Who isn't at my age. Going upstairs to fetch the keys, one often is delayed whilst one gatherers the mind, "what did I come up here for"? There are many occasions when the memory plays tricks or one is stumped for a word which a year ago would have been there but now you have to search for it.
My Mum and Dad never had this problem, at least as far as I know because they died within the 'three score and ten' that is supposed to be allotted to us. Living longer presents a number of potential problems not least is the brains deterioration and one of the most ghastly aspects of getting old, dementia.
As I have often claimed we are what our brain makes of us. We represent to others what our brain provides as a mechanism for generating our outward and ostensibly inward health and recognisability. What we say and remember to say is part of the recognition that others have of us as the person they know. Jumble it all up and we become a parody of who we were and whilst the flesh carries on for a while it to slowly degenerates as the brain forgets its part.
And so the curtain is lowered as the actor fluffs his lines and ignores his cue. The rest of the cast go home confused and sad. The play which was all about them and us is short of a character and the script must be rewritten.
I noticed in the pamphlet that part of the service the Alzheimer's Society is a foreign language version of the booklet they offer. Arabic,Bengali,Chinese,Gajarati, Punjabi,Somali,Tamil, Urdu. There was also two European languages, French and Polish but given we have a free flow of immigrants from the EU, I wonder why only two languages are offered.
It is though an indication of the multi national content of our society and one wonders where all this is leading us in terms of being able to identify ourselves say 50 years down the line.
Perhaps one advantage of dementia is that as the past and the future dissolve we will not have to wrestle with determining who we are or who we should show allegiance to.
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