Squashed in the corner of the living room, the television set was another person in the house to be paid no heed until it uttered something of interest. The light from the black and white newsreel flickered as the familiar footage rolled. The crush on the steps of The House, the Secretary brusquely pushed aside, “Well may we say ... “.
Soaking wet, I rushed in from the shower. What’s happened? Catching the end of the voice-over, I gathered the familiar story: from assisted care to nursing home; wife of 68 years needing care herself. I stood there, dripping on the carpet, lost in reverie, until the goose-bumps dragged me back to reality.
As I threaded the damp towel back on the rail, and reached for a pair of socks, I reminded myself, when the time comes, to line the streets to say ‘thank you’.
For turning the lights on.