Had a really good weekend. We have an old workhouse near where we live that I've done some research on, and this was the weekend we'd persuaded the local archaeologists to do a quick 'Time Team' on it. We do actually have a life as well as being carers. We got stuck in with them and had a really interesting Saturday - Sunday was a bit restricted as we had to collect my son as no nurses available to cover the shifts, but he seemed to enjoy bumping around the field and the fresh air. He wasn't too impressed with having to get up for a 9a.m. Sunday start and going back after his bath at 10p.m. but I think he had a good day.
It's a bit strange researching a workhouse when you have a disabled child. Back in the good old days of Mr Dickens and Queen Victoria, when Britain became Great Britain, my son would probably have ended up there, if he'd survived at all. Their official classifications of mental disability and illness were a bit less PC than ours - deaf & dumb, imbecile, idiot and lunatic. One day I'll grit my teeth and look up what they actually meant. Thank God for the NHS - even if it can't get his shoes sorted out. Those were the days when things really could only get better.