Queen phones home from Fenland Royal Box

"OK, I'll accept the bloody reverse charge call if I must."
"Hello, hello. Is that you, Philip?"

"Yes, who the hell IS this?"

"It's your darling wife, here, Phil."

"Oh, really. Where are you, Liz? We've got Diamond Jubilee gigs to attend, you know."

"Well I thought I'd pop out and meet my lovely people before the big bash. I'm just letting you know that I'm in an interesting little area known as the Fens. And one is in one's very own royal box, too. So quaint."

"Bloody hell, old gal, do take care out there. They're liable to shoot anything that moves."
"Oh, the shooting season is over darling."

One is amused: Royal visitor makes a call

Yes, HRH, has been seen in a nearby town apparently making a call from a rare red K-series public telephone box designed by Sir Giles Gilbert Scott [read on].

No mobile [cell] phones for this lady as she prepares to celebrate her Diamond Jubilee after coming to the throne in 1952 and being crowned queen on June 2, 1953. 

Perhaps she's using the old phone box because she's worried about mobile reception, although Elizabeth II should have no worries on that score. She's a popular lady in these parts. Or is she using the kiosk because she wants to avoid roaming charges? She certainly gets to travel around more than most 86-year-old women. 

Could she be ringing the changes in this neck of the woods and setting the tone for the Jubilee celebrations this coming weekend - one more to come, so hold tight - or does her mobile phone contract stipulate weekends and knights only? C'mon, it wasn't that bad, was it? Stop cringing. 

While on the subject of phones, why not see a great sketch on YouTube, My Blackberry Is Not Working - The One Ronnie Preview - BBC One

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kAG39jKi0lI

I'm generally an Apple man, myself, although some do say the future is Orange.

Residents in the pictured Fenland street seem to be getting in celebratory mood as the nation as a whole is being encouraged to hold street parties and various activities to mark the Queen's 60-year-reign. It hasn't quite caught on here, although one or two houses are starting to put out the bunting, but there is still time. Villagers here are being encouraged to stay put and enjoy the activities being laid on by volunteers. Here's a flavour of what's on offer in this outpost.

• Saturday June 2: Village treasure hunt around the village - fun and adventure for all the family.
• Sunday June 3: Open air church service in the morning, followed by a bring-your-own-food-drink-and-furniture Picnic in the Park, meet up with friends and listen to live music.
• Monday June 4: At the Royal British Legion, something for everybody: 3pm - 5pm, tea dance; 5.30pm - 7pm, music and Diamond Games for ages 11 and under; 7pm - 11 pm, Family disco.
• Tuesday June 5: Manealympics, an afternoon of wild and whacky (and some very genteel) sports that everyone can enter. Will include a bar and a hog roast.

The bar and hog roast is underlined ... a surefire hit.

Future king: otherwise known as Prince

Businesses, large and small, have been trying to cash in on the Diamond Jubilee, and our senses are being saturated by a haze of red, white and blue [Union flag colours]. It's called patriotic marketing. Yes, quite...

Anyway, TV programmes saluting the Queen and the royal family, special cakes, quirky TV ads for limited editions M & Ms, flags, clothing, head gear, pottery, toys, bouquets, oh, you name any sort of royal merchandise and it's on offer. Usually at silly prices.

Crowning glory: tea time

Some things are better value than others. Large Union flags in one garden centre we visited last week were being sold at almost £20 while exactly the same product could be bought at a large DIY store for £3. That same garden centre was selling all sorts of Royal memorabilia, including tea towels and aprons. They were folded in such a way that comedy-loving Prince Charles, so often the subject of cruel jokes about one's ears, might have found it difficult to suppress a laugh-out-loud moment had he visited the place. 

Better value items might be the Royal Mint's official Queen's Diamond Jubilee coins which are sure to increase in value as the years go by http://www.royalmint.com/.

Yes, there's plenty happening over the next few days so I will try to keep you posted. In the meantime, why not visit http://www.thediamondjubilee.org/
or ww.royal.gov.uk/ or www.direct.gov.uk/diamondjubilee if you are interested in the Royal goings-on.
PS: Battered old red phone box, in need of windows and painting, now on eBay.uk for asking price of £960. I won't get hung up on that.

