Being a 95 year old man, I have lived for almost a hundred years. Thats a long bloody time, I can tell you. I was born in 1910, the year they hung Dr Crippen. Them were the days.
Have you seen my glasses?
My favourite food is mashed potato and imperial mints, and I drink copious quantities of strong, sugary tea, topped off with carnation milk. My major pastime is watching TV quiz shows, notably The Weakest Link - I love that Ann Robinson,me - and Going for Gold, with Henry Kelly, though that's not been on for a week or two now. I expect theyve stopped it or something.
I put me glasses down here somewhere, I think.
My passion is watching the television VERY LOUD, being deaf is an affliction that I encourage everyone to avoid, though I take a certain delight in using it selectively. I also like to throw household objects at imaginary rodents, and poisoning the neighbour's hedge with parafin. The Head Gardener at Buckingham Palace showed me that little trick.
I have several disgusting personal habits, but I won't indulge you with those just yet. Let's just let say I have a large collection of penicillin and antibiotics, some of which date from the late 1970s. I'm also immensely proud of my ability to spit my phlegm into next-door's garden, although I like to describe this as 'lace'.
When not spying on neighbours and acquaintances, I make it my business to interfere with other people's business. I regularly ring up people on the electric-telephonogram and ask them if they are dead. If they aren't, I inform them that I am 95 years old, and considerably older than them. I then declare that I cannot possibly understand why they are complaining about being rung up at 5.30 am, and slam down the receiver. I then have tea.
I have a passion for pork dripping, matched only by my obsession for complaining loudly about everything I encounter. Since I have not left the small village I grew up since birth, and cannot comprehend 'foreign parts', what I encounter therefore is mainly centred on horseracing, the price of buttons, the national lottery and the ever-changing broadcast time of Last of the Summer Wine. All of which confuse the buggery out of me.
Are these my glasses?
No, it's a small brass dog.
Another great hobby of mine is rumour-mongering. I once successfully managed to spread a rumour, (based on heresay, libel, slander and deceit! - a personal best), that a close friend had passed away. The rumour spread exponentially, till the next-door neighbour of said friend, alarmed that they had not seen them and not answering the door despite banging loudly, broke into the supposed-deceased man's house, only to find him asleep on the sofa.
My over-riding beliefs that sustain me today are that young people are rotten scallywags who need National Service - (I never served myself - flat feet), that hanging should be brought back for anyone molesting a horse, that Going for Gold be reinstated on BBC1 primetime, preferably before my bedtime of 7.00pm though, and that Bob Warman be made a Saint for his services to the elderly. Did you know that they can see you through that electric-televisonarium? I often wave to Bob Warman, or Charlie who does the Weather, and they ALWAYS wave back to me. Generally.
Oh, I had my glasses on all the bloody time. Bugger.
If you're lucky enough to see me on Myspace, please have the courtesy of addressing me as MR, as I am no doubt your senior, and therefore, better. Please also be advised that I have no patience at all with the young people of today, hate modern life and all that is associated with it, and in general will moan loudly at you if approached.
Now, get back to work with you.
