OLD COCKY

Old Cocky was short and stocky and walked past my gate in his ancient tartan slippers, with his usual shuffling gait that is reserved for old folk.  With his bulbous nose and wild eyebrows peeking out of his bunnet, he stooped as he walked past me with his stick.  His grey-blue eyes looked sad and tired, it wasn’t the first time he had told me he wished he was no longer here.

I wondered what snippet of gossip he would have for me today, probably the same as yesterday.  Cocky has early stage dementia and unfortunately tells you the same story every day, except when talking about his life down the pit many years ago. 

His memory for the past is as sharp as the knife I sliced my finger open with this morning.  He could tell you all the minutiae of all the neighbours’ lives, going back to before my estate was built.  I always used to rely on Cocky to find out what the neighbours were up to.

For the last 18 years Cocky has told me, in no uncertain terms, how things should be done when I’ve been doing up my house and garden.  He was the font of all knowledge and reminded me somewhat of my dad.  With the same bigoted, sexist and dictatorial attitudes, I looked on him as a father figure, but, like my dad, he could also turn his hand to almost anything.  He knows everyone and nobody can walk down the street without being accosted by old Cocky and, once he strikes up a conversation, it’s impossible to get away.  Perhaps that’s why he has no true friends, nobody but me will put up with him. 

There’s another side to Cocky though, he’s very generous and I can’t leave his house without him giving me something:  a piece of fruit; a saw or a newspaper.  He’s always giving things away and his ‘advice’, which can be annoying, but is always well meant. 

He has no children of his own and his wife died of cancer a good few years ago, along with his precious black Labrador, bramble.  Even his girlfriend, Anne, has given up on him, as her health isn’t too good either and she lives too far away.  One by one all his old ‘friends’ are popping off.  He must be very lonely and isolated but, if you mention him going to an old folks club or getting a befriender, he says he’s too ‘shy’ and digs his heels in.  I’ve given up trying to advise him as he never takes any heed.

It’s sad to see how such a proud and capable man could crumble in front of my very eyes and I hate to think what the future holds for him.