I took dad to have his pacemaker checked today. This was a routine visit that led to no surprises and confirmed that dad's bionic parts look set to function properly for another twelve months. I hope dad remembers that he had this appointment, because he has called me about it at least ten times over the last few weeks - worried that his check-up was overdue, and apparently concerned that if the pacemaker suddenly stopped his heart would too.

Dad showed me scratches on his nose. Apparently mum inflicted them. I asked him how he defended himself, and he said that he had had to push mum back down into her armchair. I noticed mum had four bruises on her face too - I suspect that hands and arms were flapping and flailing during this little set-to, either dad could have caught her a blow or she may have done it herself. On top of this, it seems mum's zombiefied stupor has lifted. She roused herself before 11 am, so I take this as an indication that the Risperidone has finally worn off and we are back to having just the Mr Hyde character - attack mother. I guess this also means we are now ready to plan the next step in the mitigation of hostilities between mum and dad. I have only two idea: separation and medication. We cannot separate them, so we must medicate mum.

Things are not as clear-cut as they once were - right now I am on the phone listening to dad explaining that mum has been asleep in her armchair all afternoon. We may never find a space between having mum asleep and having her fighting-mad.

If thirty years ago I had been able to tell dad that in 2007 his heart would be propped up by an electronic device and his wife would be routinely lashing out at him, he would have laughed and said something about being better off six feet under. Today he just keeps plodding along, neither happy nor unhappy, and as long as he has the opportunity to confide in us that mum 'gets upset over any little tiny thing' he seems able to cope.