Car Number

Not the actual registration, but ...

Wednesday, 25 March 2009: Matters came to a head again today, when I finally met a woman my mother knows - who it transpires is in contact with a so-called [former] "family-friend". This woman, I learned, took it upon herself to inform him what I'm supposedly doing wrong, the result of which this man turned up here in Nov 2008 to give me the Inquisition and was ready to throw me out on the street on the basis of the false accusations my mother has made against me.

My mother has now admitted having told this woman that she "did not believe there was anything wrong with me", but has since claimed that she has now explained the truth of my situation (and official doctor's diagnosis, etc.) 

What transpired PROVES categorically that the truth has not been explained, because, if it had, the woman would not have behaved towards me as she did.

Push my mother on the issue and she says it's not her fault (nothing ever is), if these people won't change their attitudes. They've been told, she claims. She then criticises them behind their backs for being “like that” and the sort that “fly off the handle”, etc. It seems clear to me that mother has been (deliberately) surrounding herself with the sort of people who will most readily accept her one-sided telling of a story. More telling is that this type seem to be the ONLY ones left who pay her any regular court. This way, not only are they the sort who will accept her stories without considering both sides, they are those most easily manipulated into supporting her, but she can also blame them for doing so.

They're too daft to see that they've been manipulated and I'm sure they have no idea that, whilst she slags me off to them, she also slags them off to me.

For a while I toyed with the idea of having some responsibility to point this out to them. Since, despite all demonstrable the evidence in my favour, they persist in helping her to bully me, I no longer feel much compunction to do so. They're grown-ups. They've already decided that they are not going to believe me, which does bother me, but all it really says it that these are the opinions of idiots.

Anyway, it was already obvious to me that her “truth has been explained” claim was false, as it was in relation to the neighbour who had verbally attacked me.

In both cases, it's clear that mother has avoided doing anything whatsoever. I would estimate that this is because she can see no way to backtrack on what she's already said without admitting fault. She always has a ready excuse why fault always lies with me, someone else or is the result of mere ignorance – i.e. poor thing, she knew no better. Such ignorance, in law, would be no defence. 

Mother also claims that she has only told this woman and the woman next door that she "did not believe there was anything wrong with me" and no-one else, but what she doesn't know is that I have been told from another source – one who can see right through her, who came to see me when she knew my mother was out - that mother has been telling the same story to an entire group (club) of people, so I imagine that she's slagged me off in a fairly widespread manner.

Despite having the logic explained several times, mother absolutely refuses to acknowledge that saying “did not believe” is the same as telling people that what I say must be untrue and that infers that I'm a liar. Everyone else I've put this to, agrees that would be any reasonable person's understanding of her statements. Most also agree that this appears to be carefully measured phrasing.

The so-called family friend had also said that "people don't want to meet me.” I now know he was referring only to this one woman and, obviously, as she hadn't ever met me and no-one else she knows, other than him and my mother, knows me, her judgement also can only be on the basis of my mother's lies.

It's obvious, to me, this is what's going on here.

He also said "people" don't want to come to the house, and with it he inferred that this is because of my presence and because I am such a horrible person, but what I've been told, again from this other source (who incidentally is one of my mother's friends), is that it is my mother who TOLD people not to visit, but she's been giving them an entirely different excuse - because she did not want to be seen looking awful while she was undergoing medical treatment.  

It’s absolutely obvious that she’s telling different stories to different people, deliberately, to create division, arguments, manipulate them into attacking me, present herself as the ‘victim’ and remain the centre of attention.

Anyway, when I realized that this particular woman was coming to pick my mother up today - I'd guessed because she was being so carefully evasive and non-specific about who was coming, so I asked my mother who she was alluding to - that I decided I'd go out and attempt to speak to the woman. 

The wrong is being done to me and I have every right to defend myself.

At this point, I merely walked away in the direction of my room and had said absolutely nothing about my intentions - mostly because I was still thinking what I would do and say, when suddenly I heard mother stage whispering (she often does this) something about "car number". At first, I thought she was thinking she would call their car / mobile phone to put them off. But no, for some reason, she had become fixated and fearful - literally panicking - over the idea that I would be able to get their car registration number. Why, to do what, I have no idea. 

Then she began walking repeatedly backwards and forwards between the front door and the driveway to see if they were coming (presumably, so she could catch them and get away quickly.) Then said she thought they were here and was out of the door, slamming it, gone, with not another word. They hadn't arrived. 

Next, I could see mother trying to hide like some fugitive behind the wall at the end of the driveway (from my room, I can just see that) and was "looking over her shoulder" (round the corner of the wall) toward the house to see if I was looking. Clearly the behaviour of someone who feels they have something to hide.

When I heard a car coming into the close, I walked outside without undue hurry. By the time I reached the driveway, Mother had already got into the back of the car and had slammed the door in obvious haste and, I was just in time to hear her literally screaming out in panic, "Get away, get away," i.e. she appeared to be telling her friends to drive away quickly before I could do whatever dreadful thing she was sure I was going to do. Yeah, tell them the truth, obviously!

That was unexpected enough, but I kept my composure and signalled for her to open the car door and said in quizzical (OK, astounded) tone that I did not think "Get away, get away," was appropriate to say when her daughter was approaching, but "that aside," I said ... moving my gaze to the friend and her partner, and very calmly (believe me this took a LOT of work!) said to them that, when they had the opportunity, I would like to speak to them, because I think they are being told things about me that are not necessarily true. That's all I said, perfectly calmly.

At which they just flew off the handle and launched at me, unprovoked. My mother flatly denied saying "Get away, get away," and they backed her up also denying that she'd said it. F*ck me, I know what I heard and yet they made me doubt it, made me wonder if I'm hallucinating and going around the bend (and I think that's deliberately intended too.) They told me to "just go away". Then the woman got out of the car, ready to take a pop at me, but snapped something like she would not have me upsetting my mother! (Boot's on the other foot!)

Obviously, it's distressing enough to have my name blackened all over the place and to encounter so much open hostility towards me - made worse because I know it sounds like paranoia when I tell anyone the story - but since this now clearly involves several or maybe many people, I can't see how I can ignore it. 

And I can't, because mother BEGS me to do nothing and my instinct and 52 years of experience of her bullying, tells me to speak out and stand up for myself. 

Nothing Really Mattress

Nothing Really Mattress

Before I came back to the UK (which she had BEGGED me to do, repeatedly, for years and later denied doing so), I'd told my mother that I would be unable to sleep in a single bed or without a suitable mattress. The expensive mattress I had to leave in Tenerife was natural latex, bought especially for my problems.

As soon as a got here I told her how uncomfortable the bed was. It was also a lot older and worn out than I could even have imagined and, I could feel each and every spring digging into me. Apart from the fact that sleeping in such a small space (after 25+ years of double beds) was causing me to sleep rigidly, increasing the amount of pain and stiffness I suffered when I woke up (when I could sleep), the mattress, certainly wasn't right for my back, that was killing me 24/7.

Most nights I just could not get to sleep at all and she knew it, but she just kept saying that she “could not” do anything about it. More like "would not".

When I did manage to sleep, I'd wake up with my back feeling like it's broken in half, my legs in pain, my neck, shoulders and arms stiff and aching. Even after I'd told her all of that and had reiterated that I could not cope with that bed and no sleep for long, I was blanked. Repeatedly. What do I mean by blanked? She might shrug, but wouldn't reply. Mostly, she said nothing whatsoever and didn't even show a change of facial expression to indicate that she had even heard. It was something she did not want to hear, so she would not hear it.

