Another visit to the hospital. Apparently they're still trying to kill him.

 I went to see dad on 6th January with Ant. He was awake and quite perky. As I sat down he started to tell me he was lonely in the hospital so he was glad to see us. He said before he forgot he'd like to get me to pay his credit card.

OK' I said. I have power of attorney so it's a simple phone call. 'I'll do it tomorrow. So how have you been?'

'It's the blue card you need to pay off,' he said. You need to nip into the bank and...'

'Dad. I know. There's no need to go in. I'll do it tomorrow.'

'You need to see how much is due and then get the other card and...'

I was getting a little irked by now. I have had my own bank account since I was 17 and have worked for two major UK banks. I know how it works. I told him so.

He put on his, Why are you being such a damn awkward imbecile child, face. held his hands up in front of his face and flapped them at the elbows which he does when he is annoyed with the person he's speaking to and determined for them to listen to his perceived wisdom. He then spent fifteen minutes explaining to me how to pay a credit card bill.

I listened - it was quicker than arguing. It always is.

'They have decided NOT to do the radio programme,' he said. I looked at him quizzically.

'What radio show?'

He looked at me like I was stupid. 'The one about the water of course.'

'But dad, that never happened. you dreamed that. Remember?'

'Oh,' he said. 'Another dream? I'm having difficulty knowing what's what. The dreams are so real.' He looked confused. 'So there was no pollution?'

'No. And no radio programme.'

'Oh.' he looked a little confused and was silent for a moment.

'So, how are your ribs?'

'What?'

'Your ribs dad. You broke three ribs, remember?'

Silence... 'Billy?'

'No, RIBS. YOUR RIBS.' I stood up and gestured to my own ribs. 'How are your RIBS?'

'Ah!' he said. 'You came on the bus - right!'

I had no answer and gave up trying.

He leant towards me and lowered his voice 'That chap in the bed opposite and the one in the bed next to me are conspiring to kill me!'

'What? How?' I looked at the men he referred to, one with a white wispy vicar haircut, fast asleep, mouth open, sno

ring gently, his head lolled slightly to one side. The other one, about 5ft "2, sitting on the edge of his bed in baby blue pyjamas, chatting silently to a lady with a white perm, wearing a pink flowery dress and clutching a beige handbag.

'And another thing, they keep stealing my glasses and I look for them and they're nowhere then they suddenly reappear. I know they all hate me because of what I did to the water, and I fully appreciate it's all my fault. At least some of it is as the food came from my freezer...'

'Dad. listen it DIDN'T HAPPEN!'

'Yes, so you keep saying but SOME of it maybe didn't happen but it's not all untrue. They're keeping the newspapers away from me so I don't know.'

'Dad. I can bring you a newspaper. Then you would see there's nothing in there.'

'But they would take the relevant pages out or just give me a different version. They don't even want me to see the clock. I can't make out what on earth that clock says as I can't see the hands.'

I glanced at the 'clock' on the wall to see it was some sort of digital counter - not a clock. It was at that time, switched off.

After thirty minutes I could tell Ant was getting edgy and wanted to go. We stayed another 15 minutes and I told dad we'd see him on Thursday - in two days time.

I went back and dropped Ant home, loading my car with all the junk Ant had managed to throw out from his bedroom. There was a car-full, which I drove to the tip and went home. Ant is happy as Larry at the moment as he gets to throw his own junk out without being yelled at and without repercussions. It's taken him 3 days to move dad's junk from the top of the pile in Ant's bedroom to get to his own junk in order for him to reach all those old broken toys from his childhood (Ant is 59). My car was full of old TV magazines, old games, books, bags, old clothes and string, some old trainers and bits of rubbish.

For the past thirty years or so it appears dad has been choosing Ant's trousers for him - Debenhams best old man trousers.  Most have lasted decades but have thinning round the bum cheeks. I told Ant to bin them and I'd take him trouser shopping soon.