Croatia? What do you want to go there for?

The majesty of the landscape? You can get all of that if you rent a static caravan in Abersoch. I wouldn't be able to communicate with anyone in Croatia, besides. When I go to Lanzarote, I can say Gracias, but you can't expect me to learn the Croatian word for Gracias, not at my age. I've just been virtually bed-ridden for two weeks with this virus and I've only been able to get out to Dagfields 8 times, so I'll be run off my feet until October now, I suppose, so I haven't the time to even think about holidays. I've got to shift these bloody teapots. Why won't anyone buy this rabbit-shaped one? I just don't understand it. Wouldn't you want that on your breakfast table every morning? I would.

On my last legs...

Will you check what these Matchbox stunt cars are worth on Ebay, because I may not be here in a couple of days. I reckon it's turned into bronchitis and I'm just burning up all the time. I feel that bad, I had to go out and spend £350 on clothes yesterday, just to try and make myself feel better.
But everyone's dying at the moment. You get to my age and it just starts happening all around you. You're lucky. You don't have to think about death at your age. But your father keeps spending money like it's water, so I'm going to have to talk to you about this bond I've got. And the unit at Dagfields should be easy to clear out when I'm gone, because I've managed to shift a lot of stock the past couple of weeks. I've got this Bullnose Morris Cowley and I'm sure I can get at least £50 for it, because I've seen a similar one go for that price just last week, only that was in a box, you see, so it could be worth less, I just don't know. You could look that up for me.
So anyway, I've got to start thinking about what hymns I want when I’m buried. I know what I don't want. All Things Bright and Beautiful. I mean, what's all that about? Animals. What's that got to do with death? The problem is, I'm more of a pop person than a hymn person, so to be perfectly honest, I'd sooner have You Never Walk Alone, I Want to Break Free by Queen and just anything by Elvis, really. Oh, and Memory by Barbra Streisand. I like that. The problem is, I'm just too exhausted to write anything down, so I'll just forget all this and then I'll be back to square one. I haven’t even read an antique book today, which is bad news.

Decisions

Thank God they've all gone! I just can't cope when everyone descends on Stoke for the weekend. It wouldn't be so bad if you're father would help out, but he just goes out on his motorbike and I'm left to decide who has to sleep where. It's just exhausting having to make all these decisions. I've got Sean asking me whether I want fried eggs or scrambled eggs one minute and then I've got to work out what clothes to put on the next. How are you supposed to cope with all of this stress? I mean, I can't decide what kind of eggs I want, can I? Not with all these hot flushes and what with trying to keep the bungalow clean and free of vomit. It wouldn't be so bad if that physio on my hair had worked last month, but it's been three weeks now and it's still limp and got no body... I think I'm just going to cry and be done with it.

Skiing in Obergurgl

I don't know how you expect me to be able to work this modern technology. I can barely keep my eyes open today, and it's only the chronic pain in my hips that's preventing me from slipping into a coma. You'd better not expect me to get on that chair lift this afternoon, I'm telling you now. And you'd better not vomit all over that chalet tonight. I know what you young people are like.

Why's everything all sideways?