Second afternoon of music after lunch. Mum and I avoid G’s table, he tends to be rather too prolific about his sexual conquests, which makes awkward conversation. We sit with H and P who both need feeding. P continually asks for her purse and is reassured that I have it safe, for about ten seconds. I help with her feeding and drinking. Mum tucks into her fish and chips with gusto.
The singer is dressed like a medieval fairy, straight out of an illustration. She has lots of songsheets and rifles through them, Mum whispers that she’s a bit disorganised. The teacher never leaves you. It turns out she sings like an angel and has brought all sorts of instruments including a guitar, zither, several tambourines, maraccas and fifteen different drums. We sing and play and if you haven’t heard thirty people with dementia drumming their hearts out, you haven’t lived. Joyous orchestral manoevres in the penumbra.