Friday 16th October 2026

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Nine times out of ten, we always have a Sunday roast, and this particular Sunday was no different.

I had prepared the vegetables and the meat was slowly cooking away in the oven. Hubby was busy in the craft room, sorting out his tools and putting up some shelves, so today the Sunday roast was my job.

Now, I have been making Sunday roasts for over 40 years. Forty years! You would think I should have this down to a fine art by now. But since dementia came along, I have struggled with bringing everything together at the same time, so hubby usually assists me.

But today, I was on my own.

Oh my goodness… I got myself into a right old pickle!

The meat was doing fine because, thankfully, I had remembered to get it out of the oven. The potatoes were cooking away nicely, but the vegetables were another story altogether… they were still sitting in cold water!

Then, just as the potatoes were fully boiled and ready for mashing, I realised I hadn’t even turned the vegetables on.

Panic!

I quickly turned the potatoes off before they turned into a bowl of mush, while simultaneously realising the Yorkshire puddings weren’t far off being ready either.

My nice, calm kitchen had suddenly turned into complete bedlam.

I was rushing around, trying to remember what needed doing next, what was already cooking and what I had completely forgotten about. I was stressed, flustered and, quite honestly, beginning to wonder if we were ever actually going to get this roast onto the plates!

The kitchen is one of those places where I really struggle being on my own now. There are just too many things happening at once. Timings, pans, ovens, vegetables, potatoes, gravy… my brain doesn’t seem to cope with having so many things to remember and organise at the same time.

Cooking, which was once such an ordinary part of life, can now feel like a minefield of disasters waiting to happen.

And then came the potatoes.

All I had to do was mash them.

Simple, right?

Apparently not.

Instead of adding a sensible little pinch of salt and pepper, I somehow managed to shake a huge amount of pepper into the potatoes.

What on earth was my brain thinking?

I stood there looking at the potatoes, which were now wearing what can only be described as a blanket of pepper, and attempted to rescue them. After a bit of scraping, I hoped I had managed to get away with yet another disaster.

Eventually, the plate of food was served.

And by this point, I couldn’t have been more stressed or upset with myself.

The meat was cooked perfectly, thank goodness!

The vegetables was definitely al dente… and that’s being kind.

The Yorkshire puddings were quite hard, very crispy and a rather deep, rich brown colour.

And the potatoes?

Well, they were passable… if you happen to like extra pepper!

Thankfully, the gravy was good.

In fact, you needed plenty of it to cover up the evidence of my disastrous Sunday roast!

But afterwards, when I thought about it, I realised something.

To anyone else, this was just a Sunday roast. A meal that millions of people probably make without giving it a second thought.

For me, it was a reminder of how much dementia can change the simplest things.

It wasn’t that I didn’t know how to cook a roast. I’ve been doing it for over 40 years. It was trying to remember all the different things that needed doing, keeping track of timings and switching between tasks that completely overwhelmed me.

And maybe that’s something people don’t always understand about dementia.

It’s not always about forgetting what to do.

Sometimes you know exactly what you’re supposed to be doing, but your brain just can’t seem to organise everything together in the way it once did.

So, was it the best Sunday roast we’ve ever had?

Absolutely not!

Did we eat it?

Yes!

Did anyone go hungry?

No!

And most importantly, I survived the Sunday roast challenge.

Although next Sunday, I think hubby might be back on kitchen duty!

And just in case you’re wondering…

There was plenty of gravy!

Wednesday 14th October 2026

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Bike Ride With a Difference…

Oh my word, I can’t remember exactly when I did this interview, but what I do remember is that it was a glorious day!

I had heard about a local project called A Lifetime of Wisdom run by Adam and Victoria and thought I would get in touch to see if they would be interested in meeting little old me and perhaps capturing some of my life story, along with raising awareness about living with early-onset Alzheimer’s.

The idea behind A Lifetime of Wisdom began with Adam’s family member, his Auntie Jeanette. As her mobility declined, she eventually moved into a care home, where it became clear just how isolating life became without regular connection, conversation and opportunities.

With a passion for creating content and, importantly, listening to people’s stories, the idea of combining trishaw rides with real conversations was born.

A Lifetime of Wisdom brings people together, giving them the opportunity to get out, enjoy the fresh air and talk about their lives while their stories are captured along the way.

