Last week was full of sad or bad news events.

I’m thinking particularly of the Boston marathon bombings, the explosion at the fertiliser plant in Texas and the funeral of Margaret Thatcher.

I made the decision not to let Dad see or hear any of the news.  I re-tuned the radio at the sound of the bombings with all the screaming and sirens which followed. We had Ella Fitzgerald in place of the Thatcher funeral, along with Jamie Cullum’s extraordinary piano duet with Jools Holland via the BBC iplayer.  We spent the week in our own trouble-free bubble. But is this robbing Dad of his place in the world? Is it making him more isolated, less aware; disconnecting him from real life?

I well remember him telling me, with a hint of irritation, that he didn’t like watching films about the Second World War. "I lived through it and once was enough!" he said. "Why on earth would I want to keep re-living it over and over again?"  So I have always put war movie DVDs to the back of the pile and musicals to the front. Who wouldn’t choose High Society over Reach for the Sky?

And yet Dad’s very good friend and neighbour Alastair has always said Dad is at his most engaged, vital and articulate when they are discussing Dad’s time on the Ark Royal or in the Italian prisoner-of-war camp where he was held.

Dad didn't talk about the War when we were growing up, not only because we didn’t necessarily ask that much about it, but because he didn’t like to.

When the widow of Dad’s Fleet Air Arm navigator asked if Dad would write something about their time in the camp, Dad was very reluctant. He did write a piece for her and I read it with astonishment, not having understood anything of the brutality of his time there, the mental torture, the lack of food and so on. (No wonder Dad hates pasta! It was all they had. Plain pasta, no sauce, for every meal, for years.)

I contacted the Imperial War Museum to see if they might like a copy of the account for their records. Again, Dad was very hesitant about letting them have it - was that modesty or discomfort at having the stories told to a wider audience?  The museum was delighted and said that they had rarely read such a vivid first-hand account.

That was all some years ago, before Dad was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. Now I try very hard not to mention the war. Or funerals, or anything else that I think might cause him distress.

But on the day of Margaret Thatcher’s funeral I was berated twice.  Once by my good friend Carolyn who said her mother would have loved to watch it! And although she didn’t say as much I rather felt that she thought I was depriving Dad of something he might have enjoyed too. Carolyn sat through the whole thing, even though her own mother had died very recently and, I imagine, it would have been very emotional for her; but in her mind there was no possibility that she would have missed it, however painful it might have been.

Later on we had a visit from one of the Alzheimer’s Scotland team who give us so much help and support. She was also surprised that we hadn’t been watching the funeral. She had just come from a care home where it had been on television and the residents had all been watching, with different degrees of interest. She said they were all pretty matter of fact about it, and it seemed that no-one was particularly upset.

There’s no way now of knowing what Dad’s reaction might have been. Would it have reminded him of Winston Churchill’s funeral? Would that have been a good thing, or something that would have troubled him? Might it have evoked memories of Mum’s death? Might he have enjoyed the spectacle, pomp and circumstance? Would he have dozed through the whole thing, entirely oblivious, or at least indifferent?

Today I decided I would tell him a bit of bad news - the roof was leaking. Not badly, but having had no rain here for months and then something approaching a monsoon with very high winds it was inevitable that something had to give, and it was the ceiling in the kitchen. Dad said he was sorry to hear that, but otherwise was not much bothered either way.

The roofers came and said it was one rogue slate that had slipped and that they had put back. They were 99% sure that that would be the end of it.

I reported back to Dad who just nodded. And then nodded off. I’m not sure any of the information made much of an impact either way. I guess it wasn't that interesting, in the overall scheme of things.

As a carer it sometimes feels like you can’t do right for doing wrong. And I’m left wondering, the next time there’s a big news event, ought I to allow Dad be part of the audience?