Whether you prefer the CSNY version of Eight Miles High or the almost incomprehensible 10 minute long Byrds version (one comment about that said: “I was kicked off football team in southern Ohio in 1968 for listening to the Byrds…lol…”) or the civilised 3 minute one  – we were way above those eight miles today here in Pforzheim – I know, if you look at the picture below it doesn’t look that high.

I promised myself never to complain about Irish weather ever again! Can’t do much about it anyway, apart from emigrating, and there’re plenty of other reasons wanting you to emigrate (but also to stay:).

Not being either Englishmen or mad dogs, we stayed indoors for most of the day. Even moved down to the therapy rooms from our boiling ‘penthouse’ apartment for a while to give Pádraig a run on the MOTOMed and to do some exercises we don’t get a chance of doing during the day.

I was thinking today that what I am writing about every night has probably changed an awful lot over the years: there were times when I was utterly disoriented, not knowing where I belonged, where we belonged, whether Pádraig was going to survive, when I couldn’t imagine how my life would continue, how we could help Pádraig regaining some control over his life, how to deal with all that sadness.

The feeling of desperation now is probably more about the need to constantly having to explain in Ireland that Pádraig and others like him need help. I mean – the HSE, the government, the professionals KNOW that! And then the need to find funding and to implement a pilot project! Come on guys! – An then there are the daily moments of desperation, they come out of nowhere, just like that…