Lemony Snigger

So I’m sitting in a new room drenched in brown velvet curtains and mouldy wicker baskets, on what seems to be one of those hospital beds which has a remote control thingy to put your feet up or head up, depending which part of you is dying first. Yep, I’m officially with the Granny Of The Moment, hereafter referred to as the GOTM. You know how all these legal documents get away with it – they say it once, and then they abbreviate or acronym-ize the bloody thing out of sheer bloody laziness. I’m bloody lazy. (And also bloody English using the word bloody at every turn). Would probably make a good lawyer in that case but then I’d have nothing decent to write about. Today was successful. I picked my nose. I lied a lot. The end.
I wonder if Thabo Mbeki ever dabbled in the law – the right side of it anyway?

So going back to the GOTM – I have managed to survive 48 hours. And when I say survived, I mean to the full ‘Out wit, out play, out last’ if-I-win-I-deserve-a-million-dollars, kind of thing. I have decided to affectionately dub this GOTM ‘Lemony Snigger’ due to a strange obsession with little iced lemon sponge cakes which she eats by the boxful, and the fact that she truly is a bit of a laugh. My initial nomenclature included the likes of Agent Orange and Ditzy D, but the first seems a tad harsh and the second made me sound intellectually bereft and lazy. I’d hate to be thought of as thick. So Lemony it is.

Vital Stats

Age: 88 (she thinks)
Nappies: No
Wheelchair: No
Hobbies: No
Friends: No
Short term memory: No
Taste: No
Appetite: No
Will to live: No (Apparently she often threatens suicide)
Objection to my smoking: No
Gardener and Maid: Yes!!!

All in all, Quite a granny I tell you, and what a piece of work. Her dress sense is hardly appropriate for a woman of 60, let alone nearly 30 years older. She tends to favour quite racy skirts and smears herself in fake tan every morning so she’s a delightful shade of orangey brown. Her hair is whitey/blondey/yellowy, so in order to paint a mental picture for you, plonk that coiffure atop the carrot-coloured leathery skin and you’ve got what looks like a rather melty vanilla cone, dripping in gold. Or picture that lady from There’s Something About Mary. It’s quite a scream. Literally. She’s as deaf as a post (I don’t think she can hear herself farting), and clinically demented. No really. Not like a raging lunatic, just early stages – a bit ‘forgetful’ from time to time it the politically correct term I believe.
Stay tuned, this one’s going to be interesting…