LAURIE GRAHAM

I know my parents loved me - they certainly did everything they could for me - but displays of affection were kept on a distinctly low flame.

Being eye candy always was a short-term career, and here's the reason. The world finds young women more attractive than old women because youthfulness signals fertility.

Far more than dreading ending up in a care home myself, I dread having to put my husband in one.

My husband is stricken with dementia, and it's a trick of his condition that events and people from his past are more real to him than what happened five minutes ago.

My early novels were very understated and English. Fourteen years ago, I met and married my American husband, and as I learned more about his background and culture, I became interested in using American voices.

The word 'carer' makes me think of someone with a nylon overall and a long list of 'clients' to wash before she finishes her shift. A companion was something unique. A kind of live-in friend.

Times may have changed, but there are some things that are always with us - loneliness is one of them.

My preferred style is to write in first person, so I always have to play around with possible narrator voices until I find something that works.

The wheels of publishing never slow down.

It was the Victorians who covered the piano legs and drew a heavy curtain over what a lady got up to in her boudoir.

Dementia is quite unlike cancer or heart disease or any of those other conditions where you bargain with God for a cure or even just a bit more time.

When my children were young, one of the treats promised by their grandparents was a ride in Grandad's car.

I'd like to see my grandchildren climb trees, not stand under them. I'd like to see them learn to make bread and brown it over a fire using my toasting fork.

I've always jealously guarded my feminine mystique. I've been married twice, and neither of my husbands has ever seen me put my face on.

I'm married to an American, so I guess that has changed my perspective on the subjects I can write about.

Once, every woman owned a small mirrored compact, and it was considered normal - sophisticated even - to flip it open to discreetly check for things like nose-glow or lipstick smudge.

None of us wants to be reminded that dementia is random, relentless, and frighteningly common.

I have a magpie mind, by which I mean I see and hear little things - photos, fragments of conversation - and store them away for future use.

I think my mother was baffled by me. We were polar opposites. She was shy and retiring. I was over-fond of the limelight. Many times in my life, I was conscious of embarrassing her with my carrying on.

There is something very easy about women's friendships that you don't see as often with men. We all know examples of this, when women will just call each other up or drop a line, not with anything specific to say.

My mother was a fastidious and orderly homemaker. I was the messy but creative type. I picture her following behind me through life with a damp rag and an air of exasperation.

Sundown is often the worst time of day for people with dementia. They can become restless and difficult.

Sorry, I don't do castles. I hate those winding turret stairs.

As well as writing novels and doing short-order journalism, I am also the full-time carer of my husband, who has Alzheimer's. Each day feels like a race that must be run.

Caring burns a lot of fuel - psychological and physical, too, if any lifting is involved. The energy tank is soon emptied, and the toll caring takes is well documented. It's called carer burn-out.