THE trumpet sounds, the cheery green owl bows this way, then that, and, as the words “Perfect Lesson” appear on the screen, I feel a shot of dopamine whoosh into my bloodstream.

The clock chides me over my unmade dinner and the pile of unironed clothes on the chair. Ignoring it, I plough on in pursuit of one last high. “You know Duolingo is specifically designed to appeal to people like you,” my oldest friend says when I tell her how much time I’m devoting to it.

“People who are smart and eager to learn?” I ask, hopefully. “People who crave constant validation,” she replies.

My friend knows how often I have tried and failed to learn Italian, a language I spoke best when I was 10 and spent a few weeks living in Tuscany.

That July, topping and tailing in bed with my cousins, I sometimes dreamed in it, as if our subconsciouses – so distinct by daylight – were merging in the dark. Soon after, both the language and the intimacy slipped from my grasp.

Sporadic attempts to make good on my loss – the fishing out of old textbooks, the dusting off of worn cassettes – all came to naught.

This time, though, I’m going to see it through because look, here I am, committing myself in print. And because the older members of my family – the custodians of its history – are growing frail, and time is running out to reconnect, to catch up on a lifetime of unhad conversations.

Whenever I log on, I am reconnecting with my past. Each fresh word Duolingo unveils carries a hamperful of memories. When it says “Andiamo alla spiaggia” (let’s go to the beach), I feel the hot sand burning the soles of my feet.

When it says “Vorrei un caffè con zucchero” (I would like a coffee with sugar), I picture men lined up at counters behind beaded........

© Herald Scotland