I can tell the time but can’t draw a clock...that’s scary

AS I WRITE this, it’s 10.30am. I know because I’ve just had a look at my wristwatch. It’s the old-fashioned kind, with hands. Of course, mine has added diamante bling – it’s from TK Maxx, naturally – and I love the way it sparkles.

I’ve got no problem telling the time and, despite all the things that Alzheimer’s has taken away from me, I’m happy to report this is one thing I haven’t forgotten how to do. So far.

So why is this a concern, you might ask.

Well, when it comes to clocks, I had a bit of a horrible realisation recently when my husband Chris asked me to draw one on a blank piece of paper, and, as hard as I tried, I just couldn’t.

In my last column, I wrote about how researchers had found that not being able to smell peanut butter could be an early warning sign of some kinds of dementia. They’d suggested something as simple as a dab of peanut butter on a spoon could be used as a test to flag up Alzheimer’s.

But there are more tried-andtested methods that are currently in use. A full diagnosis of dementia usually takes many months, or even years. But in the first instance, problems can be spotted by GPs who have a set of questions and tests. And one of these is the clock test.

YOU see, people with some kinds of dementia, including Alzheimer’s, find it hard to draw a clock, along with hands at a specific time, on a piece of paper.

Apparently, an inability to do this shows there’s something wrong with the way the brain organises itself. Well, I know I have Alzheimer’s. And while I’ve got no problem smelling peanut butter, I found it impossible to draw the clock. To be honest, I’ve probably done the test at some point before but, guess what, I can’t actually remember. But this time, it’s stuck in my mind because it was really upsetting.

Drawing the circle was fine. But then came putting numbers on it, and drawing the hands. It just all felt… impossible. I couldn’t do it.

It’s all the more weird when I know I can read the time on my watch just fine.

That’s the thing about The A Word – it’s just so odd, the way it all works. I can remember all my friends and family, and I know the way to the shops and the Common, where I walk my Tibetan Terrier Benny, and I know who the Prime Minister is: David Cameron. I’m joking! It’s Boris. I know that. But sometimes I can’t work out what day tomorrow is and (apparently) keep asking Chris the same questions over and over.

Anyway, the reason Chris had asked me to do the clock test was because my driving licence is about to expire. I have an annual licence, which is what I was given when I was first diagnosed with this horrible illness.

Chris said he wanted to see how I’d do if I needed to be assessed by the doctor (who might ask me to do the clock test) before the DVLA makes a decision about renewing.

It was all a bit bloody miserable. It’s bad enough being told you have Alzheimer’s, so the prospect of having my freedom taken away from me feels… not great. I’ve always loved driving – ever since

I used to borrow my mum’s powder-blue Triumph Herald, to take my girlfriends Sylvia and Hodge for a spin, bombing down the A3 on the way to the Isle of Wight festival in 1969, with them in the back, or the days out on the beach in Newquay, and trips to St Michael’s Mount. These days, my trips are less adventurous: mainly tootling to Waitrose, about five minutes away.

I have a spot in the car park that no one else ever seems to use, which is particularly handy.

A while back, after getting lost on the way to the dentist, I decided to drive less. My problem is not the driving, it’s remembering where I’m going, if it’s not a journey I do regularly.

Although I know there will come a time when I’m no longer fit to drive, and I’ll have to accept that, I am not convinced that moment is now.

But, if I can’t drive to Waitrose, I’ll just have to get an old lady’s shopping trolley – with some diamante to match my watch.