And that’s where I came in, I was given the opportunity to share my story.

It was such a lovely experience. I climbed aboard the trishaw and off we went, chatting away as though we had known each other for ages. We talked about my childhood, my family, the jobs I’ve had, my experiences throughout life and, of course, my diagnosis of early-onset Alzheimer’s.

I really enjoyed talking about my life before dementia, but I also enjoyed talking about life with dementia. My diagnosis is part of my story, but it certainly isn’t the whole story.

There was something rather special about telling my story while being gently driven around on a trishaw. It was relaxed, informal and, most importantly, great fun. There was no feeling of being interviewed under bright lights with someone firing questions at me, it was simply a conversation while enjoying a beautiful sunny day outdoors in the fresh air.

And honestly… who doesn’t enjoy being driven around in a trishaw?

It was wonderful creating my story with Adam and Victoria they are such lovely people. This particular ride was extra special because it created more than just a video, it has created a conversational memory.

Sometimes we can become so focused on what people can no longer do that we forget about everything they can still share.

Our stories don’t disappear because we have dementia or we are simply getting older. Our memories, experiences, personalities, humour and the life we have lived is still part of who we are.

Projects like A Lifetime of Wisdom give people the opportunity to be heard, to connect and to share those stories, and I think that is something really special. So a big shout out to Lifetime of Wisdom

You can find out more about A Lifetime of Wisdom and watch the other stories they have created

Click the link below ⬇️

https://alifetimeofwisdom.co.uk

And if you fancy coming along for my trishaw ride, you can watch my story

Click the link below ⬇️

Watch my A Lifetime of Wisdom story

It was great fun, completely relaxed, and a wonderful way to spend a glorious day.

And yes… I would definitely get back on that trishaw again!

Monday 12th October 2026

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Living with dementia, routine can be really important to me. It gives my brain something familiar to hold on to and helps me know what I’m doing and where I’m supposed to be. So when that routine is broken for a few days, it can take me a while to pick it back up again.

Coming home from our three days in Switzerland, I found myself feeling quite strange. I was tired, both physically and mentally, but I was also still on a high from such an exciting and positive experience. My head was full of everything that had happened, the people I had met, the conversations I had had and the opportunity to share my story. It had been amazing, but it was also a lot for my brain to process.

And then I came home to a very busy week.

There was visiting my dad, which is always emotional at the moment, especially with everything that has happened around his care. Then came two days of back-to-back meetings, a radio interview and, in between all of that, I was still chasing complaints and trying to get answers about the lack of care my dad received in the care home.

It felt like my brain barely had time to catch up with one thing before something else was happening.

I found myself feeling lost and unable to function properly. Simple things seemed harder than they normally would. I knew what I wanted to do, but somehow getting my brain to organise it all felt like a completely different matter.

I think I have been chasing myself coming backwards this week, if that’s even the right saying!

There is also something strange about coming down from such a big experience. Switzerland was exciting, exhausting and emotional, and I came home feeling proud and happy about what I had achieved. Then suddenly I was back in everyday life, with appointments, responsibilities, my dad and all the things that still need sorting.

Sometimes I think people see the exciting things I get involved in and perhaps imagine that because I manage to do them, everything is easy for me.

Well I can tell you It isn’t.

I can do amazing things. I can travel, speak about dementia, sit in meetings, do radio interviews and share my story. But that doesn’t mean my brain doesn’t pay the price afterwards.

Sometimes I need time to recover.

Sometimes I need quiet.

And sometimes I simply need to get back to the things that make my world feel familiar again.

So, if I’m honest, I’m rather glad that week is over.

This week is going to be a quieter one. I need to slow everything down, get back to my usual routine, spend some time outdoors, walk with the dogs and give my brain a chance to settle. Hopefully, little by little, I’ll start feeling a bit more like myself again.

Because at the moment, I feel like I’ve been stuck on a constant spin cycle, round and round, trying to keep up with everything, while my brain is desperately looking for the stop button!

Living with dementia means I’ve had to learn to listen to my brain more. I’m still learning, actually.

I’m learning that after the highs, there can be a bit of a wobble. I’m learning that needing time to reset isn’t failure. And I’m learning that sometimes the best thing I can do is stop trying to do everything and simply give myself permission to breathe.

