First thing, I asked the Old Man to find the lansoprazole.
“What are you doing this for?” he asked. “I thought you were coming [here].”
“Have you found it?” I asked.
“No, I’ve just put the light on.”
He still wanted to postpone the medication session until I had arrived at Peakville — making excuses that the light was too dim. I told him not to argue. We started the session with his lansoprazole.
“I can’t get it [the capsule] loose, BLEKE,” he said. “I’ll get a pair of scissors.”
First he told me that he hadn’t swallowed the lansoprazole, then that he had.
“Get cracking!” he urged, as though I were delaying things.
“They’ve all fallen out now.” He meant that his tablets had fallen out of the sandwich-box. “You could have been half-way to Peakville.”
I told him not to be silly, and that he had to take his tablets at the right time.
“I can’t see where I am,” he complained. “You could have brought them [his tablets — sic] with you.” He claimed that he had got tablets scattered all round.
“Stay there if you want,” he said — but I hadn’t expressed any such wish.
I got him to swallow the half tablet of gliclazide, and then I decided to deal with the others at Peakville.
The Old Man hadn’t had breakfast. Perhaps that was part of the problem.
At Peakville I found disorder:
The support-frame for the grill-pan was askew, one side higher than the other, and set so that there was a big gap between the grill-pan and the electric elements. (Probably the Old Man had most recently been toasting baps or teacakes.) The swing-bin was full of paper, and fruit-peelings that should have been composted; in there with them was a perfectly serviceable pair of rubber gloves. A new pair of rubber gloves had been thrown onto the pantry floor, presumably because they had been in a bowl that the Old Man had wanted to use. The sideboard had been ransacked for who-knows-what. The toilet needed a thorough clean.
I secretly confiscated a packet of Hobnobs, and some crisps.
The Old Man told me that two men, rather than one, had been intruding into the house, and that they were friends of Mr & Mrs CJ.
We went to Bert’s to buy our fish-and-chip lunch, and after lunch we went to MegaGroce. I also went to Cheapo (leaving the Old Man in the car), and bought two additional plastic boxes for him to keep his tablets organised in, and some bin-bags — the Old Man’s stock of bin-bags had vanished. The Old Man had a long whinge on the way back from the shops.
“It’ll be dark soon,” he said at 16:05. Then he referred to speed cameras as “sound cameras”.
At 16:25 he drew the living-room curtains.
He told me he was moving back to Shoreville, because:
“I’m harassed here.” And he told me: “I’ll give you the house, [to sell] for what you can get for it.” [If only it were so easy!]
I found my favourite little knife, which had gone missing a fortnight before, in a bucket.
I had been planning to buy a new printer, and the Old Man had offered to defray part of the cost. But at 20:47 he was displeased when he learnt that I was planning to buy the printer not immediately but only within the next two weeks.
“Cancel my help,” said the Old Man.
[Original posting 29 May 2011]