Statler and Waldorf at the Fenland matinee

What do you think of the show so far? Rubbish

Don't look now, but I think we're being watched

This noisy pair have been waking us up very early this past week - around 5.15am - with their incessant screeching as they sit on our bedroom balcony rail waiting for their mum to feed them.
We've nicknamed them Statler and Waldorf because, even though they are not old characters, they seem to have plenty to say for themselves and boy, are they a raucous pair. They have made certain we have been waking up at such an ungodly hour amid a mini heatwave by shouting the odds from their vantage point - about three feet from our bed.

The conversation from their position overlooking our back garden might go something like:


Statler: Hey, I'm Statler
Waldorf: And I'm Wardorf. We're here to heckle everything we see while we wait for our food.

Statler: I like the view from up here [read on].

Waldorf: You're looking inside their bedroom.

Statler: That's what I like about it!

[They both laugh...and screech]

Sight for sore eyes: Edgar the Bug

Go to www.muppetcentral.com for genuine gags from the dynamic duo.
And we've had the door slightly ajar to let in cool air, which means there is no double glazing to act as a sound barrier. And what's more, the birds show not the slightest inclination of flying away even when a bleary-eyed human is standing right by them armed with an iPhone and taking photographs.
Actually, human is pushing it a bit, as my wife will vouch. I bear more than a passing resemblance to the brilliant Vincent D'Onofrio character, Edgar the Bug, from the original Men in Black film when I first wake up. I am almost incapable of speech and my movement is not exactly agile when I take those first few hesitant steps after rolling out of bed.
Have yet to see Men in  Black III, but the birds in our area have had a sneak preview.

Statler: Private screening?
Waldorf: They daren't show it in public!
       [Both laugh]

Surprisingly, despite the sight that greets them from inside our bedroom, the birds only move off when mother flies up and sticks something in their beaks. Sadly, she was too quick for me to grab a picture.
But once they've departed, at least we can lie back and enjoy what remains of the dawn chorus.
Happy daze.
Fenman@harrysrus is now on Twitter. How apt.

Fabulous Fenscape in focus

Wetlands: fields around Welney are flooded after recent heavy rain but the main road has been reopened

Water world: a Mute swan swims in flooded fields next to a road in Welney

These photographs were taken earlier tonight a few miles away in and around the Norfolk village of Welney. The main road there often floods because the low-lying village is on the Ouse Washes and is next to three rivers.
It is an area which is well known for wildlife preservation and the Wildfowl and Wetlands Trust has a large reserve there. The visitor centre is well worth a trip.
http://www.wwt.org.uk/visit-us/welney/
On our short jaunt we were lucky enough to see a couple of barn owls hunting along drainage ditches, a muntjac deer foraging close to the village, a hare which ran in front of our car for at least 300 yards and numerous strutting male pheasants, partridges and rabbits [read on].
A couple of nights ago we also came across two tawny owls who stared at us for a good five minutes from their perches in roadside trees. The reason for their presence quickly became apparent when we saw a young rabbit run out of a hedge, followed by several more youngsters.
It certainly beats a night in front of the telly.
PS: Fenman [@harrysrus] is now on Twitter.

Fenland in focus: Welney from a different angle...and with a different camera

Fenlander fails to get over Olympic hurdle

I'm an Olympic flop ... I didn't even make the finals, let alone the podium.

The greatest show on earth in your own country. That really is something special, something I won't  witness again in my lifetime. With that in mind, I registered my interest in tickets long before they went on sale in the hope that we could make the 100-mile trip from the peaceful Fens to the hustle and bustle of Britain's Olympic Stadium in London.

Olympic Park: the hub of the Games

Like so many other people I know, I was unsuccessful with my applications when tickets were eventually put on sale. I lost heart and all faith in the process and felt that Joe Public was being shunned in favour of big business ... that is unless Joe happened to be well off [continued...].

But, alas, those people who were initially unsuccessful were given another chance due, in part, to a huge public outcry, and today was my big day. I duly logged in, full of hope, a few minutes after the website opened for business. Tickets for the opening ceremony were no longer available, but there was an opprtunity of attending the closing ceremony.

Not surprisingly, the £20 tickets had long gone, so what about two tickets at £150? Expensive, but this is special. After a 15-minute wait I was informed they were not available. Of course, I could try for tickets priced at £655 each, £995 or even £1,500. So if my wife and I wanted to go then we would have to fork out £3,000 [plus the cost of a carer to look after my mother-in-law while we were out]. 

