I fired up the webcam today at just the moment that the nurse turned up at the house to administer the Aricept. I checked the time: 11:30. No sign of mum - probably still in bed. I noticed the way the nurse dumped the metal medicine box down on the dining room table - ouch. I made a mental note to buy some rubber feet for the box. That table's too nice for that sort of treatment. I wondered if people know they start to show diminishing respect for other people's belongings when they get old.

Dad and the nurse enacted the little pantomime of taking the pill and updating the records. Then I noticed them both moving towards the phone. My hand also moved, from mouse to mobile, in anticipation of what was to come. The call was to alert me to the fact that there were only two Aricept pills left. The nurse also mentioned that mum was still in bed, which prompted me to ask if there was any reason she was there so early - as her manager had agreed that visits would now be made in the afternoon. I discovered that the instructions were merely to leave the visit to last in the morning round. I asked if there is an evening round, and learnt that there is. I suggested that this would be a better time to visit mum and dad and was told that that would be difficult, as it was a very busy round. I'll take up arms over this. It is another example of the social services organising things to suit their own convenience at the expense of their patients, customers and ultimate employers.

So, I took my crutch and went step-step-dot step-step-dot to the car and drove over to mum and dad's place. Rachel was there by the time I arrived. The atmosphere was a little tense.

Rachel - disappointed or irritated at having made the trip to help and being told that neither mum nor dad were hungry.

Dad - deeply confused about when he was next going to day care, denying that he has ever been on a Monday, and complaining about getting grief from mum.

Mum - uptight about something, so angry with dad that she made mocking mimicry of him, not happy about being excluded from the conversation, experiencing auditory hallucinations again, bothered by Rachel's presence in the kitchen.

Fluffy and Tippi - hungry and anxious because the catfood has run out.

I stuck rubber feet to the bottom of the medicine box, gave Tippi the last tin of cat food, and then accepted Rachel's suggestion that we escape for a cappuccino somewhere. We returned later with pies. Mum and dad ate them, of course. They also had some more Christmas cake and tea. I've never really seen them refuse food when it is laid on the table.