It’s always interesting to me to pick up on people’s verbal tics or manner of speaking, or snippets of conversation as we pass each other in the street. Yesterday, though, I experienced a rather sad, and (to me) poignant conversation, which took place in a care home:
Elderly lady: Where do you live?
Me: Near Ilford.
EL: Oh, that’s quite a long way away, isn’t it?
Me: Well, it’s not too bad. Where do you live?
EL: The East End.
Me: Oh really? Whereabouts?
EL: Stepney Green. Where do you live?
Me: Near Ilford.
EL: Oh, that’s quite a long way away, isn’t it?
Me: Well, it’s not too bad.
EL: I should be getting home soon. I live in Bromley-by-Bow.
Me: Oh.
EL: Where do you live then?
Me: Near Ilford.
EL: Oh, that’s quite a long way away, isn’t it?
…
I was astonished at how she was able to carry on a conversation which, at first, seemed perfectly normal and sensible. But as soon as she repeated her question for the third time, I realised what was going on. I recognised the signs from when my mother started to get dementia.
I wrote about that in The long goodbye:
Continue reading: The long goodbye