Fem.

A front room, everywhere. 

Alexus:

I’m sick of em, sick of em. Going on about it all the time, like. Acting like blokes. Looking like blokes. It’s boring. And it’s bollocks.

Leigh:

Men are supposed to look after their girls. It isn’t pretty is it? Putting up shelves, drinking pints with your mates. Makes you feel like a dick.

…Did you know Marie fixed her car? I mean the size of her…?

Alexus:

You’ve got to have that difference haven’t you? The yin, the yang, whichever is which. It’s a compliment, it isn’t the same, it can’t be the same because it’s different.

Leigh:

Yeah, that’s it. Different.

Alexus:

Damn right! Gender, gender, gender. Women, men…bloody trannies like your Andy! It shouldn’t matter.

And why do they have to shout about it..? It’s all, this is us, we are here! Away from you lot. Shouting about being called love or getting their arses touched, and tits eyed up.

I mean if you’ve got it, you should flaunt it, right?!

Leigh:

Yeah!

Alexus:

It’s boring. It’s fucking boring…

Leigh:

…yeah...

Alexus:

…Basically, you cocks are cocks, and cocks are cocks and need to be told that you are cocks…

Leigh:

I’d love it if I got my arse felt up by a fitty.

Alexus:

…I mean what gives them the right to tell me how I should treat people?! We’re not all the same. We’re all different.

We’re not all cocks.

That dwarf bird, Angie, you see her on the market. She’s got to be treated different. She can’t do stuff. You have to help her. She’s fucked on them stairs.

And Danny spanner, I mean everyone knows Danny. Everyone looks out for Danny.

We’re not all the same, and I’m not going near them. They’re fuckin’ angry for no reason.

---

Leigh:

I wish Jordan would stop making me gag when I’m giving him a blowie.

Alexus:

Oh god, I hate it when they do that.

Me and my monkey.

We’re all 85.

Cosmetically we don’t look it. We’ve got robots grandkids, and nobody has to move or work anymore because we’re all attached to a universal monorail that transports us everywhere whilst the robots do our bidding. Maybe.  

........................................

Now statistically, as a plausible guestimate. 18 of us are dead. It was quick, it didn’t hurt, don’t worry.

23 of us have Alzheimer's/Dementia

3 Parkinsons

4 MS

7 Miscellaneous

and 1 Huntington’s

And the rest….well we’re alive – we made it! 

But wait, I need to take you somewhere:

Meet Al, 98, he loves carpentry to the extent the care home has too many bird boxes and hedgehog huts. He has a ponytail, refuses to wear wide fitting slippers, and drives his motorbility scooter far too fast in the corridor. Scamp.

Then there’s the other Al, 92. He’s a cricket man. Loves a panama in summer and getting pissed in the garden with the other Al…he also dodges the wide fitting slipper.

And Betty. She’s 86, malnourished because she has no appetite. Her breathing is shallow and laboured, her eyesight is gone and her hearing is a BIT LIKE THIS, Betty.

She doesn’t like to socialize with Al, the other Al and her fellow residents.

I like Betty. She’s bright, I’ve seen her laugh a few times.  She responds well to a back rub. 

Though we share mere minutes together a day.

Because Betty stays in her room with her memories.

Waiting.

I’ve heard her mumble to god. Take me Lord, take me. Over and over again.

Take me Lord, take me. Take me Lord, take me. Please take me. Take me Lord.

Betty wants to go, but she’s still here.

(Pause)

Ivy is 100, she has full hair, a wicked smile and a tendency to get the hump. She lies in her bed – as requested - in the dark staring at the ceiling. Ivy used to have a pet monkey.

On Ivy’s dressing table is a sippy cup of juice, and a wealth of chocolate goodies, that she will never reach nor eat. And a card.

It’s from the Queen. I’ve never seen one before.

Silence.

Ivy speaks. “Are you looking at my card?”

Yes.

“I got another one as well you know…”

Silence.

“It was from the treasury, that Iain Duncan Smith….but I threw the bastard across the room”.

.............................

This isn’t about those of us taken too early, this is about those of us taken too late.

Love, Love.

One day I'll be in love again.

Like, stupid love.

The real deal as captured in D:Reams - UR the best thing...The kind of love that makes me want to post pictures - all the time - of us looking cute together; in hats, over cocktails, in front of hilarious signage as 'Twatt'.

There'll be so many reciprocal thumbs and hugs and huns we'll end obesity through sheer nausea.

But that day isn't here yet, so you'll have to crack on with your type 2s safe in the knowledge my beloved best friend is on his way.

And he's ace. Thumbs.