I am one of those (annoying?) people who love their job. I work in PR for a technology company. It is always very busy with several projects happening at the same time, a constant flow of emails coming in at all hours of the day  from all over the world, and many online meetings to attend. I feel lucky that I enjoy what I do, I love the creativity in finding stories that will resonate with journalists and working with experts within my company to promote them externally. My job aligns well with my natural curiosity and I like the satisfaction of seeing a story I worked on make it into the press.

I am also tremendously lucky that I can work remotely. In fact, I think it makes me better at my job. I can focus when I need to without the normal distractions of an office. I disagree with the opinion that working remotely makes employees less productive. On the contrary, I work more and am much more productive than if I had to commute into the office daily. I am always online and work from early morning to late in the evening, everyday.

The other (huge) benefit of working remotely means I can fulfil my duties as a carer. My days are spent juggling both big responsibilities and often lead to improbable scenarios in my daily life. I can cook a full meal from scratch for my grandmother’s lunch while on a conference call (thank goodness for the mute button) and still actively participate in the discussion. I have become an expert at replying to emails in the evenings on my phone while vaguely following the plot of the detective show grandma is watching to help her understand it if she gets confused or can’t see the scenes shot in the dark. I have been on calls in taxis, at the bank, at the pharmacy, while chasing my grandmother around with a teaspoon of honey, or while massaging her legs.

My grandma has never understood what I do for a living but she knows it involves me being in the spare room or in the kitchen on ‘that machine’ – my laptop- for most of the day, evenings, and some weekends. One thing she did eventually figure out was that I would often be on something called ‘Zoom’ and it was like being in a meeting. She still interrupted me, ranging from walking into ‘my office’ and her handing me the house phone with no explanation as to who was on the other end (usually cold callers or the chemist), or her walking in and loudly telling me about the neighbour leaving 12 minutes late for work that morning.

It also didn’t take her long to figure out how to use this to her advantage.

Like most of the UK during the COVID-19 lockdown, I was on a zoom call one morning. I was having a meeting with some of my favourite colleagues so it wasn’t too formal. While one of them was updating us about a development on a project we were working on, I heard a car pull up in the cul de sac, I thought nothing of it until I heard the front door open. I turned off my camera and put myself on mute, got up and looked out of the window, my Grandma was very slowly closing the front door and then slowly making her way to a waiting taxi. Before I could react, I heard: ‘Has Laura gone?’

I quickly sat back down, unmuted myself and said: ‘No, I’m here…’ turning my computer camera back on ‘I think my grandma’s just escaped!’

‘What?’ my colleagues said in unison.

‘She’s just got in a taxi! I told her I’d go shopping this evening but she’s clearly taken matters into her own hands…’

‘Can she manage on her own?’ Said the one colleague who wasn’t laughing as hard as the others.

‘I’m not sure, she’s only going down to the co-op in the village… I hope!’ I answered, not sure whether to be amused or concerned. ‘I’ll see if she makes it back OK I guess.. Right where were we?’ I asked, trying to get the meeting back on track. There wasn’t much I could do.

About an hour later as I was typing out an email, I heard a car pull up outside. I looked through the window and saw my grandma very slowly getting out of the taxi. I went downstairs, opened the door and rushed to help carry her bags. 

‘Grandma, what are you doing? I told you I would go shopping this evening!’

‘Well…’ she said, panting, and holding on to the entry way as she unsteadily made her way into the house, ‘I can go on my own.’

‘No you can’t! Look at your legs! You’ve bruised them with the bags and they’re bleeding.’

‘Am IIIII?’ she said in her usual (faked) innocent tone.

‘Yes and you know it.’

‘Well, you were on that machine talking and I didn’t want to disturb you.’ 

‘But you didn’t need to go shopping for anything.’

‘Yes but I like to go on Tuesdays.’

The reason for the sudden need to go to the local shop was made clear as soon as I opened the first shopping bag. Wine. There was, of course, no need for her to buy wine as that is one of my most important jobs as her carer. To make sure we never ran out. I don’t drink so this was all for her. 

‘ We have 2 bottles in the cupboard, Grandma.’

‘Well, I like to make sure I have my naughty.’ She said, heavily sitting on a chair in the kitchen, still panting, blood dripping on the kitchen floor.

‘Right well, there is no need and I can’t take you shopping on Tuesday mornings. So please let me go when I can.’

‘Alright…’ she said in a tone that didn’t fill me with confidence that she wouldn’t try it again. I knew she wanted to keep her little shopping trip and felt guilty that I couldn’t take her. I started thinking about getting some (professional) carers to help me with that task. She didn’t need to go shopping, but she wanted to. I understood that. I just wanted her to do it safely. She tried the escaping routine one more time but she nearly fell, which spooked her I think, and conveniently gave me a great opening to introduce the subject of getting some help. A tough ask for a stubborn nonagenarian who will let nothing get in the way of her and her wine.