My mum, who died 8 years ago, would have been about 87 when I took her to Derby Royal Infirmary to be tested for new digital hearing aids.

I'd organised my autistic son, and driven the two hours from Otley that morning. I'd noted where the disabled parking was, so it was easier to get her in her wheelchair, and near to where we needed to be. This meant driving up a side street. I have no sense of direction, so if I took the wrong road, I'd be lost. I do know which is up and down, but that's all. I memorise road numbers.

So, on the way, it was fine until my mum is going.. "This isn't the way! Where are you going now? We've got an appointment, huh!! we'll be late!" Not good for my confidence, but I got her there in the end. Without any thanks.

When we were seen by the audiologist, she had her silly smile face on. She loved new people and was arranging for the audiologist to visit her for tea and cakes someday at her cottage. This was her Modus Operendi.

I stood behind here, whilst she was being tested... she was supposed to press the buzzer as soon as she heard the faint sounds being played through headphones, one ear at a time, one tone at a time. Even I could hear them. But she was pressing the buzzer willy-nilly, so I had to intervene and stop it all.

The kind audiologist seemed to change at this moment. I wondered how many times this had happened today, and if she'd like to meet up for a coffee to compare notes on how irritating my mum was.

Anyway after that mum behaved.

On the drive back to her cottage, I asked her why she'd purposefully messed up the test. She turned to me, as if I'd asked her the most obvious question in the world and said, with high impatience... "Well I didn't want her to think I was deaf, did I?"

Give me strength...