Alex's Friday trip into town

Iris
I do so enjoy my Friday afternoons volunteering at the Oxfam shop in town, it does one good to get out and about. Must try and stay mobile, without overdoing it of course, now that we’re three hip ops on. The physiotherapist, a lovely young girl called Claire, said as much herself “The thing Iris” she said “is not to let the joints seize up, try and lead an active and fulfilled life though if you feel at all strained just take a breather”

So that’s where Oxfam came in. I mean I’ve worked all my life, mainly secretarial work, and I was going stir crazy in the house every day. Going over and over the same ring mark on the coffee table with the polish, seeing Arthurs shadow lurking in every corner. It just hasn’t been the same since my Arthur passed on, rattling around in this big old house. Of course we should have moved into a bungalow when the children moved on and became parents themselves but Arthur could be a very stubborn fellow when he wanted to.

It’s very relaxed in the shop. I’ll get there just after 9 and Trevor, that’s the chap that runs the shop, friendly sort, he’ll always have the kettle on to boil for when I walk through the door. “One sweetex Iris” “That’s right Trevor, have to watch the calories at my age” “ah but there’s nothing on you Iris” you know the usual pleasantries. The day just flies by usually, there always being something to do whether it’s pricing up new stock, sorting through donations or just making sure that Trevor and I are never short of a hot drink. I usually just stick to my tea with one sweetex though I have been known to sample the odd cafe latte from time to time, well you’ve got to experiment in life haven’t you.

We often get them in the shop, you know the disabled, I guess because it’s cheap perhaps. This one fellow Alex comes in every week with his carer. He’s as good as gold usually is Alex, seems a very happy soul. He can’t talk, well he makes these noises that if you were to try hard enough you could probably discern something from them, but for all intents and purposes you would have to say the man can’t talk. Non-verbal I believe is their official term for it these days. Yes so he comes in and has a look around, he’ll usually buy a couple of c.d’s. His carer, Colin I believe he’s called, says that Alex loves his music.

Colin
Aye we always go into town on a Friday. Alex likes being around the people and the shops, he’s a people person he is. He’s fairly mobile, just needs to hang onto me arm for a bit of support every now and then. I usually tek him round the charity shops, do a bit of bargain hunting like. He’s got stacks of them C.D’s at home, not that he listens to them all he couldn’t possibly do, but he loves his music he does.

I’ve been working with Alex for 5 years now, by he’s come on a long way. Oh he was a right proper handful at first but I think he’s mellowed a bit with age. Course they did up his medication, one of those leveller ones to keep him calm. But we’ve had some fun and games with our Alex we have.

We went into Oxfam on the High street, the cheap end with all the charity shops and ethnic food stores. He usually gets himself a C.D out of Oxfam as they’ve always got a good selection. Fair play to the lad he knows what he likes. He can’t really talk but he can sure as hell let you know when he wants something. He must recognise the pictures on the sleeves because I doubt he can read. Anyway before we gets to the C.D’s he sees this old record of Tom Jones’ and he starts going ape, big old smile on his face and he’s singing a little tune “dah dah dah dada dah”.

“You aint got a record player mate” I tell him “ why not let’s have a look at the C.D’s eh” but he’s got that determined look in his eye and I’m feeling like we could be in for a bit of a show from young Alex here. “Dah Dah Dah dada Dah” he’s singing that tune, more shouting it now though as he’s getting a bit annoyed that I’m telling him he can’t buy it, what is that tune it sounds like something though I can’t put me finger on it. “Come on Alex mate put the L.P down and we’ll get you a C.D, you aint got owt to play records on have you, let’s look at the C.D’s” I try and try again but to no avail.

I suppose really there’s no way of stopping it when he wants to kick off. He hasn’t done it for a couple of years like but there was something about this record that just flicked his switch. “DAH DAH DAH DADA DAH” he’s screaming it now, spit flying everywhere, over and over, louder and louder. The old dear who works in here is looking over all interested now, “come on Alex calm down mate, let’s put the record down and get a C.D” he’s not having it though, I go to grab the L.P and he throws his hand up to my face, clobbers me one good and knocks over the stand with all the records on. Then he sits on the floor clutching onto the record rocking backwards and forwards singing that tune quietly to himself, “dah dah dah dada dah”.

Alex
It is Friday because Colin takes me to the town.

Colin is okay though he acts like he is my Dad.

He is not my Dad.

I like to go to the shops.

People look at me.

Sometimes they smile.

I love music.

I listened to music with my Dad.

Our favourite was Tom Jones.

My Dad always sang Delilah.

In the shop they have Tom Jones.

Colin says I can’t have it.

Colin says that I can’t play records.

I know all of Tom Jones without playing it.

I want to hold Tom Jones and look at the cover.

It reminds me of my Dad.

Colin tries to take Tom Jones off me.

I hit Colin.

I am upset.

Why can’t I have Tom Jones.

I could buy a record player.

The people in the shop look at me.

They look scared.

I sit on the floor.

I hold Tom Jones

I sing like my Dad.

Why, Why, Why Delilah.