Good intentions and unintentional interruptions

When I started writing this blog I resolved to write something every day.

The purpose was to see whether I could manage to write anything that people were vaguely interested in.  Write in a style that was legible, readable and even slightly entertaining.  

And to test myself to see whether I can write regularly while retaining those aims. 

Clearly in the last week, I've failed miserably in that task.  Hopefully, you'll understand why and, over time, the events of the week have given me a raft of material, both sad and humorous, serious and bizarre, for future blog posts.

Last Sunday was J's birthday.

We were going out to dinner, so arrived an hour before our reservation at my father's sheltered bungalow development.

Unable to get an answer when ringing his doorbell we let ourselves in and found him in bed.

"I didn't want to bother you on J's birthday," he said.  Clearly he'd fallen.  Blood covered his bedroom carpet and his bedding.  He was lucid, but only just and was very unsteady on his feet.

The cause of all of this is for another day, suffice it to say being married to a doctor is a blessing in these circumstances.  So too is being British where our fantastic National Health Service becomes so precious.  And so our week's journey began.

A stay in hospital, periods of mania, paranoia and anger followed for grandad.  

For us? Sleepless nights.  Passing the children from pillar to post.  Grabbing food for us all when we could.  Early morning phone calls.  Rushed visits to the hospital.  More money spent on hospital parking and additional childcare than I dare add up.  

We end the week with grandad back to normal.  Grumpy.  Deaf.  But grandad again, which is good.

Thanks to everyone for their good wishes sent over social media.

Hopefully we will be back to normal next week.  And I shall be back to testing my writing abilities.