Isolation of the elderly

Task for this week: to write a short story or newspaper article based on a topic you feel passionate about. We spent the session thinking about potential topics and then wrote the piece for homework. I chose the isolation of the elderly.

It’s memories I live on. Just as well as the TV’s a waste of time. Since that changeover thing I can’t pick up a steady picture; it keeps jumping. This message pops up but I don’t understand it. I can’t even see the changer these days. Yesterday I got it confused with the telephone as I’ve got one of those portable ones. Not that anyone rings but I like to have it nearby, just in case. Mind you though yesterday I did get a call; someone trying to sell me something. First person I’ve spoken to in nearly a week. I tried to keep him in conversation, but once they work out you won’t buy anything they soon give up.

And it’s always when I want to watch that programme where they look around those nice country houses; typical. You see I’m a country girl at heart. I’m like a caged chicken sat here in this dreary flat. Nothing to do but nibble at my biscuits; I do like my biscuits. Just as well there’s no one to take an interest; I don’t think they’d be impressed that last week I managed to eat my way through one of those large mixed tins of biscuits. Shirley from 100 brought it round at Christmas. Only time you seem to matter is at Christmas. I wonder if it’s like an apology; sorry for not popping in on you and caring how you are, but at least you’re still alive this Christmas, so have some biscuits.

Those were the days when my Robert was alive; he used to love my coconut biscuits – Anzacs we called them. I used to make Yorkshire parkin for him too. The cakes these days aren’t a patch on those I made. And you get so tired of the same ones. Quite like those slices though. What do you call them? Kimplings. Maybe I’ll have some more of them when I go shopping; the lemon ones.

Tomorrow’s my shopping day. My one day out each week. I have a man to help me – Malcolm. I’m not sure how old he is. I daren’t ask, but he’s ever so nice. Nothing’s too much trouble. I think he could do my shopping for me now! Of course there’s the taxi there: my little luxury. That’s a job in itself what with the roadworks. They’re putting in a tram. Not that we want it; no one wants it. Just gives them another excuse to cut some of the bus services and none of them go past the end of my road now. There was the 37 till recently but even that’s gone now. Seems most things have gone.

There’s one thing I can’t get though; not now I can’t make it down to the butchers’. Three eggs. Half a dozen’s no good to me and they’re not farm fresh. I’m funny about eggs you see. If they’re not from the farm they’re not right. Those were the day when we used to collect our own from the chickens on the farm. I was so proud of myself as a little girl when I was on egg collecting duty. Then you knew they were fresh. Not like now.

Boiler’s just come on. What’s that doing on at this time? I’m sure there’s something wrong with my heating and in this cold weather I’m not sure how I’ll manage without it. That’s the thing you see. Robert was the handy one. Could fix anything. Me? I’m all fingers and thumbs. Break everything.

And of course we used to grow all our own vegetables. At one point Robert had three allotments going. We had everything. Four types of beans, potatoes, carrots…and then we had raspberry canes and gooseberry bushes at the bottom of the garden too. Mind you though it was all extra work making chutneys, pickling and preserving. Or putting things in the freezer. We wouldn’t have had one were it not for him. When he brought it home on a barrow I couldn’t work out what we needed one for, but it came in handy. He was often right. Me, I’m no good with decisions or these new fangled gadgets. What is it everyone has now? Computers. The woman who used to visit reckoned I should have one of them. Make me feel less lonely. Fat chance of that. If there was more community we’d be all right. Instead everyone’s indoors all day.

I could get a…oh what do you call it? Long, sweet, filled with cream? Not had one of those in ages. I used to love treating myself to one from Birds when I met my friend in town for lunch. Éclair, that’s it! We used to have some lovely days out on the bus to Grantham, Peterborough and Loughborough. That was when they had good markets of course and an Edinburgh Woollen Mill. We could spend hours in there rifling through the rails. But it was always Bernice that managed to get a lovely outfit. Everything was made for her; whereas me? Lucky if I got a jumper or two. When the towns went downhill we used to go off to Natalan. Robert always used to laugh when we came back from there with nothing again. “No wonder you call it Natalan” he’d smile, “the only reason you go is to have a natter”. I never did get the joke. But that was my Robert. He could find the fun in everything. Nothing got him down.

I’ll pick up a cheese and onion sandwich whilst I’m there. Quite like those. Or I could get some fish and chips on the way home. The taxi driver’s happy to wait at no extra charge; so you see there is still some kindness in this world. They’re not the same as they were in Yorkshire though. The people. Or the fish and chips. Here they’re not done in dripping so they’re often crined up and greasy. And there’s too many. I don’t eat like I used to.

Oh, there’s the paper. Bet it’s not been pushed through properly. Not that there’ll be anything in it. I only get it because I like to read the obituaries. You see it’s memories I live on.