Danny Boy Monologue
|(Screenplay) Danny Boy by Alastair J A Thorne|
You wanna be like that cunt?
What? You're going to all of a sudden be slim, lily white, have pansy's hands, play croquet, just 'cause you're old? Bollocks. Old age is for people like that bastard. Done nothing more than play tennis all their lives.
Nice? It'd be fuckin' nice. Nice! You'll be lucky if you reach sixty, you bastard. And if you do make it - they'll put you in a fucking borstal - looney bin - prison, with a sign out front saying "nursing home." No fucking tennis courts. Nothing. It's like "Sit here watch TV and get round to dying some time soon, eh?" Then you lose interest, 'cause there isn't anything. You lose interest in smiling, in sitting up, in getting up, in going to the toilet, in looking out of the window. But there's still TV - but they've thought of that - it's on a special channel that only shows Corrers and Sale of the Fucking Century. Once you really lose interest, then you need the nursing, see. And some poor bastard like Sean will do the nursing, which involves assisted shitting, shit cleaning, and assisted shit eating, shit drawing on the wall, and shit telly.
That's what its going to be like when you're old, mate.