In the kitchen, he starts to tell me that there is another bottle of...
"v....blop.... er.... va....kupfick.... er.... in the fridge... another kind of... va... vo....."
I tell him to shut up and sit down. And we both stare at each other for a while, wondering if this is another stroke thingy.
When it is safe to speak he tells me he knows he is frightening me. I think we both be a bit shook up.
Maybe the first time this happened was before I wuz bloggin. It was way back before the heart operation last year. Then... we were sitting opposite each other at the supper table and suddenly The Old Man starts to speak more rubbish than usual.
That time I also tell him to shut up.
This is my knee-jerk reaction. If he doesn't speak at all - it won't be happening. Eventually he'll manage a straight sentence.
On this occasion he is diagnosed as having had a mini- stroke, no lasting damage, one of the problems associated with dodgy heart valves, dodgy heart rhythmns.... The Old Man is put on Warfarin to thin the blood... And for The Old Man it is part of the decision taken to have the heart-valve operation.
So - back to the other day. When we stare at each other and wonder... why he is doing it again?
When we calm down we discuss it. The Old Man says the two incidents are different. Before - he thought he was saying the right word. This time - he knows the word he wants to say but can't find it.
We decide it is a combination of summer heat, baking bread with hot oven, tiredness, and of course.... THE DRUGS.
But it's the kind of thing that shakes up the both of us. Just when you think you might be getting over it all.....