While searching in a plastic bag for a fresh box of bendroflumethiazide, the Old Man came out with a new variant:
“Glicazade” — perhaps by analogy with Lucozade.
At the end of the morning medication session, I asked the Old Man whether he had gone to the lunch club at St Griselda’s the previous day. He said not, as his knees had been very painful. (This was the reason he gave to me, not his account of some excuse that he had given to the driver of the minibus.)
Peter from QuangoHousing left me a voicemail. The handrails in the Old Man’s bathroom are scheduled to be fitted on Friday 14 May 2010, starting at 11:00 – 12:00.
“Simlastati” — another new variant, during the evening medication session.
“You’ve upset the [unintelligible word — conjecturally a reference to the sandwich-box], haven’t you?” the Old Man asked me during the same session.
“How can I have when I’m a hundred and fifty miles away?”
When he had mustered four tablets, he thought he had five in front of him. He chuckled at length when he realised that the fifth tablet was a mark on the surface of the table.
At 21:20 the Old Man sounded very tired. He told me that he was going to bed.
[Original posting 7 May 2011]