Mr B is definitely going up in the world.
Every time he sets off, onwards and upwards, I sing that cheery chorus from The
Drunken Sailor - you know, the one that goes: "Way, hey, up he rises!" The joke is wearing a little thin as far as Mr B is concerned but unfortunately I simply can't seem to stop myself.
In case you are wondering, we have just invested some of our dwindling savings on a stair lift, in order to transport Mr B safely upstairs and downstairs, a bit like Wee Willie Winkle running through the night. But without the nightgown.
We had resisted for as long as Mr B could haul himself up the stairs and steady himself on the downward flight on account of the fact that this was a form of (albeit tortuous) exercise. Recently, however, we came to the conclusion that the game was up. Safety
first, we told ourselves, sounding for all the world like Tufty, that insufferable squirrel who used to head up Road Safety campaigns when My Foursome were but littl'uns.
One of the most exciting features of our new chariot is the digital display on the front. This will tell me what is wrong - in the hopefully unlikely event, you understand, of something going wrong. I won't know myself what's wrong, of course, I will
have to phone the 24/7 number and relay the information on the digital display so that a diagnosis can be made. I expect I will speak to someone called Tracy. I only say that because, remarkably, on the last two occasions I have had to phone help lines, on
both occasions my call has been answered by someone called Tracy. Both Tracies (if, indeed, that is the plural of Tracy) were extremely helpful so I will not mind in the least speaking to another.
One of the most sensible features of our new chariot is the On-Off key. This is only to be used if, say, the three Rampaging Rascals come to visit as it will disable the lift completely. You will diubtless agree that this
can only be A Good Thing, especially bearing in mind the number of times one or other of the Rascals has managed to press the emergency button on Mr B's Lifeline alarm, thus alerting the call centre staff (several of whom may well be called Tracy) to a potential
problem. I am running out of excuses - there are only so many times you can say: "Just testing!" and expect to be believed.
The Trio, it has to be said, will completely
understand their Grandad's desire to be able to go upstairs. Upstairs, as far as Faris and The Twinkles are concerned, is the most exciting part of our house. Almost as soon as they cross the threshold on a visit, they are making for the stairs, carolling:
"Up! Up!" in case we are in any doubt as to their desired destination.
Once in the bathroom (their favourite room) they will weigh themselves on the scales, flush
the toilet several times, pull the loo paper off its holder and decorate the floor with it and attempt to climb into the bath - even though it's a good six hours till bath-time. There really is nowhere like Upstairs as far as they are concerned.
Mr B feels much the same. For too many weeks Upstairs has been sadly out of his reach - but no longer.
Way, hey, up he rises!