And God made little green apples (or did he?)

I love watching my children whilst they are fast asleep - they both look so angelic and butter wouldn't melt. Often being the first to wake up, the job of getting the girls up and dressed on a school morning tends to fall to me as the "morning person" of the household whilst Tim heads down to the kitchen and gets their lunch boxes sorted. But rather than my rushing about in headless chicken mode (once I have got moving that is which on a bad day can take a little while), they both tend to react better to the softly-softly approach. This is the path of least resistance, I have tried many different ways, and this approach is best in order to avoid an argument and a refusal to get up, which is both time-wasting and non-value added.

But I really don't know why, I occasionally feel like being mischeivous where I tickle Elise under the chin, whilst making soft baby noises - along the lines of  "who's my lickle ickle baby girl" and " cudja cudja coo" and other such non-sensicle statements like "here comes the tickle monster" ..... well, you should have the drift by now. I think it hilarious but Elise's reaction is never favourable, and on a good day she will cock one eye open, look at me and then turn over whilst muttering under her breath "For Gods sake Mother". On a bad day though, its a different matter altogether.............. well lets just say it makes for an interesting hour until she leaves the house to go to school. Sometimes the temptation not to block her nose or tickle her eyelashes is almost over-whelming. I have also thus far also resisted the temptation of rousing everybody (neighbours included) with a rendition of my newly acquired LSVT vocal exercises! My household is not a morning household regardless of the time of year and unless I want WWIII to break out under my roof, I tend to leave this treat until a more appropriate time of the day - normally when I have the place to myself.

Instead, the practical jokes are put to one side, and Antonia unwittingly rouses her sister from her slumber instead. Whilst she is still half-asleep, she instinctively goes in to cuddle-mode and I carry her in to her sister's room, these days with my knees buckling! As time goes on this is becoming more and more of a challenge, and one day she will just be too heavy! Antonia loves waking her sister, and she does this by nestling in with Elise whilst giving her the mother of all cuddles - what a way to wake up and I know Elise absolutely loves it.

But as sure as eggs are eggs and God made little green apples (or did he?) both my children are starting to spread their wings which will eventually lead to them living their own lives away from the family homestead. This is inevitable, as is the likelihood that the drugs regime I am on will over time cease to be as effective - when precisely is anybody's guess. Unless a way of halting or even reversing Parkinson's is found, my options will in time run out - like the grains of sand in a glass jar. I am not the only one to be facing this fate, there are hundreds of other PWP's who are on the same road, some ahead of me in the distance, others along-side and more following. I would like to point out here that I am not being negative - just realistic. However I don't like looking in to what the future holds too much, it really does scare me and it may never happen. Instead I just live my life for each day whilst making plans only for the near future, and I celebrate what each day has to offer. Being an independent lady (in character that is, sadly not in finances) I have made it clear that I do not want either of our children to stay at home once their education is finished. My work will not be done, and Tim and I will have failed as parents, unless they both go out and discover what the world has to offer. I don't want either to become my carer - that is so not an option and for me it will be allowing my mate Parkie to rule my life.

But, when all is said and done my children will always and forever be my precious babes, no matter where they are and what they do!

Sports Day

This blog is dedicated to Lawrie, a true gentle gentleman, who quietly slipped away from this world in to the next without warning in his sleep two days ago. Our thoughts and prayers are with Nancy at this unexpected turn of events, at a time when they were finalising plans to travel the world after retiring from their careers later this year.

With my children now being in seperate schools, I have wondered whether we would suffer the consequences of diary clashes especially with respect to the all important end of year Sports Day. This, to me, is the most important day in the school calendar. Being in possession of absolutely no sporting prowess what so ever, my parents showed little interest in this important day when I was growing up, being confident that I would always come last – and did! My sister, being at a different school to me, showed talent from an early age as a middle distance runner, but as a result also had to suffer the ignominy of my father standing on the sidelines bellowing at the top of his voice for her to “Get a Move on” and other such phrases! To my knowledge, she never ever failed to deliver and I know my parents were very proud of her achievements.

So on to 2011. Antonia's sports day took place yesterday having been postponed from last week due to inclement weather, Elise's is today. To say that Antonia absolutely loves Sports Day is an understatement. In her mind, it is not the winning that is important to her, it is the taking part. Her favourites seem to be the running race, and the all important team relay at the end. True to form, she delivered and performed as expected. On taking up the baton in the relay, with the largest smile she could muster and her face and eyes shining with the excitement of it all, she set off down the field at a fair pace. OK, so she wasn't running very fast, and I have no doubt that she wasn't achieving her true potential – but to her it wasn't important. In her eyes she was the winner and I wouldn't have been at all surprised if she had given high 5's all the way along with the cheering crowd. 

