He asked me if I liked it.
"Yes, it's great Daniel, is it a watch?"
"No."
"Is it a wrist band?"
No."
Think woman, think.
"Ah, is it a Ben Ten Omnitrix?"
"No."
"I givey up love, what is it?"
"A knuckle duster."
I've written about my dear father before and the post-stroke / mid-dementia state of his mental health. One beautiful story from just a few weeks before he went into full-time residential care is this, short and simple.
He rang my mum to ask what her number was.
For 15 minutes mum tried to explain that he already had her number as he had just called it but it was to no avail so she distracted him by asking what the weather was like (even though they lived about a mile apart).
I'm happy to report that my dad has taken to residential care like a duck to water. I made a surprise visit this week and arrived to find he was down the pub with a fellow lady resident!
The carers had mentioned that my dad had struck up a friendship with a lady called Dorothy so I naturally presumed he was out with Dorothy.
When they arrived back, I rushed over, keen to say hello to Dorothy, only to be quickly corrected by one of the carers.
"Oh, that's not Dorothy, that's Margaret, Dorothy's over there," pointing to the lady who was glaring a jealous glare at Margaret as she waltzed back in from the pub!
You still got it eh dad!?
I seem to be making incorrect presumptions quite a lot recently.
I'm setting myself up as a freelance writer with a Government start-up scheme and I have a mentor who is guiding me through the Business Plan preparation.
We met the other day to discuss the first draft of my Plan.
Now, friends have often said the biggest hurdle to my entrepreneurial dreams is that I'm not very good at selling myself and believing in my abilities.
As this is something I'm trying to work on, the perfect opportunity arose when my mentor looked over my draft plan and said: "Well, I can see you're a writer."
Normally I would have replied: "I'm not that good, there are much better writers than me, I just like throwing words together."
But I decided the new me would accept the compliment so I simply said: "Thank you."
He looked up, surprised at being thanked and corrected himself: "No, I just meant you'd written a lot more than most people do."
My wonderful son Teddy has been at it again, opening his mouth without the words passing anywhere near his brain beforehand.
On the way to Bridlington this week, the train slowed and I told him to put his coat on as we were nearly in Hull, where we had to change.
We passed a football stadium just before we arrived in Hull station.
"Mum, is that Huddersfield Town?"
I speak Portuguese (as does Teddy, much better than me). But it occurred to me today that, other than being able to converse with my Brazilian neighbour in her native tongue and sing along at Nando's, it's not of much benefit in West Yorkshire.
I've written a poem about ballet and I've got something to say about the ladies toilets at Marks & Spencers but I'm trying to learn from my mentor that less is more!
(PS: I'll be back)
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| My dad |