A former family friend had turned up here back in November to interrogate and bully me (as a result of all my mother’s lies), but even he was sympathetic to the fact that it’s unacceptable for me to not be able to get comfortable rest. He explained all this to my mother yet again and reiterated that I needed a new bed because of back issues. When he said it, she'd replied to him - albeit, with a tone of impatient snark in her voice - "now I know why" (as if she'd never been told before) and then snapped, begrudgingly, that she would buy a new bed then. 

Two months passed and nothing happened. She just never mentioned it.

Finally, in serious pain and nearing the end of my tether, I gave up waiting and decided to order and pay for it myself, having saved up some money from my meagre benefits. However, since the banks still won't give me a debit card, the only way I was going to be able to order anything, is via her credit card. I told her that I wanted to place the orders and was going to pay her cash in return.

First "objection" - she claims she did not know anything about this. 

She fu*cking what?

Well then, I tell her, either she's senile, forgetful, mentally incapable and needs to be certified / supervised, or she's lying. Those are the only two options.

Then she decides that fitting a double bed into the room will be a problem. She demanded, in a hoity-toity know-it-all holier-than-thou if-I-speak-like-this-I-think-I-sound-superior-and-clever (supercilious) voice, to know how the bed will fit in.

It's not a huge room, but it would be obvious to anyone that a double bed would fit. She could have just asked and maybe she'd have discovered that I'd measured the room (and all the pieces of furniture), to be absolutely certain how it would do so. Of course. And, it's totally irrelevant whether there will much space left to walk around (her next objection), or not. What matters is that I have to have a bed I can sleep in that doesn’t give me more pain.

Then the next day, she flatly denied having said that she didn't know about it the previous day and tried to waffle that she meant something else, that I'd misinterpreted. Her words had been direct. I know what I heard.

She then just escalated the "nasty" and began denying a LOT of things, including declaring – more than once - that she had NEVER begged any of my friends to ask me to come back to the UK. So I said, "Shall I phone XXXXXX right now and ask her then?" "Oh, that was years ago ... in the beginning." So the the word NEVER was a lie, yet another one, wasn't it? So she got nastier and on it went ...

And what sort of person gets nasty with anyone, because they need a comfortable bed - because they cannot sleep comfortably – for a proven health reason?

Then it's a problem, because the supplier of the bed won't put it together. Shame, but she wasn't going to be doing it, was she? The hour or so's pain was I price I'd pay for the chance of more comfortable sleep thereafter. And tell her so.

How will I get the single bed to the other bedroom? (It needed chucking, but that wasn't going to happen.) Again, I tell her this is irrelevant, given the reasons for me needing a new bed. She declares that she's just going to go outside and leave me to it then, in a superiorly, huffy, accusatory, nasty tone.

So I ask her, calmly, if understandably exasperated, what possible reason she has for making a problem of this. She evades the question, then turns it round, saying that I'm making the problem, then she starts getting abusive and screeching - really screeching - at me to shut up and just place the bloody order, or (she couldn't think of a threat.) Not the behaviour of an adult, is it?

Oh, I can get that her "dreaming up" objections is based on what she can't do (and nothing could ever be lacking in her abilities and intelligence), so this, in her eyes, becomes "normal", i.e. she projects her limitations onto everyone.

She's not in pain, so she can't see my need. My needs don't even appear to exist in her mind, or if they do, they don't matter and she will not count them.

The fact that she persists in her obstructive behaviour, even when these things have been pointed out to her by people she does believe and that she even gets nasty with me when she's confronted with truths - attacking me to subvert the discussion from the issue - well, it speaks volumes, doesn't it?

She's still doubting my word, still being snarky and nasty to me, still will not allow that I have needs, even after being presented with medical certificates, a letter from a specialist with a diagnosis and knows that even the DWP have assessed me as incapacitated. Well, it completely redefines the definition of cruelty.

Oh, and I ended up paying myself, despite her promises.

Keep warm keep well

The UK Government advice to “Keep warm keep well” [1] is that you: 

1.  “... set your thermostat at around 21ºC (70ºF) and heat all the rooms you use in the day.”
2.  “... try to keep a temperature of above 18°C (65°F) in your bedroom overnight.”

These are the temperatures recommended by the World Health Organisation. 

Those are the minimums suggested and, immediately, we can see that for living rooms and other rooms used during the day, 18°C (65°F) is not considered warm enough by the experts. 18°C was described on one site as “unusually cold.” 

Whilst government and media do say you can save money / be green by turning heating down by 1 degree, they're talking to the majority of people who have their heating set much higher than this. We're told [2] that “... research by the Energy Saving Trust [3] found that almost half of households in the UK have their thermostats set above this, and one in five turn theirs up to over 25°C.” 

Thus, if your heating is already as low as - or waaaaay lower than - the recommended setting of 21ºC for living rooms and it's only on in the day, then they're NOT talking to you and you should NOT turn your heating down. 

Many other Government Departments and councils echo the advice: 

The Met Office says [4] you should protect yourself in cold weather by “maintaining the right temperature in your home (optimum temperature is 18-21°C)” (Meaning, night / day.) 

St. Helens Council say [5], “you should be able to heat your home to an adequate level, 21 oC in the living room, and 18 oC in other rooms, and therefore live in a healthier environment.” 

Fife Council say [6] that room thermostats “... should be set at between 18-21°C (64.4-69.8°F), slightly higher if you are elderly, disabled or have young children.“

The Department of Health, state clearly [7] that, “Older people and those with chronic diseases or physical disabilities are more vulnerable to the effects of cold weather.” 

It is well documented that one of the symptoms of fibromyalgia is cold intolerance and temperature sensitivity has been proven. “A study [8] published in the journal Pain shows sensitivity to both heat and cold in women with fibromyalgia, and demonstrates an inability to adapt to changes in temperature.” The report goes on to explain that, “the fibromyalgia group grew more sensitive to repeated cold stimulus.”, i.e. the more often they got cold, the worse (more painful) it got. 

Plumbing Pages website [9] says, “Set room thermostat at 18 C - 21 C (65 - 70 F). For severely disabled people or babies a room temperature of 23 C (73 F) may be more appropriate.”  

Wakefield Council point out [10] that “Many households contain one or more individuals who, because of age, long term health conditions or disability require higher temperatures for health and comfort, compounded by spending more longer periods in the home than more active occupants.”

Plymouth City Council provide the following [11] “Tip: set your room thermostat to 18-21 degrees Celsius - these temperatures are adequate for most healthy people. It is common to have temperatures of up to 21 degrees in the living room and 18-19 degrees in other rooms. People with certain medical conditions might need higher temperatures up to 24 degrees Celsius. “

Fife also say that, “Turning your thermostat down by 1ºC could save you around £40 per year.” Even three degrees – from 18oC to 21oC would only add up to £120 per year, or £10 per month. 

Yet, even presented with the evidence, my mother would not turn the thermostat up beyond 17oC in the living room. The HIGHEST temperature reached, during the daytime, in my room was 15oC. This is torturous.