So this week, I’m pressing pause.

Back to routine.

Back to familiar things.

Back to a slower pace.

And hopefully, back to feeling a little more human again.

Friday 9th October 2026

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Art has become so much more than a hobby for me, it’s an outlet, a place of calm, and a way of making sense of life while living with dementia.

When my head is whizzing with confusion, picking up a paintbrush changes everything. Collecting a little paint and placing it onto a blank sheet of paper takes me somewhere quieter. In that moment, I’m not worrying about what’s for lunch, why I forgot to put the washing on, or whether I’ve missed a 10am meeting. I can simply be me.

So when I came across the Winsor & Newton Postcard Project, inviting artists from around the world to create a postcard using watercolours, I jumped at the chance.

Then my confidence disappeared.

When the pack arrived, I put it to one side. I kept wondering, Am I good enough? For days I picked it up, read the rules, and put it back down again.

Eventually I thought, why not?

Does it really matter if my painting isn’t perfect? At least I’ll have been brave enough to try.

So I painted my postcard, registered it, and posted it off. If I’m honest, I expected it to get lost in the post or disappear without a trace.

A few days later, an email arrived. They had received my artwork, and it was now being displayed in the online gallery alongside artists from across the globe.

It brought smile to my face.

I’m so glad I didn’t let self-doubt win, because sometimes the most important thing isn’t creating something perfect, it’s having the courage to create at all.

I have just learned that there will be a showcase featuring thousands of postcards from the global Art Mail community hung on the walls of the Saatch Gallery in London from

1st – 11th October, 2026

After the exhibitions postcards will be auctioned in support of Hospital Rooms, a charity Windsor & Newton proudly support.

Wednesday 7th October 2026

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After returning to the hotel late Thursday afternoon, I was on a real high after delivering my story and having it so warmly received. I was also absolutely exhausted, both physically and mentally, so it was time to chill for a while before heading out for something to eat.

We found a lovely bar right at the water’s edge that served food, and decided it would be the perfect place to spend our last evening in Lucerne.

And it really was perfect.

The food was lovely, the view was beautiful, and being beside the water always seems to bring me a feeling of calm. After such a busy few days, it was just what I needed.

Once we had finished eating, it was time to retreat back to the hotel. Hubby managed to get good old Coronation Street on his iPad for me to watch, which felt like a little bit of home while we were so far away.

Then it was time to retire to bed.

I had something else planned for tomorrow.

Friday was our last day, and we were up early. We decided I needed to get out for a walk before breakfast because my head really wasn’t functioning properly. I’d already managed to put my dress on back to front, which probably says everything!

I was feeling emotional too. I was tired, and I think the enormity of everything we had experienced over the last few days was finally catching up with me.

Hubby made sure I was okay before we stepped out of the hotel.

The morning air was cool as the sun was just beginning to rise over the mountains, reflecting the buildings and sunlight onto the still waters.

Lucerne really is a stunning place.

We have definitely fallen in love with Switzerland. There is something about it that feels so calm and peaceful, and I think I will always remember that feeling.

A few photographs later, it was time to head back to the hotel for breakfast.

I wasn’t feeling as nervous this morning, so I managed some toast, bacon and a hash brown.

Now that’s a good breakfast for me! 😊

After breakfast, we headed back to our room to finish packing before meeting Sandra from Roche at 9.30am.

Sandra greeted us and took one look at me.

“Are you okay, Gail?”

“Yes, I’m just tired. I’ll be fine.”

“Only if you’re sure. We can cancel today if you need to.”

“No, no, I’ll be fine. One last push and it will all be done.”

We chatted in the car about Roche, Switzerland and just how grateful we have been for this incredible opportunity.

Before we knew it, we were back at Roche.

Today we were escorted to a recording room, where I would be asked questions and answer them while the media team recorded everything.

They have such a professional set-up. In fact, everything we have experienced and seen at Roche has been so incredibly professional, and we have felt so welcomed throughout our time there.

The whole interview took around an hour, and then it was time for lunch.

We had lunch at Roche with Sandra and the recording team, which was lovely. Then came the part I knew was coming…

Time to say our goodbyes.

