What is it with old men called George?
R and I swap old folks’ home tales during a lull at the office. An old guy called George I use to visit took his affability too far and was confined to barracks after climbing into bed with several female residents – individually, I hasten to add. No sexual impropriety took place; he just didn’t want to sleep alone.
R, meanwhile, knew a man who’d had a heart attack that entailed his being effectively brought back from the dead in an operating theatre. Recovered and back at his residential home some weeks later, he embarked on a one-man crusade .
“You can forget your God,” he’d tell everyone. “I’ve been there and there’s bugger all.”
He too was confined to his room. Not so much because of his message as of the effect it was having on morale.
And his name was George.