DAD'S STORY

Dad in his favourite spot in his favourite pub, October 2017.

Just before his 89th birthday.

My previous post about Dad produced some interest and comments, some from people struggling with the same broken Social Care System, some from people who had no idea that things are how they are.  I have therefore republished an old post and added his story.  It makes harrowing reading and highlights how bad the situation is.  The story is by no means complete, much more along the same lines happened but there is enough to make my point.   Read here if you are interested.

A BIRTHDAY AND A NICE LUNCH

It was Hugo's birthday last week.

He is nine years old and still such a handsome boy.

This time last year there were four places to eat in the village.  

Chez Grandma closed at the end of last year.  The owners are hoping to sell it.

La Cabane was a short lived venture.

It was a bar come tapas style restaurant.  They held music evenings and served good food.

They closed last autumn when the owners moved on to other things.

Rumour has it that it has been sold to someone opening some kind of tearoom but there is no sign of any activity yet.

Brody's was immensely successful restaurant.

It closed in mid June and the new owners plan to re-open in September, I believe.

And so now we have just one place to eat in the village.  When we first came here it was called the Hotel Savoie-Villars.  We stayed there for a few nights when we very first moved here and have eaten there frequently over the years.  It has been through several owners with different styles and now it is called L'Auberge.

The owners post a lunchtime menu which changes every day and I check their Facebook page every so often to see if it's something we could fancy.  The evening menu is a-la-carte and sometimes a little too out of the ordinary for our taste but their lunchtime menus are excellent.  Hence we found ourselves eating there one day last week. 

Because they are now the only act in town, the tourist season in full swing and the weather good, they were very busy.  We made a last minute decision to go for lunch and arrived to find it already buzzing.  The waiter/co owner asked if we had reserved and when we said no he sucked in his cheeks, ummed and ahhed and found us a table in the courtyard.  He said we would have a bit of a wait.

He was true to his word and we waited twenty minutes to have our order taken but we were in no rush.  He offered us extra alternatives to the set menu du jour for starter and dessert.

My starter was a delicious gazpacho chilled soup served with anchovies.

Nick had tarama on toasts with a cabbage slaw.

We both had the main course of poached chicken in a curry sauce.

For dessert Nick had apricots roasted with honey and a boule of pistachio ice cream.

My dessert was a pear and apricot clafoutis with ice cream.

 All followed by a delicious espresso coffee.

Total bill for lunch including aperitifs and wine, 65€.

FOUR YEARS ON

Two recent events have reminded me of the awful time in 2022 leading up to my father's death.  One is the death of our friend and neighbour in the UK and the other is this post from the other day.

Dad and his lady friend Sybil came to stay with us in France in 2018.

He had been a widower for sixteen years.

My father was not an easy man to help.  He resisted and resented many of the things we did for him and when it was clear to his close family and friends that dementia and not forgetfulness or just being awkward was the cause we embarked upon the process of obtaining a diagnosis.  That process takes six months (or at least it did then) and before the final assessment he was dead.

With his granddaughter Joanna who he adored, Christmas 2018. 

In February 2020 he announced, to our huge relief, that he would like to leave his home and go into "sheltered housing".  Because of Covid this was not achieved until October that year, after eight months of battling with systems and authorities and getting nowhere, it was the intervention of our then Conservative MP that got him the apartment in the end, the only good thing he did.  I shall be forever grateful for that.

His 90th birthday, November 2018.

Within a year my father was needing more help and that's when the real problems started.  The endless phone calls to social workers, carers, doctors, district nurses, incontinence nurses, and others.  The service they provided was slow, disjointed, cursory, or non existent.  Misinformation or lack of information was a huge problem.  The only people who really cared about him and for him were the young woman we hired as a cleaner and the pharmacy staff.  All the others had little empathy for him or the family desperately trying to get help for him.  The system is most definitely broken.

New Year, January 2019.

During the worst time of it I wrote a blog called "The Accidental Carer" where I documented the insanity of it all.  It saved my sanity.  A few of you may have read some of it.  I have since deleted it as I couldn't bear to read it after his death.

