BROADCASTER John Suchet really doesn’t want to talk to me.

He’s unfailingly polite, completely charming and never shirks a question but he’s telling a complete stranger how he lost his beloved wife Bonnie to dementia – and it’s hard.

The 66-year-old has spoken about it several times since forcing himself to go public with his experiences a year ago and, at the time of speaking to me, was preparing to address the Rotarian Conference in Bournemouth.

I asked him if had got used to sharing such private, intimate details and he responds instantly: “No, absolutely not. I absolutely hate it and I’m dreading the Rotarian Conference, but I know I’m helping people in my position because they’ve written to me and told me so.”

It’s little wonder he’s still struggling to come to terms with the brutal blow to his marriage. He and Bonnie, who have been together for almost 30 years, were blissfully happy before dementia took hold.

He’s unsure as to exactly when Bonnie’s dementia started, realising with hindsight that there were probably lots of little signs that went undetected. But he first got alarmed six or seven years ago when his wife got lost at an airport. Six months later, she keeled over at the dinner table, prompting the pair to go to the doctors.

Her condition has deteriorated slowly but a year ago he made the devastating decision to put her in full-time care. She is just 69 years old.

“She seems content,” he said. “She beams at me when she sees me, she never asks a single question as she hasn’t ever since the day she was diagnosed. I’m convinced she doesn’t know there’s anything wrong.

“The Bonnie I love has gone. She’s still lovely and soft and gentle and uncomplaining but we can’t talk about the past anymore. She’s gone.

“I was advised by four professionals that the time was right for full-time care and I cling to that. You try to put it off but if you wait for a crisis then you’re into crisis management.

“It doesn’t get better but gets worse because I’m watching her deteriorating and I know there’s worse to come.”

There is nowhere near as much awareness or fundraising for dementia as there is for other life-threatening conditions, something John would like to change. After four harrowing years coping with the condition, he firmly believes it’s the cruellest of all diseases.

“We can’t talk about it together because she doesn’t know it’s there,” he said. “We watch programmes on telly about it and she doesn’t even react.

“I don’t want to make light of cancer but at least you can talk about it and say ‘we’re going to fight this.’ With dementia, the fight is over before you start.”

He was fortunate, he says, to stumble upon the support of Admiral Nurses – dementia’s equivalent of Macmillan Nurses, who are provided by Dementia UK. But unlike Macmillan Nurses, there are only 75 across the whole of England – none in the south west region – and access to them depends entirely on your postcode.

John, who is now honorary president of Dementia UK, credits his Admiral Nurse Ian Weatherhead for helping him survive the past few years.

“What he taught me was to understand my behaviour as much as Bonnie’s. When you’re caring, you’re under huge stress and you do behave in ways that you’re not particularly proud of.

“There’s nothing you want to hear more than the way you’re behaving is normal. He taught me that I’m in mourning – albeit for someone who’s alive. I’m going through the grieving process, I cleared out her clothes. I don’t know how I would have coped without Ian’s support.”

More information about dementia is available at dementiauk.org. Information about Admiral Nurses is at admiralnurseadacemy.org