There were hugs, handshakes and lots of thank yous before we climbed into our taxi to take us back to Zurich airport.

I was exhausted.

I was happy.

I was sad to be leaving.

But at the same time, I couldn’t wait to get home.

As we boarded the plane, I looked back one last time at Switzerland.

What an incredible few days it had been.

So many very special memories made.

I still can’t quite believe it has happened.

From worrying about getting on that plane in the first place, to standing in Switzerland and sharing my story alongside some incredibly knowledgeable and inspiring people, it has been an experience I will never forget.

I went to Switzerland with my worries, my anxiety and my little coping strategies packed into my suitcase.

I came home with memories, new experiences, new friendships and a huge sense of pride.

Sometimes, you just have to take that one last push.

And I’m so glad I did.

Monday 5th October 2026

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A good few months ago, I was approached by Roche Diagnostics and invited to attend their Alzheimer’s Awareness Week in Switzerland, where I would be speaking alongside some incredibly knowledgeable people in the world of Alzheimer’s research and diagnosis.

It was one of those pinch me moments.

I honestly couldn’t quite understand why they wanted “little old me”

After careful thought, and with a very helpful neighbour kindly offering to look after Toby and Sooty, hubby and I accepted their very kind invitation.

Roche believe that an early and accurate diagnosis of Alzheimer’s disease remains a significant global challenge. Many people experiencing symptoms are still not diagnosed, and for those who do receive a diagnosis, the process can sometimes take years.

I know only too well how important diagnosis is.

But getting that diagnosis is only part of the story.

At the moment, clinicians can use cognitive assessments alongside MRI and PET scans, and sometimes a lumbar puncture to collect cerebrospinal fluid, to look for the biological changes associated with Alzheimer’s, including amyloid and tau.

These methods can be expensive, difficult to access and, in some cases, invasive. For many people, they can create another barrier at a time when they are already anxious and searching for answers.

This is where blood-based testing could potentially make a real difference.

Roche researchers are working on diagnostic innovations designed to help identify the biological signs of Alzheimer’s disease through a blood test. The Elecsys® pTau217 Plasma assay is a blood-based test designed to help identify Alzheimer’s-associated amyloid pathology.

For me, the really exciting part is the possibility of making diagnosis simpler, more accessible and less invasive.

Blood tests like this have the potential to remove some of the barriers people currently face and, hopefully, help more people receive a timely and accurate diagnosis.

That could mean less waiting, less uncertainty and less stress for individuals and their families.

And I think that can only be a good thing.

But there is something else I kept thinking about.

If we get better at diagnosing people earlier, are we ready to support them afterwards?

Because a diagnosis isn’t the end of the story. It is the beginning of a very different chapter.

I really hope our health service in the UK will be ready to support the people who receive those diagnoses, because finding people earlier only truly makes a difference if the right support is there for them afterwards.

Switzerland… here we go!

Thursday 24th September arrived.

I was due to speak at Roche alongside Martin Traber, Global Alzheimer’s Disease Area Head, and Kristian S. Frederiksen from the Danish Dementia Research Centre.

My morning started with butterflies in my stomach.

And I couldn’t eat very much at breakfast

Luckily, we had time to have a lovely walk to the lake, which helped calm my nerves for a while.

At 10.30am, our car would be arriving to take us to Roche.

Excitement… and nerves!

As we arrived back at the hotel after our walk we bumped into Sandra in reception. I looked at her face and thought, I know you… but do I?

It was quite surreal.

We had spoken so many times online, yet I didn’t immediately recognise her in person.

Sandra instantly gave me a big hug, which was lovely.

She drove us to Roche, about 20 minutes from our hotel.

As we pulled into the car park, I was amazed.

It was huge, with buildings of all different shapes and sizes spread across the site. Some were modern, some covered in glass. It almost felt like a little complex of its own.

We entered a very clinical-looking reception, where friendly receptionists gave us water and our passes.

Then came the security doors…

And then…

The conference room.

It was huge, bright and open.

Gulp.

This was real.

There were advertisements for the event on large screens on the walls, leaflets laid out on tables and chairs, with photographs of the speakers.

And there was my photograph.

My photograph!

I picked up the leaflet and there I was, staring back at me.

Then I looked at the huge screen on the stage.

