Friends called round yesterday afternoon, for tea. I’m afraid I hadn’t made scones, as the Sage only told me they were going to come ten minutes before they arrived; mind you, that wasn’t his fault as they turned up half an hour earlier than we thought they were going to. After they left, I sped into town for my shopping before the shops shut. On the way back, as I turned into the road where I live, I saw Peter standing in his drive. He stepped forward and waved, so I stopped to speak to him.
He wanted to tell me that his wife had gone into hospital the day before – he has cared for her for some years through increasingly poor health, which has become harder in the last few years because of her gradually increasing dementia. At the weekend she found it very difficult to walk with her frame. She weighs a lot more than he does and, if she were to fall, he couldn’t pick her up. In the end, he asked the doctor to call and she found a place in a local cottage for her temporarily while she is assessed and, I suppose, so is he.
In some ways, it must be a relief to him to have some respite, little though he’d ever wanted this to happen. We chatted of this and that for a while and then he asked, delicately, if the reason I’m always cycling around town nowadays is that I’ve been banned from driving?
Can you imagine the look on my face? Dear oh dear. My goodness. Dangerous driving? Drink driving? Z? Health and fitness and the saving of petrol, I assured him and added, with perfect truth, that I’ve never had so much as a point on my licence in my life.
I wonder, now, how many other people have made the same assumption.