Saturday 10-4-10

I shooed the Old Man up the stairs at 00:45. He slept in until nearly 07:30.
After breakfast, I found that he had again used my bathroom towel. He explained that he thought it was the towel he used for his face (and hands, I presume).
I decided that I wouldn’t be getting the Old Man a microwave — he wouldn’t be able to learn to use it safely. However, I investigated the options for a new mobile phone for him.

On the front step, before driving to Bert’s, I spoke to Mrs CJ and gave her very brief details of the Old Man’s paranoia. However, I didn’t mention his paranoia about Mr CJ. Of the passbook, I said to her: “If a bulb hadn’t blown in the living-room, probably we wouldn’t have found it now.”
While we were talking, Mrs CJ’s daughter and two grandsons arrived by car.
At Bert’s on Wednesday, only Junior and Tall Woman were behind the counter. She wore a pale-green-and-white pinafore. Both the usual cars were parked on the forecourt. Today, I didn’t notice which man was behind the counter. Tall Woman wore a pale-purple-and-white pinafore, and Short Woman a solid purple pinafore. Both cars and a Suzuki motor-bike were parked on the forecourt.
After lunch I mowed the lawn. I didn’t realise until later that the Old Man, preparatory to paying-out the mower-cable from the dining-room window, had precariously stacked some plates on the dining-table, and had dislodged other things — this latter mainly because he had moved a chair so that he could sit on it at the open window.
I switched TV channels, to watch Aston Villa versus Chelsea. “This is the FA Cup semi-final,” I told the Old Man.
“The faked-up semi-final?” he asked.
It was probably before the football started that the Old Man asked me how Mr CJ was. I was taken aback, and told him Mr CJ was fine as far as I knew. I had seen him on the front, I said, when I’d gone to take the photos of All Saints’ church [sic] on Friday. The Old Man was surprised, and said he’d thought Mr CJ must be in bed. Then I realised that he was thinking of Mrs CJ, who is recovering from her operation. I put this to the Old Man, and he agreed.
So his paranoia about Mr CJ seemed to have abated.
At 20:20 as I came downstairs, the Old Man was in the hall. He’d thought I had gone out. In the living-room he asked what had happened to his tea. I told him he’d had his tea, and showed him the pack of six baps with two missing — they had been used for his ham sandwiches.
“Get away,” he said, as an exclamation of slight bewilderment. He was hungry, so I gave him a small banana and told him to eat the clementine on his coffee-table.
At 21:10 he was displeased that I had got ready for bed. (I was in pyjamas.) It seemed, he said, “as though you don’t want to come downstairs [sic] and talk to me.” He added, “I don’t know what your [mother] would think.” I told him I was tired, having got up early and having mown the lawn. I got him to take his final four tablets, and I went to bed.
I had just about fallen asleep when the Old Man called my name from the landing, and opened my bedroom door ajar. He asked me whether everything was all right next door. He was speaking with a fluency unusual for the time of day, but what he said made no sense — he was linking problems next door with the supposed fact that I had gone to bed early. “It’s all very fishy,” he said. Again he complained that he had had no tea. He said the time was nine o’clock, so probably it was 22:00 — he is often an hour out.

[Original posting 10 April 2011]

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