You know what.

Eeee readers, it's been a while since I've had time to sit down recently. Nevermind that Cecil's has been taking me unnaturally for the last week, me piles have dropped again. Like a big bunch of grapes they is, all red, swollen and bleeding. I'm sitting on one of them rubber rings the kids use for swimming. My nephew Fred says he found it down by the reservoir. And you'll have to excuse the large print, only I've lost me readers. I've got me see-ers but they're no good for reading. I suppose I could wear me lookers but I can't find them.

But that's the only concession I'll make. I like to suffer. And goodness knows I know suffering. It does you good. These 'uns these days have it far too easy, and mark my words, I should know. Take my nephew, Fred. You'll see him sometimes on the high street, on the way to school. He's 57, and he's never off the internet. He's a big strapping lad, and should be outside meeting ladyfriends, but no, he sits at home on the interweb. MY interweb as well to add insult to injury. He says he doesn't want to get fingered at home, so he uses mine. Still, keeps him from hanging outside that school all hours of day and night. Mind you, offering kids a lift home is such a lovely gesture. He gets that from me.

So me piles. Throbbing they is. I could go to the doctors but you know me, I don't like to waste their time, and piles is piles. I bought some Dettol and that'll keep 'em down.

No, my grandson, eeee he's a lovely one. I told him though, don't go near your Uncle Fred. You dont' shit on your own doorstep. He's got one of them Ocado Wees. I see their vans everywhere. I might use them, if I can get the hang of this internet.So this Wee thing, it's like nothing I've never seen before. You move your arm and it moves too. The wee lad's been playing tennis all afternoon, bless him. So he asks 'Nana do you want a go?' but when I found out it couldn't fix me grapes I declined. Sure he was having so much fun, I didn't want to spoil it for him.

That kid has Satan in him. I can tell. Rushing about the room waving his arms like there's a poltergeist in his pants. I'll have a word with his mum later. She doesn't really talk to me now, on account of you-know-who-using-you know who's-you-know-what but whenever you-know-who is you-know-whatting, you-know-who can't keep her you-know-what shut. I'll have to say something.

Eeee I'm going to put this Dettol on now. It feels like there's a red hot poker jabbing me you-know-what over and over again. That reminds me of the yanks, now that I think of it. Maybe I'll leave the Dettol for a bit...