Who cares for the carers?

So, here I am, sitting next to the A whatever just outside Guardbridge. The world is good and I feel pretty well cared for.

Lou – who took me in a few nights ago – has been busy rounding up folk to accommodate me. I’ll be looked after to Dundee and beyond (buzz lightyear 1995).

One of her friends, Jan, has been amazing in this particular task. Briefly, Jan cares for her friend, Kitty who has ms – Jan has problems with ME – although in remission just now she throws her heart and soul into the caring role.

She was obviously so delighted to read on Lou’s Facebook page, “We haven’t been murdered in our sleep (by me)” that she clearly thought she’d have a go.

Love is…. I’ll tell you what love is – Colin – Jan’s chap – chummed her along to meet me just in case I was an axe wielding maniac – in so doing, the wonderful Colin missed the local football derby Raith Rovers against the mighty Cowdenbeath – that’s love, that is.

She fed me, washed my clothes and sent me off with the mother and father of all packed lunches.

When questioned about her kindness – her response was the simple, “Why wouldn’t you?” – obviously after assessing in her own mind that I wouldn’t kill them in their sleep.

Kindness has just been thrown at me – Anstruther fishbar – the best fish and chips in the world – gave me free food, a beer, a link on their website and a £50 donation to my cause.

Dr Dyac – a GP I met on my route – has offered me somewhere to stay on my journey north.

Mark and Shan – a new zealander and his partner from Wales fed, watered and gave me a roof for the night.

Quick word of warning – if someone offers you dead sea salts for the bath and your legs are riddled with insect bites, politely decline. I didn’t – I was very proud that I didn’t scream.

I’ve had handshakes and friendly banter from all over the place. Except in a strange place called Elie.

Elie is beautiful – it’s situated on the Fife coast and is a stunning example of an ex fishing village.

70% of the houses there are holiday homes – and, from what I could see, that tares the arse out of a place. Gone were the bits of witty chat, the friendly smiles – I might have caught them on a bad day, but the people there were not of light heart – they were going to have a lovely family break if it fucking killed them.

2 potential sleepover stops fell through – word got through to the lovely Jan – I’ll pick you up in St Andrews – take you home and then plonk you back again.

She invited the 2 Lou’s round and it was like a party of old friends.

I don’t have anything particularly witty or raikish to say about all this. Carers just care – they know what it’s like to be cared for and so the caring comes as second nature.

Thanks for listening folks – tonight I’m camping in a forest that I’m reliably informed has not a passing
resemblance to the Blair Witch Project.

Walk a mile in everyone’s shoes


This entry was posted in mental health, Uncategorized, walking and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to Who cares for the carers?

  1. Georgecraig53@gmail.com says:

    Jan truly is a one off, the world needs more like her. Jan’s slightly biased cousin.

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