Called an old chum the other day, in another country, three thousand miles away. For nearly sixty years we were close friends, but with that separation, the closeness ends, and what remains are two old guys, without their wives, trading memories about their lives. The passage of time, how fast it goes, and a laugh together, 'cause nobody knows.

Not much different. Nothing new – how's the family? How are you? Ironic humour about medical complaints, more passage of time, the social restraints. I told him I'd called before and left a message; he paused sounding a little nervous, saying, he didn't know he still had that service. The line went dead, and I clicked the switch. Then it suddenly rang, giving me a twitch.

The voice said, 'Hi, I was on the phone.' A sliver of doubt crept down the line. A repeated question; 'Is the family fine?' My reply interrupted by another query, 'Did I call you, or did you call me?' I waited, uncertain what to say. It seemed his attention had just walked away. I answered, saying I had called, but he could pay. Hoping some humour might carry the day.

He said again he'd been on the phone, who did he speak to, and did I remember the name; that's when the sinking feeling came. We spoke some more, repetitive comments, then eventually things began sounding okay. Quickly there was nothing more to say. He finished, thanking me for keeping in touch; a relieved improvement but not that much.

I said I'd remember to call again, told him to be well and take good care. Hanging up, I could only stare; next time I call, will he still be there.