Last weekend, I visited an old people’s home (or retirement village or whatever you want to call it).

No, I don’t have anyone I know living there. What I do, along with a couple of friends, is to go there at lunch time on some Sundays and help the attendants there, as they are especially short-staffed on Sundays.

The help takes the form of feeding old people their lunch – as many of them can’t do it themselves any more.

So, last Sunday, it was my turn to feed an old man. I hadn’t seen him during my previous visits there. He must have been 80+ – another old face in a sea of old faces.

He made some sweeping movements with his hands when his lunch was set down in front of him and I assumed that maybe he wanted to feed himself. But an attendant hurried up to me and said I was to take no notice of what he was doing as he didn’t know what he was doing himself.

So, I started spooning food into his mouth and he ate it obediently enough (although he did try to spit some of the meat out, saying it was “tough”).

I started making some conversation with him, general stuff such as “are you enjoying your lunch”, “would you like some more mashed potato and peas with your meat, etc”, as it is so much nicer to do that rather than feeding them in total silence. He answered me very politely, saying it (the lunch) was quite nice etc.

Then, figuring that it would nice to talk to him using his name, I asked him what his name was.

He turned to me with a smile and said “I don’t know.” And then added, “I’ve never been very good with names.”