— I think I’ve taken things as far as I can, and need to pass on the baton to the next idiot.
— Life is not a relay race.
— Actually I think it is, and I’m quite out of puff.
— But you are still a relatively young man. 102 is no age at all these days.
— Tell the lasses in the clubs and literary salons that.
— Are a few of them not consumers of your written effusions?
— It depends. Some of them have been.
— And what did they make of it all, dare I ask?
— It’s difficult to say. None of them have spoken to me for a very long time.
— But you have admirers. Not loads, it’s true, but if we booked a coach for a fan day trip to Skegness and sold tickets we would probably break even.
— Are you sure about that?
— Yes, if it’s a small coach and we do it outside the peak holiday season.
— Would I have to go on the trip too?
— I think it would be expected.
— I don’t like Skegness.
— It doesn’t have to be Skegness. Mablethorpe has a lot going for it, or so I’ve heard. I’ve never been there.
— All this sounds too far outside my comfort zone, which is basically my house. And I’m not completely comfortable there, either. Anyway, we’ve drifted off the point. I have a baton, and I need to pass it on. Do you know any idiots that might be contenders?
— None that compare, to be honest.