Is this it ?

‘How long has your mother had dementia?’ people ask from time to time. ‘quite possibly all her life’, I sometimes reply. Well, that may sound terribly flippant but she’s always been scatty — chaotic, really. She’s never had a routine of any sort. Most people come into the house and out of habit put their keys in a certain specific place as a matter of routine. Not my mother. No, nothing so simple as that. The keys might land up in her bag, or on the table or under the table or in her pocket or in the kitchen or in the loo — or they might just be left in the front door. The daily search for the house keys — or the car keys, or her handbag, or her purse or a certain scarf — was the nearest my mother ever got to a routine of any sort.

Another sort-of routine involved driving down to Ascot for lunch with her sister and brother-in-law every Sunday. Each Sunday she would say her goodbyes after tea, jump in the car and buzz off home to London. Then after a lengthy rummage on, under and behind the car seats and in the boot, the penny would drop …. once again she had left her handbag behind. So back in the car she would jump and head off to Ascot once more to collect her bag.

For years my mother played bridge (very erratically) with a certain group of ladies but more often than not after a very lengthy gossip with one of her ‘ladies’ on the phone, she would go off and search for her diary, during which time she would forget the details and end up by writing the wrong date, time and venue in her diary. From years of experience her bridge ladies knew they would have to ring her on the day to remind her: ‘Mary, this afternoon at 3pm at Joan’s — now don’t forget’.

My mother’s driving was a source of hilarity to all those who knew her (and in my case serious concern and frequently infuriation). For her passengers her driving was such a source of alarm that one of her boyfriends once tried to jump out of the car while she was driving round Hyde Park corner — this clearly seemed to him a better option than being driven by her. She started driving shortly before the war — whether she ever passed her test or not was in question but she managed to get a driving licence somehow and she was an enthusiastic driver to say the least. Unfortunately the rules of the road (in her eyes) did not apply to her. No entry signs were ignored; one way street signs were ignored; bus lanes were ignored; parking meters were ignored; no parking signs and double yellow lines were ignored; she would not hesitate to drive along a pavement if she was running late. Fuming drivers who hooted at her would be acknowledged with a cheery wave although she had also been known to stick out her tongue on occasion or give someone two fingers. She even once did a hit and run on a Police car and got away with it (the Police actually landed up escorting her to her destination). At least she appeared to be aware (when it suited her) of the existence of traffic lights. The crunch came when I discovered the vast pile of unpaid parking tickets, reminders and threats to send in the bailiffs. She denied all knowledge of all the correspondence, opened and on her desk. She denied having ever parked in any of the places mentioned on the tickets (all regular haunts of hers). I felt quite sick. And that was when I really began to wonder …..

But then rummaging through her desk to see if there were any more unpaid fines and threatening letters, I discovered a similar wadge of correspondence (unpaid fines, reminders, threats etc.) dating back to 6 years previously — so it wasn’t the first time that this had happened. Clearly that time she had paid up (how much I couldn’t tell) just in the nick of time. So — oh well, this is simply mother being herself — no cause for concern. Perhaps ? …. but this turned out to be so wrong.