Moving day, October 2020.

September 2021.

His ultimate demise came at the end of a three week stay in our local hospital, a stay that would have been totally unnecessary if the carers and staff at his facility had been doing their jobs properly.  He was not ill when he was admitted, he just needed proper care that would allow him to live his remaining months in comfort and dignity.  The carers had failed him so they passed the buck and sent for an ambulance.  When he was admitted he could walk and talk.  He was kept in hospital so they could address his pressure sores and that he was seriously underweight.  They did neither.   He was not fed or got out of bed and when they finally decided there was nothing more they could do for him and he needed a place in a care home there were none available.  By the time he was discharged he was emaciated, filthy, totally unable to walk and most of his belongings including the holdall of clean clothes, toiletries and electric shaver had all disappeared.  Crucially, they had also lost his dental plate a few days before.  Without that he couldn’t speak properly or express his wishes, eat, or drink from a cup, spout or straw.  He had been moved from one ward to another five times, often late at night, for no benefit to him, so that's probably how his things went missing.  He was trundled to each new place, where none of the nurses knew him, in the same bed, and his belongings were left behind. 

I can just imagine them saying "Have you got everything, Mr Marsden?" as they whisked him away  and, if he was awake, he would have said yes.  Because of his dementia he wouldn't have a clue.  Because there was no formal diagnosis of dementia they would have taken him at his word because, as one of the nurses said, although we had POA, he was deemed to have capacity because dementia was not on his file.  All our words fell on deaf ears.

The hospital social worker referred to him as a “bed blocker”.  

The day of his discharge from hospital, June 2022.

He lasted a week in the care home.  

I always thought we could protect my dad and us from the awful situations that we knew other people had experienced because of the state of Social Care in the UK but I was wrong.  I thought that because we were intelligent, articulate and capable people we could sort things out but the system conspired against us.  Although we had power of attorney for everything we were constantly kept out of the loop because of the lack of the diagnosis of dementia.  We were frustrated and ignored over and over again.

Our then Conservative MP's response to all of the issues I raised with him was one of blame.  He needed to know if I wanted to make a complaint against the hospital, the care company and the housing organisation.  I didn't want to make any complaints, we were all exhausted by the people and processes that failed my dad.  What I really wanted was change.  The MP paid lip service to the government's supposed plans for Social Care but I know from the two recent events mentioned in my first sentence that little or nothing has changed in the last four years.  

In fact, Reform controlled Derbyshire County Council have plans to close and empty five dementia day centres and eight care homes this year.  Some of this has already happened.  

So, good on our new Prime Minister, Andy Burnham, for not only recognising that the way in which we care for our elderly people in the UK is seriously broken but also sounding like he cares about it.  Not like the previous government under whose watch Social Care declined to the state it is in today.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I am in the process of rewriting an old blog post giving Dad's story.  It makes uncomfortable writing and reading.  I will publish a link to it when it's finished.  The point of it is to highlight some of the awful things that happened during his last months that should never happen to anyone.

GÎTE ETIQUETTE

On our recent trip to Normandy we stayed in a gîte that was probably as good if not better than any we had rented before.  It was very well appointed with excellent wifi, comfortable beds, plenty of nice towels, endless hot water and a delightful enclosed back garden perfect for Hugo.  

The outside seating areas were great with comfy chairs and huge table under a canopy housing a bbq or outdoor dining that was in shade all day long and protected from the rain.

However, like most of the gîtes we have rented over the years there were shortfalls in the kitchen equipment!  Over the years we have had to go shopping for random items to enable us to cook and eat during our stay so we have evolved a kit that we take with us each time.  Otherwise we end up buying stuff we already have at home.  It sounds like a lot but in fact it all fits into one bag and saves a lot of running around trying to get essentials.

