There is this man I know. Not very well, really. He is the second husband of my friend U. He is a good bit older. He's into cars. I have been told by more than one reliable source that he can take a car, any make, apart, down to the tiny bits and reassemble it - no bother. He was a ralley driver, crossed the Sahara desert, a man of adventures, always with cars. He drives a tow truck now in his spare time. All over the country. Making friends and fixing cars.

He has been strange lately, U told me. Listless, moody, boring in fact. And U loves to have fun, the two of them were always out and about. They have been arguing, it turns out. Many times. And things got worse, but in a weird way. Instead of storming out and getting into a car or maybe at least some angry shouting he has withdrawn to the sofa and the docusoaps on daytime TV. 

In the end, U somehow got him to see a doctor, and another one and another one. And today she called me to say that they have been told that he has Alzheimer's. And that he is back on that sofa now and refuses to eat or drink. We were quiet for some time listening to the static noises of our cell phones. She said she has never been so angry in her life. Angry and frightened.

I know the statistics, in the 65 - 70 yrs group one in 20, from age 80 onwards every third person. 

When I cycled home tonight just after sunset I decided to ignore the sound of the thin layer of ice crackling under my tyres. I just needed to get home real fast, needed to open the door and walk into the kitchen where R was singing along with the radio, chopping carrots, his glass of red wine on the counter.