Trying to juggle this carer malarkey with running a community centre is like spinning plates while someone lobs baked beans at you; utter chaos. I’m not sure which mess to clean up first. So, Rodger the Dodger was really unkind to Matthew yesterday, usual behaviour for our unpaying resident cowboy, which is always a bit worrying in itself. Matthew, bless him, was not feeling on top form. I even had to cancel having Toby over that day, much to the fridge’s audible sigh of relief (honestly, I think it sprouted a few more ice cubes in celebration).

I popped into work for about 20 minutes, just enough time to set up a few things for the day, then dashed back home to see how the patient was doing. In that time, Matthew managed to polish off an entire packet of prunes. Not because he wanted to eat them, but because he is so fed up with Mighty Morphine Power Stranger turning his bowls into a storage unit. Yes, an entire packet. He then had the gall to marvel at how delicious they were, as I stood there, my face morphing into the international symbol for shock and horror. “You do realise you’ve just eaten a week’s worth of that stuff, right?” I said, hoping to inject a little dread into the proceedings. “Really?” he replied, blissfully ignorant. “Yes, love, you’re only supposed to eat three prunes a day. Three! Not thirty!”

As Matthew turned the empty packet round, he read aloud, “This packet contains at least 6 servings.” Ooh, shit, I never knew that, Mrs Batten; you learn something new every day, don’t you?” Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. But, in this case, there will be shit, a lot of it, very soon!  At this point, I’m bracing myself for what can only be described as a prune-induced apocalypse all over my nice clean bleached toilet walls before lunchtime.

After his ingestion of natural laxatives, Matthew fell forward, face planted in the sofa cushions from exhaustion, to which I had to step into carer mode and a nurse outfit to his delight, no, I’m only kidding! I just thought I would manipulate your mind into an image of me wearing a nurse’s outfit. Amazing what a writer can do with words and the human mind, isn’t it? Hahahhaa

The big win yesterday was finally battling through the paperwork mountain for PiP, ESA, and the Sickness policy, plus photocopying his diagnosis letters so many times I’m pretty sure our printer applied for compassionate leave. I sent copies to every department under the sun just to claim back a fraction of the tax he spent a lifetime working for. If there’s a medal for administrative endurance, I’d like mine engraved with ‘Survived the DWP Admin.’ All I have to do now is go to work and do exactly the same thing, so I can earn my week off… Fuck sake! It’s never-ending!

After today, I will have more time to get things organised, oh wait! No, I won’t because eviction day is Saturday, I haven’t fully packed for the holiday cottage yet, and my house needs a clean, laundry needs doing, and I have to get to the holiday cottage the day before my husband does to dettol the place top to bottom for when he arrives the next day after surgery.

One day, when I am 96 years old, I may get a day off from this madness called my life; until then, here’s to the next 49 years of keeping it together by entertaining you with my bat-shit crazy blog posts.

There’s never a dull (or odourless) moment around here!

Stay tuned for tomorrow’s antics,

Chow for Now!

Kate x

The Small Print (Because Apparently We Need It) – 18+ Adult Humour

All views, rants, raves and prune-related horror stories are my own, written for a bit of a laugh and to keep me sane while juggling carer life and running New Pasture Lane Community Centre.

This blog is not medical, legal, or DWP advice, just me, Kate, documenting the chaos as it happens. If you’re dealing with cancer, PIP, ESA, Sickness Policies or anything medical, please speak to your GP, consultant, or a qualified advisor. Don’t take dosing advice from a woman who survives on Pot Noodles, mini quiches and Quorn chicken pieces.

Names and nicknames (Rodger the Dodger, Nanna Bambi, Mighty Morphine Power Stranger etc.) are used with love, and some details are changed or exaggerated for privacy and comic effect. The fridge did not actually grow extra ice cubes. Probably.

Any mention of products (Dettol, Daz, B&M, Lidl etc.) is not sponsored, I just shop there and tell you when I cock it up.

© 2026 Kate Batten – www.katebatten.co.uk. Please don’t nick my words, or my sausage dogs will sniff you out, track you down and request cheese.