Sources: 

[1] http://www.campaigns.direct.gov.uk/keepwarmkeepwell/keepwarm.html
[2] http://www.dothegreenthing.com/wiki/display/WIKI/Turn+down+thermostats+on+room+heating
[3] http://www.energysavingtrust.org.uk/aboutest/news/pressreleasesarchive/index.cfm?mode=view&press_id=470
[4] http://www.metoffice.gov.uk/weather/uk/coldweatheralert/
[5] http://www.sthelens.gov.uk/item.do?parentID=100006&category=200011&itemid=880
[6] https://www.fifedirect.org.uk/topics/index.cfm?fuseaction=advice.display&subjectid=F11FE78F-508B-DE79-47EF130BD92C8A86&adviceid=5C40154D-F494-F7F5-0B43CFDCD37C5142
[7] http://www.dh.gov.uk/en/Publicationsandstatistics/Publications/PublicationsPolicyAndGuidance/DH_077624
[8] http://chronicfatigue.about.com/b/2008/11/03/study-proves-temperature-sensitivity-in-fibromyalgia.htm
[9] http://www.plumbingpages.com/featurepages/Tipsrunningcost.cfm
[10] http://www.wakefield.gov.uk/Environment/EnergyAdvice/AffordableWarmth/FuelPovertyandAffordableWarmth.htm?wbc_purpose=basicdefauefdefault.h...default.htm
[11] http://www.plymouth.gov.uk/heating

Irony at its most comical

My mother never believes a word I say, which is a whole other saga, but I'm now 100% certain that this is not because of something I've done or not done (and I wasted decades trying to work out what it was), but is because she expects "fantasy", merely because everything she ever says is made up to suit her own childish fantasy. Why should she expect better from anyone else?

She is entirely unreasonable and behaves like a child, as many old people do, but this absolute refusal or inability to communicate sensibly, over even the simplest of things, is way beyond that. As well as the fantasy (making up stories, wheedling, barefaced lies), she throws tantrums worse than a toddler.

Then she tells me how the woman next door's mother's stroke sent her a bit round the bend and made her unreasonable and demanding of illogical things.

If I bite my tongue any harder, I'll chew straight through it.

Prison

As you might imagine, since she has nothing else to do, my mother has become obsessive over a large number of small, petty things (like the plots of Emmerdale, Corronation Street ...), switching off every minor appliance at the plug the moment you stop using it (which makes sense for old TVs overnight, but not every single time you use the kettle during the day); about the 1001 different types of trash that have to be discarded and that are lurking about in different bags all around the house; about double-locking doors and windows - at 6 p.m. 

Prisoners get more freedom!  

Also unsurprisingly (contrary to what she says), she doesn't really do anything all day: she might go out or do odd chores in the mornings, but by lunch time, she's looking for things to do; reading, knitting, watching TV, but mostly sleeping.

That's absolutely fine, unless I do it: then she calls it "lazy".

Oh and, she suddenly decided to tell me that 11.30 a.m. is her lunch time and that it ALWAYS has been. No, I don't need to tell you that I know when she usually ate and that I can read a clock at my age. Clearly, she thinks that I can't. The reality was that she just made this up as she was bored-style hungry.

One of the major reasons she's always given for not leaving this prison of her own making was that she would not have anything to do elsewhere. On the contrary, I think it would be really hard to find anywhere left in the world - certainly not in Spain which was what she mostly applied the objection to - where English books, knitting wool and (if necessary), Satellite TV couldn't be had and, where there would indeed be plenty more to do, places to see, weather to enjoy ... 

The great unwashed

During half-term, I had a wonderful time among (relatively) normal people (and, joy of joys, had hot showers), but the onslaught of illogical stupidity was waiting for me and started droning, as soon as I got back and the front door was closed. For once I didn't give her a chance and instead made her view all the photos I'd taken, related what a good time I'd had and unpacked all the things I'd been given by nice people in front of her. And though - strangely - she said very little, it clearly disturbed her. She wanted to know why they had given me things and the question sounded quite hurt and indignant. I told her it was because they know I don't have much money and they care. I'm certain she did "get" it -  and yes I did it deliberately to show her I'd been living well. 

And I could see she didn't like it, because it represents a threat to her control over me if I have a strong network of allies.

On the Monday, she was back to her usual crap. When I took my jeans out of the washing machine (I'd dared to touch it while she was out), she took them and exclaimed "they're wet", almost as if I'd given her a slimy creature. Things that have been washed tend to be wet! To attempt to translate this to "mothereze" thinking, what she meant was that they were wetter than what she considers acceptable. I think she thinks a tsunami occurs if things are not properly spun.

Unfortunately, to get her washing machine to properly spin for her taste, requires setting it to wash at 90 degrees. If my clothes were washed at 90 degrees they'd be totally ruined and only fit for throwing away. Those were stretch jeans. That's why I washed them when she wasn't there, rather than allow her to wash them at 90 degrees and ruin them. Besides, I'd lived on my own for around 25 years: I have owned and used washing machines before. She considers me incapable.

She'd rather use more heating energy than is needed to run the national grid to totally ruin clothes and throw them away, so she can avoid 'wetness'. Maybe this equates to saving water. It's also because she does not know how to change the settings on her washing machine and won't even attempt to do so.

She has no qualms about condensation forming damp and now black mold caused by worn out window seals, lack of ventilation and inadequate heating.

Ergo, we is not talking about someone capable of reason here.

She went to put some potatoes - that had come straight from the supermarket and been stored on the open worktop - the only place they don't go moldy - right by the window where the cat sits - into the microwave to cook in their jackets. As she didn't, I pointedly asked her if she was going to wash them first. At first she didn't reply, but launched into accusing me of being mad, then claimed nobody ever eats the skin. My information suggests differently. No point saying that I do: I'm just a freak. Actually, she does too! :)

She then exclaimed you would "NEVER wash them and put them in there" [the microwave]. Well, I always have. You can dry them first, I suppose, but I've never found the tiny bit of dampness to cause any harm at all.

Once more, she accused me of being mad and began to cackle, madly.

I've no idea why I bothered to make and freeze meals for her (and, you can be sure I shan't bother another time), because most of them were left uneaten.

Being able to have showers with water at a normal pressure were a particular delight while I was away. Ours is still like showering in lukewarm drizzle.

She still won't hear that there's anything wrong with the pressure, but then as one of these definitions of the great unwashed suggests, "The great unwashed must be distinguished from homeless people ... the [former] have homes and often have money, they're just dirty." She says "other people's" pressure has been boosted. I check. It hasn't. I tell her that I can tell that the pressure is markedly lower than in the 3 homes I've owned, the 3 others of hers I've lived in and countless others I've rented, many of which have also been single story, so no that isn't the "excuse" either. She brushes it all aside as though I'm incapable of knowing.

She won't see the problem, of course, because she doesn't use the shower.

This is not the old "bath once a week, whether you need it or not" culture that pervaded Britain in the dark ages (everything up to the 1960's), because my mother has not used the shower more than once or twice (max) in the 5 months I've been here. She claims she has done "much more often than you think." I know she's lying, but just shoot her a look. Then, she changes her story and says she doesn't need to shower, in a voice that suggests she's superior to it. She "strip washes" a few parts. That simply does not do for me, because that is so much colder and slower than showering. The main requirement for me is hot water to help alleviate pain, i.e. it's for health reasons, not some frivolous like or dislike. Of course, I think I'd have a perfect right to have simple likes and dislikes, but she obviously disregards those as invalid if she does genuine needs.

Most of all this is gross meanness, part of it is a misguided, ignorant and near obsessional preoccupation with "saving water" (she's the same with heating, lighting, etc.), but I simply cannot seem to convince her that "the authorities" have not mandated that people stop showering, sit in the cold and dark.

Next she had a problem with the phone: it was flashing. Actually, just the answering machine bit was flashing to show that she had a message. She claimed that she couldn't remember how to listen to it. Then she said she had listened to it and it was still showing a number (which it should) and she seemed not to grasp the idea that it would do so, until she erased it. All the time she was in flapping around the house like a headless chicken, in panic mode, as though it was a real problem that would end the world.