Elise, on the other hand, has inherited my sister's physique and talent for sports, and today will be her last Sports Day at Primary School. Elise has always done well on Sports Day – she is not only a strong contender, she also encourages others in her team to do as well, if not better. She is quite frankly sports mad, and I wouldn't be surprised if in time she inherits my sisters childhood nickname of “Muscles”. The past week or two has seen a lot of sporting activites in Elise's diary, including taking part in her very first mini-marathon last weekend. In spite of being given a training plan by her teacher, Elise's preparation for this event was minimal, but I needn't have worried – she came 4^th in a field of about 30 girls.

Having woken up early and checked the forecast, it looks the same as yesterday - the risk of some heavy showers. However, there is an additional snag in the plans. Elise, having been to gymnastics training last night, managed to pull a muscle in her back, and in spite of sleeping well she is still in pain this morning. Although she puts on a brave face, we know that she is worried and upset about the possibility that she may not be able to run later today. Being single minded though, Elise later decided that she would run and took part in her two favourite events – the middle distance race and the sprint. The sprint saw her come in well ahead of her opponents, whilst she timed her race beautifully in the middle distance event, just about pipping one of her closest friends to first place. The comradeship and sporting behaviour was good to see as both girls immediately shook hands and congratulated each other on the close finish and I am so proud of them both. 

As for the weather, it was the same pretty much on both days - overcast but dry, with the showers holding off until the events had finished. And as for me and Tim, we would have not have had the last two days any different – in our eyes our children are both winners and we are proud of them.

The end of an Era

The start of this week brought Tim and I the sad news that someone who made a tremendous difference to our lives 25 years ago, when we first married, had passed away unexpectedly, leaving behind his wife, son and grandchildren. The person to whom I refer is Professor Tony.

So, where do I start? With this there is no start, just an ending, as I try to wind my memory back to those early days with Tim and try to recall when and where I first met Tony, or for that matter even became aware of him. The only thing I can say is that I was young, naïve, and very much in love with Tim. My life totally changed when Tim and I started dating, and the following years were a tremendous amount of fun, as our lives – both in and out of the work place – totally revolved around the microbial research establishment where Tim, and I (for a brief time) both worked. When I look back over those years, I have such happy memories, and given the opportunity to turn the clock back, it would be to that time. There is absolutely nothing that I would change, they were truly happy days.

Tim, and myself for only a year, both worked in the largest division, headed up by Tony. I had previously been working in a different department as a secretary, but on hearing that I was experiencing harrassment problems, Tony offered me an olive branch by way of a place as one of the two secretaries in his team primarily supporting his Deputy. He asked no questions - he didn't need to. I only stayed there a year. It wasn't that I was unhappy, I just needed to move on and Tony was understanding when I handed in my notice. It was blindingly obvious that my future was definitely not in micriobial research. Having struggled to pass O'level Human Biology at school, I was absolutely no scientist. Microbiology, to me, was a foreign language that I struggled to get to grips with and after a year of working in Tony's office, he didn't bat an eyelid when I resigned. To Tony, it was probably a tremendous relief as my shorthand was so atrocious that on the very few occasions I took dictation from him I would soon be knocking on his door asking him to translate the alien hierogliphics I had scribbled on my notepad.

Tony was dynamic, forthright, visionary and incredibly loyal to the team he built up over the years. They were exciting times – it was a time when a lot seemed to be happening in the field of research, and great progress was being made. Yes, Tony demanded a lot from his team, but he also gave back so much. We were all his extended family. If anyone had a problem, no matter how large or small, either personal or in the workplace, he would always be there, to offer support. To his team, Tony was The Don, The Godfather.

As Director of the largest division, Tony was incredibly adept at obtaining funding for research in to such diseases as Aids, Cancer, possibly even Parkinson's(?), and there were many fresh faced graduates who owe their careers to the opportunities that Tony offered. Without his help, there is no way Tim and I could have bought our first house together as he found funding, goodness knows where, so that Tim could continue to work in his team, and we could obtain a mortgage. It is from that time, those precious years, that we made lifelong friends and hold so many happy memories.

Over the years, the establishment evolved and as so often happens, many of us gradually drifted away. In time even Tony left and moved on to pastures new as he set up a company near to his home. But he and his wife always stayed in touch, even if was only by sending an annual Christmas card, as in our case.

So, it was with great sadness that we heard from a friend of ours yesterday that Tony had suddenly passed away. This evening has been spent on the phone talking to old friends, finding out what happened, and reminiscing. In a weird kind of way, I have found it comforting looking back over those years, when we were young and invincible, where the weekend started at noon on Friday at the pub, and Sunday nights would be the only night of the week when we didn't go out. Tim and I will be going to the funeral, and in a perverse kind of way, we're looking forward to it, as Tony's team gather together from far and wide for the final time, to remember the old days, to pay homage to a truly great man and to mark the end of an era.

Rest in peace Tony, rest in peace.

Deal? Or No Deal?