There I was again.

My face.

At Roche.

Speaking about living with Alzheimer’s.

What on earth was happening?

People came over to talk to me, explain the logistics and run through what would happen.

Then came the microphone.

I was wired up with a headset and microphone as people began arriving.

The seats started filling.

Time for one last visit to the bathroom before everyone took their seats

I walked into the toilets and thought…

Where is the toilet?

Everything was white!

The toilet, the sink, the walls… it all seemed to mingle together.

Good job I could spot the handles and taps!

Back in the conference room, I took my seat and waited.

Ten minutes into the conference, I was called onto the stage.

It was time.

Questions were asked.

I answered.

I told my story.

And as I looked around the room, I noticed people wiping their eyes.

That moment will stay with me.

I finished speaking and the whole room applauded.

I looked out at the audience and could see the emotion on people’s faces.

It touched me incredibly deeply.

I walked off the stage feeling quite emotional myself, trying desperately to keep it together.

Then hubby and Sandra took my hands.

“You were brilliant.”

I smiled.

What had just happened?

It all felt so surreal.

Then came the food…

After the conference finished, we mingled and chatted before being taken to the restaurant to eat with everyone involved in the conference.

Food started arriving at the table.

And this is where I’m not quite so comfortable.

I’m not good with unfamiliar foods.

I picked up a piece of bread as it was the only thing I recognised.

Sandra was watching me, worried that I wasn’t eating, even though I kept telling her, “Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

Then…

Something I recognised!

A pizza appeared in front of me, Sandra had ordered the pizza specially for me. Nothing was too much trouble.

Throughout the whole visit, everyone involved in the conference and everyone who had helped get hubby and me to Switzerland was absolutely amazing.

They were kind, patient and understanding, and always made sure we were looked after.

After the meal, we were taken back to the hotel.

What an unbelievable day.

Something that had started with me wondering why Roche would want “little old me” had ended with me standing on a stage in Switzerland, sharing my experience of living with Alzheimer’s alongside people working at the forefront of research and diagnosis.

And somehow…

It still wasn’t over.

This was something extra special.

And there was more to come…

Friday 2nd October 2026

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After a very early start, we set off for Manchester Airport to catch our 9am flight to Zurich. On Wednesday 23rd September 2026, after a 1 hour 50 minute flight, we arrived in Switzerland ready for our unexpected adventure.

Everything had gone to plan… until passport control!

That was a nightmare. It took almost as long to leave Zurich Airport as it did to fly there from the UK. The long, winding queues began to fray my patience. I’m not very good at queuing anymore; I become impatient and agitated. Then again, everyone around us seemed impatient too, so perhaps it was rubbing off.

Our taxi was waiting outside, and the driver kept ringing my phone. He must have thought we’d disappeared! Thankfully, he was incredibly understanding and even helped us with our cases.

This was the moment it really hit me… I was in a different country.

The landscape took my breath away. Green open fields stretched into the distance, while towering rocky mountains reached high into the sky.

Roads of endless tunnels. Some lasted only seconds, others seemed to go on forever before daylight appeared again.

I found some of the tunnels quite unsettling. The roar of the traffic, flashing lights rushing past at speed, and that enclosed feeling of what if… became overwhelming at times. Closing my eyes helped calm the strange sensation. What I loved most was emerging at the other end to another spectacular view. Every tunnel revealed a completely different postcard.

Forty-five minutes later, we arrived at our hotel in Lucerne. Tucked away just off the main street, it was beautiful, luxurious, yet welcoming. The staff were friendly and accommodating, and before long we were handed our room key card.

Our room was on the first floor, reached by polished wooden stairs that looked more like a steep slope to me. Right at the beginning of the corridor was a doorway that completely confused me. I genuinely thought it was a mirror because of the shiny architrave.

People don’t always realise that a dementia brain can interpret everyday things differently.

The room itself was spacious, comfortable, and had everything we needed. By then I was shattered. My head felt heavy, and I knew exactly what I needed, a walk and some fresh air.

So we unpacked quickly and stepped outside into a different world.

I still can’t quite believe I’m here. I still can’t believe I’ve been given this opportunity. It feels like a real pinch me moment, wonderful and slightly surreal.

