Pop

In Melbourne I visited my grandfather. It's been three years now since my grandmother died. He is still living alone in the big house he shared with her for over fifty years.


Since she died he no longer has the daily imperative of looking after her and his memory is suffering. It's "not like it used to be," he told me. He meticulously writes down everything he's doing on the calendar in the kitchen so as not to forget. If it's not on the calendar he's not sure about it. I noticed that every day had been crossed off with its passing. It reminded me of a prisoner's marks on a cell wall.


We had a beer and I told him about life in London and laughed more than I expected we might. It struck me that our lives are worlds apart, even though he is my grandfather.