We all ate in the kitchen where Anna, sitting behind me, watching Tom going about the laborious business of trying to feed me, decided that I should be taken from the wheelchair to sit at the table like all the others. This Tom did by sitting me on a dining chair with arms, and wedging me in with cushions so that I should not fall sideways or slump forward on my face. This rule of where I should sit was also to apply when I was taken to the lounge where, if I was lucky, Tom put me in a most agreeable soft armchair.

On that first morning I was weighed then stretched out on the floor to be measured. Tom did this and all the rest of the donkey work involved in my induction into One World. He also took to carrying a rolled-up copy of my “contract” in his cardigan pocket. Sometimes he would read to me from it: ‘In the morning you will consider your programme. It is not our business to make you dependent on us. You will concentrate your every effort on helping yourself. When you wake think about your clothing. What kind of clothes will be suitable for that particular day? What would you like to wear? Would any particular item of your wardrobe appear in keeping with your current mood, or the way you view your unique personality? Think about reaching for your clothing and putting it on, even if you are yet in the stage where you might need some assistance. What other tasks will you have to perform to make yourself presentable to the day? How will you achieve those tasks?’ And so on. But he seemed to stop bothering with it after a while.

In the mornings he would come into my room and sit quietly since he was meant to allow me to wake naturally. He would make some kind of notes, though whether they concerned me I never knew. However he soon grew tired of this since he had other work to do, and he also realized that though I was fully awake and might have been for the whole night, my eyes had slipped shut and would not open until he either lifted the lids himself or sat me upright on the bed. Usually he settled for the latter, pulling me up and looking quickly with a little distaste to see what mess I had made during the night. I was not supposed to have a draw sheet in the bed but Tom, since he was the one who had to change and wash the bed clothing, took to surreptitiously slipping a slit plastic bag between the bottom sheet and the mattress. I guess he minimalized his reports about my incontinence, which was greater than it had been at the hospital. He would prepare sheets of wet tissue in the hand basin, bringing them over, slipping a few, if he remembered, into my hand, before wiping me down and shaving my stubble. All the time he would chatter, doing his best, I admit, to try and get me to do something for myself. One morning he playfully covered me in talcum powder and I sneezed. Mildly astonished, he dived into a drawer to produce a vest which he dangled in front of me saying, ‘Come on Peter. Try this. See if you can put it on.’