The Dementia Lie

My elephant is missing

On 1st September 2025, Nerys accompanied me on my annual appointment to the National Hospital for Neurology and Neuroscience at Queen Sq, London. 

After about 15 minutes of consultation, Professor Warren came in to join us and we were told that my PET scan from February 2025 had been assessed and the results - along with my lack of cognitive decline and not dying nearly quickly enough - showed I did not have dementia.

What?

The elephant in the room we had clearly identified and got to know well over the last 4 -5 years was suddenly gone, leaving a pachyderm-shaped void. 

What?

It's good news. You don't have dementia. You're going to live!

Ok. Er...

What do I do now? Apart from having the rug pulled from underneath me, and feeling somewhat fraudulent about all the fuss I've made about having a rare dementia, I'm left with...nothing.

That elephant was handy, as once I could see it I knew how to manoeuvre around it. It had a purpose. It was the thing we could blame, could pin certain behaviours onto, would avoid at times and push back at others.

What do I do?

Er...

Start again.

The brain is a highly complex thing. This happens. You'll probably want to go down the mental health route. Get a psychotherapist. Good luck!

Having since looked it up this is indeed a not uncommon thing with FTD. People have mentioned suing for the misdiagnosis. It would be very complicated and take years and probably not result in a win. 

I understand if my lobes looked a bit shabby anyway - I always maintained they were pulled out of a skip when I was assembled

So, the long and winding road of mental health for me. 

My self-diagnosis is Autistic Burnout. Makes perfect sense to me. Masking by copying others, which I can remember doing from a very early age. 

But we'll have to see.

Waiting time for autism diagnosis is 3 years on the NHS.

People say - are you going to go back to work now? 

Thing is, the symptoms are the same! They haven't gone away just because the label's been removed! I'm still inappropriate, easily flummoxed, get crazy tired, foggy-brained, overwhelmed, hypersensitive to noise and bright light and snappy as a demented cartoon mantrap. 

I'm not coming off the 100mgs of Sertraline any time soon!

So what should I call this blog now...?

Yesterday's Pants

Balls to Festivals

So we've just come to the end of the Halloween Festival. It was only 2 months long. 

You can tell I enjoyed it.

In my day Halloween was just another day; the important one was Guy Fawkes' Night, in which children made effigies of the Jesuit conspirator and went house to house asking "Penny for the guy?"

Papist was then burnt on a massive fire as we all watched, along with a fireworks display, and we all cheered.

Good old fashioned family entertainment.

Honestly, you can't even burn Catholics anymore without upsetting people. It's only once a year for gawds's sake.

Political correctness gone mad etc.

So now it's children going house to house dressed up as scary things like ghouls or Disney princesses, and getting sweets in return. 

Or candy. 

Well, we're all American now, right?

A typical American, earlier today.

Then it's back to the Christmas festival, which has been running in the background since August. 

What do we do once New Year is over???

Don't worry: the Easter Eggs will be ready in storage at the end of this year to go straight onto the shelves on January 1st.

Yes, the Son of God has just been born and (Spoiler alert!!) we go immediately into his resurrection. 

You'd think those scum in marketing may have had something to do with it.

I may be sexy but I'm boring

10 weeks now sans alcohol. I realise on those rare periods when I’m abstemious, that I rely on alcohol as a social prop. I use it to unwind and relax.

So do I, I hear you say. 

But as said previously, I have no off-switch. No limit. No concept of what is ‘too much.’

So without alcohol I’m rather intense and socially awkward. 

I haven’t danced since I last drank.

I no longer go out in the evenings except for special occasions (games nights).

I have lost weight, but not as much as I’d have liked. 

I look and feel better within myself - less physically repulsive.

But that’s it.

Aging

'The peripheral visual field shrinks by approximately 1 to 3 degrees each decade after a certain age.' according to Google's AI.

On that basis and my recent trip to Tescos, where many people had large trolleys which they parked adjacently in the aisles while choosing packets of Bourbon creams, completely oblivious to those of us trying to get past, I would estimate their average age to be at least 160.

Philostophy Bag

"The relentless pursuit of material gain and consumption as a moral failure that eroded social bonds, dehumanized individuals, and leads to a hollow, alienated existence."

Sound familiar? Existential dread in the 21st century? 

This was an AI summation of the philosophy of Thomas Carlyle in the EARLY 19th century, living in that London.

He'd have puked himself inside out if he could experience life today.

'This is the sound of...'

Those radio ads written by children who've had no actual experience of the medium.

Of course it's the bloody sound of - it's the only sense the medium uses!

Try that sentence without those 5 words, and it works much better. 

Honestly. Bloody moronic, illiterate, advertising scum!!!

(I was nearly one myself!)

This is the smell of old people.

Taste the goodness of Thatcher.

This is the look of fart.

Days

BY PHILIP LARKIN

What are days for?
Days are where we live.
They come, they wake us
Time and time over.
They are to be happy in:
Where can we live but days?

Ah, solving that question
Brings the priest and the doctor
In their long coats
Running over the fields.

The Scrotary Club of Great Britain

I don't know what this means.