GrumpyDaddy

I really like where we live. Our Dorset village might be mostly a new build - but it is still a rural village with clean air, almost no crime and has a strong sense of community. But to be honest since moving here in 2009 I've not really been much of a social animal. Lovely place though it is it lacks one important thing - a pub.

Now you may scoff, or even offer some temperance advice. Hold fire. I am serious and this has nothing at all to do with alcohol. In fact I don't drink that much anymore - hard to believe if you read some of the tales of my youth. I've always loved pubs - whether drinking pint after pint of ale with friends, or just drinking something softer and enjoying a good book. Pubs are great places to meet and chat, I used to work behind a bar many years ago and the social aspect of that is something I miss, though not the work.

It comes down to this - I miss having a local.

Some sort of normality has returned to our household today. After nearly a week and a half of ilness both the twins are back at school today. That said, I'm still expecting a phone call at some point to come and bring Pat¹ home. Not that's he's really ill anymore, but he's in complete mard-arse² mode thanks to a week at home.

In the true style of parent blogging I'm going to moan about my lot. I've no real reason to, the fact I can sit here spending time to blog shows I'm a privilaged person, but parent blogging is all about moaning about stuff. In a moment I may start moaning about stuff I have no real training or expertese in such as the methods used to teach reading at school or the design of buggies, or some other stuff I know nothing about.

Hello and a belated Happy New Year. There's been plenty of anticipation and excitement in our household over the festive period because 2012 signals change for our little family. I've held off mentioning any of this over the last few weeks until plans were finalised.

The big news is that my wife has got a new job. Okay, for most of you that's not very exciting. But as she's a vicar that means change for all of us. The most visible change is that we're going to be moving. Not far. We're leaving our sleepy West Dorset village and heading to another sleepy West Dorset village some half an hour's drive west.

We're moving to a large vicarage - which is nice. But it also means lots of change in how we live our lives. With my wife taking over a full time role I'm going to become one of those fabled beasts - a full-time house husband. Scary eh? Okay with the twins at school it's not going to be too tough in childcare terms - just me and toddler Will most days. But during the school holidays I imagine the stress levels will rise.

I wrote recently about how I wasn't well at the moment and some of the rather unpleasant procedures I've undergone to get to the bottom¹ of whatever is wrong with me.

If you remember I had two tests lined up. I've been very nervous about these tests, more because I've been scared of what they might find. Partly because I tend to worry about such things anyway and also because a stupid GP scared the Bejaysus² out of me.

Well the experience of the first test was fine. As fine as being fed feet first into a giant radioactive doughnut can be anyway. We can save on electricity bills now as I'll glow in the dark for a year or so. In the week since the CT scan I'd not heard from my GP or consultant and took that to mean "no news is good news". After all if they'd found anything in there they'd have called me, right?³.

I've not enjoyed the latter half of 2011 thanks to a lingering illness. What's wrong with me? My guess is something as simple as kidney stones, but it has been a tough few months that has seen me at times feeling a-okay and other times in pain and having to take to my bed.

The months have been frustrating and scary too thanks to the inibility of various general practicioners to prescribe a coherent treatment regime. I've seen four different GPs over the last few months and this has not been entirely satisfactory - from one locum who felt she'd tell me it could be cancer (but then did nothing at all to help in this regard) to another who told me my symptoms couldn't be kidney stones (the whole internet and a consultant urologist say he's wrong).

The truth is I'm fed up with the whole thing. Fed up with being unwell for months on end and fed up of dealing wih an organisation - the NHS - I don't have great faith in. And as we'll come to later - I'm coming to some embarrasing conclusions about my general health and my own culpability.

Sounds too dry? Don't feel like reading on? Go on, there's a good bit about a doctor sticking his finger up my bum. Well good for you reader, less good for me and my bum and for that matter dignity.

We've reached quite a milestone recently with the twins starting school. I have no idea how four and a half years have passed so quickly. Both Pat and Kitty have launched themselves into school with great enthusiasm and are really enjoying the experience.

Seeing them start school is an emotional experience. For most parents its the same I expect. It is the end of an era. An era that began with feeds through the night, then nappies galore, first steps, potty training and garbled talking. Starting school feels like the cut off point between infants and children. And a change to a different kind of parent.

Right I had a thought this morning. That thought being that much as I want to tell the world what happened to my late wife Lanie such content doesn't quite sit well next to silly articles about Postman Pat. It does neither type of feature any favours.

So I've taken down the most recent post on the subject of NHS neglect and what I'm going to do is create a separate blog for that particular subject called Justice For Lanie. I'll post the link here when I've got that up.

I wish to register a complaint. My complaint is with the jargon one has to work with when discussing your married relationships should you have been married more than once. The vocabulary of past marriages really is rather limiting in choice and makes no-one look good. Nor does it allow one to fully explain one's situation without having to digress.

When I talk about my "first wife" it implies several things. Firstly that I've had more than one wife - which is fair enough. Secondly that the first marriage ended in divorce - it didn't. And finally that I'm the kind of reprehensible dirtbag that can't honour my wedding vows - I'm not. For me the biggest problem with the phrase is it implies that I'm talking about someone who no longer means much to me, when quite the opposite is true.

There's a job I really want. The pay is lousy, but in terms of personal fulfilment the rewards are infinite. I've been training for this job for years now. At first I was terrible at it - I even had to hand it onto others for a little while - before gritting my teeth and trying again. But now? It's the job I want most in the world.

I read this shocking story this afternoon about negligence in Essex maternity units. The story struck home with me because the case is very similar to our own - to the death of my beloved wife Lanie in 2007.

I've never really felt able to tell the full story. The horror of the events that left me widowed with newborn twins is/was so powerful that it kept me from raising the issue in a more public manner. It also prevented me launching a legal case - which I should have done before three years were up - and then perhaps been able to secure a financial legacy for the children whose mother was taken from them.

But reading the story I've linked to above has flicked a switch. I really want to tell the story now. The complete and full story of how a hospital's negligence from the management at the top to the nursing staff on the wards was so appalling that it lead to the neglect and death of my wife.

Today I received a phone call from a company called Accident Assured regarding a motor accident I had recently. Fair enough you might say, but I've never heard of this Liverpool-based company before, nor have I had a motor accident.

So what's going on? Well recently I've had some phishing SMS messages regarding an insurance claim - which I didn't reply to - and now I've had this phonecall.

We've been away on holiday - hence it being quiet on here. I couldn't be bothered blogging via smartphone. The frozen north was our destination - a week in the Peak District. We didn't actually see many peaks as the trip was really made to catch up with my family who we've not seen for a while.

This was also the week we celebrated the twins' fourth birthday. It was also the week baby Will managed to give himself a cut and a black eye by falling over and twatting himself with a toy car. Poor little pickle. He's a tough cookie though, he was up running around and terrifying us with his wanton disregard for his own safety within minutes.

Meanwhile I got to meet up with old schoolmates in our old local for the first time in years. Just like old times.