I'm 89 years old y' know? Are y' taking this down? It doesn't look like y' are. Any'ow...my great grandson Brian...'ee's such a bonny boy isn't 'ee? A real looker...'ee's turned many an 'ead of the local flappers...don't they grow up fast these days? It 'ardly seems like yesterday when I was emptyin' 'is potty an' wipin' his bottom for 'im. Pity 'ee can't keep his 'air tidy...I keep tellin' 'im, "Brian", I say, "Do something with your 'air or the girls won't give you a 'by-their-leave'. And polish y'r boots as well! There's nowt young ladies like more than a nice man with oiled 'air in a smartly pressed suit an' well-polished clogs!" Oh, me 'eart! Where's me pills?

Any'ow, my great grandson tells me there's some sour-faced Australian old wind bag wanderin' around on 'is web-site, whatever that is, talkin' out of 'er rump, 'scuse my French.

I'm 98 years old y' know!? It comes t' something when the great off-spring of my loins 'ave to ask me to use this new-fangled digital radio rubbish because some priggish, bullying old madam won't leave 'im alone. If my 'Enry was 'ere, God rest his soul, 'ee'd 'ave your tits for garters, so 'elp me God! My 'Enry fought the Germans, you know? That was w'en you Australians were still locked up in irons an' stealing our bread. 'Ee lost an eye, 'ee did! It fell out on the number forty-two from Manchester Picadilly. And for what? Not so we could open our country up t' kangaroo-shagging foreigners, that's for certain.

So Mrs 'Igh-an'-mighty Farky-arse you can just bog off back t' y'r workhouse with all y'r sheep an' y'r abor-blooming-riginees and y'r Castlegate Triple Ecs and y'r stupid hats wi' beer bottle tops fastened to 'em. An' I'll kindly ask y' t' keep y'r stupid, stuck-up opinions to y'rself in future afore I 'ave t' come over there to Kangaroo Goolies and kick your fanny in!

I'm an 'undred and eight y' know? I don't need this rubbish w'at wi' my vestibules an' everything!