"Deal? Or No Deal?" I love watching that programme! It's just about the only programme on the telly at present that I like to watch and most days I can be found in my kitchen after picking up the girls from school, preparing supper whilst avidly watching the twists and turns of fate which leads the contestant of the day to second-guess which box contains the life changing sum, whilst they try to out-smart The Banker. It is interesting to watch the reactions of the contestants as the dreams on which their future stands or falls are either fulfilled or disappear in to thin air. It is a game of pure chance where the cash prizes range from winning a cool quarter million to becoming the latest member of the 1p club, with the reactions of all either witnessing or taking part reflecting the mood of the contestant. Each contestant gets just one crack at the whip and in general most seem to be happy that they have won an amount of money which is life changing or goes some way towards fulfilling a dream or an ambition. But, to me, the most bizarre thing is the sheer satisfaction if they have "spanked the banker" (!), even if that amount is not significant. Just the experience, for me, would be enough.

In my life, even if I won that cool quarter of a million, it would not be enough to buy me a cure to Parkinson's, but it would certainly help take the edge off the bitter pill I had to swallow when diagnosed. And it would most certainly not go unnoticed if a sum like that were bequeathed to Parkinson's research.

When I first started watching Deal? Or No Deal? I was totally confused by the game, and the same goes for Parkinson's in the early days after diagnosis. I still have so much to find out about this unwelcome intruder in to my life even as I come up to my second anniversary when I was diagnosed. In the early days I rather arrogantly thought I knew it all - in that it was an illness which afflicted the older generation and comprised a tremor. But now I have gradually came to the realisation that this is an illness where you need to lay your cards publicly on the table and try to make the best out of what you have been dealt. Are you going to accept the unwelcome intruder in to your life? Or are you going to bury your head in the sand? By grudgingly rolling out the welcome mat, you are taking a big step towards accepting the cards that fate has dealt you, and certainly in the early days helps to retain control over your life. By burying your head in the sand gives Parkinson's the edge to take over your life which submerges you in a sand pit from which it is harder and harder to climb out.

As I said, I knew next to nothing when I was diagnosed - but know so much more now. To help those who have little or no knowledge of Parkinson's, I have written a short quiz to test you, which instead of being called "Deal? Or No Deal?" is titled "Fact? Or Fiction?". I wonder how many Noel Edmonds would be able to answer and the answers given are as variable as the chances dealt in Deal? Or No Deal?

Here are my questions:

1. Parkinson’s does not discriminate against nationality, race, creed, colour of skin, age, or sex. Fact? Or Fiction?
   
   
2. The more obvious motor symptoms of Parkinson’s are preceded by a myriad of non-motor symptoms, which can pre-exist for a number of years. Fact? Or Fiction?
   
   
3. Parkinson’s can sometimes be misdiagnosed as something else. Fact? Or Fiction?
   
   
4. On diagnosis it is likely that 80% of the brain cells in the niagra region of your brain controlling the release of dopamine to your body will have already died off. Fact? Or Fiction?
   
   
5. Parkinson’s is often diagnosed by clinical observation. Fact? Or Fiction?
   
   
6. The drugs to control the symptoms are hideously expensive and a drain on NHS resources. Fact? Or Fiction?
   
   
7. There is no charge payable for prescriptions for a Person with Parkinson's in England. Fact? Or Fiction?
   
   
8. Parkinson’s is a degenerative illness. Fact? Or Fiction?
   
   
9. Parkinson’s is a contagious illness from which you will die. Fact? Or Fiction?
   
   
10. Parkinson’s is currently incurable. Fact? Or Fiction?

How did you do?

Taking each question in turn, here’s my response. If your viewpoint is different to mine, that is fine. You are entitled to your opinions, I am entitled to mine - I won't take it personally. If it engenders a healthy debate, that would be fantastic!

1. Parkinson’s does not discriminate against nationality, race, creed, colour of skin, age, or sex. Fact – it is totally non-discriminatory, just as the boxes are which the contestants pick at random before Deal gets underway. Before I was diagnosed I had always thought Parkinson’s afflicted the older generation, and favoured men over women - little did I know and I apologise to those those of the opposite sex who are more senior to me in years.
   
   
2. The more obvious motor symptoms of Parkinson’s are preceded by a myriad of non-motor symptoms, which can pre-exist for a number of years. Fact – non-motor symptoms can be things like a chronic sleep disorder, a gradual loss of sense of smell and taste, difficulty swallowing, dribbling, anxiety, depression, lack of facial expression, monotone voice…. etc. (And I do so hate it when I dribble..... eugghhh.) On diagnosis a Parkie-person will often realise they may have been suffering from this for quite some time. Further information about motor and non-motor symptoms can be found on www.epda.eu.com, www.parkinsons.org.uk, and www.nhs.uk
   
   
3. Parkinson’s can sometimes be misdiagnosed as something else. Fact – it can be misdiagnosed as stress, depression, frozen shoulder, even essential tremor
   
   
4. On diagnosis 80% of the brain cells in the niagra region of your brain controlling the release of dopamine to your body will have already died off. Fact!
   