Twice in the last week she's had messages from "nobody"; silent ones where the caller had not left a message. It happens, people phone and decide not to leave a message, presumably. I figure if it was important enough, they would, or they'd be in touch again. These too caused her sky to fall.

These are not new things or technology she's incapable of learning, as she's been managing with all this perfectly well for quite some time, so either this was an act, simply to get my attention, or she's forgotten. Either behaviour, I pointed out to her, is of someone who can no longer cope as a grown up and, if she can no longer manage, then "I'll have to do something about it, won't I?"

Then finally, the friend who was supposedly going to drop everything and advise her about the gas boiler phoned back after a whole two weeks, not, strangely, the two days she said he would call in person within. So, maybe she did phone him after all, though I'm now inclined to think that she spoke to a machine, even though she claimed to be and behaved like she was talking to him personally. Once more, either she was lying and acting for some devious or insane reason, or she's become too senile to tell the difference.

Either way, this is not the behaviour of a sane, capable being, is it?

And - forgetting once again that I can hear every word she says - what does she say to him? That he "better leave it now", i.e. she didn't need help. It didn't matter whether she intended to renew the boiler or not (I know she didn't), but sweeping the problem under the carpet won't make it go away. We still needed questions answering. Once again, she is failing to do what's needed to maintain the house and may as well throw money in the streets for what the obvious general decline is doing to the value of the property.

Please let me wake up from this nightmare!

Conditional love

Instead of being given the chance to familiarize themselves with the house, the cats are being prohibited from all rooms where it's perceived they might cause damage. Not that they have done, it’s just expected they will.

(Yes, my mother has had cats herself, who've had the run of the house.)

If the cats do scratch at the carpet, I’ve caught her telling them that she won’t love them if they do that. Conditional love. And it was at that very moment that I realised that the way she views the cats is exactly how she viewed me when I was a child. Well, no it's exactly how she still sees me. For a while I was a little doll to be dressed up, then it was just assumed I’d be naughty. (I wasn't.) I was never a human being. Everything I'd do was going to be wrong – and I spent 50+ years trying hard to do something right and wondering why, despite doing so, I never was right. 

Got plenty of criticism and punishment, but no nurturing and encouragement.

Recently I got an admission (that she'll deny later) why she didn't get me medical attention when I was a child (yes, she openly admitted this neglect and, yes, this is clearly recognised child abuse), is because "all children tell tales."

Not always they don't. Sure, some children do tell tales, some of the time, but not all children lie all of the time, as she seems to think is the only option.

This is what it took me over 50 years to realise. She justifies not believing things I've said on this basis, not because I lie; not because she still sees me as a child (although she does), but because she is projecting. She lies all the time, therefore, she thinks this is normal and that everyone lies all the time.

The way my mother sees things is clearly not reality by anyone's stretch of the imagination and, whether she does this through ignorance or malice, I'll let you decide (although, it ought to be bloody obvious that someone as skilled as she is at manipulating people to accept her singular and most peculiar view, probably doesn't do it by pure accident), but it is absolutely not normal and it's absolutely irrefutable that it's NOT on the basis of anything I did (or didn't) do.

Throughout my childhood, I was constantly told that I “would not be told”. As a consequence, I lived in permanent fear and utter confusion, trying to understand what it was that I “would not be told” and, I trying even harder still to somehow, magically, “be told” whatever it was I was missing. Of course, I never found it and remained confused and utterly damaged by this constant gaslighting.

At 51, I was still struggling with this until I got back to the UK, saw the effects of my mother’s lies and fantasy and realised finally, of course, that I was perfectly well able to “be told” all along, but my mother wasn't and was projecting her own shortcomings onto me. It's clearly for that very same reason that she believes everything every child says is a fantasy. Not because everything every child says is untrue, but because everything my mother says is her own fantasy and she's clearly only capable of an unhealthy, fake, conditional form of love.

Aerosol sprays, allergies and multiple chemical sensitivity

When I was a teenager, I'd had to have Kenalog or Cortisone injections for my severe allergies (now out of favour because of the significant risks - side effects of developing diabetes, weight gain, and osteoporosis - associated with them). As this says, "... corticosteroid injections are a last resort. They are prescribed when other treatments don’t work and symptoms interfere with everyday activities."

Which was certainly the case. Over the years, I've developed some tolerances - I'm still allergic to cats, but it's under control as long as I remain exposed to them - but there are some things, mostly household chemical products, particularly aerosol sprays, that I just have to avoid. They cause not just allergic reactions, but provoke Multiple chemical sensitivity and an exacerbation of Myalgic encephalomyelitis/chronic fatigue syndrome (ME/CFS) symptoms of fatigue, headaches, nausea, and dizziness and I immediately become breathless and start coughing - it provokes chest pains too - when I'm exposed to these substances.

My mother knows all about this, because it all began when I was young enough that she took me to the many appointments with the doctor herself, but has been "conveniently forgotten", because she is not about to change the way she does anything. The other day, she was spraying an air freshener, for a very long time, all around the house. I asked her not to and reminded her about the injections and my allergies. She merely snapped back that "it wasn't much", as though I was being ridiculous or exaggerating. I can actually hear: that spray was going for what would be considered an excessive length of time, even in "normal" circumstances. Even if she had forgotten my allergies – she hasn’t, because on other occasions she’s mentioned them - there's no excuse for attempting to justify this. 

I've heard the spray and smelled air freshener early in the morning when she's thought I was asleep and that alone suggests she knows she's doing wrong.

One time this was broached, she just snapped back that she was "fed up of having to live like this", i.e. asked to make concessions (that she never made), because the tiny inconvenience (for the benefit of the planet too) was just too much.

Yes, she's the same with polish, air freshener, perfume, hairspray ... and I'd be [justifiably] pissed off it it was just the environmental issue I was concerned about. FFS, it would be enough if I just didn't like them, but what sort of person does this - obviously knowingly - when it causes someone such a reaction?

It was on a Tuesday morning ...

Recently, British Gas sent my mother a letter offering her £300 off a new boiler. So she brings it to me all excited, like she'd won the lottery and was going to get a new boiler for nothing, or pretty close to it. 

After stifling a guffaw, I suggested it would cost at least £2,000 (even after the "gift" was deducted), but no, she wouldn't believe that. Of course, I must be wrong. There was only one way to deal with this ... get confirmation. So I rang to get them to come round and tell her how much a new boiler really costs, even with money off. In writing.

Which they did, on Tuesday morning and, lo and behold, the first verbal figure the man came up with, was exactly £2,000. Yes, I had to say it! By the time he'd done his sums, added VAT, and printed it off, it was nearer £3,000.

Now, I know she has absolutely no intention of changing the boiler (heck, she wouldn't even change the settings on the washing machine), but she was talking about it beforehand, saying, "depending on what they say" (on price) ... then saying she did not want credit. Once she told the man her date of birth, she was told she absolutely wouldn't get credit either, which, funnily enough, is exactly what I'd said beforehand too. Not that I was believed, of course. Suddenly, this became a problem and a "Where am I going to get the money from?"

Ah, you're thinking, well, she would say that in front of the bloke to wheedle out of ordering. And you'd be wrong. She did um and ah a bit, but she left him with the impression that she might have the cash if she had to (and she does.)

And she'd HAVE to find it from somewhere, if the boiler went wrong and, when it does come to the end of its useful life, which is probably right about now.

No, it was after he'd gone that she started having her tantrums, which, once more, ended up with her screaming at me and telling me to get out and go back to Tenerife ... All because I offered the "grown up" observation that, if she wasn't going to be selling the house any time soon (we'll get back to that), then she has absolutely no other choice but to maintain it.

