retiredmartin

July 2025. Waterbeach.

Straight from Mr Straw’s house to Mr Taylor’s house in Waterbeach, where we happily check on Dad and less pleasurably spend the weekend in Sunnyside. Any stigma about staying in a place Mum died went fairly quickly but I can’t get much joy from nights here.

Except for the visit to The Sun.

There’s a bit of a ritual now.

1. Mrs RM says “A pint in the Sun ?” (and then complains I drag her to the pub)
2. I forget the crisps, or in this case the twiglets (baked not fried)
3. Both of us declare the Oakham Citra “gorgeous”. I score it 4.25 on Untappd
5. We tacitly decide to stay for a second pint
6. Somehow we strike up a conversation with visitors from Porthcawl. I namedrop the Lorelei
7. Mrs RM is by now chatting to landlady Helen and I have a third (Mighty Oak Kings)
8. We leave and head towards the kebab van (it’s Chinese day tomorrow)

It’s that little pot of humous that makes it.

Sometimes I think I should take some takeaway round to dad, but frankly he eats better than us.

Mrs RM reckons folk retain their underlying character even as dementia worsens and you can see that in the care home.

She always joins me visiting Dad, he gives her a big smile, and I always join her down in Tunbridge Wells as her dad goes back and forth to hospital.

He always cheers up when I go to Meows and bring him back the meal for three.

Those plates have been pride of place in their house since 1973.