy I am etc, etc. Yet last night when he was on the phone to my brother (still not speaking to him) he was tellling him how much weight I'd lost and was doing it in a proud way. Everyone says that he doesn't slag me off to them (which is not what he says because nobody likes me - he has to defend me to everyone, they merely tolerate me and they resent that, only doing it for his sake), and that he is lovely about me and worries about me and tells them how much I do for him and around the house and how I'm tired and this that and the other - but I don't see that. I just get the niggly nasty comments, and that in itself is exhausting. Keeping my mouth shut is even harder.

I must admit on the "cooker night" I didn't hold my tongue. I was sooo cross with him. I wasn't cross with him for being drunk and the other one getting broken because I think that he's had so much taken off him that to say he couldn't go for a drink with his friends would have been wrong, and he doesn't drink often - maybe a can or two occasionally, and he's a young man, and I've never said no before so I'm not going to start now, but I was cross with the way he went on with the new (to us - again) cooker because it was his temper that caused the issues. I tried to explain to him calmly and he wouldn't listen. He got himself higher and higher and just couldn't listen to me. I wasn't making sense to him. Yes I called him "stupid" which is a word I hate and I feel awful having called him that because he is far from stupid, he's anything but. When he gets to the point of how he was there is no talking to him, and that frustrates me, which just frustrates him even more. He was telling me what to do, but it wasn't making any sense and I didn't understand what he wanted and this annoyed him further. We got there in the end though and he "came down" as fast as he went up, but I do recall telling him if he wasn't careful that he would find himself in the oven (such is the size of this thing). 

The problem is he can't say "no". If someone askes him to go and cut their grass he'll go. All of these little things are adding up and whilst he's not doing anything in the house (other than the cooker debarcle) he's doing things elsewhere - not for money, just to be kind. His mother told me that "you should tell him to say no to them, you know he won't say no". My response was "maybe the people asking should have the savvy to stop asking him - it's not like they don't know what's wrong with him". That went down well... she hadn't thought of it from that side of the fence.

I'm also fed up of housework. I just feel like it's all I ever do, that and worry about money. I'm bored. I don't get to use my brain anymore, and whilst I'm not a genius, I'm far from stupid and the jobs I have had have reflected this. I don't have the car at the house because he's always here there and everywhere, and that makes me feel lost. I can go for a walk, which I do, but I can't be bothered with bumping into people. I'm self reclusing myself or that's how I feel. My mother came up yesterday with my sister and whilst my sister and I had a laugh and a half, I was feeling myself get more and more niggled with my mum. Why? No reason at all. She fiddled in my cooker when I asked her not to. I'd spent half an hour that morning cleaning it down with soapy water so I could get the finger prints off it and there she was making finger prints that would have CSI run out of dusting powder. I needed to go and get some deoderant for hubby so she insisted on taking her car. I usually walk it, but yesterday I had the car at the house and yes, it's only five mins in the car but it was ten mins in the car where I would have been on my own. She doesn't understand (I don't think) how I can be up and down, and just because I'm silent doesn't mean I'm in a bad mood or angry, it just means I'm not making a noise. She takes this personally and yesterday I tried to explain it to her. I simply said that I thought that "the wall" was approaching. She asked what "the wall" was. I just said it was something that I hit from time to time. "Why?" was her response. (Bloody "cue"uestions - further niggled.) "It happens when I feel sad mum" was my answer. I don't think I could have simplified it further. "Oh" was her answer to that and bless her she said "and there's nothing I can do to help". "No. There's nothing anyone can do to help". I don't mean to be cruel saying that, but there isn't. If someone had a magic fairy wand that could remove Dementia from my husband, then yes. They could help. But they don't. So they can't. I just need a couple of days being completely selfish and wallowing in my mind before I can dust myself down and come back all singing all dancing, but people don't like the down me. They like the all singing, all dancing me that's loud and funny and life and soul, but that's a hard act to put on all the time, and I selfishly opt out of it for a few days every now and again.