We followed a sign pointing towards the lake, and as we reached the water’s edge it quite literally took my breath away. The beauty surrounding us was incredible. Although I was exhausted, there was such a calmness about the place. We sat quietly, watching the wildlife and boats glide across the lake, simply soaking it all in.

After our walk, it was time to head back for a short rest before finding something to eat.

Eating out can be surprisingly difficult since Alzheimer’s. My eating habits have become much fussier. I need to know exactly what I’m eating, and preferably it has to be something I’ve eaten before. If I don’t recognise it or I’m unsure, I simply won’t eat.

After wandering through the narrow streets lined with beautiful old Swiss buildings, we stumbled across a little place called Disco Pizza. The pizzas were excellent, although I couldn’t work out why it was called Disco Pizza… until the music got louder and louder and the restaurant filled with students from the nearby university! Time to leave!

I wouldn’t have minded so much if I’d understood a single word of the songs they were singing.

The perfect end to a very long day was to take in the sights as the sun disappeared behind the mountains leaving stunning reflections on the calm waters

Time to make our way back to the hotel, get some much-needed sleep, and prepare for tomorrow morning, when I’ll be collected to go somewhere very special to speak.

All will be revealed soon… 🇨🇭

Wednesday 30th September 2026

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Preparing for a trip to Switzerland was never on my agenda. It’s funny how life works sometimes, just when you think you know what’s ahead, an unexpected opportunity appears. Switzerland was one of those opportunities.

I haven’t been in an airport or on a plane since the year I was diagnosed with Early Onset Alzheimer’s. I found it overwhelming then, so I honestly have no idea how I’ll cope seven years on.

Strangely, the packing has been much easier than when we go away in the UK. We are not self catering, this trip we are staying in a hotel, we don’t have Toby and Sooty with us, and all the walking gear. So that has taken away quite a few jobs from my list.

The part I’m quietly worrying about is eating out. Cafés and restaurants are well outside my comfort zone because I like familiar places and familiar food. I’ve become quite a fussy eater since my diagnosis. I tend to eat what I know, what I’m used to, and although some people might think my meals are boring, they’re comforting to me. Left to my own devices, I’d probably eat the same two meals every day!

This trip has been planned for us, which is both reassuring and unsettling. On one hand, it’s lovely not having to organise every little detail. On the other, hubby and I are usually in control of every aspect of our holidays…choosing the flights, the seats, the hotel, and knowing exactly what’s happening. This isn’t really a holiday though; I’m travelling to speak at an Alzheimer’s event, which makes it feel even more important.

It’s funny the little things that have caused me the most anxiety. Choosing a seat on a plane, knowing where we’re staying, or waiting for an itinerary might sound trivial to some people, but for me they’re the details that help my brain feel safe. When the itinerary finally arrived, I felt an enormous sense of relief. My flight seats were good ones… I think!

On Sunday, with three days to go, I had a complete wardrobe panic. The wardrobe doors flew open and clothes were strewn all over the bed while I tried outfit after outfit.

“How am I supposed to know what I want to wear on Thursday… when it’s only Sunday?”

I struggle enough choosing what to wear on the day, never mind planning days ahead. It really does mess with my head. Eventually, after far too many changes, everything was chosen and neatly put to one side, ready for packing on Tuesday evening.

Then there were the dogs. Our lovely neighbour has kindly offered to look after Toby and Sooty, so I’ve been measuring out all their meals into Tupperware containers. It sounds like such a simple job, but it took my brain a surprising amount of effort. Still, I got there in the end.

All this planning, thinking and organising leaves my head feeling as though it’s spinning, wrapped in a little layer of fog. The nerves are definitely beginning to kick in. To top it all off, I’ve done something to my back—an unwanted distraction I could have done without!

So now it’s simply a case of waiting.

Roll on Wednesday morning at 5am… airport, here we come.

Eeek! 🇨🇭

Monday 28th September 2026

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Complaints procedures… ugh! What an eye-opener.

It’s exhausting. You make one complaint, only for it to be passed to somebody else, then somebody else again. It feels like playing pass the parcel, except I’m the one left standing in the middle.

My head feels constantly heavy from writing letters, filling in forms, and replying to endless emails. It’s no wonder so many people never complain. The whole system is so complicated that many simply give up. Pages and pages of nonsensical questions, many with little relevance, make an already distressing situation even harder to navigate.

