Extracts from my diary (by Stephen Carroll).

13 April 2020 - R.B. (known to us as 'Barpot') fell over in the care home and broke his hip. He had an operation the following day.

 Thursday 20 April 2020

Not long after lunch Barpot phoned from the care home and sounded as bright as a button. He really is astonishing. He said he was sitting on the edge of the bed and that he wasn't bandaged but had a scribble on his left leg – nothing else. He hated hospital and is glad to be back though he has had indigestion and feels sick now and then from all the pills. He is missing company. Even the Saturday newspaper is no longer delivered. He asked if there had been any good obituaries. He had spoken to Miss N and was about to ring 'my nephew, Thomas'. I wonder if he even knows he's had a major operation? Perhaps the new lease of life is down to having 7 pints of someone else's blood pumped into him and it will soon wear off, but what do I know? It's grim that he may not be able to see the people he cares about for many months as the lockdown will probably apply for much longer to care home residents than to the rest of us. He could be held in solitary confinement for the rest of his life.

 Sunday 17 May 2020:

Rang Barpot who reported that he had taken his opened bottle of Stopham wine to the dining room and offered some to 'the Spaniard' who is called 'Jesus'. Jesus tossed it back, reached across and drained the bottle. Barpot was rather shocked. I can imagine him boasting about Stopham to this Jesus fellow, who may be sorry for his sins next time this happens, bearing in mind Barpot's habit of leaving opened bottles around for months before offering the stuff around. He probably has some in his room, left over from Christmas, in which case Jesus will get more than he bargained for.

 

Tuesday 2 June 2020:

Rang Barpot. there are now long pauses in his sentences half way through. It's hard to know what to say.

Me: How's Jesus today? Did you have lunch together?

Barp: ...I'm finding him rather...oppressive... I think he may be a spy.

Me: A spy?

Barp:  He's been all over the world. Says he was in various navies.

Me:  Has anything else happened? Have you heard from anyone?

Barp: My niece is sending me a CD of that Australian composer – the one who died in the First  

War...  Frederick...Septimus... Kelly. Do you know him?  

Me:  I don't. But you won't be able to play it. You don't have a machine.

Barp: No.



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