Not content with an embarrassing case of mistaken identity,
in which I confused some names and faces from half a century ago, the next day
I left my jacket on a train. At King’s Cross lost luggage office a few hours
later, I was told that it was probably already in Newcastle. My jacket had also
been to Newcastle in June, but on that occasion, I was there with it.
After my shower yesterday, it was only when I put my
tee-shirt on that I remembered that I had not towelled my back. Is there a
pattern emerging here? Just coincidence, I hope. Dementia is no laughing
matter. My mother suffered from it - as did those closest to her, as a result.
Now, which platform are we on, I wonder?
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