17th August 2007 - Patricia's gone

Alan's been coming in every day for 15 years. Spent every afternoon there, came in at 3 for tea and biscuits and left at 8 in the evening. His whole life is gone now she has. Susie told me Patricia was gone and then Alan's history. She was wondering what he'd do with his life now. I was thinking "15 years, 15 fucking years. Please don't let Dad hang on for 15 years". Am I thinking that because I don't want to keep coming in for 15 years, do I want him dead so I'm released from my self-imposed obligation to visit him everyday? Or do I really have compassion for his situation.

I think I made the right noises. I hope so. Surely Susie must be looking at Donald and wondering if this is her life for the next decade and longer?

She talked to me without even looking at Dad or trying to hide what she was saying. She woudln't have done that a few months back. I looked at his face as she went away. He didn't take in what she said. He won't have known who we were talking about anyway.

Not a good day. Poor Alan. I hope he finds something to live for. He's done his time.

16th August 2007 - Elephants and fish

Dad kept saying elephants today. During what he was trying to say, every now and then, he'd say elephant. It was not aiding understanding. He's also started talking very quietly. It's very difficult to hold on to what he's saying, to try and keep listening to him while the cursing and cleaning and interjections go on around but when he speaks so slowly, so quietly and smatters the sentences with elephants, all hope of understanding is lost.

Tweedle was banging on about her mother's goldfish. "Honest, ye should've see the pair thing. It'dve made yer heart bleed, so it wid. She'd hud it fir 10 year noo, but
towards the end it wiz a sin. It would jist swim roon and roon" ( what did it do before I wondered ? ) "going naewhere. Hud fin rot, some big swelling on it's erse, it looked manky. Ma big sister hud to flush it. I couldnae dae it. But someone hud tae, it wiz inhuman jist watching the pair soul swimmin' roon and roon like tha', I canny see an animal suffer like tha' and I hates them that can". Tweedle?! Have a look around you love! Watch Amy, watch Bruce, watch Margaret, Tam and Callum cicuitung in their own orbits of the place. Fucking hell.

15th August 2007 - the Ides of August

I went to see Dad this afternoon with Ellie. I'd decided a few days ago to try and wean myself off going every day - or at least not 6 times a week. I'd decided to start going every second day or to leave if two days without any visit. So, I hadn't been in the previous two days. He looked awful. Grey in the face, haggard and drawn, wafer paper fragile. When we found him he was in one of the corridors, leaning against the handrail, his head in his hands. He didn't react to my shouts of "Dad" nor Ellie's "Grandad's". When we reached him I touched his arm and he looked at me, focussing his mind on trying to interpret what he was seeing. I don't know if he knew that I was me and that Ellie was his grandchild but he knew he recognised us, his eyes filled with tears and they rolled freely down his face as he raised his arms to try and embrace us. He was unsteady and almost fell, so I steadied him and we got through to the day room for a seat. When I spoke to one of the staff I was told he'd not been himself the last couple of days, and had even refused all food and drink from that morning. It was as if he was protesting, he'd thought I'd deserted him, so he was shutting down and giving up. I can't cut down how often I go, I'll have to go back to going 5 or 6 times a week.

9th August 2007 - "It's PCness gone mad"

Tweedle was complaining today. She was complaining that "pc'ness had gone mad" because they had changed the Happy Meal to have healthier options. "Ma bairns dinnae want any of that PC crap. Why mess with a happy meal fur chrissake - excuse ma french - but can they no leave a buckin' bairns meal alane?". I rolled my eyes and shook my head to display I agreed in the madness of providing a fruit option instead of chips. It reminded me of an ex-sister-in-law who once complained loudly and long about how the new PC world meant that there were no wolf-whistles any more. Used to be every time she walked down the road she'd hear a whistle or two, these days men were too frightened of being accused of assault or sexism or something to whistle. I marvelled at the confidence of this woman. How come the idea that it was her ageing looks that didn't elicit the much sought after affirmation of her attractiveness not enter her head? Why - in her heyday - did the confirmation from total strangers that they found her attractive mean so much? This wasn't sour grapes on my part, I was once the recipient of wolf whistles myself. I was never very sure what I was supposed to feel or do when I heard one. Did you ignore it? Did you look round and try and see who it was whistling? I supposed I was always slightly afraid I'd look round and see some stunning blonde who was really the recipient, someone would notice that I thought it was for me and then I'd be cat called instead. Wolf whistles, cat calls.

Anyway, I had time to think all this pish because Dad wouldn't wake at all really today. It was very warm in the home today, which doesn't help the drowsiness but I think he was tired, fed up and bored. Can't blame him.