I had three attempts - waiting for various lengths of time -  at trying to buy tickets for other events, including an athletics day on Sunday, August 5 which climaxes in the men's 100m final. I knew that it really was in vain, but hey, I gave it my best shot. I had no joy with the £125 tickets (£50 tickets were not available), so I had a choice of £295, £420 or £725. 

After a long discussion, my wife and I ruled those out on the grounds of cost. There are plenty of other things we could buy instead of two tickets at £295, £420 or £725 each.

Seb Coe, now Lord Coe, who is chairman of the London 2012 Olympic Organising Committee, said:

He's happy: but Lord Coe understands
that many people will be disappointed
                                     Inside the games

"When you have nearly two million people chasing over 23m tickets [the total number of applications for tickets], it is not obviously the opening paragraph of a happy ending. People are going to be disappointed, I understand that.

"We're working our way through this. There has never been a ticket in the history of sports tickets that has had this level of demand."

Sounds like an excuse, Seb. The phrase "times of austerity" has almost become a cliche, but money is tight, particularly for ordinary working-class folk. They have seen their wages frozen, food, fuel and energy prices rise, pensions cut and their working lives ridiculously extended through no fault of their own.

And now the public have the choice of either paying a small fortune to watch an Olympic event in person or staying at home to watch it on telly. In times of austerity.

I know what most people will be doing.
Oh, well, we can forget being trackside when Usain Bolt flies past. There's always the village gala to look forward to, anyway. I wonder if there will be sheep racing again this year? Should be able to get a seat on the playing fields for that.
PS: Fenman [@harrysrus] is now on Twitter.

We do care - but it's time for a little respite

Cry freedom! My mother-in-law has gone into a care home near the ancient town of Ely for a fortnight. Sighs of relief all round ... and a sense of guilt.

Empty chair: and that means a rare respite break

She has stayed there a couple of times on "respite breaks" and always seems very settled and happy. The staff, from the manager to cleaners, go to great lengths to make her feel welcome and appear to take great care of her because they really do understand Alzheimer's. Mum-in-law tends to hold court there, which makes for interesting conversations because the elderly residents also suffer from dementia, while activities and day-trips help to keep everyone occupied and happy.
http://alzheimers.org.uk/
http://www.alzheimersresearchuk.org/home/
Sadly, not every home is the same, and it is a problem that is not just restricted to the Fens (read on...).
We initially tried one which provided invaluable day breaks, from 9am-6.30pm. All seemed fine on the first couple of occasions. Mum-in-law was very chatty but contented. However, she was agitated after her third visit. When we arrived to collect her in the evening she was in the front lounge, a widescreen television her only company. We thought this was a one-off after being given assurances that nothing was amiss.
We left it for three or four months but the same thing then happened again. She was alone, not a resident in sight, as she looked anxiously through the lounge window when we arrived to pick her up. We stood at the front door of the austere Victorian building, feeling helpless as we rang the door bell intermittently for several minutes while mum-in-law stood in the hallway on the other side of the glass-panelled door, banging the panes and shouting loudly.
When a member of staff eventually opened the door, to the relief of everyone, there was no apology, no attempt to calm mum, just a mumbled excuse about getting other residents ready for bed [at 6.30pm].
That was the last time she stayed. Care home? More like a don't-care, couldn't-give-a-monkeys, just-give-us-your-money home.
And while we're on the subject of care staff, why do so many wear uniforms that look incredibly similar to NHS outfits worn by those who have actually worked and studied hard to become registered nurses? I am sure RGNs find it grossly insulting to be viewed by the public as one and the same.
But now mother-inlaw is in safe hands. She will be in a stress-free environment, with plenty of company, something that she desperately craves. She will be kept occupied and won't often be bored, although who's to say she won't have one of her packing sessions? [see this blog's first post, Home is where the heart is] And we can relax for a couple of weeks.
Those of you who are in similar situations will know the feeling. You're told to have respite breaks every six to eight weeks, but you go for months without doing anything about it. Then you guiltily make that booking. You're instantly hit by the change, suddenly aware that you hadn't realised how stressful your life was becoming. My wife already looks 10 years younger [what a creep I am]. A huge weight has been lifted.
Not having to listen to the same conversation, over and over again, makes an immediate difference. For example, my wife or I will give mum-in-law her tablets with her breakfast. The conversation which follows happens each and every day:

"Here you are, now don't forget to take them. You can have them with your orange juice or cup of tea."

