25th August 2007 - Whacky races

Surreal. Overused word - and misused too. Like ironic - how many times do you hear someone say 'and the irony was....' when there was fuck all ironic about it. Surreal is the same.

"characterized by fantastic imagery and incongruous juxtapositions"


Remember Whacky Races? The Dick Dastardly, Penelope Pitstop show? Came to mind today when I visited. Amy, Bruce, Callum, Tam, Aggie, Mary and her Frankie shadow. All of them, today, were wired. Wired and circuiting, like some kind of whacky races cum slow motion 'Benny Hill Show' title sequence.

It was hot today, which maybe accounts for some of it, but they were circuiting, circling, at a pace that would be hard for an able-ish bodied 40 something to keep up with. Chasing, following, circling, round and round. They'd wave and smile on each circuit, completely oblivious to their previous circuit and the previous interaction. They'd all sit down in a different chair each time, sit for less then a minute, then rise and continue their laps.

Where they co-ordinating this? Was it some wind up on their behalf? Did Bruce gather them all at breakfast and gigglingly hatch a plan to drive the carers 'roon the bend' - which was the effect their laps were having according to Tweedle. It would be great to think of them doing just that, of having enough of themselves to devise this way of irritating their carers and enough of themselves to enjoy the effect their actions were having. But when you saw their facial expressions, their eyes peering out bewildered and scared from their sockets, it was obvious they were following some compulsion, driven by something over which they had no control.

The irony of it was that yes, it was surreal but the tradegy of it was that no,it was real.

Dad didn't seem phased by his fellow residents circling him, didn't bat an eyelid as he'd have said. I wonder if he ever does it? He's often wandering the corridors when I come in but I've never seen him do this repetitive pattern of behaviour. He'll pick up tiny invisible specks of something, he'll arrange invisible cutlery on the table infront of him, he'll talk to invisible people and occasionally - and painfully for him - sit down on invisible chairs, but he doesn't seem to follow this particular trait of dementia. Maybe it's his type of dementia, or his type of underlying personality. Does his personality still exist I wonder - if his personality is coded in his brain, and that's dying off in bits and pieces, does his underlying self still remain and come through? Is he not joining the circuiting because of his previously imbued lack of 'socialness' - he would not have be someone to join in - is that still there? Poor Dad, still a lonely misfit even now. I'll try harder tomorrow to be kinder. Maybe it'll be warm and we can go for a walk in the gardens.