I don’t want to be an old man with two large books in his possession which are both half-read.
Half past six on Saturday night Fireworks are popping, Banging outside; dark and cold with mist. I liked this morning’s cobwebs; now they have moved-on. The hum of TV downstairs threatens another dancing programme I consider Netflix Or a book, Not really interested. The dog In the corner house Barks when I walk past; HeContinue reading “Lockdown Saturday”
Often old men and women will seek human contact, particularly when feeling isolated – and when I reciprocate with my gloved hand (that they don’t appear to notice as being anomalously purple or blue) we are able to make contact, to connect.
I come from a long line of worriers, which is apposite as the subject of this blog relates to discussions with my brother about Covid. You see, he has been a mask wearer. He also has asthma like me and the combination of worrier, asthma and the time of Covid is a toxic cocktail forContinue reading “A long line of worriers and wear a facemask?”
Imagine the harm done to those people previously ‘living well’ with dementia who for six weeks have had a dramatic reduction in visitors and day-centre attendances; even the bitter-sweet routine trips to GP surgeries or hospitals have been done away with.