Back to Cheddar for Christmas - my girlfriend is coming down for her first Herring Christmas (the poor soul). We went to visit my Grandma Doris in Wells.
Last year's visit would (SPOILER ALERT) provide the denouement to this year's Edinburgh show, so I wondered what tragi-comic treats we'd get this time. What glitter filled device would be despatched over a 100 year old woman today?
The hilarity was provided by my father today. We arrived at the home to find all the parking spaces filled, but a car pulling out from a prime spot at the front. My dad drove past the space so that car could exit and then decided he wanted to turn his car around so he could go in front ways. I told him to be quick so that no one stole his space - "No one will steal the space," laughed my dad. But he was taking a long time turning and then my mum decided she would get out of the car now in case it was hard to open the door when we were in the space. It was taking a long time and we weren't near enough to the goal to be able to claim it was ours. Predictably (I had actually predicted it - check earlier in the story) another car drove up and went straight into the spot.
My dad was uncharacteristically annoyed by this. I mean it was annoying, but my dad usually takes stuff like this in his stride and in any case the other driver was in no way at fault. But once we were all out of the car, dad drove back to the space and stopped, rolled down his window (having first accidentally rolled down the back window, taking away some of the impact of his gesture) and said, "We were going to park there."
Some people (my dad included) might well have apologised and moved out to let my dad in, but these people with some justification just said, "We didn't know that. Sorry." They were out of their car now in any case and the woman (I thought) unhelpfully pointed out that there was an overflow car park elsewhere. There can be no such thing as karma, because my dad spends his whole life thinking of others and yet others do not seem so concerned about him.
Mum surprised at my father's audacity and perhaps worried that things might be about to kick off at the Old Folks' Home on Christmas Eve, said, "Let's go and sign in and wait for him." She tapped in the code to enter and the rest of us went inside. I could see the usurping couple walking towards the front door. It wouldn't have taken much for me to hold the front door for 20 seconds, so they could get in without entering the code. But I decided to let the door close tantalisingly in their accidentally space stealing faces. I helped karma along in this case, even though karma had failed to provide for my father. It became karma for the couple, but not for karma itself. Karma had failed to help my father, I had nonetheless assisted karma. I hope karma is feeling embarrassed today.
The woman at reception greeted my mother cheerily and we signed in. The couple got in behind us easily enough, but did not sign in (I don't know how they got away with that). Finally my dad arrived. "Here comes Mr Road Rage," I said. The receptionist laughed hard at this. My dad is a mild-mannered man.
We got in the lift to go up to see my grandma. When we got out there was a howling coming down the corridor. Someone was sobbing pitifully as if in Hell. We approached the lounge where the noise was coming from and I didn't really want to go in and see what was causing this anguish. It was a most unsettling sound. I could see other sad faced old people with rolling heads and open mouths. All with the soundtrack of the saddest noise I've ever heard. It was unsettling and upsetting and was a jarring reminder of the thing we spend our lives trying to ignore. If we don't die, this is where we'll end our days. It turned out we'd got out on the wrong floor - because it seems on every visit to this place my family star in an episode of Terry and June that has been scripted by Samuel Beckett. Mum retrieved the box of biscuits she'd left at the desk for the staff and we went back and headed to the correct floor. Which by comparison felt like Heaven on Earth. There was no screaming and the inhabitants in the lounge were docile and not screaming or writhing, just sitting half watching a film about some cool hamsters fighting crime.
Doris, my grandma, was amongst them. I had thought I might not see her again when I'd visited last year, but she was in much better form this time. Out of bed, out and about, still totally unaware of who any of us were, but much happier and a little bit chatty. She remembered her dad Ernie Edwards. My mum had bought her a vest and was sewing Grandma's name into it. She asked Grandma is she knew the name. She read it "Doris Hannan" and mum asked if she knew who that was. My gran looked at her and said with a cheeky smile "I don't know of another one." She's still got it. Her brain battered and broken, but something still survives. She looked at us and smiled, her teeth rolling around in her mouth a little. Sadness still gnawed at my soul to see my lovely gran like this, but I was glad that she seemed content enough. And maybe after going into the other Twilight Zone corridor where everything was pain, her relative comfort seemed more positive.
My dad was chatting with one of the other visitors, a man in his nineties who dad delighted in telling us was called "John Milton". Dad made the same joke about the poet so many times that I told him there was a danger that the staff might not let him go home with us. But then, by those parameters (repeatedly telling the same joke) I might have to stay too. Thank God there was no snooker table. It's a joke though with a heavy resonance as a visit to a place like this can only make you consider the unstoppable journey we are all taking towards this last stop before oblivion. I think you've got to try and laugh in the face of that. You've got to try.
I realise more and more each year how similar my dad and me are and wondered if it was a good idea exposing my girlfriend to this 75 year old version of myself. Might it put her off to think she might be spending her life in this Hell? Though, road rage aside, my dad is a pretty good advert for what I might be in many ways (probably an unfair advert, as I doubt I will be as nice and good as he).
I introduced Doris to my girlfriend and even though she doesn't know who I am, she was really happy to see us together.
She is going to outlive us all.
