Contrary to what he had apparently intended the evening before, the Old Man didn’t take a shower first thing.
He was now back on track with his medication.
There was no need to go shopping, as we had plenty of food.
While we were watching TV, the Old Man described a small black child, who was a victim of famine in Niger, as “a little piccaninny”.
A letter arrived from the hospital, advising the Old Man he should attend an eye-test on Thursday 17 June 2010. I phoned the hospital to arrange transport.
Of the two men who allegedly had stolen his glasses, the Old Man said that “they didn’t do a very good job.” He said this because he had just found two additional pairs of glasses, of which one had a better prescription than the other. (This happened shortly after I phoned the hospital.)
Awaking for the second or third time from his post-lunch nap, the Old Man said:
“Have we got a biscuit for the poor lads?”
“What poor lads?” I asked him. “You’ve been dreaming.”
“I mean me,” he replied.
The Old Man put his hand over his wristwatch, which was lying on the coffee-table, and asked me what the time was. “It’s seven-fifteen,” I told him. [19:15]
“Do you have a watch?”
“No, I read the clock on the wall.”
The Old Man chuckled quite a bit at this, and said that he must tell… but then his voice tailed off, and he completed:
Who he wanted to refer to, or was referring to, I thought it best not to ask.
At 20:40, I found that the toilet seat had been dislodged again.
[Original posting 9 June 2011]