Sunday 19th September
Day 151
‘Is it cold in here?’ asks my father when I arrive at his home this afternoon.
It is. I feel the radiator. It’s not on.
‘Would you like a blanket?’
‘No, but bring me my dressing gown.’
He pulls it on over his cardigan. I make us a cup of tea. He lets his get cold.
I think his grey socks look threadbare at the heels. He insists he doesn’t want new ones. He says he only changes them once a week anyway.
‘Do you mean you don’t take them off for a week, even in bed?’ I ask.
‘Well, they are difficult to put on,’ he says, ‘ I have to use talcum powder. Smell them if you like.’
He’s laughing and I say ‘no thank you,’ and I laugh too.
There are worse things in the world than wearing your socks for a week.
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