   
5. Parkinson’s is often diagnosed by clinical observation. Fact – if there is any doubt, this can be confirmed by a DAT scan
   
   
6. The drugs to control the symptoms are hideously expensive and a drain on NHS resources. Fact!
   
   
7. There is no charge payable for prescriptions for a Person with Parkinson's in England. I would love to say this is Fact, but it isn't, it's Fiction – the current list defining which illnesses/diseases are eligible for free prescriptions on the NHS is out of date and long over-due a review. I understand this had been on the agenda under the last Government, but is now shelved for the foreseeable future. I could launch off on a political tirade at this point, but I'm not one to take sides, and it would not hold any value
   
   
8. Parkinson’s is a degenerative illness which first affects one half of the body before taking over the other half. Fact – a Parkie-person will eventually require help with the most simplest of tasks like getting out of bed, getting dressed, eating food, going to the bathroom. But it doesn't only attack a PwP physically, it can also affect mental health, self-confidence, self-esteem, and even family relationships
   
   
9. Parkinson’s is a contagious illness from which you will die. Fiction – what it does do though is increase the risk of complications arising from other illnesses, and in a minority of cases can be genetic handed down the generations. With regard to complications – I have been there, I have that t-shirt. 10 months ago I was haemorraghing so badly following a major op that I thought I was on my way to meet my maker. I will be eternally grateful to the doctors and nurses at Dorchester hospital who were able to stop the bleeding and piece me back together again
   
   
10. Parkinson’s is currently incurable. Fact – but a great deal of research is going on out there, and I am positive that one day, some day, a cure will be found to not only halt the disease in its tracks, but also to also reverse the effects by renewal of those much needed brain cells. It may not be there in my lifetime, or yours, but I hope and pray it will be there for the next generation who have yet to be diagnosed.

As for me, I have Parkinson’s, I am in my 40’s, pre-retirement age and female - so bang goes my theory that this is an illness only afflicting older men. Looking back over the years, I can identify the times when non-motor and motor symptoms crept in to my life. My consultant thinks I have had Parkinson's for about 5 years now, but I beg to differ, especially with regard to the non-motor symptoms.

Do I want a cure? Oh yes please. At present I can do so much more than I could 2 years ago – I can walk, I can talk, I can express my emotions, I don't fall over or sound drunk even when stone cold sober, and I can even type – all thanks to a hideous cocktail of drugs, which come rolled up with their own suite of side-effects just to complicate matters. But these do not furnish me with a cure – all it buys me is an indeterminate period of time – time to spend with my husband and children, time to raise awareness, time to raise money for vital research. I have been lucky enough to take early retirement from my job so that I can do these things before Parkinson’s overtakes the effectiveness of the cocktail of drugs I currently take.

And as to the future – I think it futile to try to predict what I will be like in 10 years time – I just won't go there, it’s too depressing.

Instead I prefer to live my life one day at a time. I have chosen to be positive, and exercising my right as a woman to contradict myself, I very much believe that one day, some day, either in the immediate or not-so-immediate future I may be cured and will no longer have to rely on drugs to get me through the days and interminable nights.

So, here’s the Deal – just as the Banker in Deal occasionally offers the contestant the opportunity to swop their box, I am willing to swop, just for one day, my Parkinson’s without the drugs with the well-being of an MP or MEP, so that that individual can understand what life is like for me as a Person with Parkinson’s, and I can take a much needed holiday from what this disease is doing to my body. Then maybe, just maybe, that understanding will raise the profile of Parkinson's resulting in a move up the political agenda, both within the UK and the EU. If this was a work of Fiction that swop could be arranged. But sadly this isn’t a work of Fiction – this is the real world, this is a Fact. In fact, this is my life I'm talking about, and the lives of the hundreds and thousands of People with Parkinson's out there. For me and all those out there who have Parkinson's, it is time to get a move on and find a cure. Find a cure to an illness which holds the generic label of "Parkinson's", but is definitely not generic in the random way it affects us all.

If I spot David Cameron on the beach, what do I do?

OK - so we're off tomorrow on our annual camping holiday in not so sunny Cornwall. It is going to be a welcome break for the Collinge's at the close of an eventful week  - some of which we could have really done without, but I won't go there. This year we've decided to try May instead of the last week of August as usual with the vain hope that the weather will be kind to us, and the rain will hold off. It's our seventh year running at the same destination with one of my dearest friends, Judith, and her husband and kiddies. Also we're without friends Jane and Chris - they're off to sunnier climes with other old friends of ours - hmmmm looking at the forecast I'm beginning to wonder if they're the sensible ones.

To say that our holidays in Polzeath are uneventful would be a blatant lie. Every year one of our party, normally from the Collinge family, end up in hospital somewhere along the way. The first year it was Caroline - with a serious break to her ankle. Caroline and Andy haven't been camping since, but at least they are still talking to us - just about!!! The second year it was Antonia, with a double fracture in her arm........ and so on....... If we don't end up in hospital, its because our tent has sunk in the quagmire instead and we have returned home with a good dose of trench foot, as happened in our third, or was it our fourth, year?

