I've finally got me 'emmorhoids under control. Swollen t' the size o' rugby balls they was. That ruddy nig-nog down at the 'ealth centre was no bloomin' good. He kept talkin' about puttin' me in an 'ome where they could look after me properly. At least I think that's what 'ee was sayin'. It's 'ard t' tell wi' these Spanish types.

"Listen 'ere Daigo," I said. "I've still got all me own marbles! I ain't sterile yet! You're not lockin' me away with all those old biddies with their fartin' an' their dribblin' an' their postulatin' an' their rubber knickers! I'm an 'undred and fifteen y' know, an' I've managed very well doin' things for meself so bloomin' far!"

So I went t' that Homo-erotic doctor 'oo lives above the shops and 'ee gave me a bottle o' water. I don't understand 'ow it works, dilutin' stuff until there's nothin' left and then stickin' the remains up one's posterior ('scuse my Dutch). I shudder t' think of all the times I've emptied me po in the ocean.

Mind you it appears to 'ave 'elped the whippets in me legs. I've bin much more sprightly of late. I can reach speeds of almost thirty miles an 'our now on me Zimmer. Although that might 'ave more t' do with the ice on the pavement than the curvature of me knees. But it makes cleanin' me front door step a damned sight easier an' that's got t' be good.

I'm thinkin' of going back next week for somethin' t' cure me autism. It's been givin' me shoulder no end of gyp durin' this miserable damp patch. Which reminds me...I wonder if 'ee's got something for me incompetence an' all.