26th June. Care Home Walloping.

According to the Manager, Mother had thumped one of the staff last night, "You hit me Edna!`" said the indignant carer,
"Well your Mother should have done it years ago!" was the reply.

"She's getting herself disliked" said my brother who receives a daily bulletin.

As time goes by there is an insidious erosion of social convention and self-awareness.

"They're such a dreary lot in here!" Mother broadcasts to the rest of the sitting room although she's speaking to me, I'm half following an episode of Morse on the wide screen TV, "Look at that one picking their nose over there."

"What are you reading?" I ask of the book on the table, in a hurried attempt to steer her away from the subject of the other residents.

"Pardon?"

"What book are you reading at the moment?"

"What?"

"I SAID WHAT ARE YOU READING?"

"Reading? READING? Oh HE doesn't read anything," says Mother refering to Fred the elderly gent sitting in the next chair. "I don't think he CAN!"