So, my parents made the move from their three bedroomed home on a substantial section in Oxford to the swish new apartment in a retirement estate thirty minutes down the road a few months ago. The living is very different; our Daniel summed it up by saying he felt like he was on a cruise ship as he wandered down the corridor to their apartment for the first time. Dad, says he feels like he is on holiday but in a peculiar way and Mum’s been busy putting all her china out to make it feel like their home. All in all, though they are adjusting well with only a few minor hiccups. I say hiccups literally given happy hour is on a Thursday, and the pours are generous. I keep telling them to have a big lunch on a Thursday, but they’re intent on learning the hard way. Then there’s the couple who live upstairs but keep forgetting that they are one flight up on the block and have attempted to break into Mum and Dad’s more than once. Oh and there was the incidence of Dad announcing he was off to visit his brother who lives in the cottages nearby, he took a wrong turn and another lady Mum got chatting too sent her husband off to look for him. It turned out to be a case of the blind leading the blind as he had Alzheimer’s too. The story has a happy ending, though, they both made it to happy hour.