Busking For Alzheimer's

Amazing day to be out playing

but I’m stuck in starting my thesis.

Ho-hum.

www.justgiving.com/james-feehan

is finally up to date. Very helpful woman at the till in the bank who gave me a hand counting everything up :)

Thanks to everyone who has donated!

Grandad

died on the third of May, 2012. We were told that he wouldn’t have long back in February, but he held on for longer than expected. I saw him last Saturday after my mum was told by the nurses in the home that he would not last more than a few days.

My grandad began to show the symptoms of Lewy Body Disease about ten or eleven years ago when I was twelve. Around this time my sister and I moved to Colchester with my mum. I was too young to notice much of a change in his behaviour at first, but after a couple of years he began to hallucinate. At first, a bird table in a neighbour’s garden began to move to the left of its own accord. Soon, there were men fitting gas lines across the street, mending the fencing around the back garden, and getting in through gaps in the walls. Too intimidated to join a fictional audience of unknown characters in the living room, he would hover in an adjoining room waiting for them to leave. After some encouragement he would sit in the same seats that they were in and confirm that they were a byproduct of his condition (which was undiagnosed at the time), all the while publicly maintaining his sharp sense of humour and presumably attempting to prevent us from seeing his own fears.

He was impossible to annoy, and had an infinite amount of patience with both me and my sister. Being a cricket fan, he bought me a set of wickets and a bat when I was about seven. My determination to win was childishly strong, and after an afternoon of fetching the ball from every garden on Northfield Avenue I’m sure he deeply regretted ever humouring the thought of introducing me to the sport. The endless games of Old Maid and Uno would be enough to drive anybody barmy.

It has only been recently that I have appreciated the amount of effort that he put into making others happy. My first bike was one that he found and did up for me. He painted it gold and cream, and it had my full name written in gold on the crossbar. Stablisers or not, it was the coolest about. When my sister and I were old enough to want to be ferried about, he ferried us about. Being a joiner he was able to spend time at work making furniture for the house, as well as catapults made from wood and knicker elastic for me, which I seem to remember being a product his own nostalgia. He used to boast about how good a shot he was when he was younger. If the strength of the catapult is anything to go by, then he definitely was; the knicker elastic is still intact.

Around this time, I remember hearing him play his chromatic harmonica once or twice, and I remember him playing it well. He had owned it for years and, for reasons other than this (I can’t remember what, specifically) it had a lot of sentimental value to him. He had a reputation for being able to get a tune out of anything, and played piano briefly (he used to say that his biggest regret was giving this up) and had owned an accordion at one point. Studying blues in music class at school about eight years later, my mum persuaded him to give the harmonica to me. Although it was never said to me I got the impression that he was reluctant to part with it at first, as mum had mentioned something about it long before he gave it to me, which was unusual. He was in the early stages of the disease, had just started to shuffle and stand with an awkward gait, and it wouldn’t surprise me in the least to find out that this was a large contributor to his hesitance to part with an object that had such enormous sentimental value. I remember seeing him take it out of the kitchen drawer where it had sat unplayed for years. He looked at it for a few minutes before playing a perfect cadence (having forgotten the tunes that he used to know) and tossing it onto the settee next to me with a jovial “There you go, kid!”, attempting to prevent me from seeing his fear. Being an awkward fourteen year old I lacked the emotional intelligence required to respond appropriately. If I had been capable of twice the gratitude that I have now, that would not be enough.

Today I have acted as though nothing has happened. It seems as though I still lack the emotional intelligence required to comprehend this sort of thing, and so I am left wondering what I am supposed to do or how to react, more emotionless than upset or tearful. I got up at half seven, showered, dressed, was told that he had died by my mum, and went to work for nine. I acted normally throughout a group meeting. I acted when I was having a coffee with another member of my research group, and acted at the pub this evening. This stage will pass and I will begin to behave more normally but, as I’ve found to be the case with other milestones, it’s difficult to pinpoint when.

Again…

Sorry for not having posted anything in nearly two weeks. Work has been crazy. Things should be getting better after Tuesday though (amazing meeting about particle acceleration over the next couple of days!)

I’ll write some more stuff on Thursday. I’ll get busking on a more regular basis soon. I’ve been meaning to schedule things properly so that I can start doing things other than physics, maths and watching the Peep Show…

Chopin nocturne no. 2 in e flat.

Convert to 4/4, swing timing… Trumpet, piano, double bass, drums… Seriously, there’s an incredible jazz tune in there.

Can’t get the idea out of my head… I need some manuscript paper and small group of musicians.

Anyone around Southampton like jazz?!

Back in Colchester

Until Tuesday evening.

I’ll be busking Monday and Tuesday. Not been back in ages!

I’ve also been informed that there’s a bank here with coin counting stuff. Hopefully it’ll bring about the end of my debt to the justgiving page…