Dawn comes at last.

I can see the clock, but it’s still too dark to tell the time.

I’ll just have to wait.

Anna came to see me yesterday. A visitation from heaven, the virtuous daughter visiting her beloved mother, wafting in on scented clouds of Estee Lauder, fifty-six quid a bottle, she must be bloody mad.

“You smell delicious,” I said. “And what a beautiful dress.”

“I always make an effort for you, Mum, you know that.” She’s having another affair. I’m the excuse. But I’m old, not stupid.

A surreptitious glance at her watch. Already? She hasn’t even sat down yet.

She drifts out to the kitchen and makes a pot of tea. The sweet caring smile as she hands it to me, in that sodding useless plastic baby beaker. Why can’t she use the nice china and hold it for me, for once?

“Thank you, darling.”

Anna sips her tea and nibbles a biscuit. “So…” Here it comes again. “Have you thought any more about that nursing home we found for you?”

“This is my home.”

A little sigh. “Green Lawns is very nice, Mum. All the online reviews say how good it is.”

“I don’t know. I’ll think about it.” I won’t. I’ll never leave my memories of Tom.

Anna stands up, kisses my cheek. “Well, I must be off. I have to get some shopping.” I wish she wouldn’t go.

The daylight is stronger now.

Another four hours until they come to get me up into my chair. I never know who it will be. They call it a care package.

I could read my book, but the carer who put me to bed left my glasses downstairs. She said she’d bring them up before she left, but she didn’t.

More of a don’t-carer. They’re not all as bad as her.

I examine my arm lying across the bedspread, the wrinkled skin sagging, the back of my hand freckled with rust, the wedding ring hanging loose on my finger. Did I suddenly get old? No, it was a gradual process. I’m like an old car left abandoned in the woods, grown over with moss, every season bringing more decay.

One day they’ll look, and I’ll be gone. I just have to wait.

Dramatic and foreboding start and a warm and gentle conclusion. Thank you. Mike

To be fair, the notice is fixed to a hole punch, although I can’t understand why our PM doesn’t have enough staff to do her hole punching. Maybe it’s because, like the NHS, demand exceeds the resources available. Somebody told me that the Withdrawal Agreement runs to more than 500 pages. With 21 ministers in her Cabinet, each needing a copy, that’s a lot of holes to punch. But then, it seems that there are plenty of people in Parliament of various persuasions who have already found a lot of holes in this Agreement.

I mention all this because that little notice – “Do not remove from office” – is one of many signs that nothing endures more than change. Darwin is commonly thought to have said that survival depends on being the fittest. He didn’t. What he said was that any form of life – plant life, human life, pond life – could only survive if it adapted to change.

So when another photograph presented itself, I was reminded of Darwin’s theory. The photograph was of a saloon car, built decades ago, left rusting in a forest. Around it, trees, shrubs, plant life were enveloping the vehicle so that soon it would disappear, never to be seen again. But the life that was going to outlive it was many years, maybe even centuries, older than the car. The trees were fresh and vigorous and flourishing. The only thing that looked dated was the car.

And the car is dated. The rate at which car sales have increased has been the lowest on record for the last 10 years. Ford Motor Company will stop making cars in the USA within a decade. Numbers using public transport in the UK are increasing at a faster rate than those using a car to get to work.

Our Prime Minister uses a car to get to work, even though her office is just down the road. What will survive the next few years? The Prime Minister? The office? The Office of Prime Minister? Who knows what changes lie ahead?

Mike Higney
January 2018