There is rarely a decent sharp kitchen knife and the chopping board is often rather past its best.  We usually manage with whatever crockery is provided - typically a mismatched selection of old cast-offs - but take our own mugs for a proper mug of tea.  Even though our kit is fairly comprehensive there is occasionally something unexpected that we have to go out and buy.  One gîte we rented had only very delicate crystal wine glasses which we were afraid to use because they were so fragile so we bought some cheap ones.  Another had a fancy espresso machine but nothing other than huge cups to drink it from so we got some cheap espresso cups.  These are all now at home and ready to be included in our "kit".

 In this gîte the tea/coffee mugs were stylish but very impractical.  With the handle at the top of the mug they were unbalanced and prone to tipping over in your hand when full.  Not ideal.

So, we purchased yet another pair of mugs in the supermarket.  They were not expensive and much safer to drink from - no risk of tipping scalding hot liquid over our laps.

We also take a couple of tea towels, a kitchen towel, soap and soap dishes and a couple of cleaning cloths for wiping up.  The ones provided can often be not up to much.

Even now, many gîte owners will charge extra for cleaning and providing bed linen and towels rather than include it in the price.  We always pay the price asked as we're there on holiday and don't want to be lugging bedlinen around and especially not stripping beds and cleaning the house before checking out, which is often by 10.00am.  

It's clear that some people do opt to save money by doing their own cleaning and consequently sometimes the gîte is not found as clean as you would like it to be as a result!  From the owner's point of view, I doubt they want to clean it again if the previous occupants have not paid for the service!  Most gîtes nowadays have a dishwasher so you can be confident about using the crockery etc but we have had a few problems with this in the past.  In one gîte we rented the crockery had been put away unwashed, even though there was a dishwasher!  I could be generous and assume they ran out of time to load the dishwasher but how someone could leave a place like that for the next occupants is baffling.

This gîte was spotlessly clean and the check out time was very civilised at 11.00 am.   Linen and cleaning were included in the price.  With no housework to do I loaded the dishwasher and left it running after we had breakfast and packed up in a very leisurely fashion.

Most gîte owners require a breakage deposit of anything up to 200€ in the form of a cheque.  This is then returned to you on departure and we have yet to have an owner actually go around the house and check for thefts or breakages.  On one occasion the friends staying with us in the gîte managed to break two plastic garden chairs which we confessed about.  The owner deducted an amount way over the odds from the deposit to pay for new ones so we decided that if ever we broke anything again we would go out and buy replacements and get our whole deposit back.  This time we had forgotten to take our French cheque book so had to go running around for cash early on our first day but then the owner didn't ask us for it - we must have looked like honest and responsible people!

OUR GÎTE KIT

chopping board, sharp knife, colander, tea mugs, oven gloves, 

a spatula and slotted spoon

a small bottle of cooking oil, salt and pepper, jar of mixed herbs

soap and soap dishes, one for the bathroom, one for the kitchen

two tea towels, two multipurpose (microfibre) cleaning cloths, kitchen hand towel

a few bin bags, enough dishwasher tablets for each day, small bottle of washing up liquid, rubber gloves, part used bottle of all purpose cleaning spray

coffee filter papers and coffee, or pods, depending on what machine is provided, tea bags

a plug in night light (many rural gîtes are in places where the darkness is total at night and getting to the bathroom can be a challenge)

corkscrew and bottle stoppers, part used rolls of cling film and kitchen paper, a few plastic bags

occasionally the two spare wine glasses and espresso cups, usually if the gîte is a low priced rural one

cloth/towelling doormat (this may surprise you but when you have a dog you need to be able to minimise the effect of muddy paws and there is rarely anything suitable provided)

All of the above fits into one shopping bag and we rarely need all of it - but saves a lot of time in hunting for sensibly priced stuff in local supermarkets if it is.  We always need some of it!  It is all obviously on top of all your personal items, clothes, toiletries and electrics.  

To those who think we take everything but the kitchen sink, I would have to say that we sometimes take that as well.........or at least a small washing up bowl, usually packed with groceries!

HONFLEUR, DAY THREE.

