Several stories in the newspapers this week have struck me as very funny. Take Friday for example; I came across a photograph of a very distressed looking Mrs Lillian Taylor, 88, (living in sheltered accommodation in Clapton) and her seething son, Fred, 65, (of Basildon) with his arms around her. It was little wonder that Fred was so angry because it transpired that poor frail Lillian, who has dementia, was discharged and sent home from hospital to an address where she used to live. Apparently, ambulance staff were greeted at the front door by the current resident, an old gentleman (and a total stranger to Lillian), who was persuaded to let the old lady, wearing her nightdress, into his home and put her into bed – the elderly chap, naturally confused, felt he had no choice but to comply.
Yesterday I read two more madcap real-life stories. One was about a letter sent by Norwich City Council (age unknown) to “The Occupier” of a public lavatory, closed by the council over a decade ago, to enquire if there were any objections to a local store’s application to sell alcohol. The other concerned a florist shop in Blackburn; a council official warned that a wooden ornament of a caterpillar smoking a hookah pipe (as in Alice in Wonderland) could breach the ban on smoking in the workplace. It was also hinted at that the florist, Debbie, 32 years old, might be in charge of “an illegal ‘shisha pipe’ den”(whatever that is).
When I read the articles to my Mum (of advanced years) and my sister (of indeterminate age) – they had called in on their way home from the boot-sale (like a market) at Exeter – they laughed too and then Mary said, “But none of those stories is as funny as what happened to my friend Cheryl.”
“When?” I asked, “Do you mean on Wednesday?”
“Yes, last Wednesday!” Mary said with the excitement of someone who knows that what she is about to impart is going to be really humorous.
Cheryl (age unknown) is an old school friend of ours from Australia. She turned up with her husband in Teignmouth (where Mary lives, 3 miles from Dawlish), on Tuesday night when we were all at the opera, “La Boheme”, and called us on her mobile phone; thus arrangements were made for them to visit Mary the next morning. Chris and I had gone over to Mary’s place to see Cheryl and Rod but no mention had been made of anything strange going on prior to our meeting. It was all rather intriguing.
“What happened?” I asked Mary.
“Well, you know it has been some time since Cheryl came to our house, and she couldn’t quite remember which one in the close was ours. So they knocked on Bab’s house…”
“The lady across the road?”
“That’s right, Robin’s mother, who has dementia and is bedridden. Well, they knocked on the door and someone, I don’t know who – it could have been a carer, at that time in the morning – opened the door…”
According to Mary (I think I shall take over the storytelling now, for ease and clarification), Cheryl was somewhat surprised to see a stranger before her at what she thought was Mary’s front door.
‘Is Mary in?’ Cheryl asked slightly unsure.
“Well we call her Babs but she answers to other names. Sometimes she likes to be called Barbara, or Mitzi, ‘ the person at the door smiled and welcomed the Australian couple inside.
“But we’re looking for Mary…” said Cheryl.
“Oh that’s alright. I think she answers to Mary. Do come inside. Just follow me upstairs to the bedroom – she’s in bed.”
“In bed?” Cheryl asked. (She must have thought that Mary had a very tiring time at the opera the previous night.)
“Oh yes. Babs – Mary – will be so pleased to see you!” said the good hearted person (whoever he or she was).
The person opened the bedroom door and Cheryl and her husband were invited inside to talk to Babs – Mary. Cheryl observed the ninety-two year old lady sat up in bed; she was freshly washed and her white hair was combed nicely, ready for visitors.
“That’s not my old school friend, Mary,” exclaimed Cheryl making to leave.
“Won’t you stay for a nice cup of tea?” asked the person.
Cheryl and Rod declined and ventured across the road to Bab’s – no, Mary’s – house and no-one thought to tell me until today. Sorry if it is slightly old news. And before I go, can anyone tell me why reporters are so fixated by people’s ages?