I missed out altogether on the annual pilgrimage to Polzeath last year and Tim gallantly braved the elements and looking after our troublesome two on his own. On their return home I was informed it had been a piece of cake - or so he would have me believe. I had reluctantly elected to stay at home as I was recovering from one major operation, closely followed by another major emergency operation plus numerous pints of blood back in. To say that the second op was a tad too close to coming to terms with the fact that I am not immortal is an understatement and I had actually resigned myself to meeting my maker somewhat sooner than planned. I was so low before the second op as I was haemorrhaging like fury, I even rang Judith to say good-bye and ask that she keep a close eye on Tim and be there for our girls at a time when teenage girls really need their Mum around. She is the one person in my life whom I trust implicitly - besides my husband of course! Caroline (of the broken ankle) and Andy, bless them, paid me a visit a day later. I still have the puzzle book they bought - not quite finished!

So, what is it about Polzeath that makes us trek back there every year, in spite of what the Gods throw at us? I really don't know, except that this holiday is a special time when our girls get to spend a week with their god-mother in a part of the UK that we all absolutely love. In spite of what the elements throw at us, we come home revived, refreshed and spiritually cleansed by the sea air. And on top of that, Polzeath is a really funky place with a magic of its own.

But that said, I did have a fabulous time at home totally alone last year, in spite of being somewhat miffed that I couldn't go to Polzeath. I had received several offers for company and turned them all down. Yes, its true that I missed Tim and our girls very much, but I also relished the peace and quiet. I totally disregarded the clock and went to bed when I wanted and ate what I liked when I liked - fabulous! That was, until Elise informed me on one of her evening phone calls home that she had been surfing next to David Cameron! Flippin' heck - that was it - I nearly packed my bag ready to catch the next train to Cornwall. But I didn't. Even politicians, including the Prime Minister, need their privacy and time out to relax and enjoy family life, new born babes notwithstanding. I did try to persuade one of our party to speak to Mr. Cameron or rather one of his party and politely request a meeting when life was back to business as usual, so that I could raise concerns I have regarding the long term care of PwP's (People with Parkinson's) in the UK. Needless to say, my family and friends, without exception, refused. Can't say I blame them really - my concerns are mine, not theirs.

So, we're off tomorrow at the not quite so crack of dawn, this time only for 5 days, which we may prolong if the weather is kind to us. I hate to say it, I'm not holding my breath! Summer was during the Easter break which I spent trekking from one end of the Kennet and Avon canal to the other. I have so little faith this year I've even packed our thermals that we bought for our Sweden adventure back in February. Also, every year we plan to get up at the crack of dawn to get to Polzeath early, but knowing my tribe, there'll be delays after delays. My prediction is that whilst we plan to leave at 7:00 am, we eventually get going about 9:30.... Judith and her crew, meanwhile, will be on the beach about the time we're just waking up....

But the big question is, if I spot David Cameron on Polzeath beach this year, what do I do? Answers on a postcard please!

Addendum - I'm now beginning to blame our misfortunes when it comes to Polzeath on my Oirish Grandmother..... the luck of that is. It's now 11:00 am and we're still at home as the car has broken down, dead, just won't go. I've tried to contact our friends who have texted to say they are on the beach and where are we, but as usual the signal in Polzeath is non-existent and I can't get hold of them.

What next!!!

Three on the Tow Path

Over the past few weeks I have reflected on 5 days which were, for me, totally out of the ordinary, once I had got over the eurphoria of finishing what was to become a very personal challenge, not only for myself but also for one of my book club buddies, Wendy and her 15 year old son Spencer. During these 5 days I stepped away from the routine of wake up, take meds, get up, get dressed, get breakfast, get kiddies to school, wash up, tidy up, take meds, get kiddies from school, take kiddies to after-school activity (swimming/gymnastics/brownies etc), get home, take meds, feed, water, wash up (again), tidy up (again), bathe, take meds and sleep – day in, day out.

We, as in Wendy, Spencer and myself, were to walk all 86 miles (or thereabouts) of the Kennet and Avon canal over 5 days, finishing on Easter Day. It would be an easy route to follow, being pretty much on level ground without the risk of getting lost (or so we thought) as we follow the canal as it wends its way from Bristol Temple Meads where it parts company with the River Avon, to Reading where it merges with the River Thames. Keeping it company along the way is the railway line which was responsible for the decline of the canal network, until they were reinvented and rejuvinated to become not only a place of recreation, but also a place to live and work for a great many people. I had spent many happy hours wandering up and down the stretch of the K and A between Wilcot and Burbage in my teens, but did not appreciate just how much in decline the K and A was at the time. But I'm glad to say that this is not the case any more, and I was astonished to find the K and A a thriving bustling hub of activity, especially at Bath, Bradford on Avon and Reading. The K and A, as well as many canals in the UK, is definitely not a place where life can be hurried. That said, the exception to this were the cyclists in Bath who whizzed along at breakneck speed threatening to scatter any poor smuck who got in their way. I found it difficult at times to hear them coming – as a typical human I don't possess eyes in the back of my head, and that whilst I love Bath, I was pleased to leave the cyclists to it.

