The dog's been down to the cemetery with Paul to see your grandmother. I've not been down there for six months, but it's these bloody hot flushes. If I can get your father to get me some more oestrogen, I might be a bit more compos mentis, but the only conversation you ever get is about sudokus. If he asks you a question, it's only ever a cryptic clue.
Did I tell you I've bought £350 worth of antique glass at auction, only I've broken two ewers already. I'm not sure if it's getting old or these varifocals, but I just can't judge where the tops of things are. It's terrible.
And I don't know why I'm going to Ibiza. I must be mad. Guess who's booked flights which leave at 7am? It's alright for him, he's not permanently shattered...
