Home away from home

My old Mum always said that I`d end up in a home.

Of course she was referring to Borstal, the home in England designed for juvenile delinquents, I must have been seven or eight years of age then, and now, at the glowing age of ninety it has happened. After a brief spell of illness, it was decided to `put me out to grass’.

Whatiffs are the main cause for my dilemma.

“What if you fell down those stairs of yours Geoff?”

“What if you fell ill again.”

“What if you slipped on the paving in the garden?”

“What if the roof blew off?”

“What if you got locked in the loo?”

At that time, I was ill and in no condition to make a reply, tho` my thoughts ran wild.

I have never liked the idea of `homes’ for old people. As a small boy one of the worst experiences I could have was to visit Granny and Grandpa in their apartment at Sunset Lodge. Entering the establishment I always smelled a mixture of mothballs, sunlight soap and pee.

What was more frightening was going to the loo.

A yawning cavern of a place, completely white-washed with a raised throne set higher than ground level. Three steps lead up to it. It also had a chain system, which I could hardly reach, to flush away the four ounces of pee I had made.

All hell broke loose whenever you had the courage to tug on that monstrosity.

Fifty gallons of water rumbled and cascaded down the pipes which made a noise like a steam locomotive going over Victoria Falls and crashing into the ravine below. What was more, the din went on for a good three quarters of an hour after you had flushed.

I always ran for my life…

Me go into one of those dreadful places? Not on your life.

Then came one of the saddest moments of my life…moving out of Golden Acre. Although out of hospital, I was still pretty frail, I had lost more than 10 kg and was only able to creep around and observe what was gong on. It broke my heart to see all my life`s treasures slowly being removed and put away.

It was really happening, at ninety years of age I was destined for yet another new experience.

“Lord Geoffrey,” I thought. “What comes next, purgatory?”

But no! I had quite a pleasant surprise when introduced to my new place of residence.

I call it a flatlet. A fair sized lounge/kitchen area with a separate bedroom with en-suite shower toilet and hand-basin.

The move into the flat was uneventful, and I saw that I was sandwiched between two little old white haired ladies. It was arranged that I had one meal (lunch) a day at the dining hall.

Settling in was not a problem, and I began to make a lot of new friends almost immediately. Mostly staff members since the in-mates seem to view me with a certain amount of apprehension. I know they whisper behind my back, but then, what else can they do?

Naturally, there are rules and regulations. I have this panic button placed around my neck in case of accidents, and should anything happen untoward, all I have to do is find it.

Oh yes. I tried it out on the first night of my arrival, by mistake of course.

Throwing it down onto my coffee table, I went to my frig and poured myself a beer. Nothing wrong with that I hear you say. Putting my feet up onto the coffee table, un-be knowing to me I rested them gently on the panic button.

A bevy of beautiful nursing staff suddenly arrived on my doorstep. Beer in hand I apologised profusely. I will try to be more careful in future.

What do they say about first impressions?

Its too early to write a review on “Life in the Home” but be assured, it’s coming up in the very near future.

“Oh dear, there’s those screams again…”