What’s it doing out? I say. Dad is sitting in his chair looking out of the window. He says he likes that chair because he can see out. From the angle he can just see the sky and the top of the house opposite, but he can see weather, which is the main thing. Not doing anything at the moment, he says. Not spitting? I say from the kitchen as I put my eyes in (contacts). Dad has already put his teeth in. He does that in his chair. He is going to pop out to Bargain Booze to get some more milk for his honey hoops. Isn’t there enough in the fridge? I say. What? Milk. Isn’t there enough in the fridge? I need some for honey hoops. But isn’t there enough in that bottle in the fridge? You put too much in yesterday remember and had to throw it down the sink. What? Milk. Yesterday you put too much in and had to throw it down the sink remember. Go way. Dad is putting his gear on. Jacket, shoes with velcro fastener, cap. Have you got your glasses? What? Have you got your glasses on? Dad goes round to find them. There are a collection of different glasses throughout the house that must mostly belong to people who are not here this week and then there is dad’s reading glasses as well as his distance glasses. Ten minutes later. Have you got the right ones? What? The right glasses. Don’t know. What are those ones there? Who put them there? says dad. Don’t look at me, I say. What’s it doing out? I say. Not doing anything at the moment, he says. Not trying to spit, I say. Nah, he says dismissively. Got some change? I say. He is rummaging though a coat pocket where he keeps coins. Take an umbrella, I say. He makes a quiet guffaw. For some reason, he has never liked umbrellas. That way, if it rains you put it up. Go way. He’s out the door.