 

On day three, the last day of our little holiday, we went on a road trip and took Hugo with us.  After a slow morning start and Hugo’s usual walk we headed south to Pont-L’Évêque, the home of the famous cheese.

We remembered, many, many years ago, going on a day trip to London and having a guided tour by our friend Gerry, who knew London like the back of his hand.  A Derbyshire lad born and bred, he had been a student in London in the 1970’s and earned a bit of pocket money by leading tourists around the principal landmarks.  Later in life he gave up his teaching career to make his passion for tour guiding his main source of income and a great job he does too.

One of the places he took us to was a cheesemonger in Old Bond Street.  The shop was supplier of cheese, hams and wines to Buckingham Palace and we learned that the late Queen Elizabeth’s favourite cheeses were Livarot and Pont-L’Évêque, both fairly pungent cheeses from Normandy.

We had intended not to fall into the tourist lunch trap this time, being so far over €160 down for very disappointing food.  We thought we’d get a sandwich from the boulangerie then pick up supplies on the way home to cook our own dinner.  That’s when we stumbled across a small bar doing snack lunches and we went inside, with Hugo.  Even large dogs are welcomed in most French restaurants and these days Hugo is incredibly well behaved.  On top of that, standard poodles are not at all common in France, very much a novelty and he attracts much fuss and attention from everyone including restaurant staff.  He politely enjoyed a tickling of his topknot by the waitress while our orders were being taken.

And so, we had one of our favourites, croque monsieur, with a topping of Pont-L’Évêque cheese, excellent chips and salad for lunch.  With a refreshing panaché (shandy) and delicious coffee the total bill was €30.  Our faith in French restaurants was restored.  You just have to know where to go and how to avoid the tourist rip-off traps.

Back at the gîte, Nick cooked us a delicious pork and mushroom dish with fresh vegetables, a decent red wine to go with it, followed by our duo of local cheeses and a small glass of calvados, the other specialty of the region.  That’s how we spent our third and last evening, under the canopy for the bbq, listening to the pitter-patter of very welcome rain.

We played another game of Scrabble and this time Nick won, by a narrow margin.  We have reinstated our “championship du monde” where we have kept the score cards of all the games played all over Europe on our numerous holidays over decades.  It makes a good reminiscing read…."do you remember that time when you beat me at Scrabble on the campsite near San Gimignano?"  We now use French rules, where French and English words can be played.

The next day we had a good run back home and arrived soon enough to collect Yvonne from the cattery a day early.  She settled back in straight away.

The house was very warm inside.  We opened all the doors and windows to let in some air and watched as the sky grew greyer and rain began to fall.  The temperature dropped by about fifteen degrees and we stood in the doorway to feel the cool air and listen to the rain.  What a joy that was after weeks and weeks of endless hot weather.

HONFLEUR, DAYS ONE AND TWO.

Honfleur is a beautiful town with its art galleries, delicatessen shops and harbour full of boats.

It’s not so great on a roasting hot day when it’s rammed with visitors.

On day one of our three day holiday (four nights in a gîte) we headed into town completely forgetting that it was a French bank holiday (14th July).  We queued briefly for a non existent parking spot, thought better of it and turned around.   The whole of Paris and Rouen had clearly gone to the coast for the day.  The French do love a day by the seaside.

On the way back to the gîte we stopped at an American burger joint style of restaurant for lunch instead.  The starter was good (onion tart) but the main course (chicken caesar salad) not so good due to the tough and chewy bits of chicken.  The pichet of rosé was rather sour and the ice cream liegeois desserts (café for him, chocolate for me) didn’t tickle our tastebuds the way we had hoped.  The bill was over €80.  Oh well, you expect to pay a bit extra when you’re on holiday, we thought.

On day two of our three-daybreak we went back to Honfleur for a second attempt and were pleased to find a parking space straight away.  Knowing it would be hot and busy we left Hugo in the gîte with the back door to the enclosed garden open, thinking that having had a good walk early morning he could settle down with the ability to go outside if he needed to.

