Strange it is, to find now how little the facts I know, moments of recall, of this person who I grew up with, looked up to, this person who no longer knows me, Alison little, aka Alou of Alou and Tinks.
Bonnie her horse. The attic room, away at the top of the house. Italy with Aldo. Her gift of painting. An argument driving down to Albach with Tessa Dally, Alou and John driving. Feeling his anger and frustration. Visiting Peebles and Alou with my mohter, a black and white photograph somewhere. Being in the burglerkeller with the Grau brothers, and Alou tempting me to lick my lips to attract Matias Grau. Staying with Alou in Edinburgh. Megan, the first born. Staying with Alou in Fetes Avenue, her restlessness of where was home, not being content, wanting to move.
Like a child now, with dementia, anxiety brimming to the surface, determined, child like wanting. She cleaned her plate with such determination.
I’ve never been here before. I came here yesterday.
Kalikellett 