Fairly late last night, I got some fairly devastating news by text from one of our Waitrose friends. This is that the cafe in the Waitrose store down at the bottom of the hill was due to close for good next Sunday. This is a considerable blow to myself and Meg as we have been frequenting this particular establishment for at least the last seven years but the decision has apparently been made by Head Office or a regional office and taken out of the hands of the actual branch itself. As I am the cafe's oldest (i.e. longest attending) customer, I cannot start to explain how good this cafe has been to myself and my friends. As well as our regular meeting place for the last seven years (with the exception of the Covid years), the staff have treated us so kindly, joining in on our regular jokes and pleasantries, showering us with out-of-date flowers rather than them being thrown away, occasional bits of food gratis if they cannot find it on the system and so on. It is true that there are other cafes in the town but they do not have the same ambience and, of course, are not yet the repository of many happy memories for us. I am about to text our 'inveterate hill walker' friend to see if there are cafes on the High Street that are accessible to her motorised scooter and where she leads, the rest of us will no doubt follow. The weather is a somewhat complicating factor at the moment because there may be a hard snow starting on Saturday and wiping out Sunday but where there is a will there is a way and the manner in which we have been determined to stay loyal to each other will stand us in good stead for when we transfer our allegiances elsewhere. Whatever happens, though, I am fairly confident that we can find a new meeting place but it does involve a longer walk for myself and exposure to the elements for Meg. It is an open question whether I attempt to get Meg down in the wheelchair tomorrow before the snow arrives because I suspect that she needs to be kept warm to help her chest infection subside. In the morning our domestic help arrived and as well as her normal domestic duties, she is providing a great rock of emotional support for me at this more difficult time. I had rather hoped that she would undress the Christmas tree this morning but I think this may have to wait a day or so and I may have to do it in little bits and pieces over the next day or so.
On the TV this afternoon, there has been a very entertaining black comedy called 'Mrs Caldicot's Cabbage War' in which one of the residents organises a mass break out from a repressive and exploitative residential home for the aged. Even though I have only seen this film in fragments (as I have been doing some other domestic duties during the afternoon) it seems bleakly apposite to our times. The residential home in which my mother first lodged some decades ago had a Catholic matron who tried and did run the home on very humane principles. But the owners were dissatisfied with the rate of return that they wee getting from the 'granny farming' business and going to turn the home over to the care of disturbed adolescents on the grounds that they made much more money out of the Home Office than they did providing residential care for the elderly. On the subject of affordability and costs within this sector, there is some news emanating from government last night which is disturbing in the extreme. This is that the Labour government are planning to delay their reform of the Care Sector by some three years, until the end of 2028. The intention is to provide time for an informed and careful assessment of needs and costs but this is the merest figleaf of an argument as it is completely evident that the can is being kicked fairly and squarely down the road. In 'The Times' today, it is reported that there has been at least three decades of delays and broken promises and governments of every political colour have refused to face up to the costs involved in funding the system. A Department of Health report indicates that 1 in 7 people will face costs of more than £100,000 in funding their own care package. In the meantime, it is pretty self evident that the problems in the NHS will remain acute until the problems of the social care system are fixed. One wonders whether the enormous costs involved will ever find a solution but the eventual solution may well involve some judicious mix of the elements of clawing back some of the capital (bit nit all of it) in people's homes as well as, perhaps, a more specialised tax to fund the social care system as I believe happens in Germany.
In the mid afternoon, I had a long and very welcome phone chat with our University of Birmingham friend. He has been appraised of the situation regarding Meg's health and had texted through offering his support. As he himself lost his wife some five or so yeas ago, he can empathise with our situation. It is always wonderful to receive advice and support from our friends and, as we often meet each Sunday in the Waitrose cafeteria, this too was a shock and disappointment to him as well. In view of the bad weather, our friend enquired whether here was anything we needed but actually we are well stocked up with provisions. Later on this evening, I have a WhatsApp chat scheduled with our University of Winchester friend who had replied to an earlier email of mine offering support and friendship. These relationships really do help to sustain me over these difficult periods and I feel that I am in a situation where I can never fully repay the kindness offered.
© Mike Hart [2024]