I heard his phone go after I’d got into bed. The caller’s voice was loud, cheery. It was one of our elderly neighbour’s son calling to ask if he could go down and turn off her TV as she couldn’t do it. He is always so obliging. I call him the boy scout sometimes. He loves to please, to be of help. And I adore him for it. Don’t be too long, I call out. He is away over 15 minutes. It isn’t just her TV apparently but another gadget that amplifies her phone for her. Fixing it is beyond him. She uses his appearance as an opportunity to have a moan. And why not? This time its about the carers’ practice of giving her a bed bath each morning. At my age! she says to him. What do I want with a bed bath every day? I can see her point, though I’d want it. Her body is old, fragile and it must abhor all that jostling and rough use of wet flannels. They mean well. And her indignance mustn’t make their job any easier. But they seem kind. I’ll never forget watching one of them brushing her hair so lovingly.
Ah, the kindness of strangers, like the artist on Instagram offering me those encouraging words. He didn’t have to.
