IN fairness to The Mother she doesn’t ask us to do very much for her and on the odd occasion when she does ask for help, we usually turn up prepared to take on the job only to find she’s already finished it.

“I don’t know why you have to do every job in a single day,” I said to her after the Bank Holiday as she complained about being exhausted.

“You need to learn to pace yourself. If you’ve got five things you want to do, take a few days to finish your list, not work until you’ve ticked everything off.”

“I know what I should do but I get absorbed as I see jobs that need doing so I do them,” she replied.

“I finish one patch with the power hose, then see another bit that needs doing so I just carry on and before I know where I am I’ve done the whole patio,” she added.

“I wish you’d let us help,” I said. “You mean you wish you’d let me help,” chipped in the sister.

“Only because you’re better at the practical stuff than me,” I countered.

“You offer to help then stand around like a spare part while I do all the work,” she said with some degree of accuracy.

“I know. In my defence I always think I can do things until I actually try. I can cook,” I added desperately trying to justify my place in the family.

“ I cook…once a year on Mother’s Day but you never do anything in the garden,” replied the sister neatly putting me in my place.

Later that evening in the hope of redeeming myself I opened up The Mother’s laptop and downloaded the set of Power of Attorney forms she had been nagging me to sort for several weeks…or months…or possibly a year.

Working my way through the introductory pages I threw the odd question at The Mother as she entered the final critical phases of preparing our family Sunday roast with much banging and clattering of pots and pans.

“Is this the best time to do this?”  asked the housemate, probably sensing The Mother’s growing frustration.

“No time like the present,” I replied clicking away at the keys.

“If The Mother thinks we’re responsible enough to take control of her affairs we need to get it sorted before her mental capacity declined any further,” I added.

As the housemate wandered off, The Mother sighed loudly aware that someone had left the kitchen and assuming, wrongly, it was me.

“This is typical of our ‘Lizbeth,” she announced. “I ask her to do something and she ignores me for months and then decides to do it as I’m putting the ruddy dinner!”

Spinning around when the expected response didn’t come she caught my eye.

“Oh…I didn’t realise it was you here,” she said with a laugh.

“Obviously,” I replied. “It’s always good to know that you and the housemate enjoy a good moan about me as soon as my back is turned,” I added. “A dangerous move considering I’ll be picking care homes for both of you!”