Uncle (again)

So, having been rescued from my impecunious state at the filling station yesterday, I continued on my journey. First, I saw my sister, which was fine. And then, my uncle...

I have posted about him before, but I think the subject bears re-visiting. Uncle is ninety-four, in a home, demented and frail. The other residents on his floor are in a similar state, so it is not a merry place to visit. But never mind. The staff are very kind, everything is clean and comfortable, he is well looked-after, but...

Yesterday, they were having a party. The day room had been re-vamped as an ocean liner, and was being "launched". There were life belts and anchors, and fish on the huge television, and glug-glug sound effects more suggestive of the fate of the Titanic than a happy holiday. Someone dressed in a long frock and a tiara was opening champagne, and there were crisps and fairy cakes. The staff were all very jolly, but the residents, wearing flowers in their hair (the women) or buttonholes (the men) sat staring into space or moaning (or, in one case, trying to escape) and had not a clue what was going on.

Why, oh why, do people do this to helpless, elderly people? It is not dissimilar to dressing a dog up in baby clothes and wheeling it about in a dolls' pram. It is simply not appropriate. Yesterday's party was certainly well-meant, but those whom it was intended to entertain were merely bewilidered.

Uncle refused his chamapgne, and also the little fairy cake with an icing-sugar anchor on it ("it's a prize", he said. He couldn't eat that. So I found him a piece of cake that looked like cake, and he ate that).

At one stage, Uncle and I rolled our eyes and shook our heads in a brief, rare and wonderful moment of complete mutual understanding.