"Oh, thank you dear. Lovely. I don't know how you remember these, err, what are they, erm ... tab, tablets? Yes, that's the right word. Tablets. I couldn't remem, remem, err remember the word. I can't seem to remember anything these days, you know. Silly me. I think I'm going barmy. The doggies have more sense than me.

"But I think these help. My eye doesn't hurt so much when I take these." [She has eye drops to ease pain after shingles in one eye, but here she is referring to the tablets].

You sometimes point out that the tablets are to help her memory, sometimes you just ignore the remark, but always, always you smile. And watch, because she will forget to take the medication placed by her plate or cereal bowl.

"I think I will take the big pink one [galantamine xl] first. Yes, I'll get rid of this nasty one first. Lovely. You're nasty, aren't you?" she says holding up the tablet, the one that has helped to slow the deterioration.

She then picks up her glass of orange [or cup of tea] and swills it down.

"Come on, down you go, you naughty boy. Ah, that's better. Lovely. He's gone down, now. I'm sure that will help my eye, you know. Give it a few minutes. Lovely."

Later, as she leaves the table after having drops in her bad eye, there is a gentle reminder about the other tablets still to be taken.

"Yes, I know!" she always says, emphatically. "I haven't forgotten them, you know." 

Anyone seen my Nan? Sweep is waiting for her

It takes a day or two to readjust in her temporary absence, to start thinking for yourself; to stop worrying about waking her up, about her bathing, about laying out clean clothes, about finding her dirty linen, mopping up urine and worse, searching for lost spectacles or a hearing aid, cooking her meals, remembering her medication, her mood swings, keeping her occupied, about her late-night wanderings, repeating instructions, the packing, unpacking, hallucinations  .... the list is endless.
What's that smell? Is something burning? No, it's not the smell of burning martyr. But my missus does deserve a break because her mum's condition is certainly deteriorating.
So, we can now look forward to a few peaceful nights, perhaps plan a couple of day trips. I think we might even go out for a meal. Hey, steady on, sir.
Sweep seems to be missing the old girl because he keeps rushing in to her rooms, downstairs and upstairs, as if in search of his Nana.
In the meantime, mother-in-law might well be regaling the other old ladies with her favourite tale about shouting at the "nasty" German bombers as they flew over her parents' garden, what a great sadness it was when her father died or the fact that she is planning to visit her mother in the near future. It's a horrible illness.

Fen Tiger boxes clever

So David Haye and Dereck Chisora will slug it out INSIDE the boxing ring at Upton Park in July. http://www.bbc.co.uk/sport/0/boxing/What a farce, but not in the least surprising.
The heavyweights were involved in a pathetic brawl at a Press conference after Chisora had been beaten by Vitali Klitschko but an official contest was always going to happen thereafter even though they had brought shame to the sport. Why? Because of the money. Loads of it.

I am not cynical enough to think that the Munich fiasco in February was staged but, like so many others, I knew a grudge match would happen sooner or later even though British boxing was left reeling after the fiasco. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MWQs8nMsZNg

Boy done good: Green stuck
 to a code of boxing ethics
                         Cambs Times

Wladimir Klitschko, who soundly thrashed Haye in Hamburg last autumn [the Brit claimed he lost because of a broken toe], described the forthcoming bout as a "freak show" staged "under freak rules". He is so right.
Manager and promoter Frank Warren once said that he would not go ahead with a fight. There were platitudes galore, but he has changed his mind. What a surprise ... not.
Here in the Fens they breed real fighters and we have our very own local hero who has fought at the highest level. Dave "Boy" Green, MBE, who lives in nearby Chatteris, was a British light welterweight champion who went on to be a dual European champion and he fought the legendary Sugar Ray Leonard in 1980 for the WBC title, three years after his first bid for the world crown. Green showed plenty of guts, but his spirit was not enough against the masterly American.

