Remember that song... "Nobody Knows What Goes On Behind Closed Doors"? Well, it's often true. Outside the home, people might appear to be all sweetness and light but inside, after they have taken off their masks, they may show a darker side of themselves.
As regular readers will recall, my old friend Bert has had a hell of a year since breaking his hip and spending a month in hospital. He is now pretty much housebound and still sleeps downstairs in his front room because he cannot negotiate the steep staircase.
Bert used to be a much-loved regular in our local pub. He had a sunny disposition and never complained about his lot in life. Everybody liked him from the youngest drinkers to the oldest - though none were older than him. Sometimes when he walked in, other drinkers would chant "Bert! Bert! Bert!" which slightly annoyed him if the truth be known but he never complained.
See him now sitting sideways on to his TV set which is always tuned to an unpleasant right wing TV channel called "GB News". He's 87 and I swear he is becoming slightly demented. He forgets things like how to answer the telephone, old pub regulars' names and he often stumbles in the middle of sentences, forgetting words.
Bert is fortunate in that his youngest son, Philip has become his unpaid carer. Philip is 53 years old and a bachelor. He usually sleeps at Bert's house and sometimes over at his mother's house which is three miles away. Philip doesn't have a regular job and he seems a pretty gentle soul. I learnt recently from his mother that as a young boy he was sexually abused by his step-grandfather. Though I don't know any of the details of that abuse, it seems to me that it probably changed the course of his life.
Last time I visited Bert - earlier this week -he was being very nasty to Philip - accusing him of taking Bert's money and drinking too much. Recently Bert's other son has been successful in securing a government "attendance allowance" for his father. This amounts to £108 a week. The idea is that the elderly and the infirm can buy in some assistance. Often this help is given by family members who would otherwise be unpaid.
Even in my presence Bert was lashing out at Philip about this money. I told Bert that he was very lucky to have Philip around to help him and regarding the weekly money the clue was in the name "attendance allowance". It is meant to pay people who attend to his needs and for a minute or two Bert seemed to accept this idea. However, five minutes later Bert was again lashing out at Philip over the same matter.
He also accuses Philip of ripping up important papers.
Bert's ex-wife sometimes talks to me over the phone and she confesses that she has started to hate going round to what was once the family home because Bert has become so nasty and accusatory.
As I said before, I think Bert is becoming demented. The old sunny character has almost evaporated and in its place I am increasingly hearing a cantankerous, confused old man who is losing his marbles and lashing out at the people who still care for him. It would not surprise me if in a few weeks he started lashing out at me too.
Old age is rarely about sitting on a verandah in a rocking chair while looking west towards a golden sunset, recollecting the old days with a smile while perhaps humming Mary Hopkin's song, "Those Were the Days". No. It is seldom like that.
