I phone Albert after work to check that he still wants fish and chips for our Friday-night treat, as instructed yesterday. “No!” he says. “We didn’t say fish and chips! I thought you were going to get those little mexican things!”
Little Mexican Things. Now I’m really stumped. To the best of my knowledge, Albert has never eaten anything Mexican and I can’t think that he would like it if he did, given that he objects to colourful and spicy food (and has no truck with anything from the American continent). I suggest a few Mexican food items that I can think of. “Do you mean Enchiladas, Tacos?”
“No, no!” he replies, frustrated, “those little things!”
In the end we settle for Chinese as a compromise.
Halfway through the evening, tea long eaten, we start talking about friends around the world and inspiration strikes him. “You know,” he exclaims, “those little things they eat where those Japanese people live!”
Light dawns. “Albert,” I say. “Do you mean sushi, by any chance?”
“Yes,” he cries, delighted that I have got over my stupidity, “Sushi!”
Ah yes, sushi, that well-known Mexican dish. Another conversation successfully navigated through the mysteries of memory loss, even if it took us a couple of hours this time. You may as well laugh!