When my father was alive, he often used to say “When I'm Prime Minister, I'm going to pass a law where........” and then he would trot out his plans for a better world. One of his favourite subject areas was smoking – he had a plan to ban it. Having been a chain smoker, he successfully managed to give up either before I was born, or very soon after and was the typical ex-smoker who frowned upon others addiction to the cancer sticks. So, picking up on this, I have decided that when I'm Prime Minister I'm going to make it mandatory for every man, woman and child to spend at least one week a year living on the canal and enjoying a much more relaxed and stress-free way of life. Certainly those 5 days did me the world of good and I returned home feeling much more relaxed.

So, why did Wendy, Spencer and I decide to take on such a challenge to walk 86 miles? We each had our own very good reason for doing this walk, of which mine was to raise as much money as I could for The Cure Parkinson's Trust, as well as raising awareness of Young Onset Parkinson's. Wendy's and Spencer's were to do likewise for Diabetes UK, as Husband/Dad (Paul) and younger son/sibling (Ryan) are both insulin dependent. The awareness raising was very much given a boost when Wendy, who hails from Reading, gave two radio interviews on Day 2 for local Reading stations. I got my chance on day 3, when I spoke to BBC Radio Wiltshire.

I had never ever in my life undertaken such a challenge before, and it was something that I very much wanted to do whilst my cocktail of anti-Parkinson drugs are still working in my favour. I am all too well aware that had I undertaken such an expedition 2 years ago I would not have made it out of Bristol. I am also well aware that time is not on my side, and at an indeterminate point in the future, I may not have the mobility I am enjoying now, thanks to my mate Parkie. This was an adventure I not only wanted to tell my kids about, but grandkids as well – assuming my two gorgeous monsters decide to have kiddies of their own once they have grown up and fled the nest to build nests of their own.

The trouble is, often finding words so often easy when I sit and write these blogs, for some bizarre reason when I think back to those 5 days, the whole thing seems to have passed by in a bit of a blur. Short bursts of those 5 days come to the forefront of my mind, but its like watching random bits of an old worn out movie, pieced together from the cutting room floor. Nothing seems to hang together, try as I might to document it. In short – I have stumbled across Writers Block – of all things! Why now? This is my third draft! Aaagghhhhhhh!

How do I convey the excitement as I got up every morning, barely able to eat my breakfast as I was keen to get on the tow path, setting off with the knowledge that I would be punishing both my feet for committing no crime apart from being the ugliest pair of feet in the whole western hemisphere. We were to be walking for up to 5 hours at a stretch interspersed with brief rests in cool shade until we reached either our lunch destination, or our evening rendevouz. Having prayed for cool dry conditions, we ended up walking in what transpired to be blistering heat – unusual for this country at any time of the year. To keep our spirits up, we often laughed, seldom cried if ever, and even spent many hours in isolation from each other. Not that we weren't talking to each other – we were, but we also needed time alone just to ensure we achieved what we had set out to achieve. This was especially true of our final day. I was a woman on a mission, and even when faced with a gang of about 15 adolescents blocking our path as we neared Reading, I put my head down, increased my pace whilst ignoring the pain in my feet, and just kept going. I must admit at that point I was wishing that my Big Bro Ant (all 6'4” of him) had been with us as originally planned, rather than the day before. But hey – as I said, I was a woman on a mission and I was not going to let a gang of 15 adolescents slow my pace down – Parkinson's notwithstanding!

As I said we had many laughs along the way, very few wobbles and definitely no squabbles, even when we were at our lowest. I think the low point was actually on the first day, when our pace had slowed to a sedate 2 miles if that. We had actually managed to wander off course – I know I know, how can you get lost on a canal? Well, we managed it. I hold my hand up to share the majority of the blame, even though Wendy had ownership of the map on Day 1. We were nattering so much, or rather I was nattering so much, we hadn't noticed that the tow path had forked in the middle of some god-forsaken shadeless stretch. We were supposed to have taken the right hand fork to carry on following the canal, and instead turned left. We didn't realise our mistake until about 2 miles later when we reached a village and wondered where the canal had gone. Ho hum!!!

Rather than turn back, we took a detour on the advice of a local, and eventually made it back to the canal about half an hour later. That cost us dearly on the first day in terms of time as well as our mental state of mind. At one point Wendy started to go in to melt-down, and on Spencer's advice I kept on walking, whilst he got his Mum back on her feet and walking again! I don't know what he said or did, but she was soon back on track and about an hour or so later we reached our lunch destination where we sat in the shade and relaxed for an hour whilst our feet enjoyed the freedom and fresh air, before they were confined once again in walking boots. That, I can tell you, was a much needed break. Boy oh boy was it hot and I had downed every last drop of water I had set out from Bristol with. Replenished by a hearty lunch (or in my case an All Day Breakfast which I couldn't quite finish – eyes too big for my tummy!) and fresh water in our backpacks we set out again. It wasn't to be until 7:30 that evening that we finally reached Batheaston where we were to meet with Paul's uncle – 2 hours late!

