Visiting dad yesterday, I was privy to the last ten minutes of the weekly armchair exercise class, having popped out to run an errand for him. The very few residents who had chosen to attend had been arranged in a semi-circle and the ‘personal trainer’ (it was written on the back of her top, so it must be true) was engaging them in grip exercises using a tennis ball. She is very good, let it be said, and she never expects them to do anything they can’t or gets cross with them.
So – the session finished, they all said ‘bye-bye’ to her and the trolley arrived, complete with tea, coffee and French fancies, to rebuild them after the exertion. I lent a hand to pass them round and make sure that everyone could reach a table to put theirs down on.
Then the chat started. A lady who I had not seen before and may be a new arrival, began the conversation.
“That was good.”
“Yes – very good.”
“I can really feel it in backs of my arms.”
“And my legs. I can feel it in my legs.”
“Oh, yes – my legs as well.”
“Nice cup of tea,”
“Oh, yes. She [the warden] makes a nice cup of tea.”
“Yes, she does.”
“Peter’s not here tomorrow.”
“No, he’s gone away.”
“So there’s nothing in the afternoon?”
“But the hairdresser is here tomorrow morning.”
Sadly, as I was leaving, a call came to say that the haidresser would not be coming in the morning. I felt dreadfully sad for the ladies who were apparently looking forward to that so much.
I did suggest to dad that he entertain them in the afternoon (instead of Peter) with a medley of Frank Sinatra songs and he jumped at the prospect. Anyone have a karaoke CD?