Katie Hopkins has an undiplomatic but pertinent point about the NHS. The dementia charities, instead of getting on their high horse, should be saying "we need to treat dementia sufferers differently and with dignity".
Children often notice more than adults give them credit for. If a relative is living with dementia, there may be a need to explain to a child about particular symptoms or why that person can no longer do something that they used to do.
When I saw David Cameron heckled by pensioners at the Age UK conference, my heart swelled. Watching him say that his government had given people 'dignity and security in old age' was the biggest load of shit I've seen in some time, and my cat had diarrhoea last week.
Young onset dementia means that trying to live in the moment is a challenge because the future is always lurking in the background revealing my fears. I don't know what the future holds so the fears can be overwhelming.
The bluffing continued. Months drifted into years. Daily life was affecting me. I mislaid things, failing to see them, even though they might be in front of my nose. It was as though my eyes bypassed the objects.
This weekend, tens of thousands of people will be flocking to the cinema to see Still Alice with Julianne Moore portraying a woman with early onset Alzheimer's. They'll undoubtedly be able to identify and sympathise with what's happening on the screen because even if dementia is not directly affecting them...
With awards season is in full swing, it was great to see dementia being brought to the forefront of conversation as Julianne Moore was awarded an Oscar for her role in Still Alice. One person in particular who was touched by the film was Lesley Loizou who works at Anchor's West Hall, a care home that offers specialist dementia care.
Of course no government document will ever please everyone, but after the intensive focus on dementia in recent years there was a fear that it could drop off the political radar and that the already scant resources would dry up even more. At least this 'Vision' document suggests that the focus on dementia might be here to stay.
Finally, I figured out the reason for the disturbance. It was none other than Aneurin Bevan, the architect of the National Health Service, spinning in his grave. Yes, I was watching Channel 4's NHS: £2 Billion a Week & Counting.
I've nothing against our girls, who were both outstanding, but if Moore repeats her successes in the Golden Globes and Baftas, something very dear to my heart could become more talked about, in better ways, and less misunderstood and stigmatised. I'm thinking of dementia, which affects 850,000 of us in the UK and over five million Americans.
Aging is about saying goodbye and a reminder of the ephemeral nature of life. Botox and plastic surgery are the favoured companions of many these days but they appeal to our fear of life and by inference, death. It is a sad indictment of our society that we do not value older people or the process of aging.
Throughout her life my Mother was a beautiful and elegant person and thus I found the deterioration of her appearance during dementia extremely distressing. When she passed away I was moved to tears by the dozens of letters that commented on her perfect appearance.
This Christmas thousands of people across the country will be alone; they won't be alone in the conventional sense of not having a place stay, or people to look out for them: they will face exclusion because of an illness that can change the very person they used to be.
This will be the fifth Christmas that Mary has had to share with dementia. The first Christmas was the one where she couldn't remember whether she had bought enough snacks for everyone and ended up with six family packs of peanuts. Then she forgot to turn the oven on, so dinner was four hours late...
You are stuck in a busy, noisy, unfamiliar building. You are unsure of where you are or even what time of year it is. All the corridors look the same. You find it hard to judge how far away the floor is. You can't remember where the toilets are. You can't remember why you're here. You feel a rising sense of panic as you search for clues to where you are, and even who you are.
My mum doesn't know who I am. Sadly, I don't mean that in a spiritual, angsty kind of way - she literally has no idea who I am. Sometimes I'm one of her sisters. Sometimes I'm a nurse. Sometimes I'm her dead mother. Once I was Shirley Bassey, which made for an interesting evening.