I realised that any attempt to attend the Armed Services Weekend in Cleethorpes would be futile. The resort was expected to be very busy with large crowds expected: the opposite of what you need when you have dementia. Maureen had walked out in the morning looking for me rather than Dodgy Dave as she had forgotten I was next door talking to a neighbour. Fortunately I hopped on my bike and found her a few streets away and eased her back home.
I managed to wake Maureen from one of her many dozes just as the Red Arrows were in town. Our vantage point from the greens Cleethorpes Golf Course at the rear of our house gave us an excellent view of their performance:
I managed to catch a glimpse of other aircraft from our garden as Maureen stayed asleep on the sofa. Once again the Lancaster didn’t make it due to ongoing repairs to fuel tanks so I didn’t get chance to hear the ‘tum tum’ of those four Merlin engines as My Rear Gunner dad used to tell me about.
During the evening Maureen became distressed as she thought she had been left alone and locked in the house. As I returned downstairs following a shower I found her very upset as she tried to make sense of ‘where the others had gone’.
My attempts to encourage a walk late evening failed. Maureen spent half an hour trying to find comfortable socks and shoes then retired to the sofa. I tried everything I could think of to help her without success and eventually went out for a walk by myself always keeping our house in view.
It’s not looking good this morning as I bring up Maureen’s cup of tea: she is too hot and all clothing is too tight. I’m wondering if this is one of those issues that you just can’t fix as Susan Macaulay alluded to in a recent comment.