Richard Taylor gently reminded me yesterday of the Abraham Lincoln quote, about only pleasing some of the people some of the time. Thank you. I feel vaguely fragile after another week of taking deeply personal risks by speaking out honestly and receiving more rebukes or disagreement with the way I feel about things. My dear husband is convinced I must continue to speak out for people with dementia, as it is only people with dementia who really know what it is like, and no-one, no matter if they are a carer, family member, or well researched clinician or academic, can know what it is really like. We cried about it over coffee this morning, as the personal cost to us both is high, but I guess with his love, strength and support behind me as my BUB [Back Up Brain], holding me up when I start to wobble, I [we] will keep writing and speaking, for as long as I am able to. Some days it is challenging even finding the words, or understanding something, and I do feel like I am very slowly becoming more naive and much less knowledgeable, somehow fading away, as the symptoms of dementia slowly but surely are infiltrating my abilities. Richard Taylor’s last newsletter made me feel quite sad, as he has been my mentor and shining light for almost 4 years, and he is now talking more about feeling as if he is fading away too. These are the things you don’t often see, and if we don’t talk openly about them, the experience is not only too lonely for some of us to bear; you will never truly have any idea what it is really like. That is unless of course, you too get diagnosed with dementia. Sadly, with a diagnosis worldwide almost every 7 seconds, that is reasonably likely. As the Scottish Dementia Working Group of advocates living with dementia say, ‘nothing about us without us’.