Happy Dog.

Dimairt and I had a great walk along the beach today.
Sorry - I had a great walk. Dimairt ran, swam, fetched stick, swallowed a lot of sea water, and of course threw up in the car. At least he didn't throw up in the haridresser's like on Saturday.

Christine, my sister, had a phone call from so-called "social services" about our brother, John. Four weeks after being on life support, and being taken away from the most squalid and disease-ridden place imaginable, they say he is ready to go "home". WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE? How can they imagine sending someone out of hospital into that squalor? And, since I saw it last, it has been broken into and 'vandalised' (although, how could anyone have told the difference?)

Speaking to my friend, Iseabail, who has a care home in Aultbea, there is a total lack of care facilities for people like John, who has a history of depression and alcohol problems. "Care in the community" means that social services will do almost anything other than fork out money to give him the specialist care he needs. Meanwhile, the old ugly 'moral blackmail' is rearing its ugly head. John needs 24 hour care, and without a huge fight, we may not get it.

Sorry to all those blippers out there who are social workers; I have always had the greatest respect for you, and the difficult, sometimes impossible, job you do. But this is the first time my family have had to deal with such services, and we are not impressed.

Not the best end to a great day.