Munich brawl boys: Chisora (left) and Haye will scrap it out again
                                                                                blippitt.com

Green, roared on vociferously by loyal, noisy fans whenever he fought, was also known as the Fen Tiger because of where he came from - and the fact that he was prone to giving opponents a real mauling.
The Fen Tigers were locals who sabotaged attempts to drain the Fens in the 17th century because it affected their livelihoods. These people survived through wildfowling and fishing so draining the area wasn't going to help their hopes of earning a living, was it? Similar to the Luddites, they were in existence well before the Industrial Revolution. You see, the Fens can sometimes be first when it comes to the big news headlines.
The "Boy" Green, who would sometimes enter the ring in a tiger-skin gown, is now in his late 50s but he remains a popular figure which is perhaps why the sport is still big in these parts. Green is a familiar face in local newspapers, on regional television and he frequently pops up at various charity events, particularly those associated with Alzheimer's. http://alzheimers.org.uk/
He is a shrewd chap, too, and he is now a successful businessman. And he still showed quick hands when he produced his business card several years ago. A quick jab into his coat pocket and in to my palm before you could so much as blink.
Part of Green's lively ring style was his "muck-spreader" punch [what else if you're from the Fens?] but he was also known as a gentleman, upholding the values of the Marquess of Queensbury rules. Indeed, he famously applauded victorious Jorgen Hansen shortly after being knocked out by the Dane. No pathetic broken toe excuses there, then, eh Wladimir?
Messrs Haye and Chisora please take note.
You would do well to listen carefully to the faraway roar of a Fen Tiger. He's now seen as a cool cat who really did earn his stripes the proper way.

Well oil be blowed! The cowboys are here ...

The oil suppliers in this region have the Fenland folk over a barrel. No apologies for that slick but puny pun.
We live in a rural area which means we are not connected to a natural gas supply like most urban regions of the UK. Therefore, many people have oil central heating. OK, some have LPG, wood-burners, electric storage heating etc, but in the main it's oil.
Even if you are an account holder with one of these suppliers, they make no concessions until you mention that you're ringing their competitors to obtain other prices. A quote of almost 63p per litre for a minimum delivery of 500 litres can suddenly plummet to nearer 60p. A few phone calls and the price drops from £330 (including VAT) to just over £317. Not much on the face of it, but a significant saving if you have five or six deliveries a year.

Brimming with confidence: Fenland cowboys

The sad part is that the suppliers never initially tell the long-suffering Fenlanders that prices are negotiable and many folk simply pay up without question. Some of you will say that it's their own fault, but people tend to assume they are being given the best price and don't have to go to great lengths to get a fair deal.
Perhaps the suppliers believe they have links to the Ewing family and have taken to wearing JR-style hats. It's certainly not unusual to see a fancy car or two, such as a Porsche, parked in a separate bay at an oil supply depot near us. Mind you, the soft top would have to be down if a good ol' Texan Stetson was part of the driver's outfit. In this instance it might be a case of Dallas Cowboys as opposed to Dallas the TV series. Indeed, there are plenty of horses in these 'ere parts.
But I digress.
In a time of rising fuel prices, isn't it about time the oil suppliers get real and treat their customers with the respect and consideration they surely deserve. That way they might earn some loyalty.

Shrink rap from Mr Angry

Marking time: visit lasted six minutes
                                printsmarter.co.uk

Mr Angry of the Fens has reappeared, so reach for those tin hats and run for cover. The artillery gets a bit heavy.

I've just read the Hard Day's Night post again and I've forgotten something really important. No obvious jokes about Alzheimer's, please, or indeed, the mother-in-law. The nature of her illness means she has a twice-yearly check-up from a specialist when she is normally given a test regarding her mental abilities and presumably the rate of deterioration. Three years ago she scored 16 out of 30, last year it was 11 out of 30 and her condition has certainly become worse. The questions are simple and are along the lines of: Do you know where you are living? Do you know what day or month this is? Can you spell world backwards? ... and so on.

A consultant psychiatrist conducted a home visit last week - less stressful for the patient on familiar territory - and we fully expected him to carry out the test. He did no such thing - and stayed only six minutes. Yes, six minutes. OK, she is well cared for here, as the shrink pointed out, but how on earth could he discover the extent of her illness by staying for six minutes? What was the point? His peers were certainly more diligent on previous visits.

He was a pleasant enough chap, but he hardly spoke to mum-in-law who had difficulty understanding his accent, anyway. Instead, he spoke to my wife as mum-in-law looked on, no doubt feeling like a second-class person, a spare part. Dignity in dementia? Yeah, sure.

Would she receive a better service if she lived in one of the posher parts of Cambridgeshire? I suspect so. Still, I expect the requisite targets have been met.
Useful link: http://www.dementiauk.org/

Dementia on a Starr-lit night

The Beatles' hit song and film, A Hard Day's Night, had an unusual title taken from a phrase used by Ringo Starr to describe a very long working day that ended well into the night. Paul McCartney called it one of Ringo's "malapropisms" and John Lennon aptly described it as a "Ringoism". My missus and I know exactly what the drummer meant after our experiences of yesterday [not to be confused with another Beatles song].

