Groundhog hour
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
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