I think I’m going to nickname my personal assistant Serkan grandma. That’s not because he looks anything like my late grandmother, or has fallen into the habit of randomly tearing my glasses off my face to clean them. I’ve started to call Serkan Grandma because I bought him a pair of Marigold gloves today. Even now, the person that I associate most with marigolds is my grandma: when I was growing up she was almost always wearing them, and seemed very fond of them. She was quite a quirky, unique person who had so many odd little attributes, from always wearing rubber gloves to constantly whistling strange, unrecognisable songs. I still miss her.

This morning though, I was watching Serkan put on a pair of disposable rubber gloves to do some cleaning. It occurred to me that marigolds would be so much better, and decided to buy him a pair or two. At least then we can wash and reuse them, rather than throwing endless pairs of disposable gloves into the bin. Yet, almost automatically, the memory of my grandma came instantly to mind, as if it reignited one of those unbreakable childhood associations. It’s just an odd little connection really, probably hardly worth noting, as long as Serkan doesn’t start insisting on cleaning my glasses when they aren’t dirty or whistling tunes nobody else knows.