That £3,000, over an estimated 15 years of the life of a boiler (The Telegraph, apparently reckons you should budget for a replacement every decade), works out to be £200 a year (£4 a week), which is about the same as the cost of the annual service contract. My dad used to put away sums like that to cover replacements and they must be considered as part of heating costs in Britain.

The current boiler still works, just, but there are problems, because it's already 16 years old; there's reduced efficiency, of course, and there "may" be problems finding parts for it (I don't know how much of a problem that is yet) and, it's the old open flue type that often has blow backs that have since been declared dangerous. (In council properties, their removal is now compulsory.)

The bloke said he wasn't hard selling, then tried to "put the fear of god up us" with scare-mongering stories of how, if anything goes wrong with it, they'd just slap a label on it and cap the gas off. It just so happens that I worked for British Gas for several years, way back, so I know they did do that when there's a dangerous gas escape. They might condemn it, but didn't do that for a broken boiler and that sort of selling is the first thing that would send me scurrying to the competition.

But, it also happens that my mother knows a bloke who worked in the gas leaks department at North Thames - on the same floor where I worked - so I told her to talk to him. "What can he do? He can't give me £3,000", she snaps, nastily. No, but he can help us make a more intelligent educated guess over whether there really is a need to be proactive and change the boiler before it goes wrong; how likely parts would be unavailable, where to find out, etc.

In other words, I know she won't listen to a damn word I say, so ...

She picks up her phone, she appears to dial, then, with barely time for it to have rung and been picked up on the other end, quickly rushes into a vague diatribe about needing help with "something". Her tone and delivery sounded to me like she was reciting into an answering machine, but she was purporting to be having a conversation with a human. If anyone was on the other end, they didn't have much chance to ask what she wanted (she didn't say), reply, chat, greet, nothing. Immediately she hung up, she recapped that it was done, he'd be round in a day or two. The call was so fast and so strange, I reckon she might have rung "nobody" and acted, hoping I'd drop the subject. Which isn't very grown up.

Nothing has been done. Either way, the man has never showed - yet, strangely, he's supposed to be a really good friend who would drop anything to help her.

What happens when we really do need to get something done?

Attacked and slandered for being ill

Not the actual neighbourhood, for illustrative purposes only.

Several weeks ago in August (it's taken me this long to be able to deal with this), one of the neighbours in this street, a woman, decided to attack and slander me in the middle of the street, accusing me of being lazy and of sponging, delivering an uninvited and unwarranted lecture about how my mother "doesn't have to" help me and going on about how I should get a job and a flat and move out ... 

 
She was prattling on about how her parents would never help her (probably the crux of the matter, which is hardly my problem) and how they locked the door at a set curfew time ... The point of which, I cannot even imagine, except that it very adequately describes the sort of people they must be: the sort that would leave daughters out in the street in real danger, rather than protect them and, who probably think "trouble" only happens after a certain time of night. Don't know what you call people with ideas like that, but I call them ignorant.

She doesn't actually know the facts, so it was merely her opinion, and, it's none of her bloody business anyway, but not only that, she launched into this slanderous and defamatory lecture while I was talking to another neighbour, which made it extremely stressful to have my character assassinated in public.

(Oh yeah, I was on my way out for a 2-3 mile walk, on a rare day when the weather permitted, in an attempt to do what I can to get some exercise, improve my circulation, keep my ankles from swelling and most of the rest of me from ceasing up. If I really were lazy, would I do this, especially considering that I usually can't move for days afterwards? Right! It's bloody obvious, isn't it?)

Despite all that, I agree totally that my mother "doesn't have to" help me, but irrespective of my health situation (whether you believe there's a problem or not), irrespective of what parents should or shouldn't do for their offspring, I've made sure that mother, not me, confirmed her intention to "help." It's a matter for debate, whether you call it "help", with the considerable abuse I have to put up with to get it, but that distinction notwithstanding that's the end of the matter and whatever anyone else wants to think, it's none of their business.

Not that the woman had any right to know, but I felt I had a right and a good reason to defend myself against groundless criticism. I attempted to explain some of the facts, mainly in the hope that the other neighbour would be left in no doubt, but from subsequent comments from her - proffering more unwanted advice in a tone I can only describe as "snotty" - it's clear the damage is done.

Where could this woman have got her wild ideas, I wonder? From someone who has said something to give her the wrong impression, maybe? And, since I only know one person here and have only one relative, it's patently obvious.

When I got home, I went ballistic (I think, anyone would). Mother seemed shocked and looked worried (although, that doesn't necessarily confirm she felt that way) and immediately agreed that the neighbour had no right to do such a thing. 

It wasn't until a week or so later I got any further on the issue though, when my mother went to see this neighbour - just for a chat, as if nothing had happened. Apparently, the matter was never mentioned. Once again, I seriously questioned my mother's sanity to her face, utilizing a few of the choicer adjectives - given the gravity of this I feel that I am justifiably angry - if she could casually "pass the time of day" with someone who had verbally attacked her daughter in public.

In the end, with some more probing, I was finally able to determine from my mother that she had told the neighbour that she "did not believe" there was anything wrong with me. Of course we know "did not believe" is not the same as "there is nothing" wrong, but what is the neighbour going to hear?

Mother won't take her own daughter's word that she has pretty much all of these symptoms, that I'm in pain and have been for years. She knows I was chucked out of a job because I was deemed unable to cope with it 11 years ago. Despite all that, since I don't yet have a proper diagnosis [since been confirmed], with a diagnosis of "nothing," "nothing" must be what I have then, to her. 

Of course, it isn't! But she has therefore convinced herself that I must therefore be lying. Someone who lies all the time, I've come to realise, expects everyone else to lie like they do. And my mother, resolutely refuses to accept that the manner in which she's said this has had the exact same effect as telling people that I'm a liar, which is clearly why they have formed this wrong opinion of me.

NOTE: You'll notice that AT NO POINT do I identify the neighbour in question who verbally attacked me. However, I discover that they follow every word of this blog - and then pass information on to others who also have no right to interfere in my business - and decide to add to the abuse by then accusing me of libel. No it's not, because, what I've said is true. It wouldn't be even if I had publicly called the woman by name. Whereas, what she said about me in public is slander.

Phuking with Physics

Or the tail of two teapots

Two teapots, different shapes, but I think you can see that the yellow teapot on the left (mother's) is at least as big as the white one (mine). Actually, her yellow pot holds a little bit more, I know, because I've tested them.

My little pot on the right, is just big enough to hold two mugs' worth, while my mother swears that her teapot is only big enough for a mug and a half and when I pointed out that this was a load of old bollocks, she started to argue, saying the mugs were different sizes. They're not, but that's irrelevant.

Logic and scientific laws out the window: Mary Poppins' carpet bag and Dr. Who's Tardis, obviously, determine the rules of physics here!

Of course, I should merely accept without question my mother's unscientific fantasy imaginings, call in the men in white coats (for both of us) and leave it at that. :) And, of course, you know there was no way I would do that, so I wasted my time today while she was out, testing them both "scientifically"; filling each pot with water, then pouring that water into a measuring jug.

Using this scientific method, my findings indicated that:

• My white pot holds a mere 3/4 pint.
• Her yellow pot holds 1 pint exactly.

Theory proven, I think! Yes, I know, this is a complete and utter, total waste of water, time and energy; yours, mine, hers. It's also so absolutely 'effin pathetic it defies description. Why the hell does anyone need to come up with fantasy untruths, even over such pointless, insignificant matters as this?

And why do we have to have two teapots in the first place?

