In all the talk of the five stages of grief, I don’t recall one of them being spending hours on hold to energy suppliers. Perhaps I misunderstood, though, and that’s entirely what they’re about. This call won’t take long (denial); aargh, are they ever going to answer? (anger); if I hang on for five minutes more, they’ll definitely pick up (bargaining); they are never, ever going to pick up (depression); and I live on hold now – this is my life (acceptance).

You hear the term “sadmin” bandied about, you understand there’s paperwork to do after somebody dies – but until it’s you who has to do it, you don’t realise how much, what it entails or how encompassing it is. My mum’s death has basically become my full-time job. The hours are terrible, the pay is worse and the promotion prospects sobering, to say the least.

Received wisdom is that you should ask your parents lots of questions while they’re still around. For me, this feels increasingly true. There’s so much I now wish I’d asked my mum – namely who her mobile phone provider was and the number of her milkman. I don’t know where the water meter in my own house is, let alone anyone else’s, so it would have been handy if that had come up, too.

I’m lucky my mother died after the introduction of Tell Us Once, the one-stop shop for notifying government departments and council services. But so far my experience is: tell them once, tell everyone else 47 times........

© The Guardian