My niece is brilliant at the moment. So much so that I want to bottle her up and keep her as she is forever. At five and a half, she’s a bundle of fun and a chatterbox sponge that just soaks up information. And she’s currently fast asleep in my spare bedroom.

I don’t like children as a rule. They irritate me, make too much noise and mess, and they either don’t listen or they answer back when they do. Over the years I’ve come to realise that it’s not the children I dislike so much, well it is, but it’s the parents of unruly chimps that are the main focus of my ire. Class isn’t an issue either and I don’t discriminate between the offspring of middle class yummy mummies any more that I would dolescum breeders those parents at the lower end of the income scale; I just find them all generally disagreeable.

It’s like dogs and cats. I have my little pooch, who I love, and I’ve had cats that I have absolutely adored. I can see myself always having a pet of dog or cat persuasion, but when it comes to other people’s pets, I’m not that fussed. So when somebody thinks it’s appropriate to send me e-mails with pictures of cute cats in them, I tend to delete unread.

This post went missing for a couple of days between starting it and rediscovering it just now. Needless to say, my niece did come knocking on the door in the small hours. I fed her some Calpol and she came to bed with me and the little dog. She wriggles. He snores. They both have a tendency to kick me in the face while they’re asleep. It’s not the best night’s sleep imaginable, but I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

I’d like to have her as my own, but her mum would object and so would she. When all is said and done, and despite my sister’s lack of patience with her, they adore each other. But I’ve got Nick Junior!!! And an iPad!!!! It just doesn’t compete with that unbreakable bond between them.

Mother
Connie, my mum, is in a bad way. She’s getting on and bits are wearing out: she has a pacemaker; she’s diabetic; hypothyroid; arthritic. A total knee replacement a eighteen months ago never brought any relief to the pain she was suffering in the joint, she complained that it was even worse than before the surgery. She insisted repeatedly that it wasn’t right with the surgeon, who sent her for physio, she pleaded for help from her GP (who could only refer her back to the hospital). The climax of her troubles has been emergency admission to hospital after the whole leg became swollen this week. The joint is infected. It may have been infected since the very beginning. The joint will probably have to be replaced, once the infection is cleared, but if this isn’t possible, the options are: remove the joint and fuse the leg, or amputate above the knee. I’m certain that we won’t be heading for a worst case scenario, but it’s still extremely concerning.

That aside, her stay in hospital has provided some entertainment. The use of morphine sent her off her tits last night and it transpires that she doesn’t even recall me being there. I was there all right. Oh yes, I was there while she tried to talk to Rocky, spoke to people in empty beds, told me that the beds were moving towards her and repeatedly asked her neighbouring patients when they were having their surgery, despite them all being in a holding area awaiting discharge or onward movement for further treatment. Unfortunately, I wasn’t there when she had a fight with two nurses who were trying to put her on a commode, because that would’ve rounded off a perfect day for me. “My husband is here, he’ll stop you. What are you doing to me?? How dare you!” It’s fortunate that staff were understanding of her drug intake, so they were firm, but fair.

I hope she’s going to be alright after all this. I don’t mind the prospect of looking after my parents, they’ve looked after me long enough, but the prospect of her losing her independence fills me with dread.

Children, look after your parents, give them a worry free and happy life, insist that they take care of themselves. What the fuck am I on about? I’ve never been a cause of worry for my folks. I was a lovely child who brought them happiness and pride. I’ve always insisted that they take better care of themselves. And look at how they repay me, by falling apart in front of my eyes. I think I need to write a letter of complaint to whoever’s in charge.