Someone gave Mrs Happy a big thick book to hold. Someone asked what her name was. She didn’t understand, she completely misheard the question.
She was upset, she was annoyed, she began her rant.
This is all about care homes or homes or whatever you want to call ‘em – places to lock up people like me. Not very nice if you ask me.
And they are effing awful. I’ve been in a few, really nasty, wake you up at six in the morning, awful food, you have to watch some awful program on TV, awful food again, more TV, lights out at six, really effing awful.
Most of them women just sit there looking at the wall all day long. Or they sit in the hallway and watch the other people go by. Then comes a carer and jams handfuls of pills into their mouths – painfully awful.
I’ve been pushed into these places, homes you call them, and every time I managed to escape. That’s why I stay with Matron; she is good to us.
You say that Matron does funny things, funny things with us. She does that to keep us happy. She tells us when she wants to do funny things to us. Very funny things I must say, but we always say yes because she is always so good to us. And all the funny things are great fun, I like them so much.
That’s why I stay with Matron; she is good to us, she looks after us, we can do what we like, even watch TV if we like, any program we like.
I does the ironing. I like it best when I'm ironing thick cotton things – I can really press heavily. I'm strong and I'm heavy. I does the ironing.
Nobody could stop her, Matron tried, the clerk of the court tried, even the magistrate. Mrs Happy ranted without stop, she got louder, she repeated the rant, she got louder, she repeated the rant.
The magistrate adjourned the court for lunch. Mrs Happy ranted. Matron fed her biscuits.
After lunch, after half an hour of continuous ranting, the magistrate had had enough; he adjourned the court till the next day. The court room emptied, just Matron and the ranter.