Well, of course, I have to be the awkward cuss, because I don't like "ordinary" tea (never have done, which should be no surprise, because for the 16 years she visited me in Spain, she bought her own teabags with her, because she knew I wouldn't have any), but I'll drink Earl Grey and other unusual teas.

Had to remind her yet again that I don't like "normal" tea (I also avoid it for health reasons), which she reacted to with a tantrum and snarky comments, as if I'd personally attacked her, so I'm certain this was willful "revenge".

Before I bought my teapot, I'd make a cup of Earl Grey (not the cheapest) and to eek another cup out of the teabag (I'm poor), I'd lay the teabag in a spoon, neatly, on the chopping board, near the kettle, just for a few minutes. This is EXACTLY what my mother does (only she leaves hers anywhere on the worktop), when she often can't be bothered to make tea in the pot.

But when I go back to make my second cup of tea, I find that the teabag is gone, the spoon is gone, having been washed up; everything's wiped down, put away, cleared up. Time, after time, after time ... because she's thrown the teabag in the bin, because she says she thinks it's rubbish.

These teabags were something I'd bought with my own very meagre money. Can you imagine the massive deal she'd make of it if I threw out something of hers?

Given that she does this herself, you'd think she would be capable of working it out or realise that if it were trash I'd know where the trash can is and how to place items in it. Do I need to spell this out? It's deliberate provocation.

When the men in white coats do come for me and when I do finally and totally lose it, hopefully, these posts will show how much provocation I had! No, of course, it isn't just the annoyance with the tea, it's that something of this kind, something she must disagree with and causes me stress and requires me to explain and justify myself (for no good reason), happens every single day.

Stuck on transmit

Know-it-alls are bombastic, opinionated and bad at listening.

Plans for a cooked lunch today had to be quickly abandoned in favour of a quick snack, because mother only gave me short notice of the time she was scheduled to go out. We discuss what it will be: something that would be eaten on your lap. What she knows is that she's going out. What she wants is just to eat NOW. She doesn't think about the logic of the timescale, nor listen to a word that's said. She sets the table for lunch; knives, forks the lot.

She comes to the kitchen for juice. As I already had something to drink, I tell her, very clearly, that I didn't need juice. She pours 2 glasses of juice.

These are entirely typical of her and could be describing any number of small things that happen on any given day. And it's clear it's because her receive channel is switched off and she is permanently set on transmit, unable and unwilling to hear over the noise of her own self-important voice or thinking.

It is so frustrating and infuriating to waste perfectly good breath on her!

There is nothing about it that suggests dementia or senility.

Time-travel thinking ...

Having made and frozen her meals for next week (as I won't be here), I begin explaining them to her and mention that I'll make another fish pie later, from which portions can be frozen too and begin a sentence, "They may not be ..."

But she just could not stop to listen to the rest of what I was going to say and, simply had to interrupt in her know-it-all manner saying that, if the portions are not very big, she can always have them for lunch.

Well, we had, finally (usually), got it round to having our main, largest meal at lunch time, as this is recommended, not only from the point of view of weight control, but also for the immune system, I read. So the small portion for lunch logic doesn't stack and, you know she hasn't forgotten: look at what she did with the setting the table business, not 2 minutes before!

And I didn't say that, did I? I wasn't even going to say that ...
 
The portion sizes, frozen or not, will still be the exact same as they have been every other time - (same ingredients) and she has to know that they have to be equal, since she now only has ONE SIZE of dish to make it in (after she's thrown nearly everything useful in the house away: another long story.)

What I was about to comment, was that the fish pie portions may not be ... quite as successful (taste / texture wise) frozen and then defrosted and reheated, as say, something like the soups and stews.

That's all.

But no, as usual, she knows everything, including what you're thinking and what you're going to say, even before you do and interrupts all the time.

She does this to try to appear "smart". You and I know it makes her look like a totally ignorant, blithering idiot and, what's worse is she refuses to grasp the fact that, if she actually LISTENED sometimes, she might NOT always be wrong and therefore needing (she thinks) to try even harder still to appear right.

If she listened, she might learn something and then actually BE right!

All know-it-alls suffer from a lack of self-esteem, and what they seek, through their tireless attempts to impress, is usually approval and validation.

Now I know we all suffer from this to some degree. And we don't always listen when we should. We don't all FAIL relentlessly for 84 years though! That takes real stupidity of determination or determination of stupidity. :)

Blaming the tools

Some people are obsessed with blaming anything but themselves. Recently, my mother has been complaining about numb fingers and a lack of grip in her hands.

This wouldn't be because I've been suffering with such bad pain in my hands and wrists, for which I've had them supported, because I was also losing power and grip and am concerned about developing carpal tunnel syndrome, could it? 

You know the type ... If I have a headache, she has a brain tumour ...

Anyway, she buys some new cloths for use in the kitchen. A different type than the old ones, because she says, they haven't been wiping up very well lately. You don't think maybe there's nothing whatsoever wrong with the cloths and it's just probably that she (and I) can't wring them out as well as we used to?

You watch, these new cloths will be "no better"! :-)

Water, water everywhere

Tsunami evacuation route Photo: neukar75

Goodness knows what the obsession with water is about. I'm not actually aware of any risk of a tsunami in Hampshire, but, if I wet the bath (as generally you do, when -if- you shower), then the bath surface and possibly the tiles around it do tend to get wet. It makes her panic: she came to me flapping because there was "water everywhere." Er, so?

When I'm cooking, if one of the chopping boards gets wet (you know, from washed ingredients), she's in there, wiping it before I've finished prep. If, heaven forbid, the wetness strays onto the worktop, even a single droplet, then this is a Level 1 Emergency.

You may as well share my frustration (the other reason for recording these things while they're fresh is because even I won't believe them later).

Using the telephone ...

Modern talking aparatus

If you have a conversation on the telephone, speaking loudly, with the internal doors of a modern bungalow open so that any persons living in the same area can and do overhear the entire call (and not for the first time and you know they can hear, because they've been able to repeat, verbatim, snippets from previous calls), then it's probably not going to be necessary for you to report the conversation you just had.

If the conversation had absolutely nothing to do with the other person, they don't need to know and there's absolutely no need to bother them with it.

If the other person already hears all your conversations anyway, despite the fact that they don't need to know anything about them, they certainly don't need to be disturbed to be told every detail of every single call (that is of no interest or concern to them), every time your phone rings!

If, however, you decide to ignore all this advice, then please have the sense to realise that, as the person already heard every word, they will know that what you report bears absolutely no resemblance to what you really said.

Regular readers already know who did this today, don't you?

Since she appears to willfully refuse to hear the above any logic, let's try putting it on the internet and seeing if she can pick it up by remote osmosis or something, because I am well beyond my friggin wits end with her.

On the phone, she's all "Yessir, no sir, that's quite alright, no problem ..."

According to her fantasy, fictional report of this same call (being relayed only moments after she's hung up), apparently, she was all assertive and told them in no uncertain terms exactly what she thought about their total inefficiency.

Not even in her dreams. I heard what she said. And assertive it wasn't.

She's never done assertive.

One of HER friend's asked me the other day:

"... or doesn't she do normal?"

Nope, she's never done normal.

Nor have I, but at least I'm willing to admit it.

Anyway, I digress ...

The discrepancy between the actual call and the report of it was so wide, you could have driven a double-decker bus through it, sideways. It renders my apparent "talent" in being able to spot liars almost superfluous.

Leave a message and I'll get back to you ...

Even - especially not - when you don't answer your phone and the answering machine does, you do not need to go to tell the person in the same house - what's more disturb them to do so - that the phone rang so many times, but the answering machine clicked in - all in the 3rd person, passive voice (everything is, calculatedly, so it won't be something she did or didn't do) and in a tones of near panic that infers this is some sort of major problem.

