One Foot in the Grave

# They say I might as well face the truth

# That I am just too long in the tooth

# So I'm an OAP and weak-kneed

# But I have not yet quite gone to seed

# I may be over the hill now that I have retired

# Fading away but I've not yet expired

# Clapped out, run down, too old to save

# One foot in the grave #

Okay. And finally, Patrick, three things that cause you stress.

Remember, we discuss them, we disable them.

Erm, only three.

Well, let's see. Work, I suppose. It hasn't been much fun,

since the man who lived next door killed my chances of promotion.

Family, never quite managed to start one

after the man who lived next door sabotaged my sperm count.

And, of course, our new house has never really felt like home

what with the man who lived next door losing all our furniture.

Ah, now I think I see a pattern beginning to emerge here.

The demonising of this mythic figure in your life suggests a certain irrational paranoia at work.

Yes, yes, I can see why you'd think that.

But I swear to you, this person has totally dogged my life.

We're talking about a man here who for reasons utterly impenetrable

drove a motor-mower around my employer's carpet singing, Hey, Mr Tambourine Man,

then proceeded to demolish her summer house and poison the entire garden

by spraying it with cocaine.

And the reduction in your fertility?

An impromptu vasectomy performed by a crab up my beach shorts.

Yes?

No, I just...

Okay, to eradicate the problem you must first confront it.

Go back and visit this man.

You face the fear, only then can you neutralise it.

Right.

And how do we neutralise these tensions in our life?

By understanding the therapeutic nature of a fundamental human mechanism,

the act of laughing.

Regular laughter not only lifts our spirits, it stimulates the diaphragm,

assisting our breathing and so relieving our stress.

So, for a count of 10, please, with lots of gusto.

The trash you read in this local nowadays.

Do you remember that comedian with the big teeth?

Printed such a terrible write-up of his act, he went home and jumped off the roof.

They've only got a review of his suicide in here now.

Page 17, "Arts critic Marjorie Quayle

"is unimpressed by comic's final caper."

If you want to do something useful you can put this washing in the machine for me.

It's mostly woollens, so make sure you set it at the right temperature.

"Though undoubtedly funnier than any of his jokes

"the sudden death last night of orthodontically challenged Larry Hackett

"by plummeting from a tall building

"fell as flat on his face as the man himself.

"Ranked against the self-destruction of other famous funsters,

"this creaky cri de coeur

"lacked the vintage martyrdom of a Hancock or Fatty Arbuckle

"and was about as emotionally unsettling as a bag of winkles."

He was only trying to earn a living, poor bloke.

Gave it one star for "Don't bother".

Did you hear me? I'll be out the back.

Yes.

Morning.

Morning. Hello, Buster. Oh, on your lunch break?

I don't want to hassle you, Mrs Meldrew, but we've had a few calls

about an extremely loud television blasting out of your bedroom at all hours.

My God, is this it?

What have you got in there? The Empire Leicester Square?

Yes. I'll spare you the plot of another Whitehall farce, Roger.

Suffice to say, it all hinges on the words

"15-inch" and "50-inch" sounding very similar over the phone.

They're supposed to be coming to take it back next week.

Only Mr Blithery says the vibrations from Moira Stuart

have been loosening his false leg.

Phone call for you. It's Pippa.

Oh! Erm, sorry, will you excuse me?

Come on, what's this? Do you think if you plant it, it's gonna grow? Come here.

I know, it must be absolutely ages.

Mmm-hmm.

Oh, yes. Easily.

Anyway, how are things?

Oh, a bit grizzly at the moment, if truth be told.

With it being Patrick's time of the month and everything.

You know that thing men go through where they can't open their mouths

without getting right on your tits.

What with that and Denzel losing his voice.

Anyway, how about you?

Oh, yes. Still ticking over, thanks for asking.

Did I tell you I'm doing some work for this agency as a part-time care assistant?

Oh, you know, visiting one or two people.

Getting them washed and dressed in the mornings.

Oh, of course, Victor's got his new window cleaning round

which seems to be keeping him out of mischief.

Anyway, if you're feeling a bit down in the dumps

the two of us are going out for a bite to eat tonight.

Why don't you call us? Right. Bye.

Victor, what the hell are you doing?

It's all right. I think you're going to be able to wear them.

It's just, I may have left them in a little bit too long.

Oh, will you stop that!

This is the washing I said I'd do for that lady who's just come out of hospital

and her three children.

God spare us!

This is what I wear, you think?

Look what you've done to these now!

I'm sorry, I... I don't...

