It was another day of emergency response. Teaming up with Harri, the occupational therapist, we were called out to a lady who was reported to be ‘hanging off the edge of her sofa.’ The lady was called Ada, and she was 100 years old. Easy-peasy one. We’re just the therapists for the case. 

On arrival, Ada was indeed hanging off the sofa, but she was quite content. She couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about, and was adamant she was very comfortable. One more slip and she was going to be on the floor. She wouldn’t let us touch her. This wasn’t going to be as easy as anticipated.

Ada didn’t initially take a shine to Harri or I.’I’m 100 you l know. Why doesn’t anyone bring me a loaf of bread, or some milk?’ She got irritated very easily by people. As much as she wanted to be left alone, she did fancy a cup of tea. Going straight into a moving and handling manoeuvre (hoiking her back up the sofa to safety) was a no-go, so we changed tack. Harri and Ada struck up a conversation about cricket. I put the kettle on.

Cricket was Ada’s first love. Harri knew nothing about it, but occupational therapists are very resourceful (and can bullshit with the best of us). Besides, Ada didn’t seem to like me very much. That rapport was just what we needed. To build trust. To allow us to help her into a safe position.

I’ve got a trumpet to blow here. I make an excellent cup of tea. I’ve lived in Yorkshire for more than half of my life. If I can’t get tea right, the north would evict me. Absolutely proud as punch of my efforts, I brought it over to Ada. She was just declaring her love for Geoffrey Boycott when she took the cup from me, and all it took was one sip. ‘This tea is SHIT,’ she scowled. Her face all screwed up like she’d sucked on a lemon.

Absolutely mortified, I took it back to the kitchen. By the time I returned, Ada had decided to just sit herself up on the sofa. Independently. I don’t know who was most relieved. Me, because I didn’t have to make another cup of tea. Or Harri, because her cricket knowledge ran dry 5 seconds into the start of their conversation. Ada smiled at Harri as we left, but glared at me.

Just as we were getting back to our car, a young man came over to us to ask if we were taking Ada away. ‘Don’t worry sir, she’s absolutely fine. Sat nice and comfortable on her sofa,’ I said. The man was her neighbour and he looked dejected. He pleaded with us. ‘She shouts help around 3am and bangs on the wall. I rush to her aid, and it’s all because she’s dropped the tv remote on the floor.’ So I said, ‘I’m sorry to hear that mate, why don’t you make her a cup of tea?’