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People think dementia is forgetting. That is the Hollywood version. Sad music. Blank faces. Names drifting quietly into fog. But PCA (Bensons Symdrome) is different. Posterior Cortical Atrophy sounds elegant and scientific until it moves into your house and starts rearranging reality. Maurice says it attacks the back part of my brain, the visual processing bit. The eyes still work. That is the joke. The problem is the brain no longer understands what the eyes are seeing. So l

There are good days and bad days. Today was a bad one. I woke to Benson already at it, clipboard in hand, running a bloody audit on my brain, what is gone, what is going, what is next. He has his gang of ants crawling through it, checking the gaps, highlighting the cracks. It is not dramatic. It is worse than that. It is a fog. Soft at first, then suddenly everywhere. In storms Mindset Maurice, not softly but loudly, as if noise can evict whatever is nesting in my head, singi

Where is it all going? I used to be a person with a plan—diary full, head clear, heels on—a woman who knew where she was going and got there. These days… I don’t get a break. Yesterday I wanted to drive, just get in the car and feel the road, feel something normal again. But no. “Not safe,” they said. My eyesight is fine—but Benson and his ants distort everything. They crawl across my vision, bend faces, twist rooms. I look at people and wonder—is that you? Or is that him pla

“Being blooming mental is the price you pay for caring enough to roar—and the morning after is where you prove it mattered.” I woke up this morning with the faint suspicion that my brain had been burgled overnight, and the thief had the audacity to leave music behind. Not just any music—Candy by Paolo Nutini—looping like a smug alibi. Which is fitting, because last night at the Grand Hotel Tynemouth was less a book launch and more a coordinated outbreak of honesty. Stephen sa