I keep thinking about people in their later years. How on earth are they expected to cope with this level of complexity? So much of the process is online, yet many older people either don’t have a computer or aren’t confident using one. That becomes another obstacle placed in front of families who are already overwhelmed.

When a complaint involves care, a lack of care, and a safeguarding issue, you would imagine it would be treated as a matter of urgency. We’re talking about someone’s life… yes, a life.

I’ve said many times that once the word dementia is mentioned, it can feel as though that person slips to the bottom of the pile. It’s as if their voice matters less. That should never happen. A diagnosis of dementia does not make someone less worthy of dignity, protection, or justice!

I am absolutely exhausted trying to get my dad’s case heard. But what worries me even more is knowing that our family is not alone. There are countless families fighting the same battles, filling in the same forms, and desperately trying to make someone listen.

Things have to change. Families need clear, accessible complaints procedures. People need to be listened to. And dementia education and training should be mandatory in every care setting, because understanding dementia isn’t an optional extra…It’s essential to providing compassionate, safe care.

For my dad, and for every family still waiting to be heard, I will keep speaking up!

Friday 25th September 2026

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After two or three’s weeks of worrying about Dad and how he has been treated since going into full-time care, my own dementia finally said, “Enough!”

The endless complaints, phone calls, emails, and filling in safeguarding and complaint forms had taken their toll. I wanted to be strong for Dad and support Mum, but somewhere along the way my own brain became overwhelmed. Without warning, the familiar heavy fog descended. It’s hard to describe unless you’ve experienced it. My head feels full of grey fuzz, thoughts become slow, and even the simplest task takes far more effort than it should.

On Sunday evening I retreated to bed early, cocooning myself beneath my soft duvet with a pile of pillows around me. That feeling of being wrapped up brings a sense of safety and comfort when the world inside my head feels anything but.

I woke a couple of times during the night needing the bathroom. My balance was a little wonky, and as I walked the hallway the walls became my guide. There was no 6:30 am walk by the sea with Toby and Sooty. Instead, I stayed tucked up in bed listening to the morning begin outside. It was nearly 8 o’clock before I finally threw back the covers to see what the day would bring.

The dogs still needed their walk, so we compromised with a gentle stroll around the block. I couldn’t face venturing too far from home, and that’s something I’ve learned to accept. Some days you don’t push through, you simply work with what your brain will allow.

At 9:30, Julie, the Assistant Admiral Nurse, arrived. I quickly grabbed the first dress I could find in the wardrobe and made myself look vaguely respectable! It was lovely to chat. I was able to get everything off my chest, the worry about Dad, the stress of the past fortnight, and then, quite naturally, our conversation drifted onto ordinary things like holidays, painting, and what I’m planning next. Sometimes the greatest gift someone can give you is simply listening before reminding you that life still contains normal moments.

After Julie left, I wandered around our little bungalow looking at the jobs written on my notice board:

• Finish painting the bird table.
• Top up the gravel in the fairy garden.
• Order the food shop for Friday.
• Tend to front lawn
• Tidy back lawn from leaves

Having a list helps me enormously. I may not complete everything, but it gently guides me when my memory and concentration decide to take the day off.

Before starting anything, I glanced through my emails and one message caught my eye.

Hi Gail, I hope you had a lovely weekend! Last summer you submitted a design for one of our partner’s mug competition… We’re delighted to tell you that your design was selected as one of the winners!

I just stared at it for a moment.

I honestly couldn’t even remember designing a piece of art work to go around a mug!

Dementia steals memories in the strangest ways, so receiving an email celebrating something I’d completely forgotten doing was such a wonderful surprise. It made me smile and reminded me that even when I can’t remember creating something, it doesn’t mean I’ve stopped being creative.

As the afternoon wore on, the fog returned and my head grew heavier. Rather than fighting it, I listened to my body. The jobs could wait. Sometimes resting isn’t giving up, it’s just being kind to ourselves.

Living with dementia has taught me that there will always be foggy days, but they often arrive alongside unexpected moments of sunshine too. Today, that little mug reminded me that even on the heaviest days, life still has a wonderful way of surprising us.