I have to admit that old age is a horrid nuisance. On Saturday, Rosemary and I tried to go for a walkie, but she just stood, marooned next to a tree, surrounded by hazardous glacial paths, a poignant sight, while the dog and I waded round her in circles. Did she dare go anywhere? Was this a walkie or just a standie? I called out these questions, but why bother?

"Can't hear you!" bellowed Rosemary. She's stone deaf, and had to give up and go home, without her shopping, which I'd remembered to buy the night before, but forgot to bring. So I took it round later, fell over on a mud-slidey bit of her pathway, tore my favourite jeans, got in the car, remembered I'd forgotten my sunglasses, rang Rosemary, out she came and gave me her keys. Why? She'd forgotten she had my glasses in her other hand. And I'd forgotten the magazines for her, which I'd got out ready to take, but at least I'd remembered some books, which I was on my way to deliver to various people.

Off I went, delivered the first one, drove to the second person, parked, but where was my bag of books? Still on the last person's table. Drove back, then back to the second person, put the bag of the books on their table thinking: "Mustn't forget it this time, like I did last time." Forgot it. But luckily, I was still diddling round outside with the dog, giving it a toilet opportunity, when I heard my friend banging on her window, beckoning. The books!

Back I went, took the third book, delivered it successfully, and paid my paper bill, which was huge, because I'd passed the shop time and time again, forgetting to pay, or remembering but being unable to do so, because I'd forgotten to take my cash card, although I do try. I make lists and plans.

But then time passes. Whole seconds. What list? What plans?

It's all tremendously wearing and time-wasting. At least I can clearly remember the things I forgot. But for how long? Help!