How Many Camels Are There in Holland?: Dementia, Ma and Me. Phyllida Law

      At breakfast this morning (we had breakfast this morning), and looking to hear the weather forecast, I listened to a very moving account of someone with the fatal disease Huntington’s Chorea. It’s difficult to diagnose but early symptoms include a funny walk, when you veer off in odd directions, leaving taps running or lit fags everywhere.

      That’s me. Aside from the fags. When I got up this morning I was definitely veering. Like the weather forecast ‘veering south and losing identity’.

      Mildew says her elegant friend Iris found herself on a bus, neatly dressed as ever, with a plastic bag of potato peelings on her lap. Trying to appear nonchalant, she put them in a bin and, greatly relieved, tried to open her front door with her Freedom Pass.

      However, I did remember to put the milk can out for Jimmie Helm and ran down to see him when I heard all the clanking. He doesn’t like this dry spell. ‘It’s nae guid for dumb animals,’ he said. I think he waters the milk: it’s a bit blue.

      In the back of his van there is this little creature, straight-backed and silent, with solemn, unblinking blue eyes under a hand-knitted bonnet. The only thing about her that isn’t knitted is her wellies. I could eat her. She doesn’t belong to Jimmie, she’s just there for the ride. A mascot, guarding his milk can.