In a World Gone Mad: 2 May 2020

Saturday: 2 May 2020

Bat Shit Crazy: dialed to the max.

Yesterday was a bad day, today is worse—so far.

Mid afternoon yesterday Arthur had his fifth meltdown of the day.

I think he retained ‘something’ from me shouting at him in the morning. He didn’t remember it, but I’m sure he remembered the resentment he felt when he saw me again.  I caught him glaring at me—glaring, studying maybe—he wasn’t old Arthur who has a high-pitched laugh like nails on a blackboard. He used to laugh after every sentence.

“I’m just nipping to the bathroom,” high-pitched cackle.

“Where’s my shoes?” high-pitched cackle.

“What’s for dinner?” high-pitched cackle.

All day yesterday, he was on one. He frowned and glared at the cat, and that was a glare. He was irritated when the dog was in his way. When the aggression turns into violence, which will be any time now, the animals are going to be first in the firing line, then Andy followed by me and then Mark –weakest to strongest. I don’t trust him around my animals.  He feeds the dog from his knee and then yells at her when she begs for his dinner. She’s sensitive and he frightens her.

“Arthur, please don’t feed the dog, love.”

“Why not, look, he’s hungry.”

We have two answers to this depending on mood—mine and his.

The easy option.

“She’s on a special diet and it’ll upset her stomach.”

The try and make it sink in option.

“Because you feed her now, and then, when you get your dinner, she’ll come begging because she knows you give her food, and you’ll get really angry with her.”

“Me, angry—never?”

He came out this afternoon and picked a fight with me. It was calculated and thought out.

I was having a quiet ten minutes in the garden.  I’m going to write the conversation once, but it replays, and every sentence is repeated up to ten times. It makes a two-minute dialogue a lengthy business. The Fair Work Practises Directive would grant me a forty-five minute lunch break.

“Hi Arthur,”

“Hello,”

“Here you go, grab a seat and I’ll go and get you a jumper, the weather’s turned since last week.”

I’m smiling my sweet, sweet smile and covering the resentment of him invading my peace.

He does this thing, he runs his finger up and down his face at the side of his nose, when he’s either confused, frustrated, pondering—or about to fly off the handle.  It’s great because we get advance warning.

Nose rubbing.

“Oh Arthur, quick, can you help me get the washing in please, I think it’s going to rain.”

There’s barely a cloud in the sky and my washing could have done with another couple of hours but— Reset. Reset.

Too late.

“I wanted to check, Miss. Are you okay with this, what we’ve been talking about?”

“What’s that then, lovely.”

“Well…you know…all…all… all this, me coming here and doing…this.”

Here we go—and we’re off.

“I’m absolutely fine with you being here, where else would you be?  We’re your family, you live here with us, now. We look after you and you’re safe and you’ve got nothing to worry about. How’s about a cup of tea and I’ll see if I can find you a biscuit?”

“I live here?”

“That’s right with, your son, Mark and me and your grandson Andy.”

“Are you stupid? I don’t live here.”

I’m calm, he’s raising Cain and yelling his head off.

“Arthur, you’ve been living here with us for two months now, this is your home.”

“Well what about my house?”

“Your house is still there, Archie’s looking after it for you.”

“So, you’re going to sell my house. Who are you?”

“No Arthur, you’re going to rent your house out, remember, like you did when you went around the world? You want a nice family to move into it and look after it for you.”

He’s out of his chair, shaking and screaming.

“Well, this is the first I’ve heard about this.”

“No, it isn’t, you know all about it, you’ve just forgotten.”

“I swear on my life, this is the first I’ve heard of it. Why haven’t I been told about this. Do my sons know what you’re doing?”

“Yes, your sons all know. Arthur, every decision made has been your decision. You’ve been given the options and you wanted to come and live here with us so that we can look after you, and you decided to rent out your house to some nice people so that it wouldn’t be empty and get damp.”

“This is the first I’ve heard of this.”

“No, it isn’t, you just forget things, that’s all.”

“Are you calling me stupid?”

“No, you aren’t stupid, but you’ve been very ill, you were in hospital and you decided that it would be better for you to come and stay here with us. When you’re well enough we can arrange for you to go back home. It’s all in your hands.”

“What are you talking about? I haven’t been in hospital. I’m fitter than you. Don’t you dare call me stupid.”

Max heard the commotion and joined us.

“Arthur, you’re not stupid, just forgetful.”

“Oh, I’m just an imbecile.”

“Dad, what’s going on? Why are you shouting at my wife?”

“I’m not shouting, boy.”

“Yes, you are, they could hear you in Blackpool, now apologise to Sarah, please I won’t have you shouting at her like that. What the problem?”

Arthur has never apologised to anybody for anything in his life, and please and thank you don’t feature amongst any vowels or consonants in his vocabulary.

Well… it’s all this…isn’t it?”

“All what Dad?”

“Well…I don’t know now…there’s some problem, boy. That woman there’s stolen my bank card. She’s bought this house with it.”

“Dad, that lady is my wife, Sarah, she makes your meals, does your washing and cleans up after you all day long.”

“Well, I know that. I know that now, Don’t I, but what about my house? This is the first I’ve ever heard about this”

And, we’re back in the loop

“Heard about what, Dad.”

“I don’t know, I can’t remember, the thing wot’s happening here.”

“Dad, what month is it.”

“I don’t know.”

“What year is it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know what day it is; I don’t worry about things like that.”

“Okay, you don’t worry about things like that. Name four of your seven grandchildren.”

“I didn’t know I had seven grandchildren; I’ve never seen them.”

“Name two of them?”

I put my hand on Max’s arm, “Gently.”

“I don’t know do I, Archie.”

“Archie is your son, Dad. Who am I?”

“Well, I’m sure you’re a very nice gentleman, that’s who,” high pitched cackle. “Does my son know you’re here; shall I go and get him for you?”

“Leave it Max.”

“He has no bloody clue.”

And the conversation ended the way every conversation with him does, “Hey Arthur, how’s about a nice cup of tea and I’ll see if I can find you a biscuit to go with it.”