Ah, thank you very much.

Can this possibly be

our handmade silk-screen wallpaper for the spare bedroom?

I'd just about given up hope.

It's a wonder they sent it at all. The way you kept moaning on at them,

ringing up asking to speak to William Caxton.

I merely asked them what kind of medieval printing process they were using

that meant we had to wait 15 weeks for a simple order.

Didn't care for his attitude one bit, that one that looked like Frank Zappa.

Anyway, I've said to Pippa they could join us for this Chinese tonight,

as it's such a long time since we've seen them.

No, not since we stayed over at their house that night

and found they put a waterproof sheet on the bed.

And that ruddy sausage dog sniffing around just as I was getting undressed.

Staring up between my legs and dribbling as if he hadn't been fed for a week.

I don't know what he thought he was about to...

Oh, I do not believe...

Will you look at this?

Bastards! Can you believe the nerve of this?

I'll skin their ruddy hides for them!

Oh, there we are. If you're stuck on what to get me for my birthday

there's a Jackson Pollock going begging at Sotheby's for two million.

Just fill this wall rather nicely.

Failing that, I don't know, something from Rolf Harris's non-drip emulsion period or...

So, that's it then, is it?

You won't come out for a meal with Mr Meldrew tonight on principle?

Just 'cause of what's happened in the past?

My dear, the police were digging up bones in his back garden this morning.

I hope I don't need to remind you

what the shock of seeing Mr Meldrew with no clothes on did to this poor little mite.

Enough to strike anyone dumb, I should think.

We don't know it was that that made him...

What the hell is all this?

"Congratulations. I'm pleased to announce that you,

"head of Reader's Digest junk mail,

"are one of the lucky winners in my special prize draw

"and have been selected to receive at least one of the following sensational gifts.

"A pair of diamond earrings, worth at least £10,000,

"a fabulous dream holiday in sun-kissed Waikiki,

"or a dead rat.

"Open now to see which of these prizes is yours."

Oh, my God. I feel sick.

"Yes, this is just one of a series of rotting rodents that are yours to examine

"free of charge in your own home.

"Please rush me a decomposing squirrel by return of post.”

Yes, well, we'll see how they'll like a dose of their own ruddy medicine for a change.

You know who you're starting to turn into, don't you?

Hmm?

And the frightening thing is, you can't even see it.

Time of the month.

Bloody zip! Don't know why I bother.

Brand new pair of trousers and can't budge it for love nor money.

No matter what you buy nowadays, there's always got to be a problem.

I mean, that was asking for trouble, wasn't it?

Leaving Mrs Warboys to mind the fort when this arrived.

"It's a whopper, isn't it, Mr Meldrew?"

I mean, she must've known it was the wrong model, for goodness sake!

Oh, will you keep still! Jigging about like a Morris dancer.

There!

Now come on.

We've got 45 minutes to get to this place and woe betide you if it's not up to standard.

I've heard some very dodgy stories about this restaurant.

Meaning what?

Meaning I wouldn't be at all sure this is a misprint.

Meaning what, Margaret?

Well, that was absolutely...erm.

Horrible.

If I'm honest.

Yes, I think when the crispy duck arrived

and they'd burnt the beak, it was a sure sign of things... Victor!

We've already established it doesn't work. Will you stop trying to force it?

Oh, sorry.

Now, now, I don't know why you're moaning.

I think this has all been very.. tasty nosh.

So, you were saying it's Patrick's birthday coming up.

What are you going to get him? Have you decided yet?

Well, he's been dropping hints about a painting for his office, but...

Oh, maybe I'll just get him a book or something on modern art.

Oh, well.

Didn't you say there's an artist who lives on your window cleaning round?

Perhaps you could find out if he's got anything decent to sell.

I can do, perhaps, tomorrow morning.

In the meantime, I think I'll go for a pis...tachio ice cream for dessert.

Be back in two shakes.

Oh, for mercy's sake, go down!

So, I suppose I've got to take the blame for all this now, have I, as usual?

Yes, whose idea was it to come to this God-awful dive? Please do remind me.

I mean, when I booked the table, it completely slipped my mind

to enquire about the underground brothel facilities.

Go to empty your bladder in good faith

and you don't expect to be yanked off by the local vice ring.

Well, it certainly gives a new meaning to the phrase "popping out for a Chinese".

You sure you don't want us to run you home?

No, I'll be fine. Taxi'll be here in a tick.

You two get along, have an early night.

I'll phone you tomorrow.

-Night. -Good night.