Beverley Grange and Beecham House!

I left the central heating on last night to see if I would sleep better, but to no avail, just woke up at two, as thirsty as hell and then went back to sleep until eight. The good weather continues, it gets slightly colder each morning, which is what is supposed to happen at this time of year. Normy legs it on to the lawn, does the business and then retreats indoors and lies wriggling on his back on the hall carpet, while I make breakfast. We are boringly predictable, this morning it's the full English again, followed by coffee in the Garden Room, as we watch the day break. High pressure dominates the weather, so it is clear, dry and cold, a blessed relief from the continual downpours of December. The news is dominated by the wildfires in Australia and the comments from the American State Department about the negative consequences for the UK on a referendum on Europe. Apparently temperatures in OZ have reached 45-50 degrees Celsius, which is unbearable, at least for Europeans, I experienced similar temperatures in 1969/1970 in Bahrain and wouldn't want to repeat the experience again. With regard to the European Union, most of the United Kingdom misses the point. The standard of living in the UK didn't regain the level it had attained in1913 until 1964. Two world wars wiped out fifty years of potential economic growth, notwithstanding many, many, millions of lives. The EU is the best thing that has ever happened in Europe, ever! Period! It is by no means perfect, but infinitely better than what went before. There are two models of capitalism, free market neo liberalism and the social democratic regulated model? The first claims that unrestrained forces increase market dynamism, but in my experience just increase greed at the top of the hierarchy and fear at the bottom. The result is that the most ruthless and greedy, end up running things and the devil takes the hindmost. Unfortunately, fear cannot keep people down forever and eventually this means they will eventually revolt and take to the streets. The United Kingdom faces the choice of a less unequal future in the EU, or unfettered capitalism outside it. The latter choice only favours the top one percent and then only in the short term, but unfortunately they control the media, excepting the BBC and the Guardian. What infuriates me, is that no one makes the case for the EU, it needs reforming for sure, but is already far better than the alternatives and its future can't be left to the dominance of German Mercantilism and the continued decimation of the south. The progressive left needs to find it's voice, Hollande where are you?
Greed and fear are poor foundations for a good society, people will work for money if they have to, but only grudgingly, people will work for companionship and self realisation until the cows come home. The choice we face is between economic slavery and creative, social, self expression. My inner Marxist, it appears, is alive and well, and still detests exploitation and discrimination.
My apologies, rant over.
After breakfast,we collect the terriers and head for the Westwood, the morning is clear, cold and frosty, which makes the going underfoot firmer and less muddy, in a large elm tree, a flock of, at least, fifty magpies have gathered and their tommy gun, staccato calls pierces the morning air. Whilst I am walking a prayer is answered and suddenly I have an idea how to help Leslie. I phone Beverley Grange and enquire if it is possible for visitors to have lunch with residents? and am told it is, so leave a message for Leslie requesting that we take lunch together. I arrive at the care home shortly before eleven thirty, having deposited the terriers in Cherry, and leave Norman in the Chrysler, with the windows wound down an inch or so. As I enter the building, I spot Leslie exercising, walking down the corridor using his Zimmer frame, and go to him to say hello. He agrees to my suggestion of a walk outside before lunch, and we exercise in the garden of the home, which faces east and consequently only has the sun on one corner. This notwithstanding, it is a pleasant morning, the birds are singing, and in particular a red breasted, cock robin, is singing his little heart out, perched on the birdbath. I can almost see Leslie's mood lifting, the world is beautiful, whatever age you might have attained. We retreat indoors, as he gets tired and return to his room for a while, until he has recovered his breath, before venturing forth again to make our way to the other end of the building for lunch in the restaurant. There are about thirty residents for lunch and only one cook and one server, so fast food, it ain't, but it is hot and fresh when it eventually arrives. It is school dinners from the fifties, but at its best, Leslie opts for corned beef hash and I have beef cobbler, we are seated with two elderly ladies, Barbara and Marguerita, who are somewhat shy, but quite friendly. I lead the conversation and try to bring Leslie out of his shell, but whilst he will talk to me, he ignores the two ladies. Dessert is a jam sponge with custard, Leslie opts for a banana instead and only ate half of his corned beef hash. One thing is certain, the problem is not with the food or the staff, but with Leslie's mood and appetite and that is a work in progress. After lunch we walk back down the corridors to his room and seat him in his chair. I ask if he wants radio four putting on, but he tells me the TV set isn't working again, but after pressing the menu button it is restored. William is visiting again this evening, and I leave Leslie happily listening to his radio, and promise to visit for lunch again tomorrow. On my way out I call in the administrator's office to pay for my meal, but they waive payment in lieu of my help as a therapist. Norman and I return home for one, where I give him some biscuits and water before setting too, to clear the car from muddy dog paws, before ferrying friends to the cinema. The inside of the car is cleaned and vacuumed and I have just time to drive to the Polish Hand Car Wash, near Morrison's, before picking up my friends from Albert Terrace. Felicity doesn't feel up to the cinema, so I transport Jill, Rosemary and Julia and Hahne brings Barbara and Annie. The film "quartet", is a sort of up market, "High School Musical", for crumblies, and stars, the impeccable Tom Courteney, Maggie Smith, Billy Connoly, Pauline Collins, and Michael Gambon. It is a directorial debut for Dustin Hoffman, and is perfectly enjoyable, although completely unrealistic. The cast are supposed to be members of a retirement home for musicians, in a stately home, that rivals Chatsworth House, and would probably cost a million pounds each a year, but that is just carping, the film was fine and will be warmly received by middle class pensioners everywhere. It was just my misfortune to juxtapose the reality of Beverley Grange, this morning, (and probably the best care home I have visited), against Beecham House, the name of the home in the film, this afternoon. My old ladies all loved the film, and after dropping them off, I call at Tesco for a baguette and a bottle of Rioja, which I combine with a Camembert for tea. Norman makes do with a dog tin again. Later I discover my nephew, Kenny and his wife, Shalini, have had a baby boy in Holland. He is called Connor. Later Sarah texts to ask if I will take Louis to school in the morning and of course, I will. To bed for ten.