Today was my father's eighty-fifth birthday. It is something of a milestone and an excuse to make a bit of a fuss. Unfortunately, the family is not at full strength; my two brothers are both in the UK at the moment. Only my sister and I are around. My sister bought the wines and I bought a sponge cake. We converged on our parents' house in the middle of the afternoon. The four of us then started in on the cake right away. Neither my mother nor my father will feed themselves properly if left alone. However, if food is presented to them, in a series of small, manageable quantities, they will just keep eating all day, or so it seems. My father in particular has a bottomless appetite. After tea and cake we started on the wine, followed by sandwiches, more cake, a dessert wine, and finally a cup of tea (and an apple in my father's case).

Besides the cards my sister and I had brought, there was one from the neighbours, and another from the 'Meals on Wheels' organisation. My dad has few surviving family and friends these days, so when anyone remembers him it is something to be grateful for.

All in all, today was a good occasion. My mother didn't get overwhelmed, and my dad accepted the fuss we were making over him in good grace. His reaction tends to be something along the lines of 'I don't need all this stuff,' but on today's evidence he seems to be mellowing, finally.

The one cloud on the horizon was a change I noticed in the way my dad was speaking. He was sounding much more like mum today. Most of his sentences didn't end properly, and many of the words were half-formed. Of course, he's drunk three glasses of wine; alcohol-induced slurring and incoherence can happen to the best of us. However, something at the back of my mind tells me we need to keep an eye on this development.