5th August 2007 - The utter fucking pointlessness of being

I was having one of those days. One when you are overcome with ennui. Or maybe overcome with rage. Overcome by the smallness of your own life, the utter fucking pointlessness of existing in the first place. One of those feelings when you are aware - with stoned like clarity - of the odds of you existing and the irrelevance of your every action, every decision, every breath.

I still went to see Dad, which probably wasn't the best idea. When you are already in your melancholic, self indulgent wallowy depths, the last thing you really need is further evidence of life's suckiness. And a good measure of kick-up the arseness at the same time - "At least you're not here" my mind kept telling me while the wallower half answered "Yet".

So, I wasn't much use to Dad today. If I ever am any use to him. Tomorrow I'll feel better. Tonight I'll drink too much so that tomorrow my fuzzy mind will behave tomorrow. I'll see you tomorrow Dad. I'll be gentle tomorrow, and I'll be kind. Sorry Dad.

3rd August 2007 - Bridge between Holland and Belgium

We saw Dad at the window, from the car park. It's months, maybe years, since he would go to the window to wave us off. He waved down at us as we came out of the car. I was really surprised, I didn't know he could see and recognise at that distance. As I look back at it though, I think we maybe started waving first. I wonder if he'd have waved if we hadn't done so first. When we left he didn't go to the window and wave us off.

When we met him, he was pleased to see us - me, Ellie and Mark. We were ushered into the revamped quiet lounge. Revamped in that it's not the smoking room anymore. They've changed the visitors room into the smoking room and told Amy she's not allowed to smoke in the quiet lounge any more. Amy seems to have some sort of incident again because she's declined rapidly - her path seems to be stepped, not a gradual curve but huge downward steps. Poor Amy. She seemed to have taken in something about not being allowed to smoke because she told me over twenty times in the 45 minutes we stayed that she didn't have any cigarettes so there was no point asking her, and anyway she didn't smoke any more.

In the ex-smoking room there were three TV's, two of which were on but only the sound of one was audible. The one you could both see and hear was a cookery program, the other cricket without sound. Doesn't really loose much in the enjoyment stakes without sound. Fuck of a boring with sound, fuck of a boring wihtout sound. Dad didn't say anything for the first 20 minutes we visited, so Mark and Ellie entertained themselves with colouring, snap and general brother sister goading. Then Dad spoke. "That's that male model isn't it?" I looked at the screens. Unknown anonymous cricketers on one and Anthony Worral Thompson on the other. "Who Dad?" I asked. "That cooking man, very handsome man. Especially for a transexual". I tried to think of a way to answer this, or even just to continue his venture into conversation when Amy came over "I don't have any fucking cigarettes, so there's no point looking at me for one. And anyway, I don't smoke, so you're out of luck on the scrounge here" and she shuffled off, stooping and walking in a arcing path. She should have her zimmer, so I go after her with it and she thanks me. Often she'll tell you where to put it but today she's kind. When I got back to Dad his foray into the conversational field had finished and he was sitting with his eyes half closed, his eyeballs moving from side to side below his half closed lids. Teleprinter, the movement always reminds me of the teleprinter that used to print up the results of the football matches on the Saturday afternoon sport show. It used to scare me and I'd hide from it. It would scare me even more than the Dr Who that would come on not long after it. But his eye movement really freaked me out so I got us all ready to leave. Tweedledum came into the room in a flabby flurry of friendliness. When Dad stands up she started hauling up his trousers telling him he's not decent "You're no fit fur visitors like that auld yin, eh? I say, yer nae fit fur yer visitor like that! Who you got visiting you today then eh? Who's them?" she asked him. He looked at her without any flicker in his face that he knew who she was, why she was talking to him, if she was talking to him. She kept on. "Wha ur they then eh? Who's tha' wee lassie - is that yer niece? Is that yer auntie? Eh?" she kept on and on at him. "Are they visiting you or Amy? Is that yer family? It's naw is it? They're nae here fur you ur they?". Eventually Dad pulled himself together enough to say "This is my wife and those two children are here on a school exchange". She cackled into life again "Git away, that's no yer wife, you daftie. Yer soft in the heid, that's yer daughter and yer grandbairns!" Then to me she said "Dinnae worry aboot tha'. They eyeways forgit their relatives. They dinnae forgit us though, see us day in an day oot, they dinnae forgit us. He's fine though, dinnae worry aboot him. He's no one of mine but I keeps an eye on him all the same. I'll keep an eye on him, don't you worry aboot tha'. You git off then, we'll be fine here - eh auld yin? We'll be jist fine". Dad's face didn't seem to agree but we need to leave and we do. And I'm glad to go, but then I can go.

As we left Dad followed and asked "So you are just going to leave me here are you?" and as I was trying to think of a sop he followed with "On the bridge between Holland and Belgium. I suppose I can always get a train. I'll see you tomorrow".

What the fuck was going on there?