First impressions were good,  a delicious coffee in a café near the harbour was sensibly priced.  After that we had a wander around the delightful streets then explored the harbour for a restaurant for lunch.  We settled on one where we could enjoy the view of the boats under a shady canopy and placed our order.  

A pichet of ordinary (but at least drinkable) rosé was outrageously priced but we thought “what the heck, we’re on holiday”.  The starter we both ordered, oeufs en cocotte with Pont Leveque cheese could have been great if it hadn’t been overcooked.  It was impossible to dip the toast into the eggs because they were rock solid but still, it was tasty.

That’s the point at which things went seriously downhill.

I checked my phone and spotted a message from the gîte owner to say that Hugo had been “crying” since we left that morning.  That meant he was howling.  She was around every morning doing the cleaning and changeovers for the three separate gîtes on the plot.

It was too late to cancel our main course so we wolfed it down as fast as possible.  I had ordered fish and chips, Nick moules à la crème.  My fish turned out to be a dry, tasteless portion of supermarket battered fish with a pile of greasy, limp chips and a small spoonful of tartare sauce that looked like it came from a jar. So much for the restaurant’s claim that everything was “fait maison”.  Nick’s moules were lacking in herbs and garlic, slathered in cream that was grey.  Total bill €85.  It was probably, all in all, the worst meal for that amount of money we have ever had in France.  Plus €12 car parking.

We rushed back to the gîte, which was less than a ten minute drive away and parked at the bottom of the drive.  We thought that as soon as he heard the car, Hugo would stop howling so I crept towards the door to have a listen.  The poor dog was howling at the top of his lungs, that penetrating, wolf like piercing howl that a dogs do so well.  We were mortified.

We went on a drive around the area, taking him with us.  We explored the lovely little towns and villages, with their timber framed, thatch roofed cottages and the very grand big houses presumably the homes of the more well heeled.  It definitely is a lovely part of France.

We have not fallen out with Honfleur and will be back!

Later in the evening, back at the gîte, Nick cooked us a delicious meal of bolognaise style beef with vegetables, total cost probably about €15 maximum including a nice bottle of Montagne St Emilion.  We played Scrabble (I won) and decided we would definitely come back to Honfleur but more out of season next time.  That way we could explore the streets more comfortably, we could bring Hugo with us, and we would not be seduced by the promise of a lunch overlooking the harbour into paying tourist prices for a pretty grim meal.

FIRST IMPRESSIONS

We are on our way back from the UK and have rented a gîte near Honfleur for a few days.

The journey was typically gruelling on the UK side.  We were up at 4.30am to pack up and set off at 6.00 and by then the motorways were already busy, at least fifty percent of the traffic being lorries or vans in a hurry to get to work on a Monday morning.  After five hours of relentlessly hard driving we arrived at the tunnel to find the car park packed.  This has led us to another observation about the non benefits of Brexit.

At both terminals, i.e. Calais and Folkestone, there have been massive changes to the infrastructure.  Not the rolling stock, which is the same as when the tunnel first opened thirty years ago, but to the car parking and buildings.  This is to provide for all the checking and stamping of passports, the biometrics (fingerprints and photos) necessary since Brexit.  No wonder our tickets cost three times as much as before; the money for all this has to come from somewhere.  Pre Brexit (PB) we could buy a frequent travellers ticket, paid for in advance it provided ten crossings at around £50 each, so a round trip for £100.  It now costs a minimum of £300 per round trip, depending on the time of travel.

And yet, although the terminal was rammed with people both ways, the trains were leaving less than full, because even with all this new infrastructure and effort that’s gone into shuffling carfuls of passengers around, the customs officers were not fast enough to get people through and onto the trains on time.  Timings were all over the place and basically any car that was ready was being waved through into the endless queue for passport control.

All so pointless, too, thanks to Brexit and the electorate’s paranoia about foreigners. 

Anyway, first impressions of the gîte are that it’s one of the best we have ever had.  Nicely furnished, comfortable and with a perfect private enclosed garden for Hugo.  We’re looking forward to exploring Honfleur itself later today.