DEMENTIA AND BEEPING.

Yesterday I replaced batteries in a smoke detector.
   Today I replaced them again.
   Someone with dementia will hear the beeping and locate the source. That person may even know those batteries need replacing.
   But that's about it.
   Today, the detector beeped. I replaced the fucking batteries in there yesterday. What the fuck?! Fucking batteries!
   Scene...
   I climb onto a bed and twist the detector. The flying saucer falls out of its fitting and I open the battery drawer. Portable power plants emerge. I head off to battery land.
   This is in a cupboard. I locate the transparent box full of packs. After sacrificing cardboard packaging, I summon two new batteries. They go into the battery drawer. I slam the plastic coffin shut.
   BEEP.
   The stone-cold warning lets me know batteries were just inserted. Business as usual. Stand by for test-firing.
   Test-firing goes well.
   Fast-forward a day.
   Beeping again, from the same detector. WHAT?! I go through the same process, which is fine. Until the batteries are in. Stand by for test-firing.
   No. Instead of the expected sequence, this fluting warning comes on. Someone, or something, is trying to tell me shit.
   This smoke detector is fucked.
   I put new new new batteries in. This weird fucked-up warbling warning greets me. I check the label. Manufacturer recommends replacing the unit after five years.
   Timewise, that's about right.
   There are two models of detector in the house. I immediately test all of them, whether or not they've been tested recently. And they have been tested recently.
   Conclusion. Those detectors that are the same model as the defective one - they all work. That reinforces the view - the warbling smoke detector is fucked. It's the only warbler.
   I work it all out based on my memory of very recent events. And I work it out based on memories of all the fucking times I tested alarms and replaced batteries.
   Someone with dementia might not make the connection and realise the machine is broken. Hell, a carer not routinely in the house might fail to make the connection. Fuck, I didn't make the connection the day before.
   Well, okay, the fucker actually worked the day before. Test-firing was go. Overnight, the fucker croaked. In the morning, the croaking became a warbled farewell.
   Time for a laugh. I checked the internet for the exact model. Combination smoke/carbine monoxide detector. Amazon sold one for over £50.
   Fuck me, it's a detector not a fucking prize antique. Didn't cost that to buy, back in the day.
   Upshot. I am off, to buy a new detector. No, I won't skimp on the cost. Lives are at stake. The risk of death from carbon monoxide poisoning is so small that a detector is required - just to cover the off-chance of being completely and utterly fucking fatally killed 100 fucking per cent to death dead.
   I am permitted to exaggerate the situation for comedic effect. Check your detectors. Don't delay. If you were given the chance to delay death, you'd take that. Why fly casual when the offer of an early death comes up? Check your detectors.