I was having coffee with my lovely stepdad - who is in his third year of vascular dementia - and he told me he had an appointment with Dorothy Perkins. There was a Dorothy Perkins store opposite us, so it was easy to see what had triggered his thought. I hope you have a lovely time, I replied. I told him about the upcoming Alba programme, there are still some doctors who don't believe we are really ill, I said. Bastards, he replied, in his inimitable - emphatic but polite - Scandinavian way. And then he looked lost, totally lost, I could have cried.