Georgie (it'll happen to us all).
Georgie was beastly to this new girl, Ifrah let's call her, again this evening, so I had an amiable discussion with him. Ifrah is a pretty Somali Muslim lady (there are some) of 31 with two daughters she's not seen since arriving seven years ago and swears she'll never go back to Mogadishu. She is fully covered and looks a little like a toffee apple, all wrapped up, though today she was in canary yellow with polka dots and looks like a sherbet dab or boiled sweet.
She's aware that her husband is probably shagging every girl in the village, he might possibly have missed a few. Ifrah sends home money every month - £300 for her mother, sister, two daughters and aunt's daughter.
Georgie is delusional : he was adamant that he's living in some far-off land (Somalia?) and asked me if there were any small-strip airports nearby as he wanted to go home. This isn't his home but some "set", whose purpose is undivinable. Or he wants cash or his cheque book to buy a ticket back home, but where is the nearest station he'd like to know.
He insists Ifrah is responsible for sequestering him in his bed which he describes as a cage. He tells me someone has pushed a bike into the front hedge or placed a milk bottle in front of his bedroom door.
Other than that he is chatty, tired and calm (although not with Ifrah).
I asked him what he thought his collection of 1956 Encyclopedia Britannicas was doing in Somalia. He also showed that he could get up and out of his bed on his own, in spite of Ifrah ; and he can urinate in the lavatory on his own, no bottle, without splashing his dressing gown.
He was up six times last night for his bottle so I made sure he took his special tablet this evening - it's a rather marvellous all-in-one that will lift your spirits, rid you of pesky anxieties and help you sleep like a baby.
One of the carers tells me that all you have that matters to you at the end is a bed and a piss-pot.
We had a couple of glasses of fine red and a great, if wacky, conversation, Georgie and I.
He knows I have to make a trip to Thailand, but that's a long way off, if at all (covid is blowing up over there).
All I can do is just reassure that he is firmly in his own home and has a disparate support team of six (6), complementing him on his innate British talent for managing diversity.
Sometimes I feel I live in a care home myself, a care home with only one resident ....well, soon enough two.
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Keep it clean, keep it lean