The following morning Wendy informed me there had been a bloodless coup first thing, as 15 year old Spencer had siezed control of the map. He was to remain our team leader for the rest of the walk, and in the process made a huge impression on our various friends and relatives who joined us – specially Q from Cure Parkinson's and Ant.

There were many high points, but for me I think the funniest was my one and only encounter with a “She-Pee”, and no, I'm not talking about the 4-legged woolly variety who wander around our green and pleasant land oblivious to the fact that their off-spring are destined to be turned in to lamb chops. I'm talking about a late-on addition to my backpack which would enable me to “Do it like a man” instead of crouching in amongst the stinging nettles (an art I've never ever been able to master, even when in rural France or Oman where public facilities tend to be the lovely traps). About 3 weeks before our epic adventure we had a “dry run” where the three of us walked a 12 mile stretch of the K and A between Pewsey and Froxfield. About an hour after we had set out I got caught short, and having held it in for about the next hour, I blagged my way on to a chartered Narrowboat going through one of the many locks, to avail myself of their modern convenience – much to Wendy and Spencer's amusement. Lets just say that I wasn't just spending one penny, but about five – during which time the Narrowboat Captain had forgotten I was still on board and had set off in the direction from whence we had come! Needless to say I staggered back on deck whilst hastily pulling up my drawers, and managed to not quite so elegantly get back on dry land without landing up in the drink!

Obviously I couldn't rely on being able to do this during the 5 day hike. Having visited a major retail outdoor “supermarket” in Swindon the day before we were due to set out, I came across the “She-Pee” and decided that it was just the thing which would give me the closest experience possible to “doin' it like a man”. Trouble was, on getting home I tried it out only to find that my bladder well and truly refused to let go – nearly 50 years of sitting down was not to be so easily eradicated from my auto-reflexes, and my rather hilarious attempts were to no avail. My girls, on the other hand – had great fun and much better success! Enough said. On day 2, having received a text from Tim enquiring whether or not I had tried out my new acquisition in anger, I plucked up the courage and decided to give it a go, as I really did need to go! So, whilst Wendy and Spencer rested in some meagre shade, I “nimbly” nipped behind a hedge and after about 5 minutes of my brain sending messages to my bladder that it really was OK to “do it like a man” my bladder finally let go. Needless to say next thing I knew, whilst mid-stream, I glanced down to find my “She-Pee” being investigated by a not so helpful wasp! Being somewhat unwilling to risk wasp stings in a rather embarrassing place, operations were immediately suspended, and my “She-Pee” remained redundant at the bottom of my backpack for the remainder of the walk.

Being close to home, we only spent two nights away, and a special mention here needs to be made about the hospitality and welcome we were given by my ex-colleague, the wonderful Mina in Bristol and Paul's aunt and uncle, Angela and Mike, in Bath. We were all made to feel very welcome in both households, so much so that on being offered first use of the bathroom at Angela and Mike's, I relaxed so much in the bath that I could have stayed there for about 2 hours. But, being conscious that Angela was waiting to serve supper, I decided it would be a bit rude of me to hog the bathroom facilities and decided I really ought to get out, which was when I discovered a bit of a minor difficulty in getting moving. Trying not to panic, I had several attempts to get out of the bath, and thankfully eventually managed it without having to call for help.

When we stayed at Mina's in Bristol, having bought up two boys single handed, Mina immediately recognised that Spencer was suffering from “Hollow Legs Syndrome” and made it her goal to ensure he didn't go to bed hungry. Having known Mina for about 7 years, I knew that she would not give up until she was satisfied Spencer had had enough to eat! Naturally it was nice to return home as well, and for the duration of the walk I commandered possession of the bathroom, and soon fell in to the routine of taking a long soak in the tub on getting home, another one immediately after supper and one again about 5:00 in the morning before everyone woke up – a wonderful time of the day in which to soak and reflect on the day before, as well as prepare myself mentally for the day ahead!

I have so many people to thank for joining us on the walk, for their sponsorship, the well-wishers we encountered along the way including the Vicar of Hungerford who kindly let me use the church loo and the lady in Bath who emptied out the contents of her purse – all ten pence of it! For me, I couldn't thank Wendy's entire family enough for their kindness where I was readily made to feel welcome, and in particular Wendy's sister Sue and Dad Chris. Also a huge thank you to my husband and children for their encouragement and support, and my big brother Ant for carrying my backpack on the penultimate day. Of course, the 5 days would have been far more monotonous if we hadn't been joined at various points along the way by Q (aka Helen from Cure Parkinson's), Slice of Life (aka John Stamford) who drove all the way up from Kent to walk with us for a couple of hours, and Laura and Karen from our book club, plus their dogs, kiddies, husbands.......

And here's where I start my apologies - first and foremost to David and Chris Mullings - we had arranged to meet on the tow path at Bradford on Avon, and completely managed to miss each other.

