the man i met here is unshaven, his hair looks dirty, maybe matted, he‘s wearing tracksuit bottoms, hehead and the wound is taking its time to heal. the intimate level of care, the type of care he was getting at credenhill, i don‘t he is getting here. i‘m sure his basic needs are met, but he‘s even thinner than i remember him. he‘s diminished. ‘roger‘s neighbours haven‘t been told where he is.‘ i found roger yesterday. oh, you did? yeah, i did, yeah. and... do you remember the photograph i showed you of roger? yeah, he was still a handsome man, you know. yeah. he still looked, you know, like roger. i saw him yesterday...in a care home not very far from here. when i went into the home, i nearly didn‘t recognise him. he is... he is a different man, almost. he had a wound on his head which hadn‘t healed. he wasn‘t shaven, his hair looked like it hadn‘t been washed. it makes really sad. he's, um... and to think, you know... i'm hoping my family has a little bit more compassion than that they are doing with him. i wonder whether. . . identifying roger, in fact, has done him any good at all?