I'm tired most of the time, but I don't think it's physical tiredness - although last night I was asleep before I hit the pillow with the amount of things I did (shiny, shiny house - I did restrain myself from putting extra polish on his chair, because whilst the thought of him sliding off it amused me, it would have been me picking him up off the floor afterwards lol), I think it's all the thinking that I do. I think that awell as using the "wing it" method, I should also employ the "don't think so much" method. Today I did something naughty, and I don't know if I feel any better for it or not. What was the naughty thing that I did? I went back to bed at 8am for an hour. Gosh. I remember when doing something naughty was going to work on an early shift having not been to bed because I'd been out partying. Oh Dementia - how times have changed.

You have no idea of the joy I had when I could use my cooker. I skipped around the kitchen causing mini Earth tremours in the Scottish Borders (but don't tell anyone it was me), whilst the super duper polished table and chairs were still out of the way, and I made a roast dinner. It makes me smile because the girls called it a Sunday roast on a Wednesday.

Hubby came home and ate his tea like a man possessed. It was like he hadn't eaten - again. He had a couple of coffees and then went to inspect the handy work of the kitchen. He hummed and haa'd about the work, not happy with this, not happy with that and then decided that the cooker hadn't been put in the space properly, the gas man will never be allowed back in the house - that sort of thing.

Now it's my fault because after I'd walked the dog I said that I was tired and was thinking of going to bed. Bad move. It was now that he decided that he was going to move the cooker, and of course he would need my help (although "help" was not the word he used). The words used were "you are to come here, do as you're told, not speak, not back chat and not ask any "cue"uestions - you are there to follow my command", but to he used such a nice tone of voice - NOT. "You're a fat, lazy, ugly arsed individual who I can't stand and you will do as you're told" was my favourite I think, closely followed with "What have you done all day? You've done nothing. You've sat on your arse and slept. Blah, blah, blah".

Now there was a metal plate on the back of the cooker that I tried explaining (ignoring the "don't speak" instruction) would jam itself against the bench on pulling it out. Would he listen? No he would not. He pulled and contorted and pulled and then pulled some more until it was jammed so hard it wouldn't move either way. He had pulled it out sufficiently enough to climb onto the bench and slide behind the cooker so that he could push the cooker free. I'm trying to explain that he was ripping the lino and that because of it it was jamming it again. I explained (calmly but losing the will to live, and a bit teary because my lino was being ripped and I could see all sorts of issues going wrong) that the metal plate and the ripped lino had it well and truly wedged and that he was going to break the cooker if he continued. By now there was no reasoning with him. Sheer brute force now took over. He rived and strained and pulled and pushed, he had me under the cooker trying to remove the legs (imminent death if he dropped it). He got what he wanted and with the leg off, the cooker could be dropped and then lifted out (which I know sounds backwards, but it worked).

He'd been flailing about so much behind the cooker that he wasn't paying attention to what he was doing, and he didn't care. It wasn't until I pointed out that I thought that the gas pipe had moved that he paid it any attention. I couldn't smell gas but I could taste it, and then "super nose" noticed that he could smell gas. Now because I couldn't smell it I wasn't sure if he was imagining it or not so I got some fairy li"cue"uid and put a little bit of water into it and then painted it onto the pipe with a pastry brush (are you impressed with my inginuity?) and there it was, bubbles blowing like a bubbles were going out of fashion. By now, any Canary would have dropped of it's Miner's hat, such was the smell of gas. I was scared to do anything, light switch, charge my mobile (the torch is on my phone, which was dead, but I needed it to turn the gas valve off). What time was it? It was 10.50pm. Who had to ring the gas man? That would be me. His wife answered and he was in bed because he was on an early shift this morning. She asked the problem and I said that I could smell gas, he'd been out that afternoon and that I wasn't sure what to do. She woke her husband and sent him to the house. He smelt gas as soon as he entered the kitchen, had a look behind the cooker and saw instantly that hubby had rived the pipe. He knows about hubby's illness and just said that he'd knocked it, and that it could have happened to anyone and that he was going to fix it so securely that we'll never have an electric cooker again. I thanked him, he showed me how to turn off the gas at the mains and bless him, he helped hubby to put the cooker into the space how he wanted it. Hubby went to give him something for coming out so late and he refused. He wouldn't take anything. That kindness had me holding back tears.

