The Old Man got up at 05:21. I sent him back to bed for half an hour, but he stayed in bed for over an hour.
I remarked to the Old Man how much easier it was for him to find the right medication now that his sandwich-box was not so cluttered. He agreed. [I had not only performed a stocktake, I had also put through a rationalisation and had thrown away some out-of-date stock.] I told him to keep the sandwich-box uncluttered in future.
We went shopping at MegaGroce. “My knees are killing me,” he complained as he wheeled a trolley from the car to the ATM.
The Old Man was hanging back from the ATM. “Come on!” he urged me, standing further from the ATM than I was.
“What do you mean, ‘come on’?” I asked him. “You’ve got the card!”
He took a nap before lunch.
“What abbey shall we have?” he asked as he was waking up.
At Bert’s, both men were behind the counter, with Short Woman but not Tall Woman. Short Woman was wearing a dark top or pinafore, with a fawn or beige hooded top over it. The blue car was not parked on the forecourt, but an older grey car was parked in the same place.
We watched the Six Nations rugby on TV that afternoon. The on-pitch logo of the sponsors, which features a group of four stylised arrows pointing inwards, puzzled the Old Man:
“What does ‘XRBB’ mean?” he asked me.
“I’ve no idea. — Oh, it’s ‘RBS’.”
When I used the Old Man’s Dyson vacuum-cleaner, which he bought in the 1990s, he asked me:
“Whose is this?”
The Old Man slept a lot in the afternoon and evening.
[Original posting 12 March 2010]