One, because the person already heard that for themselves. Obviously.

Two, that's what answering machines are supposed to do.

If you can't get to the phone fast enough to answer it first, place the phone nearer to your person. It does not need to always be on the base station: it will last 6 whole days "unhooked". You've been told this. Grasp it.

Why doesn't this "other person" answer your phone? That's a very good question, the main answer to which basically boils down to your insistence that there are incoming scam calls these days that somehow magically charge your line after so many seconds, just by calling you, without you needing to dial a number. So, you have to be really, really, really, really careful. So I'm not allowed. At 51!

Of course, I couldn't have learned to be really, really, really, really careful about anything during the 25 or so years I lived alone, now could I?

Those of us from planet earth know this is a total "load of ball bearings" as my mate would put it, but there's no telling you anything, is there?

The remedy: I won't answer your phone and then I can't be wrong.

Well, I will be wrong, just by breathing, but it's one less thing.

All concept of reasonableness, is lost ...

Later, I go to the shop, I come back, she's Hoovering. No problem (well, apart from the wide open windows and scared loose cats, which she tried to make me feel responsible / guilty for / insisted wasn't a problem and whined that "they weren't out of bed when I started"), but I couldn't care less if she's "still" Hoovering or not and fail to see the point of the next diatribe ...

The reason for this (I didn't know it was one) "delay," is because her friend rang up and the friend always goes on and on and you "can't" stop her.

(I wonder if the friend has any idea how "grateful" mother is for her calls?)

"Well, you just have to tell people you have to ...", says I.

At this point - remember in the last breath she's said a) this woman "can't" be stopped and b) the whole "point" (if it were one) of this was to report a "delay" - now mother claims, "Oh yes, I HAD TO tell her ..."

Echoing stuff back, using the exact same format, is a very clear indication that someone is lying and I've noticed lately that my mother has been sounding like a veritable Polly Parrot. Not to brag or anything, but I really do know from experience that there's no way she even knows about, let alone does half the things I've suggested that she's echoed back and suddenly "always done".

There's no point saying, "You can't have, because ...", because mother will just blank - fail to react to - that, because it's not what her fantasy says.

Of course, these are small matters of themselves and are entirely laughable, but I think I can now see the pattern, understand what she's doing and why she does it. Following along the same logic I was exploring yesterday, all her fantasy stories appear contrived to make her appear better than she is.

The "assertiveness fantasy" about the first phone call demonstrates that very clearly. It's a trait anyone is likely to feel they would be respected for.

My short course in psychology at Birmingham University gave me a decent "feel" for the subject, but I recognise that I am not qualified in it. Despite that, frankly, I don't think I need to be to, once again, conjecture that, this has all the hallmarks of pathological lying. The conditions exist (if what I've been told of my mother's childhood is correct), but I feel this is not "just" compulsive lying, because she certainly is manipulative, cunning and self-centered.

This is like one 10th of the crap she throws at me on any given day. My head is constantly pounding with stress headaches and I don't think I needed to be an expert to know that:

"Often when you associate with a liar, you can feel like you’re losing your mind, so to protect your own sanity, seek help."

And that, most definitely, has to be my next step.

I hate Jamie Oliver

Well, no I don't hate him, of course, because I've never met him, but if I was my mother, no doubt, I'd believe he was to blame for this behaviour.

She's just barged in here, she could clearly see that I'm doing something and just to "drop a subtle hint", I made a deliberate point of not looking up and of furrowing my brow studiously. She doesn't ever ask, she doesn't wait, she just rushes into a diatribe. This one was about "this program" (I wasn't watching TV) is a Jamie Oliver (I'd lived in Spain since he was 17, heard of him, never seen him), did you know he's dyslexic? No, but lots of people are (and haven't died from it, come to think of it, it doesn't seem to have stunted his success very much, point?), he can only read 12 pages and he goes to sleep (well, that may be true, but that's not dyslexia as I know it), but you should see how he ... 

(I'd stopped listening long before this) Look, I'm doing something right now (I'm really not interested and if I were I could watch it online ...)

(Words in brackets are thoughts unvoiced, because there's no point.)

To give her one point, at least it wasn't to tell me about the plot of Emmerdale or Corrie, or who she wants to win Strictly Come Dancing. Agggrrrr! :)

So she storms off in a huff, slamming doors, believing herself to be the "injured party". I'm "wrong" for not wanting to hear what she has to say about nothing of any interest to me at a time when I'm concentrating on something else ...

And something similar happens at least 20 times a day.

You Can Definitely Spot a Liar

"Maybe you have good instincts. Or maybe you just have a lot of experience with liars. Either way, it's pretty hard for someone to pull a fast one on you. You're like a human lie detector."

Can You Spot a Liar?

NOTE: If you intend to take the quiz, I suggest doing it now (I'll wait here), because some of my comments might influence your answers otherwise.

Mine is certainly the result I hoped for - I doubt my own abilities so much, because they're dismissed so often - yet, I do put my ability down to both instinct (that I'm learning to trust) and considerable experience with liars.

The most interesting question was the one asking which reaction is the indication of lying; someone who continues to defend themselves after the subject has been changed, or someone who is happy it was changed.

Or, as this states:

Watch and listen carefully, when someone is accused of something and they are innocent, usually they will resent the accusations and want to explore the topic further. When the conversation changes direction is the person glad the subject has changed instead of wanting to know where this fantasy came from. The guilty want the subject changed.

I don't bloody Adam and Eve it!

If I had a pound for every time my mother said that my continued protestations of innocence were PROOF POSITIVE that I had to be guilty of what she was falsely accusing me of, well, I'd probably have enough for a world cruise.

Come on, she has to know that she's deliberately doing this.

And of course, my mother has appeared happy for subjects to be changed or dropped herself and observing her do this has become my barometer for gauging what she really means and, an antidote to her tendency for confusing, "Long answers, beyond what is normal [...] often used to distract and deflect."

Those haven't been the only traits (by far), that I've observed that have made me believe that she's telling untruths, perhaps even knowingly, but one tends to "excuse" old people on the basis that they probably don't have a clue nor remember what they've said and, would therefore find lying impossible.

And, despite 50 years of observation that tells me otherwise, one tends not to want to believe that one's own mother is prize porkie pie teller either, but I've seen enough of these behaviours recently to think very differently now. And, the more research I do, looking for answers, the more it looks like we may well even be dealing with a full-blown case of pathological lying.

The key to the problem, I think, can be summed up in, "Be sure that the more insecure someone is the more they are prone to lying."

You'd be hard pressed to find anyone who demonstrates greater feelings of insecurity than my mother (other than me, as a result of it.) She absolutely refuses to acknowledge it though and has spent her whole life avoiding everything she doesn't like, instead of confronting and overcoming fears.

Now she's had around 80 years experience in massaging the truth, trying desperately to make herself look better than she feels she is. You know and I know that her laughable actions have the exact opposite effect to the one she intends, but she just doesn't have the education to see that, despite the fact that she is very sharp in other ways and very capable of duplicity.

However, reading this explanation:

Young children learn from experience that stating an untruth can avoid punishment for misdeeds, before they develop the theory of mind necessary to understand why it works. In this stage of development, children will sometimes tell fantastic and unbelievable lies because they lack the conceptual framework to judge whether a statement is believable or even to understand the concept of believability.

That statement rings so true, I can honestly say that it seems my mother has never mentally progressed past this point of maturity. She doesn't want to.