The best of it is, after taking the gas man home, hubby walked through the door with a cheeky smirk on his face and a twinkle in his eye - like a mischievious child knowing it was his fault but trying to intercept the telling off before he getting it. Sat in the kitchen with a cup of coffee he said how happy he was with the cooker (I was ready to swing for him, but I'm impressed with my level of self control), but it now made the rest of the kitchen look shabby. "I want a new kitchen before Christmas, Easter at the latest". I looked at him, shook my head and went to bed - I couldn't take any more, I was at tipping point. It was almost 1am.

It seems that "other hubby" is back again. Now I know the kitchen isn't helping and he's worrying himself about the gas pipe and stressing about having a man in to do it (after the shoddy workmen that put the heating in and caused this issue in the first place) but it seems that on the back of this my "other hubby" is home.

I was right the other day when I commented about how I think that the scent of things is what's making him think that I'm not doing any housework. Last night I had a tirade of a rant about how little I'm doing around the house. He said that he could "smell clean, and this house doesn't smell clean". Apparently it smells foosty - although I don't know how because I've upped the scents that I'm using around the house. I actually got told "f**k you" last night which is completely out of character for him. He doesn't like swearing, he thinks it's uncooth, especially in women - "it makes them common", which I must admit I like about him because it shows a gentlemanly attitude. Yet the swearing at me is allowed. I got it again this morning. Yes it was prior to his meds and first coffee of the morning, but it starts in bed and is lasting about twenty minutes and then "could you make me another coffee?" in a polite "my hubby" way.

It's very confusing, and I'm putting it down to him being tired and the cramps keeping him awake, and the fact he can't remember taking the money out of the bank and him worrying about money and the cooker and anything else that I can't think of, but it all seems to be chipping away at him. I think of it like a sculpture making the perfect statue and then an undersculpture (is that even a word) that comes along behind them and chips away at bits until the sculpture (hubby) is not recognisable.

I have the kitchen spick and span and all of the chairs are in the living room (hubby has a thing about chairs that would make Peter Kaye's "Emergency chairs" routine look like small fry). I've got the polish out and I'm dousing them in this polish, to the point where I have a door and windows open and I keep catching my breath. I've bought a Toilet Duck for the bathroom to use instead of a rim block because I think that will have a stronger scent and I think that I'm going to have to get one of those air freshners that spray intermitently so that the scent is in the air constantly. I used to be big on scented candles, but since Biggey knocked wax down the wall, I've been banned from having them, even having to bin a couple of my beautiful candle holders to keep him happy - which was upsetting.

I've ferried him out today so that he's not here when the gas man is because I thought it would be easier for the gas man, but he'll come home tonight and won't be happy with the work - I can see it now. I'm hoping the gas man isn't too much longer because I'm wanting it done before he gets home. I'm also thinking that a proper home cooked tea, from scratch, will cheer him up because he's not a baked potato man for tea - "that's a lunch", and it didn't go down too well last night.

I'm getting wrong for a lot of things at the moment. I think if he doesn't see me do things, he doesn't think they're done, but seriously, other than when I'm writing these ramblings I'm doing housework, and you get to a point when you're just doing it for the sake of it. I have an ironing pile from yesterday that I want done this afternoon, but that's another thing that when it's put away he won't know it's been done. It's a no win situation and one I'm not dealing with properly. I need to put more thought into this one, which is disappointing because I thought I had sussed it out with the smell. Yet using the stronger scents and him complaining about the house smelling foosty, it obviously isn't working - although this polish has almost got me to a state of halucination lol.

If I could knock the cramps in his legs on the head I think that might help. I gave him Tonic water last night because that is supposed to help - but didn't, and tonight I think I'll give him a hot water bottle to see if that helps. Lack of sleep always seems to be what brings "other hubby" to the house, so maybe - just maybe, if I can do something there "other hubby" might let "my hubby" back for a bit - I think it would be as much of a blessed relief for hubby as it would be for me. Fingers crossed x