Rock royalty: Ringo with his All-Starr band
in Rome last year Picture: Hotelrome.net

We were up early and got through a huge amount of work by lunch-time. Mother-in-law, who has been having a few disturbed nights, was up and about by late morning after my wife had run her a bath and laid out her clean clothes. Suffice to say, she appeared wearing the previous day's outfit but, with a little persuasion and guidance, she went back to her room and changed. But as she did so she said: "I know what I've done. I just didn't want to dirty my clean skirt." So there, stick that in your pipe and smoke it. Na-na na-na na-na.
That sort of logic set the tone and we knew it would not be an easy day in our part of the rain-drenched Fens. It wasn't. She finally retired to bed at about 10.30pm and she had not even napped in her leather Chesterfield. We thought, we hoped, that she would be exhausted ... we were certainly knackered.
The same remark, the same childhood memory or the same question, over and over again, can wear you down and severely test your patience. You must adopt a fixed smile as you repeat the same answer. For her, it's the first time she's asked the question and the first time she's heard the answer. You say to yourself: "Stay cool. She has Alzheimer's. She can't help it."http://alzheimers.org.uk/
And then .... let the dirty linen hunt begin! Forget those Easter egg searches every year. What about foul underwear every day. Looking for dirty knickers or tights in the most obscure places - not just in one of her many handbags - can be very trying. "Mum, please try to remember to use the linen basket for your dirty things," my wife must say at least a dozen times each week.

Roll of honour: a mystery object

"Yes, dear. But I put them there because, err, I thought, well I thought they might be useful there," is a typical reply, as my wife fishes out dirty drawers from dusty drawers, from under cushions, in a coat pocket or anywhere else you might care to imagine.
[I once taped a printed sign on the linen basket lid: "Dirty clothes in here please." Thought it was a reasonable way of reminding someone suffering from dementia. The sign disappeared after a day.]
Small furniture and ornaments begin to move. Was that vase really under that chair earlier in the day? The curse of the poltergeist? No, I'm afraid not.
Packing has commenced, in a haphazard way. Wardrobes are emptied and the contents stuffed in bags. Suddenly, mum-in-law appears with a toilet-roll holder. She mumbles as she scratches her head with her free hand.
"I think this must have belonged to dear old Harold [husband]. I don't know what it is, though," she says.
Avoiding sarcasm, you point out that it should be in her toilet. Incidentally, incontinence is becoming worse, and that means more unsavoury chores for my wife.
"Oh yes, I just moved this because I was sorting my things out," comes the reply. "I'm having a tidy-up, you see. I knew it was a, err, you know, a ..."
"Toilet-roll holder?"
"Yes, one of those."
Helping her to place items back in drawers and her wardrobe, stacking books, photo albums and old cds takes some time but she eventually settles and we all watch TV for a couple of hours. She seems happy but tired at supper time, as she sips a cup of tea and nibbles her favourite biscuits. We are convinced that she will sleep soundly.
But how wrong could we be. She did not get into bed until 3.45am. Why? Because she was "tidying up" and "putting things in order."
As we lay in bed, wide awake, it sounded as though there were several people in my mother-in-law's room. In fact, she was talking to herself or inanimate objects: "Come on my lovely, let's put you here. I need to tidy you up. And you will look better here. Oh, you're barmy. Listen to you. You're talking to yourself, young lady. Young lady! [Laughter] Oh, listen to you. You're not so young any more, are you? Oh well, not to worry. Let's put you here - and I'll put you there. That's it. Ahh, lovely."
We initially went into her room on such nights when she first came to live with us and urged her to get to sleep. But when her bedroom light was switched off and we had left the room, you'd soon hear movement again, followed by something like: "Now then, I'll move you over here and I'll put you there so that I can sort you out properly later. I think you should go here and ..."
Experience tells us that it's best to try to leave her, unless she seems agitated. A nightlight illuminates the landing area so that she won't fall in darkness should she suddenly decide to go walkabout, or if she wants to say hello to the dogs downstairs. On such occasions, that means leaping out of bed and trying to intercept her.
Yes Ringo, it was a hard day's night, but we'll try to get by with a little help from our friends.