IT’S been one of those weekends.
I suppose the first indication was when I stepped into the shower, used body gel on my hair and wondered why the conditioner didn’t lather when I rubbed it on my lower regions.
Was this old age or simple stupidity? Then I found myself attempting to open a packet of bacon with a bottle opener.
These events did not all happen on the same day but have been gently spread as if in warning that my little grey cells might be congealing.
I half convinced myself that it was a simple lapse of concentration, only to realise, as I removed my hot steak pie from the oven, that the portion of processed peas I had decanted from a can and placed in a bowl to heat, were still cold because I had put them in the refrigerator instead of the microwave.
Flipping heck. Perhaps I was going barmy.
I mean, I still, on occasions, mistake Maria’s hair spray for deodorant and give my armpits such a good blast that I walk around for half an hour like a sumo-wrestler until its potency evaporates.
And then the balance of order was somewhat restored by my wife who, every morning, fills the percolator and sets it to coughing and spluttering, not only to fill the kitchen with the delightful aroma of fresh coffee but to provide me with a full supply of the rich brew of which I partake frequently during the day. It’s supposed to keep Alzheimer’s at bay.
“Oh no,” she said, when she checked.
“What’s wrong?” I said.
The coffee looked remarkably clear - mainly because she had forgot to put any in. What a relief to realise I was not losing it all on my own; I would have company when the men in the white coats arrived.
To cap it all, whilst I was upstairs working in my office, Maria asked me if I was ready for tea. Tea being the early evening meal variety, and not a China cup and cucumber sandwiches. I said no, but then, after reflecting on hunger, went to the top of the stairs and shouted to her, “What’s FOR tea?”
Perhaps it was the enunciation and emphasis which I imposed upon the words but she answered immediately, “It’s between thir-tea and fif-tea.” It’s daft in our house; usually all the time.
Now, where did I put the scissors? I want to open a bottle of beer.