I also feel I must apologise to those walking with me as well as innocent by-standers for inflicting my dreadful singing at the top of my voice. Having just finished Lee Silverman voice therapy the week before, it meant that my vocal chords were in fine fettle, and I would burst in to song without warning, normally towards the end of the day. My favourite was to sing the chorus from John Denver's classic “Country Roads” but unfortunately I never made it past the chorus, as I couldn't remember the rest of the song. Feeling in a bit of a mad mood towards the end of day 2, Wendy and I regaled a trio of somewhat bemused local fishermen with Christmas carols as we tackled the Caen Hill flight of locks! Needless to say, Spencer was also much amused by my LSVT vocal exercises, and I endured merciless teasing and comparisons with the Muslim calls to prayer!

But this blog would not be here if it weren't for two people, Wendy and Spencer. I couldn't and wouldn't have done this without them.

Lets start at the very beginning

I really don't know why, but it has taken me ages to get around to writing this blog, the tales of our epic adventure – walking the length of the Kennet and Avon – Bristol Temple Meads where the canal leaves the River Avon behind, to Reading, where it teams up with the River Thames. So, true to form, unable to sleep, I find myself sat at the computer, and maybe this time what I write I will publish! I seem to have a fit of the fidgets – unlike Tim who was asleep the second his head hit the pillow. But it wasn't his snoring which has kept me awake, I was in bed just before 10:00 tonight feeling absolutely shattered, but sleep has seemed elusive! My first draft of this blog was split in to the days – starting off a Day zero, the night before! But thinking back over those epic 5 days following the bends and curves of the K&A, one day has seemed to merge in to another, and at times Wendy and I felt like we were caught in a bit of a Groundhog Day experience! So instead, this is a work in progress blog, split more in to subject matter, and will probably end as about 5 or 6 blogs over the next few days.

The idea for the walk was all Wendy's, not mine – sadly. Wendy and I have known each other a relatively short space of time, having got to know each other through joining a local book club. Our book club meetings about every 6-7 weeks tend to focus on lots of lively chit chat, and about 15 minutes discussing the book we have read for that month! Not to do discredit to the authors of the books we're reading – its just that our particular club has some lively characters, and the ebbs and flows of the conversations going round the table can be rather entertaining and not necessarily printable! I had been talking about walking the Jurassic Coast to raise money for The Cure Parkinson's Trust, through an organised event, which was going to cost a pretty penny before we actually started to collect any sponsorship. It was about this time that we were reviewing my suggestion for 2010, Tom Isaacs book “Shake well before use”. It turned out to be an inspired choice, as not only did some of my fellow book clubbers begin to understand what life is like for a Parkie and the challenges faced each and every day, but it also totally inspired Wendy, and she suggested we walk the K&A. By so doing, we would keep our costs to a minimum and be able to return home to our own beds most nights. An inspired choice!

Having also talked about her idea at home to her husband and their two sons, Wendy's elder son Spencer registered interest in keeping us company. Wendy and Spencer were to walk to raise money for Diabetes UK, as Wendy's husband (aka Dad or Paul) and younger son (Ryan) are both diabetic. I must admit, I had my reservations about Spencer joining us – but that was before I met him. My reservations were wholly to do with the fact that he is 15 and if my experiences with my elder daughter, Elise, were anything to go by, he would be complaining and generally playing up within half an hour of setting off. Having thought about taking Elise, I am so glad I didn't. The short distances she did cover with us during the 5 days were not especially happy ones for her. Elise is not a walker, but Antonia on the other hand is, but too young to do 86 miles as she is only 6. Antonia has managed an 8 mile walk before, but I felt I would be expecting too much of her! Give her another few years, and I feel she will be more than able to do it.

Having done the walk and done it in the 5 day target we had set ourselves, in spite of an incredible heat-wave in April, I have had time to reflect on our achievements, and have come to the conclusion that Wendy and I would not have fared so well if Spencer had not been with us. He is a natural born leader, and he took on that role on the second day, like a duck takes to water. Wendy, bless her, is not the best at following directions, and believe it not not we had managed to get lost on the very first day! I know, I know, how on earth could we have got lost on a canal? The answer is, I really don't know, apart from the fact that I was probably to blame here as our ceaseless chatter had meant that we weren't concentrating and hadn't noticed that the tow path split at a railway bridge – we were supposed to go right to follow the canal, and instead turned left and only realised about a mile and a half later when we reached a village on a very busy road! Enough said. We obtained directions from a friendly native, and eventually got back on track, but the mistake had cost us and we were two hours behind schedule before we got to our first stop point at Batheaston, where we had arranged to meet up with Paul's uncle, Mike. On reaching our destination, which so happened to be at a rather nice public house, I was sorely tempted to drift in, order a pint of cider and down it in one before collapsing in a sweaty heap on the floor, but I thought that might seem a bit inhospitable to our hosts for the night so resisted.

Next up Food and Public Houses.