It's 2026, and we are talking 1995. My Dad is like that now. Dementia has its ugly hold, and most of the time, he looks out of his care home window and has conversations with his long-dead parents. For all he knows, or cares, I'm not sitting beside him, and if he does see me, I am a stranger to him. But occasionally, whatever wiring in his head that has gone wrong fixes itself, and he is back in the real world. We are the...