The Winter of Discontent

We took James out for his weekly outing on Sunday morning and could see that everything’s so much more of an effort. Talking, walking, thinking – everything has slowed down and the dear fellow looks much older all of a sudden.

Even a few weeks ago he was relaxed, laughing at his mistakes when he said the wrong thing or stumbled. Now it’s as if the winter of old age has crept up and has thrown a thick coat around him. A scarf of confusion is wrapped around his neck and he's disorientated and, I fear, frightened. That’s the worst part.

Talking is virtually impossible; he gets so muddled that the wrong words come out and it’s difficult to guess what he’s trying to say. In the car he kept saying, ‘I’d like to get some – you know – honey.’

It wasn’t honey, but I have no idea what he did mean. Then he came out with ‘trousers’ which wasn’t what he meant either.

He can’t write because he has terrible rheumatism, so communication is, at best, difficult. Throughout a process of miming, we managed to work out that he wanted to get a razor, so after coffee and shortbread at a café in town, we hit Tesco.

‘I want some – er – er - chocolate,’ he said. ‘You know, to eat in bed.’ He smiled forlornly and said, ‘I probably shouldn’t, but …’

‘Of course,’ I said and steered him firmly round the aisles where he chose three family sized slabs of chocolate, three large packs of plain chocolate digestives, a tube of toothpaste and a pack of disposable razors.

When we got back to his room, I hung up his winter coat and at the bottom of the wardrobe I noticed three tubes of toothpaste, four bottles of mouthwash and six tubes of Steradent (for his dentures).

Whenever we go out we always pay for our own drinks to save confusion. This time, when he saw us out, he gave me a big hug and managed to say, ‘Next time I’d like to pay for all of it.’

And that is what I will always remember him for. A warm and loving, generous friend.

Rejections and elderly shopping

Yesterday I got another rejection for the last novel. It floored me. One a week I can cope with, but three is too much, given that my hopes were raised by a very good critique which indicated that she thought this book should be published. Sometimes you can’t win. I was drained and felt I didn’t have the energy to keep doing this. To have my spirits raised and then dashed – there’s only so much you can take, on bad days.

To cheer myself up, I had a look at the Novel Racers blog and read that someone has just had 5 positive responses from agents. Within 48 hours. While I'm delighted for her - no, I am, really. I've just read her blog and she sounds great. I mean that. And she's worked very very hard on her book for over 2 years. But a little devil inside me is shouting, 'yah hah! Hopeless aren't you? Failure!' You can guess how that makes me feel.

Himself was wonderful, gave me a big hug and said, ‘I wish there was something I could DO.’ He does of course – he provides much needed moral support, and I told him so.

But I decided I needed a few hours off. As it happened, James rang asking if we could take him shopping as he wanted to get a watch. When we arrived he said, ‘I have a very small favour to ask. Could my friend come too?’

His friend is in his late 80s and blind, but we said of course. Wondering why someone who can’t see would want to go shopping. As it happened, he declined as he was having a doze, but the two men arranged to go for a walk round the garden when James got back.

So we took him to Asda, where he said to me, ‘You didn’t bring my shopping list.’

‘No,’ I replied. ‘Because neither of us could read it.’

We both giggled at that and headed off towards the watches where I found one for £8 with a nice clear face. He was delighted.

‘And now I need to go to the chemist,’ he said.

‘What for?’

‘I can’t remember,’ he replied. So we headed towards the pharmacy department so that he might remember what he wanted if he saw it. After much discussion and a lot of guesswork he bought some glue for his dentures, some toothpaste and some mouthwash. (Has someone been saying something I wonder? Is there romance in the offing? It’d be nice to think so.)

Then we went to the next aisle and he stood before it, stroking his beard and looking puzzled.

‘Do you need anything to help you sleep?’ asked Himself.

‘No,’ replied James. ‘I need – you know – it’s to do with animals.’

I carefully avoided looking at Himself and asked, ‘what kind of animals?’

‘Oh,’ James giggled. (He has a wonderful giggle.) ‘I don’t know.’

And he lumbered off to buy himself three large bars of chocolate instead.

We had a cup of coffee on the way back and got him there in time for his walk with his blind friend, who expressed great interest in coming with us next time.

I can see at this rate word will get round and we’re going to be needing a minibus.

Perhaps we could enter the Guinness Book of Records for How Many Octogenarians can you fit into a Ford Fiesta?