My grandma is very very slowly eating a piece of Toblerone and a chocolate biscuit, holding the Toblerone in her left hand and the biscuit in her right and taking alternate bites
She is also telling me the story of how she met her childhood best friend when they were both evacuated to Salisbury
I have heard this story literally upwards of 150 times
It’s mostly verbatim, because these repeated stories are as much routines as anything else, but as her memory goes more wobbly she furnishes the same narrative frame with more obscure details that she’s patched on from books and films, things that she thinks are real but aren’tHer best friend’s father has been killed in France and on the Isle of Wight. The friend had two sisters and no brothers; a brother and sister; she was an only child. She lived with her mother and her grandmother, and just her grandmother. Her entire family were killed in the Blitz, and her brother survived. God forbid my grandma watches Eastenders at any point. Her best friend would probably have been an East Londoner and had four marriages.
And there’s also the Toblerone obsession, which is one of the more endearing symptoms of her brain killing itself off
So that’s nice