Fantasy and wishful thinking make things true for her, without any need for actual experience, knowledge or dealing with grown up things.

It's all terribly sad really, but that does not excuse the lying and, especially not the egotistical, cruel, nasty backstabbing that goes along with it that - also probably because she's practiced it so long - she truly appears to enjoy.

Unfortunately too, my human lie detecting ability, no matter how good, is not entirely infallible and it certainly was duped in phone conversations, such that the whole situation presented to me while I was still in Tenerife, bears absolutely no relation to reality, that I am now seeing for myself.

Going Potty

Well, I've had one of the most unpleasant days I've ever had and, that's compared to most days being pretty damn shitty to begin with.

A while back, I dug out a letter I'd kept since 1990, from Joan Jones, the (apparently still) curator of the Minton Museum, with regard to two coffee cans and saucers, made by L A Birks & Co, Vine Pottery, Stoke, between 1896 - 1900. (You can almost see one in the image, right, to the left of the vase.)

Ms. Jones' letter tells me that Birks (Laurence Arthur) was a former pâte-sur-pâte artist at Minton, who left in 1896 to set up on his own. The design on these is a close copy of Minton's Delft pattern, which at the time, wasn't under copyright protection. Since these could only have been made in that 4 year span, presumably, the copy is rarer than the original, but what I don't know is if that "rarity" has a positive effect on their value.

And there's only one way to find out, I reckon: get an expert opinion.

Anyway, for a long time, mother has been telling me about an auctioneer in Lymington that supposedly someone she knows has recommended. She purports to know everything about it, so I accept and leave it at that.

It's not urgent, but yes, I'm looking to sell these and the vases.

However, I can't just get up and go places. If I want to have a day out, with all the pain it will entail, I have to plan ahead, taking it easy for a couple of days beforehand. I'll still postpone outings if I wake up in too much pain or if I'm tired, because I know that will increase the recovery time - yes, just from a simple shopping trip - from the minimum 3 days to much longer.

Remember, I've spent years pacing myself and balancing this problem.

Anyway, today was a bad day, pain wise and had I any choice in the matter, I would never have gone out at all, but mother decided that it was sunny, she wanted to go and I knew if I'd said no, she'd have one of her tantrums.

The other reason for going to Lymington is because last time I'd been there, I'd found a branch of Millets and, having compared the quality and prices of their clothing with the utter crap in the fashion stores, I thought that they were much better value for the warm and weatherproof clothing I need. Told mother about it and she said we'd go and get "everything I needed." Of course she doesn't have to, but I have absolutely no warm clothes after 16 years in Tenerife and, before I came back to the UK, I made it clear that I would need clothes for the climate and, that I would not have money to buy them myself. Mother assured me she would buy me an entire new wardrobe, no problem. And she's a fucking liar.

So, we get the local bus to New Milton, and then wait half an hour for the bus to Lymington - I know this sounds like no big deal, but it causes me a lot of pain, so I don't undertake the journey lightly. (I also have to find a loo at least once in that amount of time.) We get off in Lymington at the bus stop she says is near the place she claims to know all about. And we walk miles and around back streets and then she says she THINKS it's around here somewhere, but isn't sure where. She doesn't have the address and she can't remember the name and she hasn't thought to write it down and bring it with her!

She randomly selects a building at the end of any street and swears that's where it "used to be". It's a removals firm and has "Removals" painted in gold lettering on the glass above the door in a style that makes it obvious that it has been a removals firm since somewhere around the 1930's. To say that it's patently obvious she's making up a total load of bullshit as we go along is the biggest understatement of the millennium and I'm not a happy bunny.

By chance, we find an auctioneer in a back street. We don't know them, we have no idea if they're trustworthy. She says they aren't the name she was given, but I'm supposed to go in there and be content with their opinion. The man gave the items a cursory glance and declared each of them worth a condescending £10-12, including the Chinese vase that a (well known, professional and respected) auctioneer friend in Birmingham had valued at £300, almost 20 years ago.

That vase, one of a pair, came from a well-to-do old lady who had a house stuffed with £15,000 + cabinets. The vases won't be £10 junk and my mother absolutely knows they won't be junk, because the old lady (now deceased) who gave them to me had been my mother's next door neighbour. She gave the vases to my mother to give to me and, at that time, my mother was fully aware they had some value, because she herself had told me they did. Now she claims she "can't remember" that this is where I got the vases. She can, strangely enough, remember every other tiny detail about the woman. But that was that. That was what "the expert" said and mother was virtually laughing and gloating because I had been "proved wrong": that these were almost worthless junk. Whereas, I'm more inclined to believe that the bloke didn't really know what he was looking at.

We then stop for a coffee in a really nice coffee shop, which was completely wasted on my mother, because she wouldn't be able to tell the difference between good coffee and dishwater. She announces in there that she refuses to have coffee out because she "just can't afford it." It was hellishly expensive, but oddly enough, I can still enjoy that (occasionally rather than having to put up with dishwater), provided the voice of doom and gloom isn't whining in my ear and rushing me to drink up and leave. The truth of the matter is that everything in this country is hellishly expensive, but I just couldn't cope with any outing without regular breaks to sit down, plenty to drink and yet more frequent visits to the bog.

We then walk into a charity shop and find a £3.79 top, which mother says is absolutely perfect for her upcoming Christmas do. She's clattering on about what it will go with, when she changes her mind mid-breath - coincidentally when I happen to say "yes, I like that" - and decides that it will be too big, will hang dreadfully off the shoulders, will look awful ... I measure it up against her cardigan and it is exactly the same width. She refuses to accept the "hard evidence", but snaps that I can have it if I want it. I didn't say that and I didn't want it. It was not my style at all.

Then we walk to Millets where she ums and ahs and questions and pulls faces about the cost of the waterproof jacket - that I'd told her two weeks ago was £25. It was £24.99. That's definitely not expensive. It's also not insulated, is not winter weight, but at least it will be weatherproof, as nothing else I have is.

Apart from that, I got one lightweight, microfiber top (£17.99), with free sighs and grimaces. That's it? That's my "entire winter wardrobe" is it?

And, if that's the reaction to the cheapest jacket in the shop (hardly more than a plastic mac really), what's the chance of getting a winter weight garment?

Or, more to the point, what fucking chance do I have of surviving a British winter after 16 years in the sub-tropics and with a severe sensitivity to cold - a known symptom of fibromyalgia - without proper winter weight garments?

The other "interesting" thing was that, while we were in Millets and one other shop where I found something worth looking at, she had to sit down (head bent, sighing) and was rushing me to pay up and go. Then we'd get outside and she'd announce that she "just has to go to ...", as though it was planned or a commitment she'd made to someone and, off she went browsing round clothes shops for her, where she had no problems at all, strangely.

We only went out at just before 11 a.m. and were back on the 2 p.m. bus, at home before 3 p.m., but I felt like I'd done 11 rounds with Muhammad Ali. By the time we got back to New Milton, I was in excruciating pain and could hardly put one foot in front of the other. At 84, she was racing on ahead of me.

She's starting, finally, to accept that I must have something wrong, but now she's convinced herself that the doctor will just give me a pill and it will be cured.

Sympathy and compassion are still conspicuous by their absence.

We got indoors and she goes off to the kitchen mumbling away in a stage whisper, still moaning about something - me, obviously - just because I'd said I didn't want a cup of tea. She does this every time she encounters reality and doesn't like it, which is pretty damn often, as you can probably tell.

How can anyone be this selfish and venomously negative, so constantly? Is it simple senility or calculated cruelty? Does it even matter really? All I know is I'll soon end up in the loony bin if I have to put up with much more of it.